Mysunsai? Whores-all of them. "What does he want?" Eleazaras asked.

Something churned in his gut. More complications.

"He wouldn't say specifically," the Usher replied. "He says only that he's ridden hard from Momemn to speak with you on a matter of great urgency."

"Panderer," Eleazaras spat. "Whore. Delay him momentarily, then let him in."

After the man withdrew, Eleazaras had his body slaves dry his feet and bind his sandals. He then dismissed them. As the last slave hastened out, the man called Skalateas was escorted in by two armoured Javreh.

"Leave us," Eleazaras said to the warrior-slaves. They bowed low, then also withdrew.

From his seat, he studied the mercenary, who was clean-shaven in the Nansur fashion, dressed in the humble garments of a traveller: leggings, a plain brown smock, and leather sandals. He seemed to tremble, as well he should. He stood before no less than the Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires.

"This is most impertinent, my mercenary brother," Eleazaras said. "There are channels for this kind of transaction."

"Begging your pardon, Grandmaster, but there are no channels for what I have to . . . to trade." In a rush he added, "I'm-I'm a Whitewash Peralogue of the Mysunsai Order, Grandmaster, contracted to the Imperial Family as an Auditor. The Emperor uses me, from time to time, to confirm certain determinations made by his Imperial Saik . . ."

Eleazaras digested this, decided to be accommodating. "Continue."

"Sh-should we, ah . . . ah . . ."

"Should we what?"

"Should we discuss the fee?"

A caste-menial, of course-suthenti. No appreciation of the game. But jnan, as the Ainoni were fond of saying, brooked no consent. If one man played, everyone played.

Rather than reply, Eleazaras studied his long, painted nails, polished them absently against his breast. He looked up as though caught in a small indiscretion, then studied the fool like one burdened by determinations of life and death.

The conjunction of silence and scrutiny nearly undid the man. He clasped his shaking hands before him.

"F-forgive m-my eagerness, Grandmaster," Skalateas stammered, falling to his knees. "So often are knowledge and greed . . . spurs to each other."

Well done. The man was not utterly devoid of wit.

"Spurs indeed," Eleazaras said. "But perhaps you should let me decide which rides which."

"Of course, Grandmaster . . . But . . ."

"But nothing, whore. Out with it."

"Of course, Grandmaster," he said again. "It's the Fanim sorcerer-priests-the Cishaurim . . . Th-they have a new kind of spy."

The dramatics were forgotten. Eleazaras leaned forward.

"Tell me more."

"F-forgive me, Grandmaster," the man blurted. "B-but I would be paid before speaking any further!"

A fool after all. Time was ever the scholar's most precious commodity. Whore or not, the man should have known that. Eleazaras sighed, then spoke the first impossible word. His mouth and eyes burned as bright as phosphor.

"No!" Skalateas cried. "Please! I'll speak! There's no need . . ."

Eleazaras paused, though his arcane muttering continued to echo, as though thrown by walls not found in this world. The silence, when it did come, felt absolute.

"On-on the eve b-before the Holy War marched from Momemn," the man began, "I was summoned to the Catacombs to observe what was supposed to be, they said, the interrogation of a spy. Apparently the Emperor's Prime Counsel-"

"Skeaos?" Eleazaras exclaimed. "A spy? spy?"

The Mysunsai hesitated, licked his lips. "Not Skeaos . . . Someone masquerading as him. Or something . . ."

Eleazaras nodded. "You have my attention, Skalateas."

"The Emperor himself was present at the interrogation. He demanded, quite stridently, that I contradict the findings of the Saik, that I tell him sorcery was involved . . . The Prime Counsel was-as you know-an old man, and yet he'd apparently killed or maimed several members of the Eothic Guard during his arrest-with his bare hands bare hands, they said. The Emperor was, well . . . overwrought."

"So what did you see, Auditor? Did you see the Mark?"

"No. Nothing. He was unbruised. There was no sorcery whatsoever involved. But when I said as much to the Emperor, he accused me of conspiring with the Saik to overthrow him. Then the Mandate Schoolman arrived-escorted by Ikurei Conphas no-"

"Mandate Schoolman?" Eleazaras said. "You mean Drusas Achamian?"

Skalateas swallowed. "You know him? We Mysunsai no longer bother with the Mandate. Does your Eminence maint-"

"Do you wish to sell knowledge, Skalateas, or trade it?"

The Mysunsai smiled nervously. "Sell it, of course."

"So then what happened next?"

"The Mandati confirmed my determination, and the Emperor accused him of lying as well. As I said, the Emperor was . . . was . . ."

"Overwrought."

"Yes. Even more so at this point. But the Mandati, Achamian, also seemed agitated. They argued-"

"Argued?" For some reason that didn't surprise Eleazaras. "About what?"

The Mysunsai shook his head. "I can't remember. Something about fear, I think. Then the Prime Counsel began speaking speaking to the Mandati-in some language I've never heard. He recognized him." to the Mandati-in some language I've never heard. He recognized him."

"Recognized? Are you sure?"

"Utterly . . . Skeaos, or whatever it was, recognized Drusas Achamian. Then he-it-began shaking. We just stood gaping. Then it wrenched its chains from the wall . . . Freed itself!"

"Did Drusas Achamian assist him?"

"No. He was as horrified as the rest of us-if not more so. In the uproar, it killed two or three men-I've never seen anything move so fast! That was when the Saik intervened, burned him . . . Now that I think about it, burned him over the Mandati's objections. The man was wroth."

"Achamian tried to intercede?"

"To the point of sheltering the Prime Counsel with his own body."

"You're certain about that?"

"Absolutely. I'll never forget because that was when the Prime Counsel's face . . . That was when his face . . . unpeeled unpeeled."

"Unpeeled . . ."

"Or unfolded . . . Its face just . . . just opened, like fingers fingers but . . . I know of no other way to describe it." but . . . I know of no other way to describe it."

"Like fingers?"

This can't be! He lies!

"You doubt me. You mustn't, your Eminence! This spy was a double, a mimic without the Mark! without the Mark! And that means he must be an artefact of the Psukhe. The And that means he must be an artefact of the Psukhe. The Cishaurim Cishaurim. It means they have spies you cannot see you cannot see."

Numbness spilled like water from Eleazaras's chest to his limbs. I've [garbled] my School. I've [garbled] my School.

"But their Art is too crude . . ."

Skalateas looked curiously heartened. "Nevertheless, it's the only explanation. They've found some way of creating perfect perfect spies . . . Think! How long have they owned the Emperor's ear? The spies . . . Think! How long have they owned the Emperor's ear? The Emperor! Emperor! Who knows how many . . ." He paused, apparently wary of speaking too close to the heart of the matter. "But this is why I rode so hard to find you. To warn you." Who knows how many . . ." He paused, apparently wary of speaking too close to the heart of the matter. "But this is why I rode so hard to find you. To warn you."

Eleazaras's mouth had become very dry. He tried to swallow. "You must stay with us, of course, so that we can . . . interview you, further."

The man's face had become the very picture of dread. "I'm af-afraid that won't be possible, y-your Eminence. I'm expected back at the Imperial Court."

Eleazaras clasped his hands to conceal the tremors. "You work for the Scarlet Spires, now, Skalateas. Your contract with House Ikurei is dissolved."

"Ah, y-your Eminence, as much as I abase myself before your glory and power-I am your slave!-I fear that Mysunsai contracts cannot be dissolved by fiat. N-not even yours. S-so if I c-could coll-collect my-my . . ."

"Ah yes, your fee." Eleazaras stared hard at the Mysunsai, smiled with deceptive mildness. Poor fool. To think he'd underestimated underestimated the value of his information. This was worth far more than gold. Far more. the value of his information. This was worth far more than gold. Far more.

The Mysunsai's face had gone blank. "I suppose I could delay my departure."

"You sup-"

At that point, Eleazaras almost died. The man had started his Cant the instant of Eleazaras's reply, purchasing a heartbeat's advantage-almost enough.

Lightning cut the air, skipped and thundered across the Grandmaster's reflexive Wards. Momentarily blinded, Eleazaras tipped back in his chair and tumbled across the carpeted ground. He was singing before he found his knees.

The air danced with hammering lights. Flurries of burning sparrows. The fool cried out, sputtered as best he could, trying to reinforce his Wards. But for Hanamanu Eleazaras, the Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires, he was little more than a child's riddle, easily solved. Bird after fiery bird swept into him. Immolation after immolation, battering his Wards to ruin. Then chains flashed from corners of empty air, piercing limbs and shoulders, crossing as though looped between a child's fingers, until the man hung suspended. Threaded.

Skalateas screamed.

Javreh charged into the room, weapons drawn, only to halt, horror-stricken, before the spectacle of the Mysunsai. Eleazaras barked at them to leave.

He glimpsed his Master of Spies, Iyokus, fighting his way past the retreating warrior-slaves. The chanv addict fairly tumbled across the carpets, his red-irised eyes wide, his bruised lips agog. Eleazaras couldn't recall seeing such passion in the man's expression-at least not since the Cishaurim's fateful attack ten years before . . .

Their declaration of war.

"Eli!" Iyokus cried, staring at Skalateas's impaled and writhing form. "What's this?"

The Grandmaster absently stamped at a small fire burning on the carpets. "A gift to you, old friend. Another enigma for you to interpret. Another threat . . ."

"Threat?" the man cried. "What's the meaning of this, Eli? What's happened here?"

Eleazaras studied the screaming Mysunsai-a scholar distracted by his work.

What do I do?

"That Mandate Schoolman," Eleazaras snapped, turning to Iyokus. "Where's he now?"

"Marching with Proyas-or so I assume . . . Eli? Tell me-"

"Drusas Achamian must be brought to me," Eleazaras continued. "Brought to me or killed."

Iyokus's expression darkened.

"Something like that requires time . . . planning . . . He's a Mandate Schoolman Mandate Schoolman, Eli! Not to mention the risk of reprisals . . . What, do we war against both the Cishaurim and the Mandate? Either way, nothing nothing will be done until I know what's going on. It is my right!" will be done until I know what's going on. It is my right!"

Eleazaras studied the man, matched his unsettling gaze. For perhaps the first time he felt comforted rather than chilled by his translucent skin. Iyokus? It has to be you, doesn't it? Iyokus? It has to be you, doesn't it?

"This must seem," he said, "irrational . . ."

"Indeed. Mad even."

"Trust me, old friend. It's not. Need makes all things rational."

"Why this evasion?" Iyokus cried.

"Patience . . ." Eleazaras replied, gathering with his wind the dignity which behoved a Grandmaster. This was an occasion for control. Calculation. "First you must humour my madness, Iyokus . . . And then then let me recount the grounds that make it sane. First you must let me handle your face." let me recount the grounds that make it sane. First you must let me handle your face."

"And why's that?" the man asked. Astonishment.

From what seemed a distant place, Skalateas wailed.

"I must know that there are bones beneath . . . Proper Proper bones." bones."

For the first time since leaving Momemn, Achamian found himself alone with the evening fire. Proyas was hosting a temple fete for the other Great Names, and everyone save the sorcerer and the slaves had been invited. So Achamian had decided to host a celebration of his own. He drank to the sun, which leaned against the shoulders of the Unaras Spur, to Asgilioch and her broken towers, and to the encamped Holy War, her innumerable fires glittering in the dusk. He drank until his head drooped before the flames, until his thoughts became a slurry of arguments, pleas, and regrets.

Telling Kellhus about his dilemma, he now knew, had been rash.

Two weeks had passed since his confession. During this time, the Conriyan contingent had abandoned the stone of the Sogian Way for the scrub and sandy slopes of the Inunara Highlands. He had walked with Kellhus much as before, answering his questions, pondering his remarks-and wondering, always wondering, at the heart and intellect of the man. On the surface, everything was the same, save the lack of a road to follow. But beneath, everything had changed.

He'd thought sharing would ease his burden, that honesty would absolve his shame. How could he be such a fool, thinking that the secrecy secrecy of his dilemma had caused his anguish, rather than the dilemma? If anything, secrecy had been a balm. Now every time he and Kellhus exchanged glances, Achamian saw his anguish reflected and reproduced until at times it seemed he couldn't breathe. Far from lessening his burden, he'd doubled it. of his dilemma had caused his anguish, rather than the dilemma? If anything, secrecy had been a balm. Now every time he and Kellhus exchanged glances, Achamian saw his anguish reflected and reproduced until at times it seemed he couldn't breathe. Far from lessening his burden, he'd doubled it.

"What," Kellhus had subsequently asked, "will the Mandate do if you tell them?"