"For all we know, he's already done his part. Or he's been caught himself. Either way . . ."

Her hand loosened on his arm. She nodded. He and Varina slipped down the corridor and began to ascend, as quietly as possible. The stairs, Sergei had told them, wound once around the perimeter of the tower for each floor, with a short landing at each, with a door leading to the cells for that floor. There would be gardai a.s.signed to each floor, changing at Third Call. Already, Karl could glimpse the landing for the ground floor. He could hear two people talking-whether two gardai, or perhaps a garda and one of the prisoners, he didn't know. He started up the stair, hugging the stone wall . . .

. . . which was when they felt the tower shake once, accompanied by a low growl and a brief flash of white light that splashed on the damp surface of the stones. Karl and Varina pressed their backs to the wall as voices called out in alarm. They heard the door to the tower open, felt the touch of night air and smelled the rain. "What in the six pits is going on?" a voice called out into the night. "Was that lightning?"

The response was unintelligible and long. They heard the door close, followed by the grating of a key in a lock mechanism. "What's the ruckus, Dorcas?" someone else called.

"Someone just tried to get in through the main gate-b.a.s.t.a.r.d used the Ilmodo. Took down both the doors. They think it might be a Numetodo. The commandant's locked us down; I'm to tell the others. No one in, no one out while cu'Falla investigates and gets some teni here from the temple. Got it?"

A grunt answered, and Karl heard footsteps on the stairs, fading quickly.

Karl nodded to Varina. They moved.

A triangle of yellow flickered on the stones of the landing; he could see a shadow moving in the pool of light. Karl closed his eyes momentarily, feeling the spells he'd prepared earlier coiling in his head. He stepped out: his hands already moving, the release word already on his lips as Varina slipped past him and darted up the steps toward the next landing. "Hey, what-" the garda said, but Karl had already spoken the word, and lightning flared from Karl's hand to slam the garda into the wall behind him. The man went down, unconscious, and Karl hurried forward. He started to follow Varina, but voices called to him from the trio of cells there. "Vajiki! What about us! The keys, man, the keys . . ." Hands reached out from barred windows in stout oaken doors.

He hesitated, and the calls continued, more insistent. "Let us out, Vajiki! You can't leave us here!"

Karl shook his head. Having the prisoners loose would only complicate things, make the situation more chaotic than it already was and possibly more dangerous: not all the prisoners in the Bastida were political, and not all were innocent.

He followed Varina up the stairs to curses and shouts.

Varina had already repeated the process on the second floor. "I'm about exhausted," she told him, visibly sagging against the wall. "I've only one spell left in me; I've been calling the spells up on the fly like a teni."

He nodded; he felt the same exhaustion, and there was little power left in him. "I'll take the next one. We need to have enough left when we get to the Regent." Together, they moved on to the third level, hurrying as quickly as they could. Sergei's cell, they knew, was on the fourth level, though as they approached the third level, they heard voices talking. "The commandant says that we're to bring you to him," someone-the one called Dorcas-was saying.

"He said he would come himself," Karl heard Sergei's voice protesting; the man's voice sounded alarmed.

"The commandant's rather busy at the moment."

"Give me my hands, at least. This stair . . ."

"Nah. The commandant said you were to be manacled . . ."

Karl saw a booted foot appear on the curving stair at nearly head level. He felt the roiling of the last remnants of the Scath c.u.mhacht in his head, and spoke the release word even as he stepped out from the wall; just behind him, he heard Varina do the same. Twin lightnings shot out, and the gardai holding ca'Rudka dropped. Sergei stumbled and went down, falling on the stair and nearly knocking over Karl. The second gardai-Dorcas, Karl a.s.sumed-remained standing, however; his sword hissed from the sheath, and he thrust at Varina, who clutched her arm and fell back. Sergei kicked at the man's knee; he howled and started to fall; Sergei kicked again, and Dorcas tumbled down the stairs headfirst. He didn't move again, his head bent at a terrible angle.

"I didn't think you were coming," Sergei said.

"I keep my promises," Karl told him. "Now, let's get out of here . . . Varina?"

She shook her head. Karl could see blood welling between the fingers she clutched to her arm, and he tore at his own clothing for a bandage. "I'll slow you down," she said. "Get going. I'll follow as fast as I can."

"I'm not leaving you here." He bound the wound with strips of cloth, tying them off tightly. Her face was pale, and there was more blood than Karl would have liked soaking her tashta. "I've nothing left of the Scath c.u.mhacht. You?"

She shook her head. As he knotted the bandages tighter, she grimaced.

Sergei was crouching alongside the garda. Karl heard the rattle of steel against steel and the jingle of keys, and Sergei pulled the manacles from his hand and tossed them on the stair. He took a rapier from one of the gardai.

"Take the one from the other garda," Varina said to Karl. "We might need it."

Karl shook his head. "Let's move," he said. They hurried down the stair, Karl helping Varina. He could feel her sagging, growing heavier in his arms and slower with each flight. The prisoners screamed and shouted as they pa.s.sed, shaking the bars of their cells, but Karl ignored them. They reached the ground floor, and-more slowly-started down the long curve to the lower level. Karl began to think that they would make it. They were nearly there. Varina shuffling behind him, Sergei ahead, they hurried down the short pa.s.sage to the main corridor. Two intersections, another turn and a short corridor, and they would be at the door that would lead them to the ancient, unused tunnel and their waiting boat.

"Stay with us, Varina," he said, glancing back at her. "We're almost there."

They managed only a few strides when a group of a half dozen armed gardai rushed into the corridor from the intersection ahead of them. "There! It's the Regent!" one of the garda called, and their leader-the slashes of his office on his uniform-turned. Karl knew the man, though the man was looking more at Sergei than him.

"I'm sorry, Sergei," Commandant cu'Falla said, and then his gaze moved to Karl and Varina. "Amba.s.sador, I'm afraid you and your companion have made a very bad mistake here. I'll see that she gets proper treatment for her wound. Sergei, put down your weapon. It's over."

"I might say the same to you, Aris," Karl said. "After all, you know what a Numetodo can do."

"And if you had spells left to you, you would already have used them," cu'Falla answered. "Or have I missed my guess?"

There was movement in the corridor behind the gardai; a figure in the torchlit dimness. Karl managed to smile. He held his hands wide. He could see some of the garda behind cu'Falla flinch, as if expecting the burst of a spell. "No," he told cu'Falla. "You've not missed your guess. Not for me."

The commandant nodded. "Then I'd suggest we make this easy for all of us," he said.

"I agree," Karl said. He looked past cu'Falla and the gardai, and the commandant started to turn his head. The spell hit them then: the air around the gardai flickered and snarled with lightnings. With cries of surprise and pain, they crumpled to the stone flags, the lightnings still crawling over their bodies, snapping and snarling. Behind them, Mika stood with hands extended. His body sagged as his hands dropped. "Regent," he said. "Pleased to meet you. Now, if you'll all hurry . . ."

Varina half-stumbled forward. She picked up cu'Falla's sword in her good hand and held the point at the commandant's throat. She looked at Karl. "He knows you," she said, blood streaking her cheek where she'd brushed her hands across her pale, drawn face. "He spoke your name."

"No." The response came from Sergei. He moved as if to take Varina's wrist, but she shook her head and pressed the sword forward, dimpling the flesh and drawing a point of red. Sergei looked at Karl. "He's my friend. If you do this, I won't go with you. I'll stay here. You'll have wasted everything."

Varina was staring at Karl, waiting. He shook his head to Varina, and she shrugged, letting the sword drop with a loud clatter to the flags. She swayed, then caught herself. "We're wasting time, then," she said.

Stepping past the p.r.o.ne bodies of the gardai, they ran.

Niente.

NECALLI HAD BEEN THE TECUHTLI since before Niente had been born. He knew the names of previous Tecuhtli, but only because his parents had spoken of them. It had been Necalli whose name was always roared at the Solstice ceremonies in the Sun Temples; it was Necalli who had sent the famous Mahri to the East after his visions had foretold the rise of the Easterners of the Holdings. It was Necalli who had responded to their cousins' pleas for help after the commandant of the Easterners had begun reprisals against those who lived beyond the coastal mountains. It was Necalli who had raised Niente up to become the new Nahual above all the other spellcasters, many of whom were older than Niente and were jealous of his quick rise. It was Necalli who had agreed to allow Niente to use the deep enchantments of the X'in Ka to snare the Holdings offizier's mind and send him back to the Easterners' great city as a weapon.

That spell had cost Niente more than he had antic.i.p.ated, wasting his muscles so that he still could not stand for long without needing to sit again. The effort had drained him so that the face that looked back at him from the water of his scrying bowl was lined and drawn like that of a person years older than him. He had paid the cost, as Mahri had many times in his days, but Niente would hate to see that sacrifice wasted.

Now he was wondering what the sacrifice had been for. "Strike the head from the beast, and it can no longer hurt you," Necalli had said. It was what Necalli had sent Mahri to do, but it seemed that the beast had instead consumed Mahri. Niente worried that this might be his own fate as well.

Most importantly, it was Necalli who had been the center of the Tehuantin world in the lifetime of most of those here. Niente could not imagine his world without Tecuhtli Necalli. All warriors must die, and the Tecuhtli not least among them. Yet Necalli had outlived all the sporadic challenges to his reign. Niente wished he could imagine him outliving this one as well.

But he had little hope.

Niente stood in the crowd lining the flanks of the Amalian Valley's green bowl, the easternmost of the sacred places of Sakal and Axat, his back against one of the carved stone plinths of the ball court and his hands folded over the k.n.o.b of his spell-staff. He stared down into the shadowed courtyard itself. Below them, Tecuhtli Necalli stood in his armor, a gleaming sword curving sunward from his aged but untrembling hand as he faced Zolin, a High Warrior of the Tehuantin forces and the son of Necalli's dead brother. Tecuhtli Necalli's face was dark with the tattoos of his rank, swirling around the features of his face as an eternal, fierce mask, but he was an old man now, his back bent forward, his hair stringy and white. Zolin, in contrast, was a chiseled, perfect image of a warrior.

The challenge had surprised everyone. Citlali, a High Warrior himself, was standing near Niente, and he snorted at the sight below them, as Necalli and Zolin began to slowly circle each other, as the warriors gathered around the court began to chant rhythmically, pounding the b.u.t.ts of their spears on the stones in time. The sound was like the hammer blows of Sakal when He carved the world from the sh.e.l.l of the Great Turtle. "Necalli goes back to the G.o.ds today," Citlali said. "May they be ready to receive the old buzzard."

"Why?" Niente asked. "Why did Zolin challenge his uncle? Tecuhtli Necalli hasn't lost a battle to the Easterners; rather, he's pushed them back toward the Inner Sea. The Garde Civile of the Holdings hasn't penetrated our own borders yet at all. The Tecuhtli might be old, but he's still a master of strategy."

"Zolin says the Tecuhtli has become timid in his dotage," Citlali answered. His own face was swirled with black lines dotted with searing blue circles. "He dances with the Easterners, but he hesitates to destroy them. He's become cautious and too careful. Zolin has no fear. Zolin will sweep the Easterners from our cousins' land entirely. He'll attack rather than merely defend."

"If he wins the challenge," Niente said.

"No one's stronger than Zolin. Certainly not Necalli-look, his muscles sag like an old woman's."

"Must strength always defeat experience?" Niente asked him, and Citlali laughed.

"You're the Nahual," Citlali said. "One day one of your nahualli will come to you and demand challenge, and maybe you'll learn the answer to that yourself. Tell me, Niente, are you afraid that because you were Necalli's Nahual that your status will change when Zolin becomes Tecuhtli?"

Niente had learned long ago that one never showed fear to a High Warrior. The Scarred Ones already considered the nahualli to be little more than a weapon given human form, and they had nothing but contempt for those they considered weak. Niente forced a grin to his face. "Not if Zolin has a brain to go with his strength."

Citlali snorted another laugh. "Oh, he has that," he said. "He learned from Necalli himself. Now it's time for the student to supplant the master, the son to replace his father's brother." Niente could feel Citlali staring carefully at Niente, his gaze sliding up and down his body. "You've been tired lately, and those are new lines on your face. You should be careful yourself, Niente. Necalli has used you badly, as he did Mahri. It's a shame."

Niente gave a careful nod. It was what he'd thought himself, more than once.

The chant and the pounding of the beat abruptly stopped. They could hear the forest birds settling again. The silence nearly hurt Niente's ears. Necalli and Zolin were two strides away from each other, in the center of the court.

Zolin roared. He charged. His sword flashed, but Necalli's sword came up at the same time, and the blades clashed loudly as the warriors shouted approval. For a moment, the two men were locked together, then Zolin pushed Necalli away, and the Tecuhtli retreated.

"You see," Citlali said. "As they are in battle, they are here. Zolin attacks, while Necalli waits."

"And if Necalli finds a flaw in Zolin's attack, or if Zolin is impatient-then it will be Necalli who is still Tecuhtli. There are advantages to waiting."

"We'll see who the G.o.ds favor then, won't we?" Citlali grinned. "Care to make a wager, Nahual? Three goats say that Zolin will win."

Niente shook his head; Citlali laughed. Below, Zolin feinted a new charge, and Necalli nearly staggered as he brought up his sword against the antic.i.p.ated strike. Zolin slid right, then quickly shifted left, his sword carving a bright line in the air. This time Necalli's response was late. Zolin's blade struck Necalli's body where the chest armor tied into the arm plates, slicing through the leather straps there and cutting deep into the shoulder of Necalli's sword arm. Necalli, to his credit, only grimaced as Zolin tore the sword out again, blood flying to spatter both of them. Zolin stalked Necalli as the Tecuhtli staggered backward, his armor dangling as he switched the sword into his left hand. Blood was pouring down Necalli's right arm, dripping from his fingers. Zolin cried aloud again, raising dust from his sandaled feet as he charged once more. Necalli brought his sword up, but the parry was weak, and Zolin's blade continued downward, tearing into the side of Necalli's bared skull and burying itself in the neck below his left ear. Zolin released the blade as Necalli dropped to his knees, his sword clattering onto the ground. For a long moment, Necalli swayed there. His left hand pawed ineffectually at the hilt of Zolin's sword. His eyes were widened as if he were seeing a vision in the air above him; his mouth opened as if he were about to speak, but only blood poured out.

He swayed hard to the right, and fell over. Zolin's roar was matched by the shouts of the thousands watching. Citlali screamed next to Niente. "Tecuhtli Zolin!" he shouted, raising a fist into the air. "Tecuhtli Zolin!"

Below, Zolin wrenched his sword from the body of Necalli. He thrust it high, and the shouting redoubled as he turned, looking up at those watching. His gaze seemed to find each of them, triumphant.

This time, Niente took up the cry, too. "Tecuhtli Zolin!" he shouted, raising his spell-staff toward the sky. But he stared more at the body of Necalli.

Nico Morel.

NICO WAS CONFUSED and scared by the commotion. Too much was happening too quickly. There'd been the furious knocking at the door, and the man who was watching him had made a strange motion with his hands before they'd heard the Amba.s.sador's voice on the other side. The door was flung open, and several people rushed in-they were half-carrying Varina, whose tashta was soaked with blood. Nico tried to run to her, but someone pushed him back on his crude bed with a snarl. There was lots of shouting and there were too many people in the small room. In the candlelight, everything was a confusion of shadows. He could only catch bits of what they were saying.

". . . need Karina; she has the healing talent . . ."

". . . can't stay . . . recognized us . . ."

". . . tell the others to make themselves scarce . . ."

". . . Garde Kralji will be out scouring already . . ."

". . . torture and kill any of us they catch . . ."

". . . the child has to go . . ."

Nico sat on his bed, wanting to cry but afraid that it would draw attention to him when he wanted nothing more than to be invisible. A face came out of the chaos and loomed over him: Karl. "We have to leave Nessantico," he told Nico. "Varina told you that, right? You'll be coming with me, Nico. We can't leave you behind, not with no one to look after you."

"I can stay in my old house," Nico said with a confidence he didn't feel. "Matarh would look for me there, or Talis. And I know the people who live in the other houses. I'll just stay here."

"We left a note for Talis in your rooms, telling him where you were," Karl said. "He didn't come."

"He'll come," Nico insisted. "He will."

The man looked as doubtful as Nico felt inside. "I'm sorry, Nico," he said. "But we need to go quickly, and you'll need to come with us."

Nico looked over Karl's shoulder toward the tumult in the room beyond. There were several people in the room, and he couldn't see Varina. "Is Varina going to die?" he asked.

"No." The man shook his head emphatically. "She's been hurt, but she's not going to die." Nico nodded. "Nico, you're going to need to be very brave, and very quiet. If we're found, well, Varina would die, and me, and maybe you as well. Do you understand?"

He nodded again, though he didn't. He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. "That's a good young man, then," Karl said, ruffling Nico's hair like Talis sometimes did, and Varina, too. Nico wondered why adults always did that when he didn't like it. He knew that Karl had children and great-children in Paeti-his matarh had once mentioned to Talis that the Amba.s.sador and Archigos Ana were "too close," so maybe those were the children of the Archigos. He imagined what it might have been like, to be a child growing up in the dark, cavernous confines of the temple, with the painted Moitidi fighting on the domes overhead and teni-fire blazing in the huge braziers around the quire.

"Nico! Come here." Karl was gesturing, and Nico went to him.

". . . the city gates will all be closed at any moment," a gray-haired man was saying, and Nico realized with a start that it was the Regent of Nessantico: it must be him, with that nose made of silver shining in the candlelight. Nico stared at it: he'd glimpsed the Regent a few times on the ceremonial days, sitting next to Kraljiki Audric as the royal carriage made its way around the Avi a'Parete. Nico couldn't understand why the Regent would be here, or how there could be danger if he was. Matarh had shivered when she talked about him, telling Nico tales about how the Regent had once been the commandant, and how he had tortured people in the Bastida. The Regent's face seemed more tired than dangerous right now. "Commandant cu'Falla knows the city as well as I do-I taught him-and that's a problem. He knows we need to get out, and he'll have people out looking for us." The Regent tapped his nose. "Some of us are far too recognizable."

"Then we avoid the gates," Karl said. "If we can cross the Avi near Temple Park, well, the old city walls are down there, and if we can get through the north neighborhoods into the open farmland during the night, there's a heavily-forested strip of land there, just about a league farther on in which we could stay during the day. Maybe go on to Azay, and . . ." The Amba.s.sador stopped, shrugging. "Then we do whatever we need to do. Right now, we're wasting time."

"Indeed," the Regent answered. "Can Varina be moved?"

"I can," Nico heard Varina say, though her voice sounded weak and trembling. He saw her then, sitting up in the bed and swinging her feet over the edge. The blood on her clothing was dark and wet-looking. "I'm ready. Just let me change my clothes." She waved a hand at them. "Go on, get out of here. Wait for me outside. I'll be just a mark of the gla.s.s."

"Come on, Nico," Karl said, nodding his head toward the door, but Nico shook his head, hugging himself.

"Let him stay," Varina said. "I'll bring him with me. Go on."

"All right," the Amba.s.sador replied, but he looked uncertain. "We'll wait in the antechamber. Hurry."

The men left, and Varina sank back on the bed for a moment, her breath quick and pained. She moaned as she sat up again, groaning as she tried to undo the ties of her tashta. "Nico," she said. "I need your help . . ."

He went over to her and undid the ties, fumbling with the knots and trying not to notice the blood that stained his fingers. She slid the tashta down to her waist, and he looked away quickly, blushing a bit, as she pushed herself one-handed to a standing position. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s under the binding cloth were smaller than Matarh's, and looking at them covered only by thin cloth made Nico feel strange. "There's another tashta in the chest at the foot of the bed," she told him. "A blue one; would you get it for me? That's a good boy."

He rummaged in the chest, the smell of sweet herbs tied in linen sachets filling his nostrils, and handed her the blue tashta. "Turn around a moment," she told him, and when he did he heard her soiled tashta slide entirely to the floor. He heard her pulling up the new tashta awkwardly with her injured arm, and when she cried out in pain, he quickly went to help her, pulling the ribbon binding tight under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tying the shoulder wraps and the back lacing. "There are bandages in the bottom drawer of the chest," she said. "If you could bring me some . . ."

He hurried to get them for her, rising with the white strips of soft cloth in his hands to see her unwrapping her arm. He gasped as he saw the deep, long, and jagged cut there, still oozing blood and gaping wide, the edges pulling apart even as he watched, so deep that he thought he saw white bone at the bottom. He gulped, feeling nauseous. "I know," she told him. "It looks bad, and I'm going to need to find a healer to sew it up. But right now, I need to tie a new bandage on this to keep it closed. I can't do it one-handed. Can you help me?"

Nico nodded, swallowing hard. As she directed him, he placed a folded pad of the bandages on top of the wound, then-as she pressed the edges together as well as she could-he wrapped the bandage around it. "As tight as you can," she told him. "Don't worry, you won't hurt me." She showed him how to tear the end of the bandage in two, then tie it off to hold it in place.

She was crying as he finished, looking at her hand as she tried to move her fingers. They moved, but slowly, and she couldn't bring her lower arm up. "It'll be better, Varina," he said. "It just needs time to heal."