were so many her guards would not be able to hold them, but the emotion would not come.
'Look,' Lady Kinna said, pointing, 'Materse Avenue!'
Natai followed the direction of Kinna's finger and saw the first rush of water down one of the main avenues, around the left-hand side of the compound. The soldiers still on the street abandoned alI pretence of discipline and ran sloshing away from the water. One tripped and had to struggle up on his own as none of his comrades stopped to help him. In less than a minute, Natai knew, the flood would crash down the streets on either side of her compound, channelled down the four long streets of Eight Towers that had been designed to carry away the worst of the floods. Kiyer would still claim victims, she always did, but the losses would be fewer now the city had been designed to allow her passage.
Somewhere down below the message was passed to the soldiers, and the rest piled inside the compound wall. They left a respectful gap around the priests who were standing in the centre of the compound, facing the grand entrance to the tower. For a moment she couldn't see what they were looking at, until a figure lurched out towards them. Sergeant Kayel was walking none too steadily. He carried something in his hand. A club? No, a clay bottle.
Natai heard Lady Kinna gasp. He really has no fear of these priests, she realised. Neither fear – nor respect.
Kayel took a moment to return the stares he received, then lurched around and headed back inside. She knew they would follow him, and as he disappeared from view again, Natai turned for the door, throat dry and heart pounding. She ignored the urgent voice of Lady Kinna behind her. She could picture the ceiling collapsing down on their heads, snapping their withered bones like twigs, cutting off their cries like lambs in the slaughterhouse. The memory of Ganas falling, slowly, so slowly, made her stumble, but she caught herself in time and fought her way forward – down the corridor and the series of short staircases that would take her to the gallery where she could look down upon her vacant throne.
She could hear the tramp of boots starting on the stairs further down, but she went on regardless. The floors in between were the largest, with dozens of rooms each; they wouldn't reach her before the roof fell in and they raced back to find their leaders dead. With Lady Kinna following close behind, the Duchess of Byora ran through the deserted corridors to Erwillen's Landing, named by one of her ancestors out of misplaced piety for the shrine to the High Hunter, an Aspect of Vellern, he had built there – he stationed archers in it to pick off supposed assassins.
The landing, painted with garish murals, was positioned immediately above the main entrance to the Ruby Tower. Tall windows looked over the entrance and down into the Duchess Chamber. The hanging shrine was suspended from the ceiling: a wrought-iron frame from which dangled a mass of feathers, brightly coloured ribbons and small icons bearing Erwillen's image.
As she passed, the items trembled and she stopped to look at them. The colours were faded and weak. Natai touched the nearest feather lightly and it crumbled under her finger. She stared at the ash-like remains that fell into her palm for a moment before grabbing one of the painted wooden icons and crushing it in one hand as easily as if it were paper.
'You're dead. This shrine is drained and empty. This is only the first of many in Byora,' Natai promised.
Looking down into the Duchess Chamber, all she saw was her vacant throne. The fixed stone seat, large enough for a child to sit comfortably beside Byora's ruler, was set on apedestal. There was a tall wooden frame behind, painted with the city's livery. The scene was as still as a painting – until Sergeant Kayel staggered into sight and began to follow a meandering path towards a door behind the throne. Two penitents in black-painted mail followed briskly behind. They caught him with ease, one dodging a drunkenly swung bottle as the other cracked a club over Kayel's head. The big soldier dropped to one knee with a grunt.
The Duchess of Byora felt her breath catch as the echo of footsteps came from somewhere below her. She could picture men hanging back, nervously watching the soldiers deal with Kayel before entering. The copper tang of blood appeared in her mouth and she realised she'd bitten her lip in anticipation, but before she could wipe it away a great creak rang out and the floor beneath her feet shuddered. Natai grabbed the windowsill to steady herself as the groan and crack of tortured brickwork intensified. She chanced another look down at the chamber. The two penitents were staring back in horror; even Kayel seemed momentarily frozen as the antechamber shuddered violently.
Natai froze. Kayel and the soldiers were not the only people in the chamber. She felt a scream bubble up in her throat, but fear drove the air from her lungs as a small figure toddled out from behind the throne, heading towards Kayel as something below her fell and shattered on the tiled antechamber floor. It was followed in the next moment by an almighty crash that reverberated through her body as the antechamber itself collapsed.
The violence of the shockwave drove Natai to her knees. A cloud of dust billowed out into the ducal chamber as she hauled herself forward to look out of the window again and through it she glimpsed Kayel lunging at one of the penitents. He kicked the back of the man's legs and punched him in the throat as he fell, but the second was quick and lashed out with his club, sending Kayel sprawling. Natai went white as Ruhen tottered in between them, but the penitent didn't follow up his attack.
Natai couldn't see the enigmatic smile on the child's face, but with arms held out wide for balance, Ruhen advanced towards the penitent with unsteady steps, perfectly unafraid. Natai couldn't see the' man's expression, but she felt the sudden warmth of Ruhen's beatific smile. He didn't move, not even when Sergeant Kayel pulled himself to his feet and threw his sword like a throwing knife. The tip caught the penitent in the neck and felled him.
Before the sergeant could retrieve his weapon, an invisible hand seemed to slap him backwards. Natai could just make out the astonishment on Kayel's face as a second blow threw him several yards back. Ruhen turned to follow his protector as two figures staggered into view from the ruin of the ante-chamber, shaking the dust from their robes and advancing unsteadily towards the child.
Fear lent strength to Natai's limbs and restored her voice. With a shriek the duchess ran for the stair, kicking off her slippers but still barely keeping from breaking her neck as she descended. When she reached the room she found the two priests standing over Ruhen. The little boy was staring up at them, completely unafraid.
One of the men saw her and took a step backwards, looking shocked. She recognised the young man, even with his face twisted in hate – he was normally to be found standing quietly in the background at the Temple of Ushull. He raised his hand and she heard a strange noise, as if something was sucking air in. A coiling stream of energy began to form around the mage.
Natai, oblivious to the danger to herself, raced towards them and threw herself in front of the child, shrieking, 'You will not hurt him!'
'Filthy heretics,' spat the other priest, a fat-cheeked man with white hair dressed in the distinctive scarlet robes of Karkarn. He was cradling his right arm but she could see sparks of red light dancing over his skin; he was still dangerous.
'You will all die for this crime,' he said.
'No,' said a quiet voice in her mind. She shivered, and looked at the priests. She saw in their faces that they had felt it too. She turned, but Kayel was still lying on the ground.
She felt as if she were frozen to the spot, unable to move any part of her body apart from her head – and it looked like the priests were similarly stricken. Only Ruhen appeared unaffected – and he was the only one not looking around for whoever had spoken.
With a calm smile on his face and a fistful of Natai's dress bunched in his plump little hand to support himself, the little boy slowly made his way around her. He looked up at the priest of Karkarn, whose face was illuminated by the weird light of magic as he muttered an incantation. He faltered for a moment, then the hatred reasserted itself and he drew in deeply, the light intensifying.
Natai tried to reach out to Ruhen, but her limbs would not respond and all she could do was watch as the child reached out a hand and waggled his stubby little fingers towards the priest – but his little wave seemed to strike the priest like a blow and the trails of magical lights vanished. He gave a strangled squawk of shock and dropped to his knees, clutching his heart, before collapsing onto the tiled floor.
The priest of Ushull's astonished expression turned just as swiftly into a paroxysm of pain. He fell just as quickly, one hand protectively around his throat, and twitched and shook on the ground, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.
Ruhen was silent as he watched the two men die, though Natai thought she could hear voices whispering all
