"Did Alec tell you about all this?" Seregil asked, far too calm for Micum's liking.

"The prophecy? Yes." Micum approached him slowly, the way he would a maddened horse. "Where is he? What happened at the Cockerel?"

Seregil held up something he'd been holding all along, a dagger with a long lock of blond hair knotted around it.

"Is he—?"

"I don't know."

Micum sank into a chair with a stricken groan.

"He was in such a lather to get back. He was worried about you, I think, but I should've stopped him from going back."

"Perhaps I can help," Valerius said from the open doorway. Going to Seregil, he took the dagger and held it to his brow, murmuring a prayer or a spell.

"He's alive," he said, handing it back. "That's all I can tell from this, but he is alive."

"But for how long, eh?" Thin lines of tension around Seregil's eyes and mouth showed darkly in the firelight as he took the dagger back, clutching it against his heart. "We know what these bastards are capable of. It was Mardus after all, you know. Nysander saw him during the attack. And I think it's safe to assume that those were his men who came to the Cockerel, too."

"They found you."

Seregil's lips quirked into a parody of his old grin that sent another chill through Micum. "In a manner of speaking," he said, his voice nearly toneless now as he stared into the fire. "Alec walked into an ambush. I didn't show up until it was all over." His hands were trembling visibly now as he leaned against the mantel.

Giving Micum a compassionate nod, Valerius slipped quietly out.

"They killed—They killed everyone," Seregil whispered. "In my rooms. Except Luthas. Wethis has him. It's burning now, the whole place. Everything."

Micum shook his head as the horror of it sank in. "But Cilia, Thryis?"

"All of them."

Seregil's face seemed to crumple in on itself like a parchment thrown on a fire. "I did this, Micum," he gasped raggedly, clutching his head in both hands. "I brought this down on them, led the bastards to them. They were—"

Micum said nothing, simply put his arms around his friend and held him tight as Seregil shook helplessly with harsh, strangled sobs. In all the time Micum had known him, he'd seldom seen Seregil weep, and never as violently as this.

Whatever he'd seen at the inn, whatever had been done there, it had wrenched something from his very soul.

"You couldn't have known," he said at last.

"Of course I should have!" Seregil shouted. Jerking away, he stared at Micum with wild, desolate eyes. "All the years they protected me, kept my secrets. Slaughtered! Slaughtered, as if they were animals, Micum! Then the shit-eating carrion scum—They cut off—"

He sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands as another fit of weeping rocked him.

Micum knelt, one hand on Seregil's shoulder, and listened with mounting horror and outrage as he choked out the details of what he'd found, what had been done to the bodies of those good people.

When he'd finished, Micum gathered him in again, unresisting now, and held him until Seregil had cried himself limp and silent. He remained there, leaning against Micum, for a moment longer, then sat back on his heels and wiped his face on his shirttail. His eyes were red, but he looked calmer now.

Micum's knees ached from kneeling. Sitting down among the strewn papers, he stretched one leg, then the other. "Tell me more about Alec."

Seregil held up the black and silver dagger, which he'd been clutching through the whole outburst. "It's his. They left it for me so I'd be sure to know they had him. From the looks of the room, they killed the others, and then waited for some length of time, hoping we'd show up. I found his sword under a table. He gave them a fight before they brought him down; there was blood on the edge of the blade." He took a deep breath, fighting for control. "I showed this to Nysander when I got here this morning. I think he knows where they're headed. He was trying to tell me when he fainted, but I think I may have figured it out."

Seregil retrieved a map from the scattered pile by the chair. As he spread it on the floor between them,

Micum recognized the outline of the Plenimaran peninsula, but the spidery writing that covered it was unintelligible.

"What is that? I can't read any of it."

"Nysander's own writing system," Seregil explained. "I learned it back in my apprentice days. Before he passed out, Nysander spoke of a temple in Plenimar, saying it was under "the pillar of the sky." At first I thought it must be a monument of some sort and didn't have much hope of finding it. But look here." He pointed to a place on the northwestern coastline just above the isthmus. "See that small cross there? It marks the position of Mount Kythes, only here it's labeled "Yothgash-horagh.""

Seregil looked up at Micum, the old intensity rekindling. "In the ancient tongue of Plenimar, that means Sky Pillar Mountain."

"Under the pillar of the sky." Micum looked at the map again. "You do realize, of course, that this place is well behind enemy lines now?"

"Yes, but if I understood what Nysander was trying to tell me, it's imperative that the four of us be there at some specific time. "One place, one time," he said, and "synodical."

"What's that?"

Seregil shook his head, frowning. "I don't know yet, but it's important."

"It's all to do with that damn prophecy of yours, isn't it?" Micum scowled. "But what in hell did the Plenimarans attack the Oreska for?"

"They were after that wooden coin I stole from Mardus back in Wolde. Nysander had it and at least one other item of interest to them. He'd hidden them down in the lowest of the vaults. That's where the worst of the wizard battle took place."

Getting to his feet, Seregil straightened his ill-fitting clothes and headed for the door. "Come on, I want to see if Nysander's conscious yet. Then I'll need a look at the damage down below."

Micum followed, thinking of Mardus, and the fact that he'd taken Alec instead of killing him on the spot. This was tied in with what he'd found up in the Fens, he knew, but it was best not to think of that just now.

Valerius met them outside the bedroom door.

"Well, you're certainly looking better," he observed, looking Seregil over with gruff approval. "Red eyes, flushed cheeks. A good cry's just what you needed. Damn shame about the inn. That baby's fine, by the way. I've sent him to the temple for the time being. I suppose you'll tell me about the others when you're ready."

Seregil nodded. "Can I see Nysander now?"

"Still sleeping. Magyana and Darbia are watching him. They'll send for us as soon as there's any change."

"How soon do you think he'll wake up?" asked Micum.

"It's difficult to say. These old wizards are strange creatures; he has his own way of fighting for life." Valerius cocked an eyebrow in Seregil's direction. "I gather you haven't heard about Thero?"

"What about Thero?" Seregil asked sharply.

"He's gone," snorted the drysian. "They've searched high and low. He's not among the dead, nor anywhere in the House or the city. My guess is, he's with whoever it was attacked here last night."

"That traitorous bastard!" Seregil snarled.

"He knew Nysander's ways, his habits, not to mention something of the Oreska defenses. There's more than iron grates guarding the sewer channels under this place. He let them in! Bilairy's Guts, he let them in!"

"We don't know that," Micum warned but Seregil wasn't listening.

"He knew whenever I was around, and where I lived!" White with anger, Seregil slammed a fist against the wall. "Agrai methiri dos prakra, he betrayed all of us. I'll feed him his own balls when I find him. Lasot arma kriunti!"

Micum took the news more calmly. "If he was in on it, then so was Ylinestra. I suppose she's gone, too?"