Voice of the Gods

not help also imagining that the Siyee had been left here as sacrifices.

If he pushed his mind away from such dark places he only ended up thinking about his mother and the grief she would feel when she heard of their failure. He hoped the two Siyee that had escaped made it back home. If they didn’t his mother might send more Siyee out to find out what had happened. It was clear he and his warriors had been betrayed, so it was likely that any others who came would also be ambushed and captured.

“Sreil.”

He jumped at the voice and turned to see that the Siyee chained to the other side of the column was peering around at him.

“Tiseel?”

“I’ve been thinking,” the warrior said. “About who betrayed us.”

Sreil noticed that other Siyee had heard and were watching him.

“So have I,” he said.

“You don’t think... you don’t think Auraya could have?”

“No,” Sreil said firmly.

“But she didn’t help us.”

“She isn’t allowed to. The gods forbade her to fight, remember.”

Tiseel sighed. “Why did they do that? It doesn’t make sense. Or maybe she’s just saying they have.”

“Teel said so, too. If she had betrayed us, she would have ridden with the Pentadrians, not followed us from the air,” Sreil reasoned. “The Pentadrian leader kept watching her, as if he was worried she’d attack him.”

Other Siyee nodded in agreement.

“Then who?” Tiseel asked. “Surely not a Siyee.”

Sreil shook his head. “No. What would anyone have to gain?”

“Landwalkers did it,” someone hissed. “A spy who heard about our plans from the White.”

“That’s possible,” Sreil agreed.

“Or maybe the Elai,” another said.

Heads turned toward the speaker. He shrugged. “I heard the Sand Tribe suspect the Elai are trading with Pentadrians.”

“They’d never betray us,” Tiseel said. “How could they have heard of our plans, anyway?”

“Huan says the Pentadrian sorcerer is a mind-reader,” a new voice said. All eyes turned to Teel. “He probably read our intentions from our minds when we flew over the city.”

Sreil felt his heart sink. I led us over the city. It was all my fault. But how could I have known their leader could do that? Nobody told me. Not Auraya, or Teel...

“Will the gods let Auraya rescue us, Teel?” someone asked.

“I don’t know,” Teel admitted. “Perhaps only if it doesn’t involve fighting.”

“Was our capture part of some bigger plan?”

“I don’t know,” the priest repeated. “All we can do is stay faithful to them and pray.”

And then he began to do the latter. Though a few of the Siyee groaned in annoyance, Sreil felt the words soothe him. It was comforting to hope this was all part of a grander scheme.

That it wasn’t my fault, he told himself.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the young priest’s words in the hope they would keep darker thoughts at bay.

The walls inside the lower levels of Hannaya’s Palace were so thick the rooms appeared to be connected by short passages. Niches had been carved into these and some were lined with fresh stone. Busts of important men and women peered out, their expressions uniformly dour.

Men and a few women hurried about. It was easy for Emerahl to imagine they were eager to be out of this oppressive place, but she sensed no fear from them. There was only the usual undercurrent of irritation, purpose and anxiety she had felt in a dozen other cities.

According to The Twins, the palace had been the home of the royal house that had once ruled Mur but which had long ago died out. The maze of rooms, both grand and crude, were still occupied by the same range of servants, courtiers and artisans, but the ruler was now a Pentadrian Dedicated Servant, known as the Guardian.

Two of the Thinkers searching for the Scrolls were from rich and influential families who lived in the palace. They were providing accommodation for the others. For most of the day, however, the five of them gathered in the library. It was there that Emerahl was heading now.

The boy she had paid to take her there turned toward another passage, leading her deeper into the cliff. Her pulse quickened as he stopped before two large carved wooden doors. The boy held his hand out to her. She dropped a coin into it and he raced away.

Emerahl paused to take a deep breath, then knocked.

A long silence followed. She concentrated on the space behind the door, picking up emotions of several people. Most were distracted and quiet, but one was purposeful and a little irritated.

Then the handle lifted and the door swung inward. An old man peered down his long nose at her.

“Yes?”

“I wish to see the Thinkers,” she told him. “Are they here?”

His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. Stepping back, he gestured at the room behind him.

And there was a lot of room to gesture at. The roof, like in most rooms in the palace, was disconcertingly low. The far wall, in contrast, was some distance away. The long side walls were lined with shelves piled with scrolls and other objects. Statues and tables covered with arrangements of curious and ancient objects divided the room into three sections.

The old man moved to a scroll-covered table next to a half-empty shelf. He lifted a piece of wet cloth from a clay tablet and put it aside, then picked up a scribing tool. As he turned his attention to his scrolls, Emerahl smiled wryly. Clearly she was to find the Thinkers herself.

She walked down the length of the library slowly, examining the objects on display. Several men of different ages were scattered about the room, some reading, some writing, and a few talking quietly together. At the far end five men of differing ages were relaxing on benches, talking. Fragrant smoke wreathed up from a smokewood burner set between them, most likely some kind of stimulant.

As Emerahl approached, the three men who were not talking looked up at her. The younger watched her curiously, while the others turned their attention back to the speakers. She stopped between the benches of the pair who were talking, and the conversation ended. A large man with thick eyebrows and a thin, lipless man looked up at her and frowned in annoyance.

“Greetings, Thinkers,” she said. Now all were watching her. She glanced from face to face and settled on meeting the stare of the larger man. “Are you Barmonia Tithemaster?”

The eyebrows rose slightly. “I am.”

“I am Emmea Startracker, daughter of Karo Startracker, a nobleman and mathematician of Toren.”

“You are far from home,” the youngest of the men remarked.

“Yes. My father and I have an interest in antiquities.” She lifted the box containing the fake scroll. “Recently he bought this, but being unfit to travel he sent me here on his behalf to search out more information. My enquiries have led me to you. I think you will find it most interesting.”

The large man made a skeptical noise. “I doubt it.”

“I did not mean the box,” she said dryly. “I meant the contents.”

“I assumed so,” he said.

She met his eyes again. “I was warned that the Thinkers had no manners, respect for women, or personal hygiene, but I did expect to find clever and enquiring minds.” This brought a smile to the younger Thinker’s face, but the others looked indifferent.

“We’re wise enough to know no foreign woman could ever bring anything of interest to us.”

She looked at the burner then smiled and nodded to herself. “I see.”

Turning away, she strolled back down the length of the library. On a heavy table lay a slab of stone, carved with ancient glyphs. To her surprise it was a monument stone from a long-ago dismantled Temple of Jarime - or