likely that they forge the swords inside it. Maybe. All I know for certain is that no one else has a seireiken, and no one else knows where to get one.”
Qhora nodded. “What else do you know about this Temple?”
“The cult of Osiris is very old,” said Philo. “And if you keep your eyes open, you can find their agents everywhere in the world. It is a sort of assassins’ guild, but much more besides. We have seen them used in war, along the borders of Vlachia, in Rus, and at the walls of Constantia itself, of course. Always in the hands of these men in green robes, never anyone else’s. That is why Lady Nerissa sent us here. We are to procure a seireiken for the prince of Vlachia to seal a new alliance between his nation and Constantia.”
“I thought Constantia was in Hellas,” Qhora said. “You make it sound like it stands alone.”
“Constantia has always stood alone. It stands on the border of Eran. Hellas won’t claim it because they fear it will offend Emperor Darius and provoke a new war between the east and west. So the city stands alone, supported by whoever chooses to serve the Constantian Church and stand against the Mazdan Temple.”
“It’s a beautiful city,” Tycho said. “The palaces and temples and cathedrals are ancient and massive, built by all the great emperors who conquered it in the past. I would invite you to see it, it if were safe to do so.”
“Why a sword?” Qhora asked as the sweat tricked down her neck into her shirt. “Why do you need a sword to secure this alliance?”
“As a symbol,” Philo said. ”The prince of Vlachia is a devout soldier and he believes in our cause, but he is afraid of these unholy swords. The power to steal a man’s soul is, well, terrifying. But Lady Nerissa believes that if we can put that power into the prince’s hand, he will master his fear and rekindle his confidence, and join us to push back Darius’s army.”
“It is terrifying,” Qhora said softly. “It wasn’t enough to kill my Enzo, to take him from me, from our son, from all the people who love him and need him. That wasn’t enough. They had to steal my Enzo’s soul, to cage him, to torment him, to abuse him for all of time.” She blinked and focused on Tycho. “Is there any way to free a soul from a seireiken?”
The Hellan shook his head. “I don’t believe so, no. They say if you pierce a man’s flesh with a seireiken, it rips the soul from his body and he falls dead to the ground in an instant, even if the wound itself isn’t fatal. A stab to the arm or leg is all that’s needed. The sword merely needs to touch the soul within you.”
Qhora closed her eyes and tried to banish the image in her mind’s eye of Enzo standing in the hotel lobby, transfixed with that searing blade in his chest and little tongues of flame licking the wound in his back. “I need to find one. The one that killed my husband.”
The young man’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. When did it happen?”
“Two days ago.”
Two days without Enzo. And two days without Javier, beautiful little Javier with his fat pink cheeks and fat little legs.
Qhora swallowed. “It sounds like the best place to find these followers of Osiris is at their Temple. Can you take me there?”
Tycho nodded. “I can. But you can’t go in. You can’t even talk to the guards. Well, you can talk but they won’t answer you. We tried for an hour, asking questions, offering to pay for their time, offering a king’s ransom to purchase a seireiken. The Osirians never answered. And they never took their hands off their guns, either.”
“I don’t care. Just take me there. I’ll make them talk.” Qhora felt her chest constricting and each breath was a little harder to draw than the last. She wrapped her fingers around the knife in her belt and imagined herself killing the ugly Aegyptian and smashing his sword in a flash of fire and lightning, and then Enzo would be free, he would step out of the light and hold her and everything would be just like before. They would be together.
“My lady, please listen to me,” Mirari said. “You know I will follow you and serve you faithfully to the ends of the earth, and no cause could be more just than to avenge the death of Don Lorenzo, but we are alone, blind, and toothless here. We cannot fight an army, and we cannot hope to triumph through sheer will or even faith. If we are to find this man and his sword, then we will have to work as Senor Fabris does, by talking and bribing and watching. But not by charging into battle at every opportunity. If we did that, you would soon deprive your son of both his parents, and I would never forgive myself if that happened, my lady. Please listen. If we are to save the soul of Don Lorenzo, we must move carefully and quietly and strike as a serpent does. My lady?”
She’s right. Whenever she opens her mouth for more than a yes or a no, she’s always right.
Qhora clenched her teeth, forcing her face to be as still as stone.
No tears now. No sobbing, no shaking, no weakness now. Later, but not now. Not until it’s over. Not until we’re home.
She nodded. “You’re right. You’re right, Mirari. Yes. Fine. Then we need to find Salvator and start finding some answers.”
The older Hellan shifted his injured leg with much wincing and hissing through his teeth. When he was done he said, “I wouldn’t advise it. This is a dangerous city at the best of times and for the best of people. But it’s far worse for strangers, for foreigners. We ourselves have been accosted by thieves and bandits four times since we arrived, and that was openly in the middle of the day where all could see. These brigands have no fear because there is nothing to fear, no law and no lawmen. But for you, a pair of foreign women, alone on the streets of Alexandria, I shudder to think what might befall you out there. There are many in this city who would take you, use you, and kill you without a second thought. And even your great courage and your knives and your bird would not save you. Tycho, I’m sorry, but I fear our mission is to end in failure.” The old man sighed. “We will stay a few more days and try again, but it would seem we are fated to return to Constantia empty-handed.”
The younger Hellan nodded gloomily.
“What about other places outside of the Temple?” Qhora asked. “Other places where the Osirians can be found? There must be some. This is a city of vices, isn’t it? Places to drink and whore and gamble. Can we find the Osirians in one of these places?”
Tycho suddenly looked quite thoughtful. “Probably. In fact I think I’ve heard of a place like that, a restaurant where the gangsters do business. I thought it sounded like a place we’d want to avoid. Normally. Should I go look for your Italian friend first?”
“No. I will.” Qhora stood up.
“My dear, please,” Philo said. “I must insist. Let Tycho go. You would not be safe, perhaps not even here in the Hellan Quarter.”
Qhora narrowed her eyes. “I go where I want. You should rest. I’ll be back soon with Salvator.”
She stepped out of the old house into the sundrenched street with Mirari at her side. “What do you think of our new friends?”
“They’ve saved us a little time and work looking for Don Lorenzo’s killer, but they don’t know much else,” the masked woman said. “I doubt they are of any more use to us. Certainly not as warriors, at least.”
An old man and a young dwarf. No, not much help there.
Qhora led the way down one narrow lane after another until they reached one of the larger streets at the edge of the Quarter. There wasn’t much traffic though it was still the middle of the day. Men streamed past in both directions, but all on foot. There were no mounts or carts here. She turned right and kept walking.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched the street beside her, scanning for hints of green robes, searching for weapons, looking for trouble. She found it a moment later. There were three men standing on the far side of the street, most likely locals judging by their hair and clothes. All three men were middle-aged, tall, and muscular. And they were all three staring at Qhora and Mirari.
Qhora quickened the pace and saw the men step boldly into the foot traffic in the street, angling to intercept the women. She looked up to the roof line but there was no black silhouette perched against the pale blue sky and no black silhouette gliding on wide wings above the street.
Turi! Stupid bird. Oh Atoq, if only you were here now…
“My lady?”
“I see them.” Qhora turned into a narrow alley, hoping to run to the end of the building and slip away on the next street. But a stone’s throw from the entrance the alley ended in a wall of garbage, rotting crates, broken barrels, and chunks of old brick and stone. “Back!”
They turned and saw the three men at the mouth of the alley. The men glanced around the street and then stepped into the shadowed corridor between the two buildings.
Qhora drew a knife in each hand. The lead man, the one with the black beard, glared at her and grunted
