cropped short by Antil; he'd tied it back out of her face, but once she was standing she pulled the scraps of ribbon out so her hair fell over her face, partly concealing her startling eyes. Her face had recovered now, and except for the mark on her throat, her skin was perfect, unblemished by cuts or bruises.
'Why now?' he asked with a pantomime shrug.
– Twilight.
Antil frowned and repeated his gesture. 'You fear the Gods are hunting you?'
She cocked her head to one side for a moment, straining to catch his words before realising his meaning and shaking her head. With her sleeve she erased the word on the slate.
– Distraction. I feel it, like a spider-web moving.
Antil wondered at this. Spider-web? Qods, what sort of spider walks Hale that she can feel it?
There was obviously no point arguing; her mind was made up, so he walked ahead of her to pull the door open. He reached out a hand for Legana to take and reluctantly she did – he could see she hated to be reliant on someone else. Her shinirfg green eyes wide open, she shuffled along the wooden floor until they reached the stair, sliding her free hand along the wall.
The robe Antil had given her was a little short, enough to stop her tripping over the hem. Antil was often called away to tend those unable to leave their homes, so with luck, no one would bother a priest and novice of Shotir.
The pair encountered no one until they reached the shrine room where Fat Lonei hovered, peering anxiously around the yellow-painted door.
'Father, I can see soldiers,' he hissed when he noticed them.
Antil gestured for Legana to stay and hurried to Lonei's side. 'What're they doing?'
Lonei shook his head, fear showing in his eyes. Antil stepped past him into the street, noting they were far from alone: monks, novices, priests and laymen – everyone he could see was staring down the street at a company of Ruby Tower Guards, marching past the crossroads in two neat columns, followed by a less orderly band wearing the grey-and-white of the Byoran Guard that served in Hale.
As Antil watched he saw more than a few people taking flight at the sight of the soldiers. Shotir's temple hadn't been the only one called upon to deal with the victims of the troops' savage reclamation of control. But far from matters calming down, the violence was escalating, with the activities of the previous night as shocking as anything Antil had heard of in peace-time. Some of the Byoran Guard, given their heads, had vented their anger at the Temple of Etesia, then moved on to Triena and Kantay as well. They had dragged priests and novices of both genders out into the courtyard between the linked temples and raped one after the other, butchering any who put up a fight. All except one of the eunuchs had been killed; the lucky – if you could call it that – survivor had been bound to one of the temple archways with the entrails of Etesia's high priestess. The soldiers had cut off one of her breasts and jammed it in the eunuch's mouth, cutting off a finger every time he spat it out. Antil had heard the brutal story in silence, only the greyness of his skin betraying his horror.
And now it looked as if it was starting again.
'Where are they going, Father?' Lonei asked anxiously.
'I don't know,' Antil replied, his sense of foreboding growing. He looked up at the sky. 'Whatever they intend, they're doing it at twilight, when the Gods rest.'
The breeze tugged at his yellow robes, like a child urging him on, and brought the scent of burnt spices from the Temple of Tsatach upwind of them. The fires were still burning there, but he saw none of the usual bustle on the sacred ground itself.
'So the Gods cannot see what they do?' Lonei almost gibbered at the thought. 'Are they going to desecrate another temple?'
Antil scowled. 'I don't know, but whatever they plan will lead to more deaths – of that I'm sure.'
Following the troops of the Byoran Guard were two carts, each piled high with wood. As the carts jerked and bounced over the stony ground, a long plank slipped from the back of one and crashed to the ground.
'It looks like they're going to build a barricade. I wonder where?'
He felt the touch of a hand on his back and flinched until he realised it was Legana standing behind him. Her eyes were screwed up, though in truth it was anything but bright.
'Yes, it is time to leave,' he said.
He thanked Lonei and ushered him back inside, promising to return as soon as he could, and warning him again to say only that he was visiting the sick.
Legana walked with him in silence through the open streets of Hale, not objecting to the firm grip he maintained on her arm. When he looked at her face Antil felt more and more confused: that the girl was terrified at her vulnerability was plain, but there was also an air of wonder about her – as the breeze touched her cheek or as a horse passed by close enough that she could feel the vibrations of its falling hooves. Following Hale's gentle downward slope the pair eventually came to the Pigeon Gate leading into Breakale. There was only one guard on the gate, a young man with long dirty hair and pinched cheeks. His face brightened when he saw inside Legana's raised hood, but when he realised her eyes were almost entirely closed he scowled in disgust.
'Permit.' he announced in a flat voice.
'Excuse me?' said Antil, confused.
The youth held out a hand. 'Permit,' he repeated, his eyes dull and unblinking like a fish.
'I need a permit to leave Hale?'
'You're a priest, ain't you?'
'When was this law passed?' Antil asked in dismay.
'Three days ago. Proclamation was put up all over the bloody place.' The guard took a pace forward. 'You ain't going nowhere without a permit.' He carried a halberd, which he leaned on as he peered at Antil.
'I'm sorry,' Antil said, keeping his voice gentle. 'I've been attending to patients for the last few days. How do I get one? I need to get this woman back to her family in Breakale.'
A lopsided smile crept onto the guard's face. 'Well then, we can't have you failing in your duty, can we?' he declared and jabbed a thumb towards the small guardhouse set into the stone wall. 'Take the young lady in there and I'll sort you out.'
Antil laid a protective hand on Legana's arm. 'No, I think perhaps we should just return to the temple.'
'Oh you reckon, do you? Well how about I decide you're traitors? Maybe saw you running from the Ruby Tower after all your mates got killed?'
'No!' Antil said, his voice betraying his fear.
The guard lowered his pike-head to shoulder height. 'Then get in the guardroom and we'll see about that permit,' he growled.
Flustered, Antil allowed himself to be herded into a dark room thick with the smell of tobacco and sweat. Aside from a weapons-rack on the far wall, the only furniture was a square table and a pair of stools. As soon as he was inside the guard gave him a rough shove and sent him stumbling over one of the stools onto the floor.
'Just you stay there,' the young guard warned, setting his pike against one wall but patting the pommel of his currently sheathed short-sword as he gave Antil a meaningful look.
As the priest started to climb to his feet the guard kicked the door shut with his heel and shoved Legana back against the table. Legana gasped in shock as the guard ran his hand up her body and closed about her right breast. He hardly saw her left hand move as she grabbed his wrist between thumb and forefinger, twisting it away effortlessly. The guard gave a strangled yelp as something snapped, but his scream was cut off when Legana pulled her dagger from her sleeve and slammed it into the guard's throat so hard she pinned him to the wall. She kept her hand on the blade for a moment before gripping his jaw and pulling the knife out again. The corpse fell to the floor and she bent over it to wipe her blade clean on his uniform.
Antil hasn't had time to react at all, so fast had Legana moved. Now she turned to him, her eyes wide again and her hands reaching, hands out like those of a lost child. She opened her mouth wide enough to scream, but only a dry croak came. Antil looked down at the guard, then, his mouth too dry to speak, he gave a jerky wave to attract Legana's attention. She fumbled for the slate hanging from her belt and wrote: – Wine merchant. Beristole.
'The Beristole?' Antil wondered aloud. 'I know where that is -off the main highway to Wheel – but I'm going to take you to a friend's, where you'll be safe.'
The smile fell from Legana's face. – Friend, she added to the slate, rapping it with two quick taps to
