"There's nothing here," Yohan objected. "Buildings and people. They've sprawled over everything. There's nothing left for a guardian."

"Urik. Urik's here. Urik's unique."

Pavek stood up. He pressed his palms against the wall of House Escrissar and closed his eyes. The presence was there: Urik, far older than the sorcerer-kings-ma.s.sive, and powerful. It rose to meet him, and he stepped back, letting the power subside once he had sensed what he needed, and nothing more.

"She is here."

The smoothed and painted plaster of the templar quarter facades did not extend to the midden shafts, where unfinished brick provided a mult.i.tude of handholds for three men climbing to the roof. Like most wealthy Urik residences, House Escrissar was built around a courtyard filled with fruit trees, fragrant flowers, fountains, and pools, and lined from ground to roof with an arbor of berry-vines. The courtyard was quiet except for the fountains. It was dark, too, with only a faint dappling of light seeping through the tracery of a few of the many rooms that faced the courtyard. It was also deserted-or so Pavek devoutly hoped. Neither experience nor logic suggested where they should lower themselves from the roof to the upper story of living rooms, but, having come further and survived longer than any of them had expected, they grew more cautious with each pa.s.sing moment.

"Are you certain?" Yohan asked when Pavek hoisted his leg over the bal.u.s.trade.

"I think she's here. I think she's alive. I think this is the way. But I'm not certain of anything. Pick some other place, if you want. This is the way I'm I'm going." going."

And the way Ruart and Yohan followed: swinging down from the roof into the vine arbor whose support slats sank ominously beneath both him and the dwarf. For several moments, they paid more attention to their footing, then Pavek heard an all-too-familiar voice: "...Now or later, my dear lady, dead or alive. It makes no difference to me, but I will have will have your secrets. Your guardian can protect your past; I possess your present and your future. Remember that each time you resist." your secrets. Your guardian can protect your past; I possess your present and your future. Remember that each time you resist."

Silence followed and a sense that the night had become darker. Pavek caught Yohan's arm as he surged toward the voice they'd heard.

"She's there. I have to go to her-" Yohan's tone was urgent, mindless.

Pavek could scarcely restrain him. "Do you want to get us all killed? Or die in front of her? Or do you want to get her out?"

The dwarf relaxed. "Get her out."

"Then we've got to wait."

Yohan seemed resigned until Akashia screamed. "I can't wait. He's hurting her. I can't resist-"

"She is. She's resisted since you left her, and she'll go on resisting until we get her out!" we get her out!"

"It's that window, there," Ruari softly interrupted them. "I can climb and look through the tracery and see what we're up against. I'm light enough."

In the thin light, he could see that the youth had stripped himself of anything that might jangle or snag, and without either him or Yohan noticing. They'd been distracted, of course, but so was Elabon Escrissar.

"Go ahead," he said, giving Ruari's arm a light, well-meaning nudge for confidence's sake.

"Go with Rkard," Yohan said more soberly. The next moments were the longest of Pavek's life. Akahia moaned, Escrissar taunted, and Ruari had completely disappeared. Someone wearing a yellow robe and carrying a lamp came and stood not an arm's length away in a corridor in the other side of the tracery that supported the berry arbor. Pavek held his breath until his lungs were burning.

The templar went away. Ruari returned.

"It's a small room with one door," he whispered. "Kashi's bound on a bench with cushions. He doesn't touch her, just stands there behind his long black mask, clicking his long black claws against each other-"

"He's an interrogator," Pavek interjected. "He doesn't need to use his hands."

And Yohan quietly swore a b.l.o.o.d.y vengeance.

"There's someone else in the room. Shorter and standing in the shadows. I couldn't see him clearly. But I think he's wearing a mask, too."

"The halfling. His face is covered with scars; it looks like a mask. Anyone else? Any guards? Templars?"

"Kashi and two men wearing masks. That's all I saw. What do we do now?"

"We wait. He's an interrogator, one of the best. They make the prisoners do the hard work. He'll leave her alone so she can think about what he's done, and what he's going to do. We'll move while he's resting, and she's helpless."

"You're beasts, all templars, every last one of you," Yohan murmured. "Worse than beasts. You've got no conscience."

Pavek didn't argue.

They waited, listening, hoping Escrissar would end the torment for the night, and expecting that the midnight gong would strike at any time. Getting through the streets to the wall-pa.s.sage would be much more difficult and dangerous after curfew. Then, without warning, the moment came: the light in Akashia's prison dimmed through the tracery and two black-robed men, one quite tall, the other noticeably shorter, came along the corridor. They held their breaths and looked away, lest a flash of light reflecting off an open eye would give them away.

"Let's go."

The lightweight tracery panels of precious wood came out easily. They moved into the corridor. Pavek and Yohan unsheathed the long obsidian knives Telhami had provided for them. Ruari, who admitted no skill with edged weapons but claimed to have learned something about picking locks from his elven relations, went a half-step ahead. The mechanical lock was simple and the door flimsy enough that they could have battered it down with little trouble, but Ruari was quieter and almost as quick. Using a fragile contraption of straw and sinew, he eased the bolt free. It struck the floor behind the door with a thunk thunk that common sense insisted was no where near as loud as it seemed to three jittery men in the corridor. that common sense insisted was no where near as loud as it seemed to three jittery men in the corridor.

Ruari reached for the handle. Both Pavek and Yohan grabbed him before he clasped it and pulled him aside. The door swung toward them of its own weight. Standing out of harm's way, Pavek caught the handle with the tip of his knife. He let it swing open.

"Kashi?" he whispered.

"Pavek!"

The voice was feminine, but the woman who came out of the room with a short-sword in her hand wasn't Akashia.

"Dovanne." The only light came from a oil flame inside the room, but Dovanne with her cropped hair and serpent-circled arm was unmistakable.

She'd been the lamp-bearing templar who'd gone down the corridor. He hadn't seen her face or her arm. Still, if they had to face a templar guard, she was the best they could have hoped for. Dovanne took one look at him and came on guard behind her sword. She didn't care about Ruari and Yohan dashing past to rescue Akashia. She didn't care about anything except spilling his guts on the floor and wouldn't sound an alarm or call for help until she was finished with him.

Dovanne, being smaller, had a slight advantage in the confined s.p.a.ce of the corridor, but otherwise they were evenly matched. Her iron sword had a guard that offered some protection for her wrist. It also had a curved blade and had been sharpened along the outer edge only. His obsidian knife was a composite weapon, cheaper than metal, but every bit as deadly, with curved wedges of sharp black gla.s.s carefully fitted into a straight, laminated wood-and-sinew blade. It was long as her short-sword, had a naked hilt, and was razor-sharp along both edges and at the point.

She feinted first, a probing cut toward his weapon-side wrist. He parried and she withdrew. The blades sang-gray metal against gla.s.sy stone-but softly: neither of them wanted to attract attention. He dropped his guard two hand-spans, inviting an attack. She remembered that move from the countless times they'd bouted against each other while they were friends.

"Take a chance," he taunted in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "You always said I was slow."

Yohan and Ruari had gotten Akashia unbound and were trying-without much success by the sound of it-to get her on her feet. Dovanne heard the same sounds and belatedly realized what was happening in the room, what would happen to her if she failed her duty to Escrissar.

Beginning her attack with a low slash to his off-weapon thigh, which he had to parry, Dovanne tucked and rolled into Akashia's room-"Yohan!" he shouted as loudly as he dared. She came up to her feet with the sword poised for a downward slice- Into Yohan's obsidian blade as Pavek came through the door.

He knew her well enough to see the thoughts forming behind her eyes: two against one. She was going to call for help.

"This one's mine," he announced, beating Yohan's knife aside with his own and praying that the dwarf would guess the strange rules of this particular game.

It didn't really matter whether Yohan understood or not, he was interested in Akashia, not Dovanne.

Dovanne tried another attack when the dwarf turned his back, but Pavek was waiting. They traded feints and insults.

The room was bigger in all dimensions than the corridor, despite being crowded. The advantage swung to him, and he made his first serious attack: a quick beat against her blade then a thrust at the soft flesh below her ribs. She countered fast enough to make him miss, and they sprang apart.

There was movement at Pavek's back: a loud-oooff-as Yohan scooped Akashia over his shoulder, effectively removing himself from any possible defense or attack as he scurried toward the door. Dovanne could see them better than he could, but he could see the desperation take command of her face. Ruari had Yohan's knife, but anyone with half the experience he or Dovanne had could see that the half-elf didn't know which end to point into the wind.

Desperation called Dovanne's shots: One all-out attack against him. If she nailed him, she'd have the other two, hands down. She'd come out of this a hero.

He saw the feint coming and parried with the middle of his blade, leaving the point in line. She came low with a counterparry, trying to get under his guard for an upward slash at his groin. But he was ready with a thrust. He gave the hilt a twist as the point pierced her skin and pushed the blade through to her spine.

"Pavek..."

Her knees buckled, the sword-as fine a weapon as was likely to come his way-slipped from her hand. He released the obsidian knife's hilt; she fell to the floor, and he picked up the metal sword.

"Pavek..." She held out her serpent-wrapped hand.

The wound was mortal; he knew the signs. He had her weapon, and she wasn't going to do anything treacherous with his. For the sake of the past, he bent down and took her hand. She squeezed with uncanny strength, trembled and grimaced as she pulled her head and shoulders up. He dropped to one knee and laid the sword down, thinking to put his arm behind her neck as she said her dying words.

A gob of b.l.o.o.d.y spittle struck his cheek, and she went limp.

He retrieved the sword and wiped his face on his sleeve, then he hurried down the corridor to give his companions a hand lifting Akashia to the roof.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"There's no way," Pavek muttered, shaking his head. Still in the templar quarter, on a street not far from House Escrissar, he huddled with Ruari and Yohan, Akashia slumped against his side, barely able to stand, oblivious to him and everything else. Yohan had carried her down the side of House Escrissar; the dwarf would carry her forever if he had to, but he couldn't carry her out of the city, at least not the way they'd entered it: the pa.s.sage was too narrow, too low, with too many tight corners.

"She's got to walk on her own."

Neither Ruari nor Yohan answered, there being no reply to the obvious. He steadied Akashia with his hands on her shoulders, then stepped back. She tottered once from side to side, then her knees gave out completely, and she would have fallen if he hadn't gotten his arm around her quickly.

"What's wrong with her?" Ruari demanded.

"You're the druid. You tell me," he replied, sharper than necessary, sharper than he'd intended.

His nerves were raw. They'd had no trouble-yet-other than the obvious problems Akashia herself had given them, and Yohan had wrestled successfully with those-so far. He didn't trust luck, not at times like this.

The quarter echoed with the clang of brazen gongs, but: those were only domestic gongs summoning household members home from their evening activities before the great city curfew gong struck at midnight. House Escrissar itself remained dark and quiet, unaware, it seemed, that a woman lay dead on an upper-room floor and the prisoner she'd guarded was missing.

For all Pavek had a dozen worries about Akashia, it was Dovanne's face that loomed behind his eyes: her face twisted with mortal pain and hate the instant before she died, and her face as it had been years ago. He told himself he had no regrets, that Dovanne certainly wouldn't let his dying eyes haunt her, if events had gone the other way. They'd had no choice tonight or ever, either of them.

But he still couldn't get that look out of his mind.

"I said: I'm no healer!" Ruari's hand struck his arm, demanding attention. "Wind and fire, Pavek, you're not listening. What's wrong with you you?"

He truly hadn't heard the words the first time Ruari must have said them, but something in the words-or tone-of the repet.i.tion penetrated Akashia's mindless daze. She whimpered and buried her face against his neck, but when he put his other arm around her, she stiffened, then began to tremble.

His own helplessness in the face of Akashia's need drove Dovanne at last from his consciousness, replaced her death-mask with a black mask and talons. He'd come back. Escrissar would answer for what he'd done.

But first they had to get Akashia out of Urik.

"Pavek!"

"Nothing. I'm trying to think."

"Think fast," Yohan suggested. "Curfew's going to ring soon. Inside or out, we can't be here when it does. Don't suppose you had any friends who might do you a favor? A woman, maybe?"

Dovanne returned, hard and angry, and remained with him until he shook his head so vigorously that Akashia's trembling intensified, and she clutched his shirt in fists so cold he could feel the chill through the coa.r.s.e cloth. Telhami could heal her, he was certain of that, but getting her to Telhami wasn't going to be easy.

He saw no other choice except to go to ground for the night and hope that sleep and food-which they could buy in the morning market-would restore her enough to make the rest of the journey possible.

But go to ground where? The places of his life: the orphanage, the barracks, the archives, and even the customhouse paraded themselves before his mind's eye. Of those, the customhouse, with its myriad maze of storerooms, might be a last-chance refuge-a very last chance.

There was Joat's Den, near the customhouse, where he'd done his after-hours eating and drinking, but Joat wasn't a friend to his customers, and the Den stayed open well past curfew. Besides, there was a reason he'd spent his off-time at Joat's: they couldn't go there without being seen by the very templars whose attention they were determined to avoid.

There was one other place, filled with such mixed memories that he'd forgotten it entirely, even though it was where he'd spent his last night in Urik: Zvain's bolt-hole beneath Gold Street, near Yaramuke fountain. Considering his leave-taking, Zvain was likely to be less a friend now than Joat, but he would would take them in-if only because with Yohan and Ruari beside him, they would be three against one. take them in-if only because with Yohan and Ruari beside him, they would be three against one.

And maybe tomorrow he could complete the circle by taking Zvain out of Urik with them. There were four kanks; they could do it- "Now, Pavek. Now!" Now!"

"All right. right. I've... thought of a place. We'll be safe there." I've... thought of a place. We'll be safe there."

Yohan took Akashia in his arms and lifted her to his shoulder. "Where? How far?"

"A bolt-hole under Gold Street." He started walking. "Belongs to an orphan I knew-" He was going to say more, then reconsidered. "He'll take us in, that's all."

Three disparate men marching through the streets with a human woman draped over a dwarf's shoulder wasn't uncommon in a city where marriage was frequently a matter of slavery or abduction. They drew a few stares, but the people who stared were hurrying home, even here in the templar quarter, and not inclined to ask any questions.

They had an anxious moment at the gate between the templar quarter and the rest of the city, but apparently no respectable household had reported a missing young woman. Pavek's explanation that his sister had run off with the wrong man-along with a hasty shower of silver from Yohan's coin pouch-saw them into the next quarter of artisans and shopkeepers with nothing more than a warning to be off the streets by curfew.

The alley where the Gold Street catacomb began had taken a beating in the most recent Tyr-storm. Most of the debris had been scavenged clean, but larger chunks of masonry covered the cistern that, in turn, had covered the catacomb entrance.

Pavek swallowed panic-he hadn't considered what the storm might have done to Zvain's bolt-hole; hadn't, he realized gazing on this small disaster, truly considered what might have happened to Zvain, either. But the catacomb would have survived-the bakery attached to the alley made more money renting s.p.a.ce dug out from its cellar than it made from its ovens, and Zvain... Zvain had managed before he'd arrived-he'd have survived his leaving as well.

Pavek glanced around quickly and spotted another cistern. It proved empty and fastened to a slate slab. He had them underground before anyone else realized things weren't quite the way he'd expected them to be.

By night the catacomb was as dark as the Dragon's heart They stumbled into each other, the walls, and the occasional door. There were dozens of people living here, all aware that strangers walked among them. Whispers and warnings disturbed the still air, but no one interfered. Still, Pavek stifled a relieved sigh when he finally felt the familiar wickerwork patterns beneath his fingers.

"Zvain?"

Nothing. He waited and whispered the name again.

Still nothing.

The bolt-hole might belong to someone else entirely; Zvain might have found a better place to live-he certainly hoped that was the case, but it was equally likely the boy's luck had gone bad rather than better.

It didn't matter. The curfew gong would clang any moment now. There was no place else for them to go. Pavek drew his sword-Dovanne's sword; and a loud, unmistakable sound in the darkness-then, squeezing the latch-handle from habit more than hope, put his weight against the flimsy door.

The latch-bolt hadn't been thrown; the door swung wide into a quiet, apparently empty room.

The bolt-hole was musty with the smells food made if it dried out before it completely rotted. Food... or bodies.