"Tecuhtli, if we fall here, what good does that do our people to lose their Techutli and so many warriors and nahualli?"

"If we fall-and we will not, Nahual, if you have seen your vision correctly-then our people will find a new Techutli to lead them, and they will train new nahualli in the ways of the X'in Ka, and we will be remembered when Sakal takes us into His fiery eye. That is what will be done, no matter how very little you help. Are you are frightened, Nahual Niente? Does the sight of this Easterner army make the p.i.s.s run hot down your legs?"

Citlali and Mazatl laughed.

"I'm not frightened," Niente told them, and it was truth. It wasn't fright that churned his stomach, but a sense of inevitability. Axat was trying to warn him, but She would not make Her message clear enough, or perhaps he was so far from Her that the message was blurred and hard to discern. "Tecuhtli, whatever you ask me to do, I will do. When you ask me to interpret what I see in the scrying bowl, then I also do that."

Zolin sniffed. "Then this is what I tell you to do, Nahual. Fill your spell-staff. Prepare the black sand. Make your peace with Axat and Sakal, and you will walk with me into the Easterners' city-and beyond to the throne of their ruler."

Niente heard the words, and bowed his head in acceptance. The single ship, hurrying toward the setting sun . . . "I will do that, Tecuhtli," he said, the words heavy in his throat. "I will prepare the nahualli. Give me enough time, and I will do what I believe Axat wishes us to do."

Karl Vliomani.

ULY WASN'T AT THE OLDTOWN MARKET, though he had been. People remembered the scarred, tattooed foreigner, but they told Karl that man had packed his wares and cleaned out his stall only two days ago, the same day Kraljiki Audric had been a.s.sa.s.sinated. No, none of the owners of the stalls nearby knew where he'd gone, but (they said) there were a few people who had been buying his special fertility potion who might know.

Karl had hoped to confront this Uly and get to the truth of what had happened to Ana immediately. A new fire burned in his stomach. But the relief and closure wasn't to be immediate.

It took days.

Days which strained his newfound intimacy with Varina. Ana's ghost hovered between them, resurrected by Talis' presence and his tale, and Varina retreated from it and he could not push through the specter. She still would take his hand or brush her fingers over his face, but there was sadness now in her touch, as if she were stroking a memory. He would kiss her, but though her lips were soft and warm and he wanted to yield to them, the kiss was too fleeting and distant, as if he kissed her through an unseen veil.

Days in which he wondered whether to call the Numetodo back to the city, and decided it was still far too dangerous. Mika, hopefully, was with his family in Sforzia; let him stay there; let the rest of the scattered Numetodo remain hidden. Let the Numetodo House remain dark and empty.

Days in which the news seemed to grow steadily worse: Kraljica Sigourney's own horrible injuries, the rape and plunder of Karnor, a Westlander army on Nessantico's soil and their ships on the A'Sele's waters, the mustering of the Garde Civile, "recruitment squads" roaming the city scooping up men, sometimes (according to the rumors) whether they wished to serve or not. Karl was old enough that they weren't greatly interested in him, but Talis was not. He was increasingly confined to the house, and had to be careful when he ventured out to avoid the squads. Karl had his own difficulties-his face was certainly known to many of the Garde Civile, the Garde Kralji, and the teni, and he had to be careful to disguise himself before he ventured out, to change his distinctive Paeti accent, and to not let anyone look too closely at his face.

These were days where Karl found that, grudgingly, he found Talis to be more the person that Serafina claimed he was than the person Karl wanted him to be. He still didn't trust the man entirely, and he'd slept very little that first night, with Talis, Serafina, and Nico sleeping together in the same room as he and Varina. He'd watched the man carefully, especially the next morning, when the man cleaned the bra.s.s bowl in which they'd ignited the black sand, and-as Karl remembered Mahri doing-filled it with clean water and dusted it with another, paler powder. He opened the Second World then with a spell, and the bowl had filled with an emerald fog, light pulsing and shifting over the man's face as he stared, chanting, into the bowl's depths.

In the green light, he could see the fine wrinkles in the man's face, carving themselves deeper almost as he watched. Talis already appeared to be older than Serafina had said he was; Karl thought he knew why now: the Westlander's method of magic was costly to the user.

"Mahri used to say that he saw the future there," Karl said afterward, as Talis, exhausted and moving like an old man, poured the water into the flowered window box of the room. "He didn't seem to be very good at it, if he didn't see his own death."

Talis cleaned the bowl carefully with the hem of his bashta, not looking at Karl. "What we see in the scrying bowl isn't the future, but the shadows of possibility. We see likelihoods and maybes. Axat suggests what might occur if we follow a particular path. But there's never a guarantee." He placed the bowl back into the pouch he always carried. He gave Karl a quick smile. "We can all change our future, if we're strong and persistent enough."

Karl had sniffed at that. Talis had gone over to Nico then, and the two had tussled, laughing, while Serafina watched with a smile, and the love between the three of them had been palpable. He heard Varina pad barefoot into the room, her eyes dark with sleep. She was watching, too, and he could not tell what he saw in her face. She must have felt his stare, for she turned to him, smiled wanly, then turned her head away again. She folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself and not him.

Each day, Karl would go out to Oldtown Market, usually with Varina, hoping to find those elusive customers of Uly's and asking questions. After several fruitless days, it became more routine; they would occasionally take Nico with them, with the promise to Serafina that if they found Uly, they would not confront him.

It was nearly two weeks later when it happened.

"Oh, yes, the woman I told you about was just here," the farmer said as he placed a box of mushrooms in their place. "She's wearing a yellow tashta embroidered with a dragon down the front. She's probably still around; said she was looking for fish." He pointed to his left. "You might check at Ari's, just down there. He just brought in some trout from the Vaghian."

Karl heard Varina draw in her breath, saw her tighten her grasp on Nico. Karl nodded, tossed the man a folia, and pushed his way back into the slow crowds strolling the market's dirt lanes-almost all of them women or older men. They could smell the fishmonger's stall before they saw it, and Karl caught a glimpse of a yellow tashta there. "Karl?" Varina said.

"I'm just going to ask her. If she knows where Uly is, then we'll get Nico home first." He patted Nico's head. "Can't have your matarh upset with us, after all," he told the boy.

He left the two there, approaching the stall. The woman turned as Ari displayed a rainbow-scaled fish for her, and Karl saw the head of a dragon, purple smoke coiling from its mouth. He pushed forward until he was next to her. "Excuse me, Vajica," he said, "but if you can answer a question for me, I'll buy that fish for you." Before she could answer, he gave her the tale they'd rehea.r.s.ed, pointing back to Varina and Nico occasionally: how he was newly married, how his wife had a child by her previous husband and now they both wanted a child of their own but because they were both older now, they hadn't been able to conceive; how he'd heard that there was a foreign man named Uly who once had a stall here in the market who had been selling potions for just that problem, and that one of the sellers here had mentioned she might know where this Uly was. The woman looked from Karl to Varina and Nico.

She did know. "In fact, I just left him. In the Red Swan on Bell Lane, not five minutes from here. He'd just ordered a pint, so I expect he's still there."

Karl thanked her, paid the fishmonger for the trout without haggling, and returned to Varina and Nico. He crouched down in front of Nico. "Varina's going to take you home now, Nico," he said. He didn't dare look up at Varina-he could imagine the thoughts her face reflected. "I'm going to stay here a little bit longer."

Nico nodded, and Karl hugged the boy. "You two go on now," he said, rising.

"Karl, you promised . . ." Varina said.

"I'm not going to do anything," he told her, wondering if it was the truth. He told her what the woman had said. "I know where he is right now. All I'm going to do is follow him. I'll find out where he lives. Then we can figure out how to approach him."

He could see the disbelief in the way she bit her lower lip, in the hollowness of her eyes, in the slow shake of her head. She clutched at Nico. "You promise?"

"I promise," Karl said.

She stared at him, her head tilted to one side. "Come on, Nico," she said finally. "Let's go." Karl bent down and hugged Nico again, then-rising-Varina. That was like hugging one of the columns on the Archigos' Temple. He watched the two of them until they disappeared into the crowds of the market.

Bell Lane was a dirt-strewn alley a few blocks off the Avi a'Parete, only a few strides across and hemmed in closely with small shops of indeterminate purpose, and above them dingy, dark apartments. Its central gutter was filthy and wet with waste; Karl found himself walking carefully to avoid the worst of the messes. The Red Swan was set on a corner where the lane intersected a larger street leading up to the Avi, curls of old paint peeling from the signboard. Karl entered, the gloom inside making him pause to let his eyes adjust. The only light inside came through the cracks of the shutters and the guttering candles on a single chandelier and on each table. It was easy enough to find Uly once Karl could see in the dim light: a copper-skinned man with scars and tattoos over his face and arms.

Karl went to the bar and ordered a pint from the sour-looking barman, his back to Uly. The interior brightened suddenly as another person-a woman-entered the bar, and Karl shielded his eyes against the light.

He'd intended to do as he'd said to Varina: find Uly and follow the man until he found where he lived. But he watched the man sipping his pint, and images of Ana's sprawled, ruined body rose in his mind so that he could barely think at all, and a slow rage built in his belly, rising to his chest where it wrapped blood-engorged arms around his lungs and heart.

He swallowed half his beer at one draught. He picked up the beer and went to the Westlander's table.

"You're Uly?" he asked. He sat across from the man, who watched him carefully, as if ready to fight. Muscles corded and slid in his muscular arms, and one hand dropped below the table.

"And if I am?" he asked. His voice held the same accent as Talis', the same as Mahri's, though deeper and more p.r.o.nounced, so that Karl had to listen carefully to make out the words.

"I'm told you make potions. For fertility."

The man's chin lifted slightly and he seemed to relax. His right hand came back to the scarred, beer-ringed tabletop. "Ah, that. I do that, yes. You're in need of such?"

Karl shrugged. "Not that. But perhaps . . . something else. I have a friend; Talis is his name. He tells me you can provide me with something not to create life, but end it. Quickly."

He watched the man's face as he spoke. At the mention of Talis, one eyebrow had lifted slightly. A corner of Uly's mouth rose, as if he were amused. He rubbed at his scarred, black-lined skull. His hands were large, the skin rough, and a long scar ran across the back: trademan's hands. Or a soldier's. "Such a thing would be illegal, Vajiki. Even if it could be done."

"I'm prepared to pay well for it. Very well."

A slow nod. Uly picked up his mug and drained it in one swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's a fine day," the man said. "Let's take a stroll, and we can talk."

He rose-the rest of his squat body was as muscular as his arms-and Karl rose with him. As they came to the door of the tavern, a woman hurrying to the door b.u.mped into Karl, nearly knocking him into Uly. "Beg pardon, Vajiki," the woman said. Her face was streaked with dirt, dried snot rimmed her nose, and her breath was foul. She grabbed at Karl's hand and placed something hard in it. "For luck," she said. "You must keep it, and it will bring you good fortune, Vajiki. You make sure now. Keep it." She closed his fingers around it, and let him go, hurrying out the door. Karl looked at what the woman had put in his hand: a small, pale-colored pebble. Uly snorted laughter.

"The woman must have cobwebs for brains," he said. "Come on, Vajiki. Let's go."

Karl put the pebble in the pocket of his bashta and followed Uly out into Bell Lane, then across the larger cross street and down another curving alley. They were walking north, toward Temple Park. "An' what's your name, Vajiki, since you know mine?" Uly asked as they walked.

"Andus," Karl told him. "That's all you need to know."

"Ah, cautious, are we, Vajiki Andus? That's good. That's good. And who is it you're wanting dead?"

"That's my business, not yours."

"I hardly think so," Uly said, "since the Garde Kralji would come after me as well as you, and I've no interest in lodgings at the Bastida. I require a name from you, or we have no business at all."

"It's the Archigos," Karl told the man. "I understand you already have some experience with that."

He watched the man carefully, a spell ready to be released with a word and gesture. The man hesitated just slightly, a bare break in his step, but otherwise there was no response at all. He continued to walk on, and Karl had to hurry to catch up with him. The man's expression hadn't changed, nor had his demeanor. Karl waited for him to say something, his hand dropped to his side. They pa.s.sed a side alleyway . . .

. . . and Uly pushed hard at Karl, his thick hand trapping Karl's own even as he tried to bring it up, and Uly's other hand pressed over Karl's mouth, slamming his head hard against the stone foundation of a building. The impact took the breath from Karl and sent sparks flying through his head. Uly's knee rammed into his stomach. He retched, aware that he was falling. Something-a knee, a fist, he couldn't tell what, impacted the side of his head. He couldn't see, could barely breathe. He could feel the cold cobblestones under him, the filthy water pooled there.

"You're a fool, Amba.s.sador ca'Vliomani," Uly hissed. "Did you think I wouldn't recognize you?"

You're going to die. Now. It was a somber realization.

He could hear boots on the cobbles-a single set of footsteps, he realized-and he waited for the final blow to come. He heard a grunt, and a yelp of pain, and something heavy fell to the ground next to him. He felt a hand raise his head and fasten a hood over it so he couldn't see. The cloth smelled of old sweat. "Stay still and you won't be hurt," a voice said-not Uly's. Someone with the only the trace of some unidentifiable accent, neither deep nor high, so it was difficult to even determine the gender. "Take off the hood and you'll die." Something sharp pressed against his neck, and Karl hissed in antic.i.p.ation of the cutting stroke. "Nod if you understand."

Karl nodded, and the knife blade vanished. He heard more noise-like a slap, and a grunt that could only be Uly. "Answer me if you want to live," the voice said, though it wasn't addressing Karl. "You killed Archigos Ana, didn't you? You made the black sand."

"No," Uly began, then his voice cut off with a groan of pain. "All right, all right. Yes, I helped kill her. With the black sand. But it wasn't my idea. I just gave the man the stuff and told him how to use it. I didn't know what he intended to do with it. Ouch! d.a.m.n it, that's the truth!" So much for Uly's preference to die rather than talk, Karl thought. Perhaps Talis didn't know his warriors that well after all.

"Who?"

"I don't know-Ow! By Axat! Stop! He told me his name was Gairdi ci'Tomisi, but I don't know if that's his real name or not. Paid me well-that's all I knew or cared about."

There were more soft sounds, then a long wail that had to have come from Uly. The man was panting now, sobbing in pain, his breath fast and desperate. "Please. Please stop."

"Then tell me more about this man," the other voice said. "Quickly."

"Sounded like ca'-and-cu', the way he talked. Firenzcian, maybe, by the accent. Said he had 'orders' from Brezno, in any case. That's all I know. I made the stuff, gave it to him, and he left. I was as surprised as anyone when the Archigos was killed."

Karl desperately wanted to tear the hood from his face, to see what was happening, but he didn't dare. There were more sounds: a wet scuffling, a soft t-chunk, then a rustling. Someone pulled at his bashta, rummaging in his pocket. He thought he heard soft footsteps but with the pounding and ringing in his head they were faint enough that he couldn't be sure.

Then, for several breaths, there was nothing at all, only the distant sounds of the city. "h.e.l.lo?" Karl whispered. There was no answer. Carefully, Karl lifted his hands to the cloth wrapped around his head and pulled it away from his face. What he saw made him recoil backward.

Karl stared at Uly's body on the cobblestones, his throat slashed and blood sprayed over his clothes. His right eye was open to the sky, but covering the left was the stone the woman had given him in the tavern.

Allesandra ca'Vorl.

SEMINI TRIED TO CONTACT HER for several days afterward. Allesandra rebuffed his advances. She let his messages sit on her desk. When he sent his o'teni over to talk to her directly, he was told firmly by her well-instructed aides that she was in meetings and could not be disturbed. When Semini himself left the temple to see her, she made certain she was out of town with Jan, watching the muster of the troops.

When Semini-under the guise of working with the war-teni who were also mustering-came to the fields south of Brezno, there was, finally, no way to avoid him.

Semini was a green-clad, dark blot against the sun-washed whiteness of the tent canvas. Outside, the military encampment stirred in the morning: the clash of metal as the smithies worked on weapons, armor, and livery; the call of men; the shouted orders of offiziers; the general buzz of movement; the sound of feet marching in unison as squads drilled. Smells drifted in as Semini let the tent flap close behind him: the cook and campfires, the odor of mud churned by thousands of feet, and the faint stench of the ditches that served as latrines.

She was talking to Sergei ca'Rudka as she sat behind the field desk that had once been her vatarh's, the front panels painted with images of Hirzg Jan ca'Silanta's famous battles in East Magyaria. ". . . told the Hirzg and Starkkapitan to expect resistance as soon as we cross the border," Sergei was saying, and he stopped and turned as her gaze drifted over his shoulder toward Semini. "Ah, Archigos. Perhaps I should go."

"Come back after Second Call and we'll continue our discussion, Regent," she told him. Sergei bowed to her, rubbed at the reflective flank of his nose, and left the tent with a nod and the sign of Cenzi to the Archigos.

Semini seemed uncomfortable, as if he'd expected her to rise and embrace him as soon as the tent flap closed behind ca'Rudka. After a moment, he finally gave her the sign of Cenzi, shifting his weight as he stood in front of the desk like a summoned offizier. "Allesandra," he began, and she scowled.

"Anyone could be listening through the tent fabric. We are in public, Archigos Semini, and I expect you to address me properly."

She saw irritation quickly narrow his eyes at the rebuke. His lips pressed together under the roof of his mustache. "A'Hirzg ca'Vorl," he said, with deliberate slowness. "I apologize." Then, he dropped his voice to a low, rumbling near-whisper. "I hope that we might still talk openly. Francesca, she . . ."

Allesandra shook her head slightly; with the motion, Semini stopped. "I spoke with your wife," she said, with heavy emphasis. "The other night. We had a lovely chat. She seems to believe that you had something to do with Archigos Ana's death."

She hadn't really expected him to react; he didn't. He stared blandly at her. "I know you had some affection for the false Archigos," he said. "Given what happened to you, I can understand that. But Ana ca'Seranta was my enemy. I didn't mourn her pa.s.sing. Not in the slightest, and if my pleasure in her death offends you, A'Hirzg, then I have to accept that. I prayed-often-that Cenzi would take her soul, because the woman was wrong in her beliefs and she was largely responsible for the severing of the Faith and the break of the Holdings."

"She is also the reason I am who I am. Without her . . ." Allesandra shrugged. "I might not be here. Jan may never have been born."

"And for that, if nothing else, I gave her my prayers when she died." Semini took a step to the side of the field desk, then stopped. "Allesandra, what's happened between us? It's obvious you've been avoiding me. Why?"

"When were you going to tell me that it was you who ordered Ana killed? Or weren't you ever going to tell me?"

"Allesandra-"

"If you didn't do it, then deny it, Semini. Tell me now that it wasn't you."

She wasn't certain how she wanted him to answer. In the intervening days, she had-through the staff in the palais, through Commandant cu'Gottering of the Garde Brezno-performed her own investigation. The name of Gairdi ci'Tomisi had emerged, and she'd had Commandant cu'Gottering take the merchant, who happened to be in Brezno, to the Bastida for interrogation. Ci'Tomisi, under the Bastida's less-than-gentle persuasion, had poured out the entire story: how he served Firenzcia and Archigos ca'Cellibrecca as a dual agent, how he knew a Westlander in Nessantico who sold potions, how the man had told him about some powerful Westlander concoction, how the Westlander had demonstrated this "black sand" to him and how ci'Tomisi told his contacts in Brezno Temple about its power, and how word had come back (from 'the Archigos himself') that-if he were able to do so-a demonstration against the Nessantican Faith would be "interesting and much rewarded"; how he'd used his contacts in the Archigos' Temple in Nessantico to gain access at night; how he'd placed the black sand in the High Lectern and set a clock-candle burning within, the flame set to touch the black sand at the same time that Archigos Ana would be giving her Admonition.

Ci'Tomisi confessed in order to save his own life, blubbering and weeping. He'd succeeded, but Allesandra wondered if, in his filthy and dark cell in the bowels of the Bastida, he might be wishing he hadn't.

Allesandra was also aware that Semini would have realized that ci'Tomisi had been imprisoned and had probably talked. So she watched Semini, wondering what he would say, whether he would give her the lie and deny any knowledge of it, and how she should react if he did.

But he didn't deny it. "I am Archigos," he said. "I need to do what seems best for the Faith, and in my opinion, the Faith would stay as broken as Cenzi's world until that woman was gone."

With that, Allesandra's hand went to the cracked-globe pendant she wore, that Ana had given her. She saw Semini watching the gesture. "Cenzi would have taken her," Allesandra said. "In His own time. And if He did not, why should you act for Him?"

He had the grace and humility to look down at the carpeted gra.s.s that was the tent's floor. "Cenzi often requires that we act for Him," he answered finally. "There was . . . a sudden opportunity, one that presented itself all unexpected and would not point back to Firenzcia, but to either the Numetodo or the Westlanders. Is that any more wrong than someone in the Holdings sending the White Stone to kill Fynn?" He stared at her.

Allesandra felt a quick stab of guilt. She pressed her lips tightly; Semini seemed to interpret the gesture as annoyance.

"I had to act immediately or not at all," Semini continued. "I prayed to Cenzi for guidance, and I felt I was answered. And at the time, A'Hirzg, you and I were not . . ." He let the next word hang there, silent. He continued, but his voice was now a husk, barely audible. "Had we been, Allesandra, I would have sought your advice and taken it. Instead, I asked your vatarh, who was very ill already, and your brother."

"You're telling me Vatarh knew? And Fynn? They also approved of this?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Allesandra." The regret in his voice seemed genuine. His hands were lifted, as if asking for absolution, and there was a moistness in his eyes that caught the sun filtering through the canvas. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Had I realized how much the act would hurt you, if I'd known what it would do to us, I would have stopped it. I would have. You must believe that."

"No," she told him, shaking her head. Semini. Fynn. And Vatarh. All of them, approving of the death of the woman who kept me alive and sane. "I don't have to believe that at all. You would say that whether it's the truth or not."