Harshini

wall-walk was lined with archers to discourage the Kariens from attempting to break the truce. The Defenders could not hope to fend off a well co-ordinated attack, but they were enough to deter the disorganised and bewildered Kariens from trying anything stupid. They seemed incapable of understanding that the Citadel was lost to them, or that their leaders had been taken prisoner. The Overlord would not allow such a thing.

“Isn't there something magic we can do?” she asked, turning her back to the Kariens.

He raised a brow at her. “Something magic?”

“You know what I mean.”

Brak sighed with long-suffering patience. “You still have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?”

“I don't want a lecture, Brak. I just want to know if there is anything we can do to find Loclon more easily.”

“You could make every person leaving tell the truth then ask their names as they pass through the gate,” he suggested.

“That won't work. Tarja won't let us stop them.” She was scanning the crowd and did not see Brak's smile.

“I was joking, R'shiel.”

“I'm beside myself with mirth. Do you have any other brilliant suggestions?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Brak sheathed his dagger then climbed to his feet and came to stand beside her. The gates swung open ponderously as the Defenders shouted orders to the crowd. The first to leave were the troopers that had been posted around the city, and they made up the bulk of the occupation force. They looked cold and miserable, having spent a night in the damp weather confined to the amphitheatre. Most of them were simple peasants dragged into this war because their masters owed a fealty to the Karien King. They were at the mercy of their god, their King and their dukes.

“They don't look very happy, do they?” Brak remarked.

“Can you blame them?”

“You're not feeling sorry for them, are you?”

“A little bit. Most of them would much rather be at home getting ready for the spring planting, I think. Not stranded here in a foreign country fighting a war they probably don't even understand.”

“Well, if you think the peasants are unhappy, imagine what that lot must be feeling.” Brak pointed up the street.

The next group waiting to be let through was the knights. Tarja had permitted them their mounts, but other than that, they were leaving empty handed. Their faces were cold and haughty, as if they were leaving of their own free will, not being forced out like beggars who couldn't pay the rent. Sir Andony sat at the head of the small column. R'shiel could not make out the others from this height. She watched them curiously, wondering what they were thinking. Were they plotting revenge? Were they already planning to return?

“My Lady! My Lady R'shiel!”

R'shiel glanced down at the street and discovered an urchin waving up at her. She did not know the child, but he was panting heavily, as if he had run all the way to the gate.

“What is it?” she called.

“That man you're looking for? The one with the scars? I saw him!”

“Wait here!” she told Brak, heading for the stairs that led down into the gatehouse at a run. When she reached the street, she had to push through the crowd to find the child. The boy was waiting for her by the gatehouse wall. He had the most beautiful face R'shiel had ever seen on a child.

“Who are you? Where did you see Loclon?” she demanded.

“My name is Alladan. I work for Mistress Heaner.”

“Who is Mistress Heaner?”

“She's... she's... my employer,” the boy said, a little uncertainly. “But I saw the man you're looking for. He was at Mistress Heaner's last night.”

“Is he still there?”

Alladan nodded. “I think so. Did you want me to show you?”

She glanced up at the wall-walk where Brak was looking down at her and debated calling him. Although she was certain he was telling the truth, the child might be wrong, and she could not risk letting Loclon slip past her. She waved reassuringly to Brak then turned back to Alladan.

“Show me.”

As she pushed through the crowd behind the boy, she faintly heard Brak calling her back, but she ignored him. The idea that she might have found Loclon consumed her, swamping caution and common sense. They broke through the crowd after a great deal of pushing and shoving, turning towards the warehouse district. The boy ran ahead, looking back over his shoulder occasionally to ensure that she was still with him.

When the boy finally reached his destination, it proved to be a narrow gate with a small hatchway at eye level, jammed between two dilapidated warehouses. He stopped and waited for her to catch up and then jerked his head in the direction of the door.

“He's in there.”

“Are you sure?”

“He was this morning.”

“How did you know I was looking for him?”

Alladan shrugged innocently. “The whole Citadel knows, my Lady.” Then he grinned and added, “Is there some sort of reward for finding him?”

She smiled at the boy's expression. “We'll see.”

“I was... well, I was hoping I could get it now,” he said. “I mean, you never know what's going to happen...”

“Go back to the gate and ask for Lord Brakandaran. He'll see you're rewarded.”

Alladan looked a little disappointed, but he did not press the point. He ran off without another word. R'shiel watched him leave with a shake of her head. He certainly was an enterprising lad.

Turning back to study the small gate, R'shiel carefully drew on her power and pushed at the gate with a thought. It creaked open to reveal a lane strewn with litter. She could not sense anyone in the lane, so she stepped through cautiously, gagging on the smell. She stepped silently over the rubbish towards another doorway at the end of the alley. It stood open and inviting. When she entered the room beyond she gasped with astonishment.

It was sumptuous - decorated with no thought to expense, or good taste. There were velvet-upholstered couches scattered about the room, each one sectioned off by diaphanous sheer curtains. The carpet was as thick as the grass in the garden behind the infirmary. Fardohnyan crystal chandeliers hung unlit from the ceiling. There was a smell about the place, too, something she could not identify, although it was annoyingly familiar. R'shiel looked around her wide-eyed, wondering what such a place was doing hidden down here in the warehouse district - and who would frequent it.

The answer came to her as she checked the deserted rooms along a narrow passage leading off the main room. The first was innocent enough - simply a room with a large double bed, decorated in blue to match the colour of the door. But as she opened each door along the hall, the purpose of the rooms became clear enough. There was one room sporting a huge tub, another with a bed big enough for six and then another containing nothing more than two velvet-lined, metal cuffs hanging from the ceiling by chains and enough instruments of torture to make the Defenders' interrogation chamber look positively inadequate. Feeling a little queasy at the thought of what might go on in this place, R'shiel wondered about Alladan. Was he part of the entertainment? The idea made her sick.

At the end of the hall was a smaller door, which opened at a touch and led down into the darkness. Stepping through, R'shiel called up a finger of flame to light her way, rather pleased with herself. When Brak had tried to teach her how to call fire one evening on their journey here from Vanahiem, she'd almost consumed them both in a ball of flame. The short steps opened into a cellar with an earthen floor. She made the flame brighter and stared at the altar by the far wall, letting out a yell of outrage as the star and lightning bolt of Xaphista stared back at her.

With a sudden thump, the cellar door slammed shut behind her. She ran to the door and pounded on it, but it