Kurgan did not know whether he could make it all the way to the door, let alone past it, but he was not about to let the Sarakkon know that. He crossed the small room. The muscles of his leg felt stiff and sore, but not weak.

Lujon led him down a hallway lined on both sides with artwork, all with an oceanic theme. They came out on a huge room filled with the light of a thousand crimson candles. It appeared to run the entire width of the villa, which was built of pale, glittering schist and charcoal-grey basalt. Each stone threw back reflections in its own way, making it appear as if they were walking through a dense forest of candlelight.

They were arranged in a six-tiered semicircle at the center of which was a seated statue of a heavily striated stone set upon a circular stand of carved reddish wood. Its upper half was female, its lower half male, each in full flower of their s.e.xuality. Through the exquisite art of the sculptor, its face seemed to shine with both benevolence and malice.

Kurgan paused before the curious idol. "This is not Yahe," he said. "Nor is it any G.o.d or G.o.ddess I have seen carved on the prows of your ships or heard spoken of."

"Nor would it be." Lujon made a brief but formal genuflection as he came abreast of the strange creature. "The average Sarakkon would rather cut off a limb than utter the name of Abrasea, the destroyer, the ravener, the burner. As you can see, Abrasea is both male and female; the deity speaks in both a female and a male voice. Abrasea gives nourishment at the breast even as Abrasea annihilates with the rigid sword of the male member."

Over here1." An immense male with a flaming red beard, flaked with snow, rimed with ice, was beckoning to her.

"Over here, Riane!"

His blue eyes were laughing as he held out a hand and drew her upward.

'We're at the top of the world," he said. And pointed. "You see?"

An ice storm-looking from this immense height as diaphanous and innocent as mist-was stinging the mountainside. But beyond, she could see another ma.s.sive block of basalt, rising pyramidal, black and forbidding in the middle ground.

"Kunlung Mountain," Redbeard said. His skull was as bare and smooth as the ice field below.

"Where all the lightning on Kundala has gathered."

'Why?""Like us, it is waiting for the day of Deliverance."

"Witt it come?" she asked.

"It will come," Redbeard said with such a.s.surance that she believed to the very marrow of her bones. He had that effect on her; he always had.

"And beyond Kunlung?" Now she pointed due north.

He looked at her, and there was a sadness in his eyes that made her want to weep. "I suppose I should not be surprised. We have been traveling a long time, you and I. You were little more than a baby when we left." He nodded. "We are returning, Riane, just as I promised you we would.

Beyond Kunlung is home. What the Kundalan call the Unknown Territories___"

Riane heard these voices in discrete syllables, like the slow accretion of time, millisecond by millisecond, piling up like granules of sand on a vast and uncharted seash.o.r.e. She lay in a kind of twilight haze, suspended somewhere between consciousness and the abyss of her vision.

An instant later, she started awake.

It's dawn," Kurgan said. "I must have slept the night away." He stood in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling crystal windows.

Lujon slid one of the windows aside. "In fact, a whole day and the better part of two nights have pa.s.sed since we found you at Harborside. At this very moment, there is a major search under way for you."

"That does not seem to concern you."

"Why should it? You will never be found here."

Kurgan frowned. "Is that a threat?"

"Not at all," Lujon said. "Merely a statement of fact."

He led Kurgan out onto the stone terrace. A breeze ripe with brine swept into the villa. The curtains shivered, but not one candle flame guttered or even flickered. If the Sarakkon were known sorcerers, Kurgan would have suspected that there was a spell at work. He could smell the Sea of Blood, hear it crashing against many-toothed rocks. The villa itself was built into the cliffside, stoutly walled on both the sea and the land sides, once, doubtless, vigorously defended.

Directly below, riding at anchor on the glittering water, was the Ora-aline.

Kurgan wondered if that was how they had brought him here.

"We are precisely twenty and two-tenths kilometers east of Axis Tyr," Lujon said.

"I know nothing of this place."

"It was built by the Ramahan of Middle Palace." Lujon sat on a hammock, one of two, that had been set up with an eye to the view. Between them was a low oiled-heartwood table laden with an a.s.sortment of food and drink. "But that was a long time ago."

No one else was on the terrace. So far as Kurgan could tell no one else was in the villa. The sun heaved its bulk into the eastern sky like a ball cast by a giant's hand. The sea appeared to have a streak of molten metal down its spine. Already the chill of dawn was dissipating.

Lujon filled a tumbler with a pale blue liquid. "A watchtower I suppose you could call it. One of many along the coastline."

With an effort, Kurgan sat on the other hammock, found it surprisingly comfortable, as if it had somehow molded itself to his body. He poured himself a drink of the unfamiliar liquid. It was tart and sweet and very cold. "Who were the Ramahan on the lookout for?" he said as he lay back.

Lujon had his ankles crossed like a vacationer on a beach. He stretched his torso, torquing it to the left, then the right, like one of the big spotted felines that prowled the jungles of the southern continent preparing itself for a dash to the kill. "Why, us, of course."

Kurgan felt a little thrill run through him. "And by 'us' you mean?" "Ah, well, that brings us to the crux of the matter, doesn't it?" Lujon sipped his drink, watching, it would seem, the clouds down at the horizon curling up like paper crisped in the fire of sunrise. The breeze stirred the hammocks. "Courion,first son of Coirn, of the House of Oronel was Qnnda."

"Onnda?" Nith Na.s.sam had told him Courion was a member of the Orieniad, the Sarakkon ruling council.

Lujon, appearing to ignore him, went on. "I mention Courion's name in its full form for a reason.

Oronel was one of the two houses that founded Onnda, so far in the past I could not possibly give you a date that would be meaningful." Condensation that had formed on the tumbler had transferred itself to Lujon's mustache. He wiped it with a practiced brush of his slender forefinger. "The other family was Aer-sthone. I am Lujon, fourth son of Luccoro, of the House of Aersthone." "Is Onnda what the Orieniad evolved into?"

"Not exactly." The wisp of a smile informed Lujon's face. "The Orieniad came into being in order to stem Onnda's burgeoning power. It could not, however. Onnda was already too entrenched, too influential within our society, and so a schism occurred because only those trained in Onnda were skilled enough to check its rise. So we abandoned Onnda, the House of Aersthone and those who had interbred with the Oronel whom we could persuade to our cause. And so Sintire was formed, and we became the mortal enemies of the Oronel, of Onnda. And so it remains to this day."

"So Courion was Onnda and you are Sintire." "We are Sintire Ardinal. What would you call it? A high priest." "And Kelyx is your agent aboard the Omaline." Lujon smiled. "A fortunate happenstance for both of us, don't you agree?"

"Indeed I do."

Kurgan set down his gla.s.s. This was going well, very well indeed. And to think he had that nasty little beast Thigpen to thank for this unexpected windfall. His stomachs felt hollow, but he had no appet.i.te for Sarakkon breakfast-rounds of dried, salted sea eel and translucent cephalopod in a truly disgusting looking yellowish gelatin. Besides, he had more important concerns on his mind. "I want to know what such a high-ranking Sarakkon was doing in Axis Tyr," Nith Na.s.sam had charged him. "Why was he hiding his ident.i.ty! What was his business with Nith Batox.x.x?" In order to gain entrance to Nith Batox.x.x's lab-orb, he needed to bring Nith Na.s.sam something of real value.

"You have been using the terms Onnda and Sintire," he said now. "What exactly are they?"

Lujon laughed, a cruel sound like a coral crab being crushed beneath a seaboot's heel. "It is simplicity itself, regent. We are a.s.sa.s.sins, trained from an early age, steeped in technique and nuance. Our Oath, our religion, if you will, reshapes our brains. We feel no guilt, no remorse as we bring death to the living."

Riane. Riane, wake up!." It was Jura's voice, low and urgent.

Riane stirred; she had fallen back to sleep. Eleana was curled up beside her, breathing evenly and deeply. Thigpen was awake immediately, her whiskers twitching against Riane's cheek.

"You have to go. Now," Jura said. "The owner didn't like us, and liked the Deirus even less. I think he has contacted the local Khagggun."

Riane looked around. "Where is Kirlll Qandda?"

"Waiting for us," Jura said. "He has agreed to hide you."

"Where?" Thigpen asked suspiciously.

"In Receiving Spirit."

"I like this not, little dumpling."

"You have to trust him," Jura said. "He helps the Resistance every chance he gets."

"Guilty conscience," Thigpen muttered.

"He says there is a large unused section," Jura said urgently. "No one goes there. It is perfectly safe."

Riane nodded. She was reluctant to wake Eleana, but she saw that she had no choice. "All right."

"You bought into the Deirus' sob story. His is an abused caste, so you forgive his murders." Thigpen's tone was accusatory.

"He saved Eleana's life, he works with the Resistance," Riane said. "I will give him the benefit of thedoubt."

She grunted. "Don't expect me to shed a tear for him."

"What I expect is for you to keep a civil tongue in your head."

Jura had brought them cold food and water, stolen from the cafe's kitchen, and they ate hurriedly, not tasting a thing. Riane woke Eleana, who at first merely turned and, sighing, put her arms around her so that Riane was obliged to shake her awake.

"Dar Sala-at." Her pupils were dilated and her voice was thick from sleep or possibly from whatever ant.i.toxin Kirlll Qandda had given her. All at once, her eyes got big, and she threw her arms around Riane. "Dear Miina, I saw Kurgan, and I thought I was lost."

"It's all right now," Riane whispered, and hugged Eleana to her. She explained briefly what had happened, where they were, and why it was now imperative that they move. She got Eleana to eat and drink some, then she helped her up.

The city at dawn had a just-washed look. It was filled with a contented murmur, as of a baby at its mother's breast. As Kirlll Qandda had predicted, Eleana was weak, but her resources were deep and once on the streets in the early-morning air she quickly regained her strength. Riane, who had stuffed her pockets with the cold food, periodically fed Eleana as they proceeded.

It was soon clear that Jura had plenty of experience moving around Axis Tyr without being spotted by Khagggun patrols or those collaborators in the civilian population-V'ornn and Kundalan alike-employed by the Khagggun as eyes and ears. She took them on a course that led them down deserted streets and perpetually shadowed alleys known to her to be free of surveillance. She was confident in her knowledge and never hesitated at crossroads or turnings. She scrupulously avoided parks or plazas drenched in fusion lamplight.

Another good thing: Jura had excellent hearing. She could, for instance, hear the sound of Khagggun hoverpods long before they came into view, skimming the ziggurat rooftops, swooping low over open areas, taking random photonic sweeps.

At this early hour, Axis Tyr shimmered pink in the first gentle spray of sunlight. Those who hurried by were greengrocers and spice merchants preoccupied with the mental lists of the day's ch.o.r.es churning in their heads or half-asleep Mesagggun leading lines of emaciated new recruits on their way to begin the backbreaking life in the lortan pits. No one paid any attention to the small party.

The nighttime chill crept out of the city in a low, thin mist. The wet-stone smell of just-sluiced streets mingled with the piquant tang of orangesweet, dissipating the feral odors of sweat and fear.

They arrived at Receiving Spirit without incident. But instead of mounting the wide front staircase, Jura took them around to the side that overlooked a narrow, rather dismal street. A small door midway down was ajar and, as they approached, it was pulled open by Kirlll Qandda.

He glanced up and down the street. "No problems?"

"None," Jura said.

As they went inside, the Deirus smiled at Eleana. "I see you have made an excellent recovery."

"Thanks to you," she said.

"My pleasure."

"I'll bet," Thigpen mumbled.

"What was that?" Riane turned on her. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Thigpen said grumpily.

"Quickly now." Kirlll Qandda led them from the utilitarian entryway down a corridor to the left. It was small and cramped, the white-stone walls sloping inward as they rose toward the narrow ceiling. A glow emanated from the stone blocks themselves, which perhaps explained the lack of fusion lamps. Riane could hear a low thrumming, and her stomach tightened in recognition of the vast V'ornn fusion engines designed by Gyrgon for unknown purposes.

"You will be safe here for as long as you want," the Deirus said. "To my knowledge this area has never been used since Receiving Spirit was taken over at the beginning of the occupation."

Thigpen snorted. "How easily that word trips off your tongue."

"What did I tell you?" Riane snapped."It's all right." Kirlll Qandda raised a placating hand. "In her place I would feel the same animosity."

They turned a corner, and the Deirus stopped so quickly that Thigpen ran right into him, tumbling head over heels. She picked herself up, snorting and growling at the soft laughter that came from the others.

Kirlll Qandda's strained voice broke into their brief merriment. "Get back." He was clearly agitated.

Riane shouldered around him, the Rappa zipping between the forest of their legs. Special fusion lamps filled the corridor beyond with a low rubicund glow.

"Safe in here?" Thigpen's whiskers were twitching. "You see, I told you."

"What is going on-?" Riane whispered.

"I don't know," the Deirus said.

"Well, we had better find out," she said.

Kirlll Qandda looked fearfully around. "That may not be such a good idea."

Thigpen nodded. "It pains me to agree with him." Ignoring them both, Riane asked Jura to stand guard while she took Eleana, Thigpen, and Kirlll Qandda with her down the corridor. As they proceeded, she could hear the thrum of the fusion engines more clearly, could feel the vibrations of the hyperexcited ions through the floor. The atmosphere felt charged, heated as if with a team of ion forges.

In the reddish glow, they could see that the corridor reached an unnatural end, having been refitted by V'ornn. The far wall was curved and looked to be part of a large, spherical chamber.

"Gyrgon," Kirlll Qandda breathed. He was clearly terrified. "This is a Gyrgon lab-orb. They fashion it like segments of a fruit. They are portable and modular."

Riane put the flat of her hand against the convex alloy side. "What is inside?"

"Without going in there is no way to tell," Kirlll Qandda said. "From the outside they all look alike."

Riane peered at the locking mechanism. "Get us in." The Deirus flushed. "No, no, I couldn't." "You mean you can't?" Thigpen said. "Or you won't?" Kirlll Qandda licked his lips. "This isn't fair."

Riane rounded on him. "Listen, Deirus. Have you ever been inside a Gyrgon lab-orb?"

"No. Of course not. No Deirus has."

"Nor Genomatekk, either, I'll warrant. I am not going to overlook this incredible stroke of luck." She pushed Kirlll Qandda against the door. "We may be able to unlock the secret of what the Gyrgon are doing with the hybrid children. We may find some way to stop them from continuing their horrific experiments. Isn't that worth the risk of death?"