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Volrath's eyes glowed with a cold light beneath his brows. He turned his attention on the lead Kyren. "And what of your progress, Lord Griid? Last week you reported rebel uprisings in both the lower and upper markets. Have you rounded up the culprits? Have you put them to death?"

Griid recoiled from the pillows, and his head bowed.

"Has Master Volrath heard the rumors of the giant killers?" Eyelids drooped angrily across Volrath's eyes, and his lips curled. "Don't hide your ineptitude behind tales of the rabble."

"Is it not remarkable how a fiction can rally the people? How the Ramosans have used lies to foment rebellion? Is it not astonishing how their leader Lahaime lays hold of vulgar minds?"

"Astonishing," Volrath echoed, his hand lunging like a cobra and gripping the Kyren's bowed head. "Isn't it astonishing how I have laid hold of your vulgar mind? Now, tell me what you are driving at-and tell me without any of your damned questions!"

Griid went to his knees. His eyes clamped shut against the pain. His brow pressed the edge of Volrath's throne. "The giant killers-Gerrard and Sisay and their friends-have rallied the people. They have become popular heroes. Hope has replaced fear. Folk who once were unquestioningly loyal are I now harboring and aiding revolutionaries."

"Dispel these stories then," Volrath said, tightening his grip. "Forgive, Master, but how can we dispel them while Gerrard and Sisay yet live? While you yet are Takara among them?"

Volrath hissed. "When Weatherlight is repaired, Gerrard and the whole crew will be killed. That will end these stories." "Perhaps not," Griid replied miserably, his voice muffled by the edge of the chair. "The giant killer stories have banded the people together, have catalyzed the Ramosans. Lahaime leads them. While he lives, the revolution lives."

"We will find him, then, and kill him," Volrath replied. "You can kill Lahaime, but you cannot kill the Uniter." "The Uniter!" growled Volrath. In fury, his hand clenched, fingers piercing the Kyren's skull as if it were a ripe melon.

Griid convulsed, impaled on the man's clawlike hands. He slumped against the throne, and his riddled head gushed down his leg.

Volrath stood, abstracted. His fingers slid languidly from the mush that had been Griid's head.

He walked. Gore dripped from his claws. It fell with a quiet pattering sound on the floor, on the prostrate magistrate, on the puddle of Starke's own lifeblood. "I should have anticipated this. Weatherlight is an oracle wherever it goes. I should have seen that Lahaime and his Ramosans would be whipped into a frenzy by it." He strode calmly over the body of Starke. "Everyone is after my prize. I shall simply have to rebuild it more quickly and defend it more… viciously." He neared the barred doors.

Kyren scurried to haul away the bodies, to mop up the blood, to cover the chief magistrate's bloodstained face and hands with powder.

Meanwhile Volrath himself transformed armor to clothes, black muscle to pink flesh, gray skull to red hair. In midstride, the master of Rath and Mercadia had once again become Takara.

She placed one hand beneath the stout bar on the door and with a single gesture, hurled it up from its brackets. The bar rattled loudly across the tiled floor. Takara hauled the doors open, spilling nobles and guards who had been listening there. As they fell to the ground in seeming obeisance, Takara strode through their midst, out into the deepening night of fomenting rebellion.

"Defend my prize more viciously…"

Chapter 15

After much effort, Sisay obtained an interview with Orim, who was being held in a small suite of rooms beneath the statehouse. If a makeshift prison, it was a spacious one, but the lack of growing things and the forced confinement had pushed Weatherlight's healer back into a state of acute depression. Under Sisay's prodding, she repeated the conversation she had overheard. She vigorously expressed her opinion that Guard Commander Oustrathmer and the Mercadian ambassador were responsible for the theft and murder. They had made off with the Power Matrix, framed Orim, and left the Weatherlight officers virtual captives in the city.

"One thing's sure," Orim said bitterly. "The Mercadians have accomplished what they intended. We're stuck here, and they've got the Matrix."

Sisay nodded. "I'm afraid so. There's a hearing scheduled for two weeks from today, and the gods know how long that will drag on."

"What about the Mercadians? What are they doing?"

"They're gone. They disappeared just after your arrest." Sisay slammed a hand angrily on the arm of her chair. "Can you believe it? They couldn't have left the city without help from within-the Saprazzan commander you mentioned. The Mercadians are gone with the Matrix, and we're stuck here."

"What do we do?"

Sisay began to pace restlessly, kicking pieces of furniture as she passed. "Well, we've got to do something. I'm going to talk to the vizier."

Though in the past Sisay had had little difficulty obtaining an audience with the Saprazzan leader, today she found her way barred by Guard Commander Oustrathmer. When she insisted on seeing the vizier, he motioned several guards over and stood implacably before the door.

Sisay grew belligerent. "Look, just take her the message that I need to see her! Is that too much to ask?"

He replied in an unmistakable Saprazzan negative.

"She'll damn well see me, and you know it! Of all the-"

"What is the matter?" came the vizier's gentle voice. She came to the doorway. Her face seemed older, wearier.

The dark woman drew a breath and fought to control her emotions. "Vizier, I must speak with you."

"I cannot free your friend. We have already discussed this matter."

"Vizier, that's not what I'm asking. I understand she must stand trial. But what I have to say, I would rather say-" she shot a venomous look at the commander- "in private."

Oustrathmer spoke coldly to his vizier. The Saprazzan leader put a hand on his arm and made a request in Saprazzan. He replied in the negative, but the tone of her final words brooked no resistance. Oustrathmer's face turned pale. With a brief salute, he marched away from the door, allowing Sisay through.

The vizier beckoned Sisay to follow into the counsel chamber. They seated themselves on either side of the table. At a gesture from the vizier, a servant brought them each a tall glass of clear, cold water and then retired from the room.

The Saprazzan looked at the Dominarian silently, waiting for her to speak.

Sisay spread a hand on the table before her. "Excellency, I am as concerned about this theft and murder as you. Now the Matrix is in the hands of those who do not believe. If Orim had conspired to steal the artifact, at least she would have stolen it to raise Ramos. But those who have the Matrix wish only to prevent him from rising."

"We do not know yet who stole the Matrix."

"Orim was attacked by a Mercadian and your guard commander."

"So she says," interrupted the vizier.

Sisay nodded. "Yes, but assume for a moment her story is true. If that's the case, your enemies have our ship and your Matrix. If they can acquire the Bones of Ramos too, we'll all be doomed."

The vizier shook her head skeptically. "And if you had the Matrix and could join it with your ship and the Bones of Ramos, what is to say you would use your ship to help us? We Saprazzans might be doomed anyway."

"No," Sisay said, clear eyed. "I give you my word. If Ramos rises, his children-Cho-Arrim, Rishadan, and Saprazzan- will rise too."

*****

Even after two weeks, Orim found sleeping difficult in Saprazzo. The soft, diffuse light that came through her underwater window made her feel sleepy and sluggish, and the perpetual damp gave her the feeling she risked molding. Her bedclothes felt damp as well, and she often shivered beneath them half the night, or avoided them altogether, rising to pace back and forth across the room, waiting impatiently for morning.