some new and hideous threshold. He wasn’t lying, wasn’t playing a trick. He really was saying goodbye to something-to them, and something he had decided they stood for.
“It’s not going to happen,” she said. “Do you hear me? What you think is going to happen-it won’t. No one is with you, except out of fear. You can’t turn your back without fear that someone will stab it. But we’re stronger. We have each other. You’re alone.”
If Arunis heard her, he showed no sign. He raised his hands before his face as though framing a picture.
“I will reward you,” he said. “When all else is gone, burned beyond ashes, burned back to heat and light, I will retain the image of your faces as I see them now. My enemies, who almost killed me. My final collaborators. I will remember you in the life to come.”
“And I will help you remember, Master, if you wish,” said Fulbreech suddenly. His voice was soft, but anxious nonetheless. “I will be there with you, just as you told me. I will keep helping you, with my cleverness, my skills. Won’t I, Master? I’ll help you all the way there, and beyond. Won’t I?”
Arunis passed his eyes over Fulbreech, and said not a word. Taking the chain from Vadu, he led the tol- chenni down the corridor and out of sight. Fulbreech hurried after him. A door opened and closed.
Vadu looked at the human prisoners. His head bobbed in agitation.
“I should like to know why he insists on the company of lunatics,” he said.
The sorcerer’s visit left them quiet. For Thasha the word collaborators had stirred some buried feeling, a blend of guilt and terror that her conscious mind could not explain. She had assumed that the mage and Syrarys were in league from the day her mother’s necklace, so long in Syrarys’ hands, had come to life and nearly strangled her. But it sickened and terrified her to think that both might have been involved with her family since before her birth.
She was still mulling over these dismal thoughts when the dog sat up with a startled yip: the first sound it had made since its arrival. Voices followed: loud, angry dlomic voices, drawing nearer. Mr. Uskins squealed and darted for the bushes.
Some argument or standoff was occurring within the Institute. Then all at once a crowd, almost a mob, burst into the corridor. The old birdwatchers were shoved aside as thirty or forty newcomers pressed up to the glass.
They were rough-looking dlomu. Some carried clubs or staves; a few wore swords on their belts and one carried a burning torch. They stared and the humans stared back.
“Very well, you’ve seen them,” said the leader of the birdwatchers, trying to reassert his authority. “Quite harmless, and under our care. It’s the Emperor’s will that this facility exists. You know that, citizens.”
“The Emperor,” said one of the newcomers, “has no idea that they are here.”
“And better that he never finds out,” said another. “We’d be pariahs, and you know it. They’d quarantine the city.”
“Why should anyone wish to do that?” asked Hercol loudly.
The dlomu showed extreme discomfort at the sound of his words. They drew back from the glass and fingered their weapons.
“Men of Masalym,” said Chadfallow, “in my own country I have been an ambassador of sorts. I know how strange we seem to you, but you need not fear us. We are not tol-chenni. There are no tol-chenni where we come from-no dlomu either.” At this the mob grumbled in surprise and doubt. Chadfallow pressed on. “We’re simply people, like you. We’ve come from across the Ruling Sea, but we mean you no harm. All we wish is to go on our way again.”
As on almost every occasion since the night of their arrival, his words were met with stony silence. But the frowns deepened. Some of the dlomu were looking at the iron door, as if to see how well it was secured.
“Creatures!” shouted one of them suddenly, as if addressing very distant, or very stupid, listeners. “We know you do not come from the Court of the Lilac. We read history, and we read signs in the earthquakes. Tell us now: what is the price of forgiveness? Name it and be done.”
“Forgiveness?” said Pazel. “For what?”
“Name it I say,” the dlomu went on. “We will pay if we can. We are not a selfish people, and we do not deny the Old Sins, like some. You come when the world is dying, as we knew you would. But you cannot simply taunt us-we will not stand for that; we will send you back to the dark place; we will burn you and scatter you on the wind. Name the price of expiation. Name it, or beware.”
Chadfallow moistened his lips. “Good people-”
“A pay increase!” shouted Rain suddenly. “Fourteen percent is what I’m owed, I can prove it, I have records on the ship!” Druffle pulled the doctor away, whispering imprecations.
The mob was not pleased by Rain’s outburst. The one who had spoken before pointed a finger through the glass. “Creatures!” he exclaimed again. “We will defend Masalym from all who come with curses. Think on that before you jest with us again.”
Uskins popped up suddenly from the bushes, pointing at Dr. Rain. “Ignore him! Ignore him! He’s mad!” Then he bit his lips and squatted again.
“We will come back and kill you,” said the dlomu quietly.
They did not kill then and there, however: in fact, a dozen Masalym soldiers appeared moments later and drove them out, more cajoling than threatening. The birdwatchers stood in a nervous group, comparing notes and shaking their heads; then they too filed out, locking the outer door behind them. Only the dog remained.
Thasha was terribly frustrated. If only they would talk-really talk, not just threaten and shout. Old sins? Whose sins, and why should they ask the first woken humans to come along in generations for forgiveness? The mysteries were too many, the answers too few.
But there was one mystery she was not powerless to explore. She called her friends back into the sleeping chamber, and this time brought Hercol as well. Crowded as it was, she made them all sit on the beds. Once again she wished she had a door to close.
“I told you I wanted no more secrets, and I meant it,” she said. “Hercol, you were friends for so long with my father. With the admiral, I mean.”
“Admiral Isiq is your father, Thasha,” said Hercol, “and Clorisuela was your mother. Why would we lie about this?”
Thasha considered him for a moment. “I don’t expect Chadfallow to level with me,” she said at last, “but I expect it of you, Hercol. I was born before you came to Etherhorde. I know that. But later, when you and Daddy became friends, did he ever say anything about Clorisuela… not being able to have children?”
Hercol glared at Thasha. He looked tempted to stand and walk out of the room. But slowly his gaze softened, and at last he gave a heavy sigh. “Yes,” he said. “For several years, they tried for children in vain. Clorisuela would lose them quite early, along with a great deal of blood. Your father said it happened four times.”
Thasha closed her eyes. “And then?”
“They stopped trying, stopped daring to live as husband and wife.” Hercol drew a deep breath. “And yes, that was when he… obtained Syrarys.”
“Bought her,” said Thasha.
Hercol shook his head. “She was, as you were told, the Emperor’s gift. But that is not the end of the story, Thasha. Your mother knew nothing of Syrarys. But Clorisuela did come to Isiq once more, strangely hopeful. And even though the midwives had told her it would be dangerous, they tried again. You were the result.”
“After four failures?” said Thasha, her eyes moist. “You believed him, when he told you that?”
“I believe it to this day,” said Hercol.
Everyone was still. Once again, Marila’s round cheeks were streaked with tears. Thasha swallowed. Finish this, she thought. Make him say it, while you can.
“You told me what happened in the wagon. But there’s another moment I don’t remember. What did I say when we first stepped into that village? When we saw the tol-chenni, and learned what had happened to human beings?”
“We were all in shock,” said Hercol quickly, “and we all said foolish things. I expect none of us recalls exactly what came out of your mouth.”
“What does your nose tell you about that, Neeps?” said Thasha, smiling ruefully.
Neeps fidgeted. “Sometimes I can’t tell.”
“Well I can,” said Thasha. “You’re lying, Hercol. I think you remember exactly what I said.” She turned to
