A moment later, he spit it back out, reaching frantically for the water jug. Abban laughed and kicked his feet.

"Are you trying to poison me?" Arlen demanded, but his anger dissipated when Abban held up his own cup and drained it.

"What in the Core is that foul brew?" he asked.

"Couzi," Abban said. "Made from distilled fermented grain and cinnamon. By Everam, Par'chin, how many casks of it have you lugged across the desert without having a taste?"

"I don't drink the merchandise," Arlen said. "And for the ledger, it tastes more like a flame demon's spit than cinnamon."

"It can double as lamp oil," Abban agreed, smiling. He refilled Arlen's cup and handed it to him. "Best to drink the first one quickly," he advised, refilling his own cup, "but by the third, all you'll taste is the cinnamon."

Arlen threw back the cup and nearly choked. His throat burned like he had just drank boiling water.

"This is a coresp.a.w.ned drink," he choked, but allowed Abban to fill his cup again.

"The Damaji agree with you, Par'chin," Abban said. "Couzi is illegal under Evejan law, but we khaffit khaffit are allowed to make it to sell to are allowed to make it to sell to chin? chin?

"And you keep a little for yourself," Arlen said.

Abban snorted. "I do more business in couzi here than in the green lands, Par'chin," he said. "It takes only a small bottle to make even a large man's head swim, so it is easily smuggled under the darnel's darnel's noses. noses. Khaffit Khaffit drink it by the cask, and drink it by the cask, and dal'Sharum dal'Sharum bring into the Maze to give them bravery in the night. Even a few bring into the Maze to give them bravery in the night. Even a few d.a.m.n d.a.m.n have developed the taste." have developed the taste."

"You don't think it'll cost you in the next life, selling forbidden drink to clerics?" Arlen asked, draining another cup. Already, it was going down smoother.

"If I believed in such nonsense, I would, Par'chin," Abban said, "so it is well that I don't."

Arlen sipped at the next cup, his throat numb to the burn now. He savored the taste of the cinnamon, amazed that he hadn't noticed it before. He felt as if his body were floating above the embroidered silk pillows he rested upon. Abban seemed similarly relaxed, and by the time the small bottle was empty, they were laughing at nothing and slapping one another on the back.

"Now that we're friends again," Abban said, "may we return to business?"

Arlen nodded, and watched as Abban rose unsteadily to his feet, stumbling over to the Bahavan pottery that his women had unloaded from Dawn Runner and brought inside. Of course, Abban's face immediately fell into one of practiced neutrality as he prepared to haggle.

"Most of these are not Dravazi," he said.

"Wasn't much in the master's shop," Arlen lied. "Besides, we still need to discuss your lack of candor regarding the dangers of the trip before we talk coin."

"What does it matter?" Abban asked. "You walked out unscathed, as always."

"It matters, because I might not have gone at all if I had known the place was infested with demons I didn't have proper wards for!" Arlen snapped.

But Abban only scoffed, waving a hand at him dismissively. "What reason would I have had to lie to you, son of Jeph?" he asked. "You are the Par'chin, the brave one who dares to go anywhere! Had I told you of the clay demons, it would only have strengthened your resolve to see the place and spit in their eyes!"

"Flattery ent gonna get you out of this, Abban," Arlen said, though the compliment did warm his couzied mind a bit. "You'll need to do better."

"What would the Par'chin have me do?" Abban asked.

"I want a grimoire of clay demon wards," Arlen said.

"Done," Abban said, "and free of charge. My gift to you, my friend." Arlen raised his eyebrows. Wards were a valuable commodity, and Abban was not a man free with his gifts.

"Call it investment," Abban said. "Even plain Bahavan pottery has value. A little hint of danger to make a buyer feel lie's getting something rare." He looked at Arlen. "There's more in the village?" he asked.

Arlen nodded.

"Well," Abban said, "there's no profit in you getting killed before you can haul it back."

"Fair enough," Arlen said. "But still, how can you just offer something like that? Aren't books of warding forbidden for you to even touch?"

Abban chuckled. "Most everything is forbidden to a khaffit khaffit, Par'chin. But yes, the d.a.m.n d.a.m.n consider warding a holy task and guard the art closely." consider warding a holy task and guard the art closely."

"But you can get me a grimoire of clay demon wards," Arlen said.

"Right out from under the dama's, dama's, noses!" Abban laughed, snapping his fingers under Arlen's nose. Arlen stumbled drunkenly, falling back onto the pile of pillows, and both of them laughed again. noses!" Abban laughed, snapping his fingers under Arlen's nose. Arlen stumbled drunkenly, falling back onto the pile of pillows, and both of them laughed again.

"How?" Arlen pressed.

"Ah, my friend," Abban waved an admonishing finger at Arlen, "you ask me to give away too much of my trade secret."

"Demons.h.i.t," Arlen said. "Your map to Baha was off by more than a day. If I'm to trust my life to these maps and wards you give me, I want to know the information is good."

Abban looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged and sat back down beside Arlen. He snapped his fingers, and one of his black-clad women brought another bottle of couzi. She knelt to fill their cups before bowing low and leaving them. They clicked cups and drank.

Abban leaned in close. "I will tell you this, Par'chin," he said quietly, "not because you are a valued client, but because you are my true friend. The Par'chin has never treated this lowly khaffit khaffit as anything but a man." as anything but a man."

Arlen scoffed, refilling their cups. "You are are a man," he said. a man," he said.

Abban bowed his head in grat.i.tude and leaned in close again. "It is my nephew, Jamere," he confided. "His father was dal'Sharum dal'Sharum, but died while the boy was still in swaddling. The father's family had little wealth, so my sister returned to my pavilion, and raised the boy here in the bazaar. He recently came of age and was taken to find his life's path, but he is scrawny, and the dal'Sharum dal'Sharum drillmasters were unimpressed with him. His wit, however, impressed the drillmasters were unimpressed with him. His wit, however, impressed the dama dama, and he was taken as an acolyte."

"He was one of the nie'dama nie'dama in the market today?" Arlen asked, and Abban nodded. in the market today?" Arlen asked, and Abban nodded.

"Jamere may be a cleric in training," Abban said, "but the boy is utterly corrupt, and has even less faith than I do. He will happily copy or steal any scroll in the temple if I tell him there's a buyer and share the profits."

"Any scroll?" Arlen asked.

"Anything!" Abban bragged, snapping his fingers again. "Why, he could steal even the maps to the lost city of Anoch Sun!"

Arlen felt his heart stop. Anoch Sun was the ancient seat of power of Kaji, the man the Krasians worshipped as the first Deliverer. Three thousand years earlier, give or take a few centuries, Kaji had conquered the known world; the desert, and the green lands beyond, and united all mankind in war against the corelings. Using magical warded weapons, they slaughtered demons in such great numbers that for centuries it was believed that they had won, the corelings were extinct, and the night was free.

But it was a fleeting victory in the great scheme, as everyone now knew. The demons had retreated to the Core, where none could follow, and they had waited. Waited for their enemies to grow old and die. And their children. And their children's children. Immortal, the corelings had waited until the surface of the world had all-but forgotten their existence. Until demons were nothing more than myth, and the ancient symbols of power that man had used against them were forgotten bits of folklore.

They had waited. And bred. And when they returned, they took back all they had lost and more.

The basic wards of forbiddance and protection had been found in time to save a few pockets of humanity, but the ancient combat wards of Kaji, wards that could make a mortal weapon powerful enough to bite into demonic flesh, were lost. Arlen had spent years searching ruins for a sign of them, but had yet to find a hint of evidence that they had even truly existed, much less the wards themselves.

But if they were anywhere, they were in Anoch Sun. When the Krasians prayed, they knelt to the northwest, where the city was supposed to lay. Arlen had looked for the lost city twice before, but there were thousands of square miles of desert in that direction, and his searches had felt like looking for a particular grain in a sandstorm.

"You get me a map to Anoch Sun," Arlen said, "and you can have the lot of Bahavan pottery for nothing. I'll even go back with a cart for another load, on my own coin."

Abban's eyes widened in shock, then he brayed a laugh and shook his head. "Surely you know I was joking, Par'chin," he said. "The lost city of Kaji is a myth."

"It isn't," Arlen said. "I read of it in the histories in the Duke's Library in Fort Miln. The city exists, or did, once."

Abban's eyes narrowed. "Let us say you are correct, and I could procure this," he said. "The Holy City sacred. If the dama dama ever learned you went there, both our lives would be forfeit." ever learned you went there, both our lives would be forfeit."

"How is that different from Baha kad'Everam?" Arlen asked. "Didn't you say looting the ruins for pottery would mark us both a death sentence if we were caught?"

"It is as different as night and day, Par'chin," Abban said. "Baha is nothing, a camelp.i.s.s hamlet full of khaffit. khaffit. The The dal'Sharum dal'Sharum danced danced alagai'sharak alagai'sharak there to hallow the graves of the Bahavans only out of obligation to Evejan law, to allow its inhabitants a chance to be reincarnated into a higher caste. Besides, there is Dravazi pottery in every palace in Krasia. The only notice a few new pieces added to the market will draw will be from eager buyers. there to hallow the graves of the Bahavans only out of obligation to Evejan law, to allow its inhabitants a chance to be reincarnated into a higher caste. Besides, there is Dravazi pottery in every palace in Krasia. The only notice a few new pieces added to the market will draw will be from eager buyers.

"Anoch Sun, on the other hump, is the holiest place in the world," Abban said. "If you, a chin., chin., were to desecrate it, every man, woman, and child in Krasia would cry for your head. And any artifacts you returned with would draw many questions." were to desecrate it, every man, woman, and child in Krasia would cry for your head. And any artifacts you returned with would draw many questions."

"I would never desecrate anything!" Arlen said. "I've studied the ancient world my entire life. I would treat the find with more reverence than anyone."

"Simply setting foot there would be a desecration, Par'chin," Abban said.

"Demons.h.i.t," Arlen snapped. "No one has been there in thousands of years, a time when Kaji's empire extended over my people's lands as well as yours. I have as much right to go there as anyone."

"That may be, Par'chin," Abban said, "but you will find few in Krasia who will agree with you."

"I don't care," Arlen said, looking Abban hard in the eyes. "Either you get me that map, or I take the Dravazi pottery north and start selling my northern contacts' goods to other vendors in the bazaar."

Abban stared back at him for some time, and Arlen could practically hear the abacus beads clicking in his friend's head as he calculated the loss of Arlen's business. There were few Messengers willing to brave the dangers of the Krasian desert and its people. Arlen came to the Desert Spear three times as often as other Messengers, and he spoke the Krasian tongue well enough to take his business elsewhere.

"Very well, Par'chin," Abban said at last, "but be it upon your head, if it comes back upon you. I will deal in no Sunian artifacts."

That surprised Arlen, who knew Abban was not one to turn down any chance at profit.

A fool's a man who knows better and does the thing anyway, his father's voice said. his father's voice said.

Arlen pushed the thought aside. The call of the lost city was too great, and worth any risk.

"I'll never breathe a word of it," he promised.

"I will get a message to my nephew this evening," Abban said. "There is a lesser dama dama who comes to me for couzi each night, and he carries messages to the boy in exchange. He will reply tomorrow telling us how long the texts we require will take to copy, and where and when to meet him to make the exchange. You'll have to come with me to that, Par'chin. I won't smuggle a map to Anoch Sun through my tent." who comes to me for couzi each night, and he carries messages to the boy in exchange. He will reply tomorrow telling us how long the texts we require will take to copy, and where and when to meet him to make the exchange. You'll have to come with me to that, Par'chin. I won't smuggle a map to Anoch Sun through my tent."

Arlen nodded. "Anything you need, my friend," he said.

"I hope you mean that, Par'chin," Abban said.

"WE'LL NEED TO wear these," Abban said, holding up black wear these," Abban said, holding up black dal'Sharum dal'Sharum robes. Arlen stared at him in surprise. Even though he sometimes fought beside robes. Arlen stared at him in surprise. Even though he sometimes fought beside dal'Sharum dal'Sharum in the Maze, Arlen was not allowed to wear the black, and Abban... in the Maze, Arlen was not allowed to wear the black, and Abban...

"What will happen if we're caught wearing those?" he asked.

Abban took a swig of couzi right from the bottle and pa.s.sed it to Arlen. "Best not dwell on such things," he said. "We'll be doing the exchange at night, and the robes should hide us well in the darkness. Even if we are seen, the night veils will add a measure of disguise, so long as we outrun any who see us."

Arlen looked at Abban's lame leg doubtfully, but made no mention of it. "We're going out at night?" he asked. "Isn't that forbidden under Evejan law?"

"What about this Nie-sp.a.w.ned transaction isn't, Par'chin?" Abban snapped, grabbing the couzi bottle and drinking again. "The city is well warded. There hasn't been a demon on the streets of Krasia in living memory."

Arlen shrugged. "Makes no difference to me," he said.

"Of course not," Abban muttered, taking another pull of couzi. "The Par'chin fears nothing."

They waited for the sun to set, and then slipped into the black warrior robes. Arlen admired himself in one of Abban's many mirrors, surprised to see that with a bit of makeup around his eyes and his night veil drawn, he looked just like any other Krasian warrior, if a few inches shorter.

Abban, on the other hand, would not withstand close scrutiny. He was tall like a warrior, but without his crutch, he leaned heavily on his spear, and the bulk stretching the robes about his midsection was most unlike a warrior's lean form.

It was full dark when they opened the tent flap and looked outside. In the distance, Arlen heard the signal horns of the dal'Sharum dal'Sharum and the reports of their artillery, and longed to fight beside them. and the reports of their artillery, and longed to fight beside them.

Anything is safer than that, the voice in his head said, and for once, Arlen agreed. the voice in his head said, and for once, Arlen agreed. Alagai'sharak Alagai'sharak was a beautiful madness, but without the combat wards of old, it was madness nonetheless. But the way of the north, cowering behind wards each night, was no saner. One way killed the men's bodies, and the other, their spirits. The world needed a third choice, but only the wards of old could give it to them. was a beautiful madness, but without the combat wards of old, it was madness nonetheless. But the way of the north, cowering behind wards each night, was no saner. One way killed the men's bodies, and the other, their spirits. The world needed a third choice, but only the wards of old could give it to them.

They rode a small camel cart to their destination. The camel's feet, as well as the wheels of the cart, were wrapped in cushioned leather for silence, and whispered in the dusty sandstone streets. They dared no light as they crossed the city, but the stars in the desert were bright, and the flashing of the wards in the Maze was like lightning, illuminating everything for a moment at random intervals.

"We meet Jamere at Sharik Hora, the temple of Heroes' Bones," Abban said. "He cannot venture far from the acolyte cells."

Arlen weathered a moment's guilt. Mammoth Sharik Hora was both temple and graveyard, the entire structure built from the dal'Sharum dal'Sharum who had died in who had died in alagai'sharak. alagai'sharak. The mortar was mixed with their blood. Their bones and skin composed the furniture. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of warriors had given their lives for its ideals and their bodies for its walls and domed ceiling. The mortar was mixed with their blood. Their bones and skin composed the furniture. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of warriors had given their lives for its ideals and their bodies for its walls and domed ceiling.

There was no holier place in Fort Krasia than Sharik Hora, and here he was, sneaking in the night to steal from its walls. Like Baha kad'Everam. Like Anoch Sun.

Is that all I am? Arlen wondered to himself. Arlen wondered to himself. A grave robber? A man without honor? A grave robber? A man without honor?

He almost asked Abban to turn back. But then, he thought of the huge temple, and how the dal'Sharum dal'Sharum could not even fill the seats anymore, because of their endless war of attrition. All because a group of Holy Men h.o.a.rded knowledge. The Tenders of the northland were much the same, and Arlen had never hesitated to ignore their rules. could not even fill the seats anymore, because of their endless war of attrition. All because a group of Holy Men h.o.a.rded knowledge. The Tenders of the northland were much the same, and Arlen had never hesitated to ignore their rules.

They're only copies, he told himself. Ent stealing, just forcing them to share. Ent stealing, just forcing them to share.

It still ent right, his father said in his head.

They left the cart in an alley two blocks away, and went the rest of the way on foot. The streets were utterly deserted. As they approached the temple, Abban tied a bright cloth to the end of his spear, waving it back and forth. After a moment, a similar cloth was waved from a window on the second story.

"That way, quickly," Abban said, hobbling towards the window as fast as his lame leg would allow. "If they catch Jamere out of his cell..." he left the thought unfinished, but Arlen could easily imagine the rest.

As they put their backs to the temple wall, a thin silk rope was slung down from the window. The boy who slid down it may have been skinny, but he moved with the fluid grace of a warrior. The dama dama were masters of the brutal Krasian art of weaponless combat known as were masters of the brutal Krasian art of weaponless combat known as sharusahk. sharusahk. Arlen had studied the art with its greatest teachers amongst the Arlen had studied the art with its greatest teachers amongst the dal'Sharum dal'Sharum, but while it was only part of a warrior's overall training, the dama dama devoted their lives to the practice. Arlen had never seen one of them actually fight-no one was fool enough to attack a devoted their lives to the practice. Arlen had never seen one of them actually fight-no one was fool enough to attack a dama dama-but he saw how they moved, always in perfect balance and awareness. He did not doubt that they were masters of killing men.

"I've only a moment, uncle," the boy said, pressing a leather satchel into Abban's hands. "I think someone heard me. I need to get back before I am seen, or they perform a bido count."

Abban produced a pouch that clinked heavily with coin, but the boy held up his hand. "Later," he said. "I don't want it with me if I'm caught."

"Nie's black heart," Abban muttered. "Get ready to run," he told Arlen, handing him the satchel.

"I'll give the money to your mother," Abban told Jamere.

"Don't you dare!" the boy hissed. "The witch will steal it. I'll come for it later, and you had best have it ready!"

He went and gripped his rope, but before he could begin to climb, a flickering light blossomed in the window above, and there was a shout as the rope was spotted.

"Run!" Abban whispered harshly, using the spear to hop along at an impressive pace. Arlen followed, and when a white robed dama dama stuck a lamp out the window and spotted them, the boy came hurrying after, muttering Krasian curses too fast for Arlen to follow. stuck a lamp out the window and spotted them, the boy came hurrying after, muttering Krasian curses too fast for Arlen to follow.

"You there! Stop!" the cleric cried. Lights began to blossom in the temple windows, and the dama dama leapt from the window, disregarding the rope entirely. He hit the sandstone street in a roll, heading right for them even as he exhausted the fall's momentum. He got back on his feet in a moment, sprinting hard after them. leapt from the window, disregarding the rope entirely. He hit the sandstone street in a roll, heading right for them even as he exhausted the fall's momentum. He got back on his feet in a moment, sprinting hard after them.