"Stay here," said Eloquet. He leapt from the wagon.

"What's going on?" said Satterly.

Eloquet returned. "The Royal Guard has set up roadblocks at the City Center entrances. They must be looking for us. Come on."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Elice. "I think I made a mistake."

"Quiet, girl," Raieve said, a knife instantly at the girl's throat. "If you whine your regrets too loudly, you could get us all killed."

"Come on!" whispered Eloquet.

They climbed from the rear of the wagon, Raieve holding Elice at knifepoint. Their wagon was in a line of similar conveyances on a wide cobblestone road. The road passed through tall housing blocks as it descended to the City Center district. At an archway ahead, eight or ten soldiers of the Seelie Army were stopping and inspecting each cart. Mounted cavalrymen passed through the archway and peered down into the vehicles in line.

Eloquet led them silently through an alley and into a side street. They clung to doorways and dark alleyways as much as possible, Eloquet and his men consulting at each corner.

After a few tense minutes they seemed to find what they were looking for. It was a square grate set into the cobblestones, an arm's length across. One of Eloquet's men produced a hardened silver bar from his cloak and set about prying off the grate. A fetid odor of stagnation and urine emanated from the grate.

"Is that what I think it is?" said Satterly.

"Only if you think it's a sewer," said the man with the prying bar.

Elice reared back in Raieve's grip. "I am not going down there," she said.

"Have you ever had one of your fingers cut off?" Raieve asked her.

The girl shook her head, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"If you'd like to keep it that way, I suggest you remain silent from now on."

They descended into the sewer, lowering themselves through the grate. They dropped into a wide rounded tunnel, large enough that they were able to walk double file. There was a low rush and a cold breeze that followed the course of the frigid, ankle-deep water in the passage.

"Where are we going?" asked Mauritane. "If the City Center is cordoned, it would seem foolish to go there of our own accord."

"We're not going to the City Center," said Eloquet, but he would say nothing else.

The tunnel began to seem endless. It was broken every hundred paces or so by grates identical to the one they'd crawled through. Every so often, a pail of refuse was thrown through a grate, falling on one or more of them. They trudged farther and farther, always descending, following the current. Walking in water, even as shallow as it was, was tiring, and within minutes even the most fit among them were huffing.

Finally the tunnel leveled off, and the flow of water was diverted down a smaller opening. Grateful, they walked along a dry channel for what seemed like hours but was probably not more than half of one. Their footsteps echoed sharply in the corridor; that and their breathing were the only sounds. Mauritane felt, and assumed the others felt, that it would be somehow dangerous to speak here, even though there was probably not much danger from the Seelie Army by now.

The tunnel began to climb again, and a new flow of water began; now they climbed against it. The smooth walls of the tunnel disappeared and they began walking through what looked like a natural cave. Icy water dripped from the walls and the ceilings, and the air was colder by several degrees. Once they passed the final grate in the artificial tunnel, the light faded to blackness.

"Did anyone think to bring a torch?" came Silverdun's voice. "I'd use witchlight, but the troops up there could be using sniffers."

As if in answer to his question, sparks of flint against silver chimed in the darkness, revealing Eloquet, crouching against the breeze with a tiny lamp cradled in his arms.

Eloquet managed to light his lamp. He was rising when the tunnel floor suddenly jerked out of the earth and slammed back into place. Only Mauritane remained standing; everyone else was pitched to the floor of the tunnel as a grinding roar filled their ears, passing over them like a physical force. Mauritane could feel the shaking in his teeth and his gut. Somehow Eloquet's lamp remained lit throughout, and the cave was a flickering scene of confu sion as the wall of sound passed over them, the sides and floor of the passage shuddering in its wake.

"What's going on?" cried the girl.

"Earthquake," said Raieve.

"We don't have earthquakes this far north," said Eloquet.

"What then?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I no longer trust this passageway. Let us be on our way, and quickly."

Except for a bit of fallen debris and a great deal of dust, they managed the remainder of the tunnel without incident. It rose ever more steeply until it reached a grate the height of a man, set in a square opening cut into the rock. Water poured out through the grate in a steady rush.

"What now?" said Raieve.

Eloquet knelt and felt for something on the floor of the tunnel, his hands reaching down into the black water of the cave. He found something and tugged. A thick chain lifted out of the water and a wooden hatch followed, covered in loose stones and muck. It rose at an angle to the flow of the water, and the diverted stream found its way through the hatch and below.

"We go down," said Eloquet.

There was a ladder of bronze set into the walls of a vertical shaft. Eloquet went first, and the rest of them followed, with Eloquet's soldiers taking up the rear. Elice squealed when the water poured over her face but said nothing.

Another natural chamber lay below. The water from the hatch above, stemmed once the hatch was closed, broke into rivulets and disappeared among the rocks. At the top of the inclined floor of the chamber, a pair of heavy doors was set into the wall.

As they approached, the door opened. A tiny man wearing a pink robe stepped into view. His head was shaved bald and he wore a long beard that trailed beneath his shoulders.

"Greetings," he said. "My name is Vestar, and I am the abbot here. Welcome to the Temple Aba-e."

above sylvan.

Come in quickly," said the abbot. "Your arrival coincides with a great 'turmoil."

"What was that shaking?" said Eloquet. "What happened?"

"We do not know," the abbot said. "Please, quickly."

They were led through a series of passageways, all filled with men and women in pink and white robes, moving quickly, their eyes down. No one spoke, but there was great industry and efficiency in their motions. The passageways were high and wide, generous light given off by kerosene sconces set at regular intervals. They passed an enormous kitchen, pouring out steam and cooking smells. Beyond that was a chapel and halls filled with what appeared to be sleeping quarters.

"My cell is small," said the abbot. "Eloquet and Mauritane, come with me. The rest of you wait here, please." He indicated a large sitting room for Eloquet's men and Mauritane's companions and led the two men down a side hallway. He stopped at a door that looked like any of the others.

Inside there were only a small cot, a pair of simple chairs, a bureau, and a wooden writing desk holding a gas lamp and some papers.

"You know me," Mauritane said to the abbot.

"I've known of you for some time," said Vestar, his eyes cool. "You are a hero among Aba's children."

When Mauritane did not respond, the abbot continued. "An unwilling one, no doubt, but the hero is a creation of the beholder, not the beheld."

"What's happening outside, Vestar?" said Eloquet. "When we descended, there were patrols surrounding the City Center. And now this great shaking."

"Polthus has been sent up to determine the answer to your question. I expect him any moment. Please, won't you two have a seat?"

Vestar sat on the edge of the cot, his hands in his lap. Mauritane and Eloquet took the chairs.

"They are preparing another offensive," said Eloquet.

Vestar nodded. "I believe so as well, but we must not make hasty assumptions. Aba always allows for redemption, even among the Fae nobility."

He smiled. "I am only teasing."

"What next?" said Mauritane.

Vestar regarded him silently, the calmness of his gaze soothing Mauritane's nerves. "That depends on you," he said. "What is your purpose in Sylvan?"

"I am on an errand for Her Majesty."

Vestar nodded. "You remain loyal to the crown. Loyalty can be an admirable trait. You should not, however, confuse loyalty with faith."

Mauritane's eyes widened. "I once had an instructor who said the same thing about loyalty and trust."

"True," said Vestar, smiling. "They are not the same. Trust, loyalty, and faith. They are all different. But which is most valuable?"

They were interrupted by a knock on the cell door. "Enter," said Vestar.

A pudgy boy with a clubfoot opened the door and bowed toward the abbot. "The news is not good, abbot. The earthquake has caused a lot of damage in the city below. There are fires in the City Center. Some of the people have begun to riot against the Seelie soldiers and Royal Guardsmen."

Vestar closed his eyes, his fingers reaching for the prayer beads around his neck. "Is there a way in which peace may be restored?"

Mauritane stood and paced. "With Kallmer in charge of the Guardsmen, anything is possible. He's reckless and won't see anything wrong with using excessive force to subdue the populace. Who is the Seelie Army commander here?"

"Prae-Alan," said Eloquet, spitting the name like a curse.

Mauritane nodded. "A harsh man but an intelligent one as well. He'll remain calm during this. Kallmer, though, may panic."

"Mauritane," said Eloquet, "there are over thirty rebel cells out there. They are all prepared for aggression. If the soldiers begin firing on the crowd, they will defend Sylvan."

"How many in each cell?"

"They range from eighty to a hundred men and women."

Mauritane did the math. "And the Seelie contingent?"

"The last count was a thousand men, but they are far better armed. New forces seem to arrive with each passing day."

"This is odd," said Mauritane. "When I was arrested, there were no plans to wage an offensive of any kind against the rebels. Such campaigns take months to plan. Why now? What has changed?"

"There have been several visible Arcadian converts within the City Emerald," said Vestar. "Would that be enough to provoke this?"

"Arcadianism does not necessarily imply support for the rebels."

"True."

"I think there is more to it than that," said Mauritane finally. "Something else is going on here."

"Perhaps we should go above and see for ourselves," said Eloquet.

"Let's do that," Vestar said.

They stood in one of the great archways of the temple's open tier. From the archway the entire city was visible, a great bowl of mayhem. Fires had spread in three different places in the city. At the outskirts of the City Center, the Seelie Army waged an unsuccessful attempt to rout a throng of peasants that crowded the streets, hanging from windows and lampposts. Their shouts reached as high as the temple. Elsewhere, once-tall buildings lay in ruins, ant-sized Fae climbing over the wreckage.

"I am touched by a deep sadness," said Vestar. "Eloquet, is there nothing that can be done? Will your people work with the Seelie to restore peace to our city?"

Eloquet frowned, lines crossing his forehead. "I could order my own men to do so, but the cells are decentralized. There is no hierarchy of leadership. They all act independently, as we do."

As they spoke, a column of mounted men in gray cloaks appeared on a bluff just below the bridge that led to the temple. They were positioned at the flank of the Seelie soldiers who fought to contain the chaos in the City Center.

Eloquet strained to recognize them. "I can't see who it is. Perhaps Melnan's cell. I can't tell."

The riders began to descend the bluff; an instant later their battle cries reached the ears of Mauritane, Eloquet, and the abbot. The Seelie were caught utterly unprepared. The rebels swarmed into their ranks, hacking and slashing with a ferocity that was visible even from such a great distance. Within a few moments, most of the Seelie had been slaughtered. The few remaining attempted to retreat into the crowd.

Mauritane was unsure which side he ought to be cheering for. Either way, he was deeply concerned. Something had just begun that could not easily be undone.

"Are you and your people safe here?" asked Mauritane.

"It is difficult to say," said the abbot. "Do you think the fighting will come to the temple?"

"Better to plan for rain and remain dry either way," said Mauritane.

Vestar said, "I will leave such things to you and to Eloquet. I ask only that you do what you can to prevent a full-scale war; that is more important even than the safety of the temple. As the prophet says, no war is holy."

"But, Vestar. The temple ..." Eloquet began.

"Is only a building. And we are only servants."

"You are the chief abbot for the entire region. You are irreplaceable!"

"No, it only means that I am chief custodian. It is a job anyone can do. But we have gotten ahead of ourselves. We do not even know if our friend Mauritane will assist us."

Mauritane was confused. "Why wouldn't l?"

"You have pressing business elsewhere. Your duty to your Queen."

"If I can help here, then I am doing my duty to my Queen."

Vestar nodded. "Even if your mission fails?"

Mauritane thought back to the Chamberlain's letter. "Failure is death," it had read. He had no doubt what would become of him if he were not in the City Emerald on time.