when she spoke, the voice that came from her throat was not her own, but the same powerful baritone her predecessor had used-Biton's voice:
'The Sibyl's doom we speak of now
(And worry less about the child):
To flee Ikos, midst fearful row
(Duren's fate may well be mild).
All ends, among which is the vow
Pledged by an oracle defiled.'
The god left his mouth on earth as abruptly as his spirit had filled her. She slumped against an arm of the throne in a dead faint.
Kinifor said, 'Gentles, the lord Biton has spoken. You must now leave this chamber, that the Sibyl may recover and ready herself for those who come here next.'
'But the Sibyl-or Biton, if you'd rather-said next to nothing about the question I asked,' Gerin protested. 'Most of that verse had more to do with you, by the sound of it, than with me.'
'That is neither here nor there,' Kinifor said. 'The god speaks as he will, not as any man expects. Who are you, mortal, to question his majesty and knowledge?'
To that Gerin had no answer, only frustration that he had not learned more from the query over which he'd pondered so hard on the journey down from his keep. He took what coals of comfort he could: Biton had urged him not to worry. But what if that was because Duren was already dead, and so beyond worry? Would the god have mentioned him by name if he was dead, especially when Gerin had not named him? Who could say what a god would do? Where the Fox had done his best to prevent ambiguity, it had found him out. Dismayed, he turned to go.
Van pointed to the Sibyl, who remained unconscious. 'Should the lass not have come back to herself by now? You'd not bring new folk down here if they were to find her nearer dead than alive.'
Kinifor opened his mouth, perhaps to say something reassuring. But before he did, he too took another look at the Sibyl. A frown crinkled the unnaturally smooth skin of his face. 'This is-unusual,' he admitted. 'She should be awake and, if a priest is here with her, asking what the god spoke through her lips.'
Gerin started to take a step toward her, then remembered the conditions under which she served Biton: any touch from him, no matter how well-meaning, brought defilement with it. He wondered if that was what the last line of her prophecy meant, then stopped worrying about prophecy while she sprawled unconscious. He asked Kinifor, 'Do you want to tend to her while we make our own way back up to the temple?'
He might as well have suggested burning down the fane. 'That cannot be!' the eunuch priest gasped. 'For one thing, you might well lose your way, take a wrong turning, and never be seen again. For another, some turns lead to treasures not displayed above ground. No one not connected with the cult of Biton may turn his eyes upon them.'
'I know what Biton does to those who would be thieves,' Gerin protested, but Kinifor shook his head so vehemently that his plump jowls wobbled.
Van, as usual, spoke to the point: 'Well, what about the wench, then?'
Kinifor went over to her, put a hand in front of her nose and mouth to make sure she was breathing, felt for her pulse. When he straightened, his face held relief as well as worry. 'I do not believe she will perish in the next moments. Let me guide you back to the surface of the earth, after which she shall, of course, be properly seen to.'
'Honh!' Van said. 'Seems to me you care more about Biton's gold and gauds than about his Sibyl.'
Kinifor answered that with an injured silence which suggested to Gerin that his friend had hit the target dead center. But this was the priest's domain, not his, so he let Kinifor lead him out of the Sibyl' s chamber and back up the length of the cave to Biton's temple. Still grumbling and looking back over his shoulder, Van reluctantly followed.
To give Kinifor his due, he hurried along the stony way, pushing his corpulent frame till he panted like a dog after a long run. Surprisingly soon, light not from torches showed ahead, though the priest's body almost obliterated it as he climbed out of the cave mouth. Gerin came right after him, blinking until his eyes grew used to daylight once more.
'About time,' rasped the tough-looking fellow who waited impatiently for his turn at the oracle. 'Take me down there, priest, and no more nonsense.'
'I fear I cannot, sir,' Kinifor answered. 'The Sibyl seems to have suffered an indisposition, and will not be able to reply to questioners at least for some little while.'
That brought exclamations of dismay from the other eunuchs within earshot. They hurried to Kinifor to find out what had happened. He quickly explained. Two of Biton's servitors hurried down into the cave mouth. 'If she has not yet returned to herself, we shall bring her out,' one of them said as he disappeared.
The Elabonian warrior whose question was delayed shouted, 'This is an outrage!' When no one paid any attention to him, he shouted viler things than that. His face turned the color of maple leaves in fall.
Gerin looked down his long, straight nose at the man. 'Do you know what you remind me of, sirrah?' he said coldly. 'You remind me of my four-year-old son when he pitches a fit because I tell him he can't have any honied blueberries till after supper.'
'Who in the five hells do you think you are, to take that tone with me?' the fellow demanded, setting his right hand on the hilt of his sword.
'I'm Gerin the Fox, Prince of the North,' Gerin said, matching the gesture with his left hand. 'You should be thankful I don't know your name, or want to.'
The red-faced man scowled but did not back down. Gerin wondered if he would have to fight in Biton's shrine for the second time in two visits. The temple complex had guards, but most of them were outside the fane keeping an eye on the treasures displayed in the courtyard and on any visitors who, careless of Biton's curse, might develop itchy fingers.
Then, from the entrance to the shrine, someone called, 'Any man who draws his blade on Gerin the Fox, especially with Van of the Strong Arm beside him, is a fool. Of course, you've been acting like a fool, fellow, so that may account for it.'
The angry Elabonian whirled. 'And what do you know about it, you interfering old polecat's twat?' he snarled, apparently not caring how many enemies he made.
The newcomer strode toward him. He was a tall, lean man of perhaps forty, with a forward-thrusting face, a proud beak of a nose, and dark, chilly eyes that put Gerin in mind of a hunting hawk's. He said, 'I'd be the fool if I didn't make it my business to learn all I could of Gerin the Fox. I am Grand Duke Aragis, also called the Archer.'
The angry color drained from the face of the impatient warrior as he realized he'd caught himself between the two strongest men in the northlands. With a last muttered curse, he stomped out of the temple, though he took care to step wide around Aragis.
'Well met,' Gerin said. He and Aragis were rivals, but not open enemies.
'Well met,' Aragis answered. He turned his intent gaze on the Fox. 'I should have thought I might find you here. After word of your son, are you?'
'Aye,' Gerin said stonily. 'And you?'
'On business of my own,' Aragis said.
'Which is none of my business,' Gerin suggested. Aragis noddedonce; he was not a man given to excess. Gerin said, 'Have it as you wish. Whatever your question is, you may not be able to put it to the Sibyl, any more
