An immense silence hung over the Qar encampment by the side of the great chasm, not only because so many of them shared their thoughts without words, but because so many of them had been killed winning their way here. Saqri was conferring with a few of her advisers, but it seemed a desultory meeting, more an excuse for a moment's rest, and Barrick had not remained with them long. The feeling among the Qar, and even from the Fireflower voices inside him, seemed one of quiet contemplation and preparation for the unavoidable disaster to come.

"May I speak with you, Barrick Eddon?"

He looked up, startled by the sound of actual speech, and found the chief eremite, Aesi'uah. It is not necessary to use words with me It is not necessary to use words with me, he told her.

"I know," she said quietly. "But sometimes it is well not to remind others of what you can and cannot do, Prince Barrick. Then they are more likely to forget and give themselves away if they mean you harm."

He smiled. "You are clever, Aesi'uah."

"I would not be the chief adviser of Lady Yasammez otherwise," she said. "In truth, it is about her I would speak-and one other thing."

He looked around. He had wanted solitude, so they were far from any others, even the sharp ears of the Changing tribe. It seemed safe to continue. "Go on."

Aesi'uah took a breath and hesitated as if unsure whether to continue. She would have been beautiful even by human standards were it not for the lifeless, leaden tint to her skin and the deep, almost frightening glow of her blue eyes. "My lady is troubled."

He almost laughed, despite the gloom that lay over the cavern. The small number of flickering fires only seemed to emphasize the greater darkness. "What does that mean? We fight a hopeless battle against ridiculous odds. Your lady's father, the G.o.d, has died died, and we shall all of us probably be dead tomorrow, which will be the end of the Fireflower she's guarded for so long. Is there truly anything to be cheerful about?"

Another woman might have flushed or stammered or even grown angry at his harsh words, but the eremite was a deep well; she waited for him to finish. "My lady has been preparing all of her stretching life for this-it is not by chance that we refer to our war with your folk as the Long Defeat. But something has changed. She is not just troubled, but ..." Here she leaned forward and lowered her voice, a gesture of such ordinary humanity that for an instant Barrick saw the truth of what he had been told, that human and Qar shared the same ancestors. "... My mistress is confused, Barrick Eddon. I have never felt such things as long as I have served her, and though I am young by her score, I have been with her since your father's grandfather was a child."

"Confused? How so? And why do you tell this to me instead of to Saqri, the queen?"

"Because I do not know what it means-that is why it frightens me. At a time when Yasammez should be most set in her purpose, most determined in her course, I can feel her thoughts darting like startled birds."

"Is she frightened? Frightened of the end?"

Aesi'uah laughed, a hollow, disturbing noise. "It seems that even one who bears the Fireflower can ask a foolish question. No, she is not frightened for herself and she is not frightened for her people. All her years she has been preparing for this death." The eremite closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, something subtly different had come into her expression. "As to Saqri-she knows. Her thoughts and Yasammez's thoughts twine together like two trees that have grown side by side. If she finds it disturbing, Saqri gives no sign. Perhaps she is right. Perhaps it is wrong to doubt such a power as Lady Yasammez. But I am not so calm or so wise as that."

Barrick could think of nothing to say. Even with the Fireflower, his understanding of the Qar still barely broke the surface. If he lived, he would be years learning anything real about them. "And what would you have me do, faithful servant Aesi'uah?"

"I cannot say, Barrick Eddon. I do not think at this moment there is anything to be done. But I am relieved that someone else knows."

And that, too, was so human that Barrick could only sit, wondering at the strange world into which he had fallen.

"You said there was something else."

"Two things, in truth, one small, one large. The first is a question-have you seen Kayyin?"

"I don't know the name."

"He is a . . . relative of Yasammez. He was with us for a long time, all through the siege. Now he is gone. Yasammez and Saqri show no concern, but it seems strange to me."

"I can't help, I'm afraid." He dimly remembered the fellow now, a sort of half-Qar, half-human, or at least so he had appeared, who was often seen near Yasammez, but Barrick could not remember speaking with him.

"Ah. Well, perhaps I will have better luck with my other question. How well do you know this Chaven Ulosian whom you brought to join us?"

Barrick's heart sped, and he was certain that the eremite must sense the difference in him. "Why? I didn't really bring him. I found him wandering around near the edge of our camp. But I know him well from the old days. He was the royal physician of Southmarch." Chaven was also in possession of a strange, familiar statue that he now carried in a spare bed-roll, thanks to Barrick's feeling the object should be kept hidden, but he didn't mention that to the chief eremite.

"I think he is more than any mere physician. As with you, I can feel the presence of more than one in him."

"What does that mean?"

"You carry the Fireflower. You no longer seem like a single thing to me, but like a blur of different things. It is hard to explain in mere words." For a moment she lapsed back into silent communication and he caught something of his own shimmering, refracted nature as it came to Aesi'uah. Just so Just so, she told him. The physician is different, but still more than a single thing-or perhaps less. The physician is different, but still more than a single thing-or perhaps less. And now Barrick caught a glimpse of her perception of Chaven, who seemed to carry something shadowy inside him like a second silhouette. Could it be the mere presence of the statue, Barrick wondered? What was the thing? Had he made a terrible mistake keeping it hidden from his allies? And now Barrick caught a glimpse of her perception of Chaven, who seemed to carry something shadowy inside him like a second silhouette. Could it be the mere presence of the statue, Barrick wondered? What was the thing? Had he made a terrible mistake keeping it hidden from his allies?

In that instant he almost told Aesi'uah, but he was too ashamed of his deception and his own fascination with the thing; his greed to keep it near him until he could understand his feelings. Instead, he asked her, "Will you tell Saqri about this?"

"I do not know." Aesi'uah rose, crossed her slender gray hands across her breast, and bowed. "There is little time left. I wonder if I am catching at small things because I am too frightened to look at the large. It will be strange to die, knowing my entire people die with me, that no one will ever again dance on the slopes of M'aarenol or sing at midwinter in the caves above the Cold Sea. Fare you well in the hours ahead, Barrick Eddon. May your death be a swift one."

And then she was gone, graceful and silent as a phantom drifting through a forgotten churchyard.

In the end, Briony took seven of Eneas' Temple Dogs with her: Sir Stephanas, another knight named Gennadas, and five foot soldiers. Stephanas seemed pleased to have been asked to accompany her; Briony thought he might be imagining himself as the captor of Duke Hendon, one of the few deeds in this confusing, frightening struggle that would be understood and talked about back home.

The Midsummer's Day sun had long since crested the sky and was heading down toward the western walls by the time they left the residence. Cannons still boomed and their missiles still crashed into walls and towers, some so close that Briony could hear the whicker of stone fragments flying past overhead, but she could not puzzle out who was firing now. Was it Durstin Crowel's men in Funderling Town, firing into the inner keep because they knew the Syannese had taken the residence? Or was it one of the two or three damaged Xixian ships still afloat out in Brenn's Bay, firing at the castle out of general hatred?

A more important question, though, was where was Hendon Tolly? She had a.s.sumed that he had escaped the inner keep the day before, when it became clear that the Syannese were not going to be easily turned away, but none of the Eddon supporters at the Raven's Gate or the Basilisk Gate had seen him go. Which meant Hendon might have escaped in disguise or might still be somewhere inside the inner keep itself, waiting for a moment to sneak out in the confusion. But, as Chert the Funderling had just demonstrated, there were other ways in and out of the castle, ways she had never even guessed. Briony knew that even if she somehow survived and won back the family's throne, she would never sleep securely again until someone had charted each and every tunnel.

The inner keep was still packed with refugees, homeless subjects from the surrounding countryside, from mainland Southmarch, and from the castle's outer keep as well; everywhere they went they had to force their way through the stink and gabble of frightened people. Some recognized her, or thought they did-Briony did not stay to confirm their beliefs-and after a while she began wearing a cloth wrapped around her face. She did not want a vulnerable procession of well-wishers and curiosity-seekers following her in her search for Hendon.

She still could not understand why Hendon had taken the infant, Alessandros. Briony's frightened stepmother had said something about summoning a G.o.d, and about magical blood. Her father had said something about it, too. Was Hendon Tolly a victim of the same madness as the Autarch of Xis? Worse, was it something other than madness?

Stupid woman. Stop it. All she was doing was frightening herself. She needed to find Hendon Tolly; she needed no magical terrors to give her reasons to hurry. All she was doing was frightening herself. She needed to find Hendon Tolly; she needed no magical terrors to give her reasons to hurry.

Several hours had pa.s.sed and the light was all but gone from the sky above Southmarch. As Briony, Stephanas, and the others finished a fruitless search of the residence gardens and turned back toward the center of the keep, the wind from the ocean grew stronger. The evening was warm, but the clouds had closed in and darkened the sky. The air was as damp as if a storm was sweeping in.

The cannons were still roaring as they crossed the colonnade and stepped out into the nest of narrow streets between the armory and the Throne hall. Briony's attention was caught by something stuck in the branches of one of the tall trees near the corner of the hall that contained the Erivor Chapel-a pale shape, reaching and fluttering as though it struggled for the housetops and freedom. She doubted it was anything significant-the castle was full of blowing sc.r.a.ps-but she was still squinting at it in the dying light when the cannonball struck. A slower, louder round had just pa.s.sed over their heads, shrieking like one of the skeletal daughters of Kernios and disappearing into the commons behind them. A moment later, the wall of the Throne hall burst into pieces as big as hay wagons, crushing Sir Gennadas and three of Briony's Syannese foot soldiers and spilling bodies out of the building along with the flying rubble.

Stephanas and Briony and the other two soldiers did their best to dig the men out but it quickly became clear it was hopeless. A bedraggled priest, one of the crowd of homeless refugees, came forward and began to pray over the bodies. Others worked by lamplight, trying to dig out the other victims who had either been inside or beneath the walls of the great Throne hall when the cannonball smashed it open.

Overwhelmed by the dust and the smell of blood, Briony at last wandered away to catch her breath. One of the sections of the wall had fallen only an arm's length from her, taking Gennadas but sparing Briony. She had imagined her death would be a personal thing, something she could face bravely, like a true Eddon. She had never thought of death being so swift and uncaring, an event that could obliterate not just her but also several strangers at the same time.

Briony realized she had wandered away from the destruction, and she was shaking as though the weather had suddenly turned freezing. That wouldn't do-she was a princess, after all. These were her people, and she had no right to walk away and leave them, however frightened she might be.

As she turned she saw something flapping just to one side-the pale thing in the tree that had caught her attention earlier. Shocked loose by the crash of the cannonball into the Throne hall, it had floated down a short way before catching in the branches again. It was a shawl or something similar, doubtless once some woman's admired possession, lost now as so many other things had been. She walked toward it and yanked it down, only half looking, marveling that something so delicate and finely made should have survived in the midst of this destructive madness when the great stone walls themselves could not.

Perhaps there is something to be learned here . . . she thought absently, staring at the fine texture of the cloth. If it was a woolen shawl, it was a small one and its owners' initials had been worked into the design of flowers and birds. No, it wasn't a shawl at all, it was a Naming blanket, the kind children were wrapped in for the important religious ceremonies, and this one had four initials on it, which seemed unusual: OABE. she thought absently, staring at the fine texture of the cloth. If it was a woolen shawl, it was a small one and its owners' initials had been worked into the design of flowers and birds. No, it wasn't a shawl at all, it was a Naming blanket, the kind children were wrapped in for the important religious ceremonies, and this one had four initials on it, which seemed unusual: OABE.

Her heart fluttered and threatened to stop entirely. She gasped for breath. Could it be? Who else but a royal child would have four names? And what would make more sense than for little Alessandros to have his father's name, too-Olin. And Anissa's father had been named Benediktos . . .

Olin Alessandros Benediktos Eddon. It was baby Alessandros' blanket.

"Sir Stephanas!" Briony shouted. "Come here!"

The tone of her voice was such that Stephanas and the other two soldiers did not hesitate, but left the death rites of their comrades and ran to her side. She showed them the blanket, then turned and looked past the ruined wall to the dark slopes beyond, a place of tangled old trees and few lights. Even the homeless might hesitate to make their camp in such a place.

"The graveyard?" asked Stephanas. He did not sound as if he liked the idea.

"It makes sense. There are more than a few tombs there big enough to hide in-some of them go very deep." This thought chimed strangely, but she pushed it aside. "I would bet my life that Hendon is hiding in there somewhere with my half brother." She turned to one of the two surviving infantrymen. "Hurry back to the residence. Tell Prince Eneas where we're going-ask him to send more men."

"Where we are going?" Stephanas was still staring out into the dismal shadows of the temple yard. "Why don't we wait for the prince?"

"Because it might be hours. Because we might be wrong, and if Hendon's not here, we need to know so we can look elsewhere. Don't you understand-he has one of my family as a hostage!" She turned back to the newly appointed messenger. "Go! Swiftly!"

He hurried off. Briony turned to her remaining two companions. "Stay close to me. I know the place better than you do."

"We will need torches," said Sir Stephanas.

"That's the last thing we need," she told him. "No light to give us away! And we will have to be quiet, too. Don't you know anything about Hendon Tolly? He's like a serpent-he will always try to bite."

As they reached the ancient, leaning gate, she held her finger to her lips to remind them to remain silent, then guided the reluctant soldiers through into the land of the dead.

35.

His Dearie-Dove "As he pa.s.sed through the great Marches, the sh.e.l.l of the egg became so hot that it crumbled to ash and fell away ..."

-from "A Child's Book of the Orphan, and His Life and Death and Reward in Heaven"

IT WAS THE LAST CONVERSATION Ferras Vansen would have expected to have.

"Moping, then, Captain?" someone asked him as he sharpened the blade of his ax. "Got a dearie-dove back home you wish you could see once more?" It was Sledge Jasper, cheerful despite a face that looked like a burned roast. His thickset right-hand man, Dolomite, squatted beside him.

"A what? A dearie-dove?" Vansen couldn't help laughing a little. The hopelessness of his choice on that front mirrored the likelihood of him having picked the winning side in the war. He had been the G.o.ds' fool for so long he could barely remember the time before his hopeless love had settled over him like a storm cloud.

"A sweetheart, Captain," said Jasper with an offended tone. "You know what I mean."

If I survive, I will tell her, Vansen decided suddenly. I will have to leave Southmarch-if they do not have my head first for my presumption. But it will be worth it. I'll be an empty man, hollowed out and ready for something else to be poured in. Or at least prepared for an empty life afterward. I will have to leave Southmarch-if they do not have my head first for my presumption. But it will be worth it. I'll be an empty man, hollowed out and ready for something else to be poured in. Or at least prepared for an empty life afterward. "Nothing much to tell about," he said out loud. "What's the hour?" "Nothing much to tell about," he said out loud. "What's the hour?"

"The timekeeper puts it about an hour until midday," Jasper told him.

"Ah." Vansen nodded. "So Midsummer's Day is still young." It was a bleak piece of news, since they needed to hold off the Xixians until past midnight. "As to ladies, how about you, friend Jasper? An accomplished fellow like yourself, a Wardthane, you must have someone waiting."

Sledge Jasper made a face. "A wife. Does that count?"

Dolomite grinned. "Your Pebble would have your knackers for that, Sledge."

"And you, Dolomite?" Vansen asked, grasping at anything that might lead the men to think of something other than what lay ahead. "Have you a dearie-dove, as Jasper calls it?"

The little man frowned. "None of the town girls understand me, Captain, to be frank. They don't see a man like me can have ideas beyond knocking heads. In truth, I'd like to start a tavern. Save up a few copper chips for a nest egg and then go to the next Guild Market when they start having them again, find myself a girl who hasn't already made her mind up about me. Maybe a Westcliff la.s.s. They're not so handsome, the Settland Funderlings, but I've heard they're sensible ..."

Jasper and Dolomite went back to their men as Brother Flowstone returned and crouched beside Vansen.

"I am afraid, Captain," the young monk admitted. "I thought I would be honored, even exalted, when the Elders called for me, but I am only frightened. I don't want to die."

"You would be a strange young man in the prime of your life if you did."

"I had many . . . I thought things would be . . . different ..."

Vansen reached over and patted the monk's shoulder. "Don't despair-you may yet live! But whether today or fifty years from now, we will all stand before Immon's Gate ..."

"We call him Nozh-la Nozh-la," Flowstone told him.

". . . We will all stand before Nozh-la's gate," Vansen continued, "waiting for the kind attentions of his master, the lord of death."

"You are a poet, Captain." The monk seemed amused despite the quaver in his voice.

Vansen, however, had been seized even as he spoke by a sudden vision, a memory so powerful that it shook him like a rat in a terrier's jaws, and for a long moment he could barely breathe. Immon's Gate. Immon's Gate. He had been there, or at least he could see it in his mind's eye as clearly as if he had, the great ornate portal of black stone, tall as a mountain, part of the featureless stone of the House of the Lord of the Underworld. And all around it lay the sullen, red lights and tall, deep shadows of the City of Death. Could it be? Had he actually seen it? But when? This phantom of his mind seemed so real! He had been there, or at least he could see it in his mind's eye as clearly as if he had, the great ornate portal of black stone, tall as a mountain, part of the featureless stone of the House of the Lord of the Underworld. And all around it lay the sullen, red lights and tall, deep shadows of the City of Death. Could it be? Had he actually seen it? But when? This phantom of his mind seemed so real!

It doesn't matter when. Or even if it was a dream. I've seen it. I know it. I have been to the very gates of Death's own castle and returned. If the G.o.ds were trying to speak to him, Ferras Vansen was listening. He could almost hear rising voices like a temple choir, something bigger than himself lifting him, and for a moment he no longer feared anything. If the G.o.ds were trying to speak to him, Ferras Vansen was listening. He could almost hear rising voices like a temple choir, something bigger than himself lifting him, and for a moment he no longer feared anything.

No matter what happens to me now or later, I have not had a small life!

Something thumped at the far end of the great hall, a m.u.f.fled crash that nearly extinguished the torches and sent stones rolling from the pile of rubble blocking the far entrance. Another thump, louder this time, forceful enough to slap both Ferras Vansen's ears and deafen him for a moment, shattered his thoughts into pieces. The far end of the chamber was full of dust and skittering stone. Shapes moved where only moments earlier a thousandweight and more of rubble had been piled.

Vansen could see immediately that the autarch had not sent his ordinary foot soldiers, the Naked; instead, behind the swirl of dust and smoke, the cleared entrance was full of tall, pale shields, wedged together like the scales of a snake, an armored ma.s.s that bristled with spears like a hedgehog's quills as it advanced slowly into the room. The men were huge and their shields were painted with the ugly, snarling head of a dog-the autarch's most feared killers were leading the attack.

With a roar that to Vansen's damaged hearing seemed scarcely more than a loud moan, the White Hounds surged forward into the Initiation Hall.

The afternoon went by like a thunderstorm that lasted years. Vansen and his men held the first barricade of skillfully piled stone as long as they could, but despite the protection of the high wall at least a dozen Funderlings fell. In lulls between skirmishes the bodies were dragged away and their armor and weapons redistributed. Vansen noted with grim amus.e.m.e.nt that finally, from sheer attrition, nearly all of his men were properly armed. At last, when the warders holding the far right side of the barricade had been so badly overwhelmed that the Xixians were clambering over the wall in numbers, Vansen called the retreat and the Funderlings dropped back to the second barrier.

"Now hold them here!" he shouted. "Spears up, Guildsmen, spears up!"

They held the second wall as long as they could. Time pa.s.sed in a blur and the shouting became a smear of noise like the roaring ocean somewhere above their heads.

Sky and sea, thought Vansen- thought Vansen-oh, to see them both once more! And Briony Eddon's face! If you could love a G.o.d or G.o.ddess who would never know you, why not a princess? Was the love any the less because it couldn't come back to you? If you could love a G.o.d or G.o.ddess who would never know you, why not a princess? Was the love any the less because it couldn't come back to you?

More Funderlings fell, even brave little Dolomite, Jasper's sergeant; more sprang forward to fill the places of the fallen, including monks who had only ministered to the wounded. Three Metamorphic Brothers, freshly come to the front line, were set on fire by an oil lamp the autarch's men shoved over the top of a barrier. As they ran screaming past their fellows, Vansen could feel despair welling up in the Funderling troops like a poisonous venom, stealing their strength; he knew that any instant they might all break and run for the great balcony and the whole force would be overwhelmed and slaughtered. Vansen leaned out and grabbed one of the blazing monks as he went past, burning his hand, and then threw himself on top of the shrieking man, doing his best to smother the flames with dirt and his own body. Vansen sat up to see the other Funderlings watching him in numb surprise.

"Stop staring!" he bellowed. "Help these men! Call the healers. And protect your barricades!"

Startled back to something like sense, the Funderlings dug in afresh. Others caught the burning monks and wrestled them to the ground to extinguish the flames, then dragged them to the back of the hall. When the Funderlings did give way some time later and fell back to the third barricade, it was under discipline and at Vansen's command.