A collective groan echoed through the stony cavern. The Rishadan captain interrupted. "These allies have told that their airship was hauled through doors at the base of the city. I will lead my forces through those doors and find your Uniter. Perhaps it'll yet rise-and fight for us."

Scar-faced Lahaime spoke next. "I will lead the Ramosans into position to strike against the Magistrate's Tower and the seats of government."

"My skyscouts and water wizards will produce another storm," Cho-Manno pledged. "The water will empower us and the Saprazzans to take the streets."

"What about the market?" someone shouted. "You can't win a battle in Mercadia unless you can take the market." Among the rebel leaders on the dais was a young man with tousled black hair, a man who many of the folks in the chamber had taken to be a mere page. His voice was still young, though he spoke with a calm confidence that impressed them all. "I am Atalla of Tavoot's farm. As with many other farmers, I have come to Mercadia with this season's harvest of simsass fruit. As with many other farmers, I am fed up with Mercadian rule. We farmers are united with your cause, and we fill the markets. I will lead my comrades to take the marketplaces, high and low."

"How can you, a mere boy, lead an army of peasants?" someone asked.

Orim grasped Atalla's shoulders and squeezed them affectionately. "He may seem young to you, but Atalla here is the man who made Gerrard and his comrades into heroes of the common people. Atalla is the man who made us into giant killers."

Chapter 21

Behind them, the group of Jhovall traders kicked up a cloud of dust that looked gray beneath the gathering storm. The jingle of harness bells and the purrs that came from the herd of several hundred mounts were accompanied by discontented rumbles from the clouds above. In the marketplace beyond the wall, tents flapped in rising winds, cold with unnatural mist. Workers pounded tent stakes deeper to keep canvas from pulling loose. The guards along the wall crouched in surly array and glanced skyward with each distant growl of thunder.

The fattest of the Mercadian guards approached the leader of the traders. "How many beasts do you bring to market?" Speaking the patois common to traders, his voice had a supercilious, sneering edge to it.

The trader, whose dark face and nose rings proclaimed him a Tsaritsa of the northern plains, chewed stolidly on a wad of klavaa leaves. "Two hundred."

"Six pieces of copper to bring them into the city."

"Two."

"Five."

"Four."

"Done." The trader pulled a greasy leather pouch from his saddle and extracted the price. The guard tucked the money away in the recesses of his uniform and waved the traders ahead. His lip curled. He eyed the dirty, unshaven figures as they passed, their robes drawn up tight around their faces to keep out the dust. "Hurry up there! Storm's coming!"

One trader, considerably taller than the others, paused and lifted a pair of dark eyes to stare back. There was reproach in his gaze. The trader moved on.

Spitting into the dirt, the guard looked down the road at the next party approaching.

The traders circled around the base of the mountain before finding a clear space in which to pitch their tents. They hastily erected the canvas, close together and clustered as near to the mountain as possible, hoping it would shield them from the coming deluge. The Jhovalls were enclosed in a rough pen, erected of wooden posts and ropes. The beasts settled down to feed.

Leaving a few of their number to keep an eye on the herd, the traders gathered within the largest tent for their evening repast. In the center of the space, a brazier burned. The traders squatted around it, their robes trailing on the floor, as bits of meat roasted on skewers. A large communal bowl of rice sat nearby, and the meal was washed down with draughts of thick red wine.

The herdsmen ate in silence, broken only by the sound of chewing, swallowing, and sucking on fingers. Outside, the ever-present hum of the mountain rose and fell in regular rhythms, as if some great beast was breathing heavily. Distant thunder came with the ominous portent of war drums. When the meal was complete and the dishes removed, the traders sat cross-legged on the floor of the tent and passed pipes of tobacco. After a long time, the leader spoke.

"We are arrived at your destination," he said to one of the herdsmen. "You have paid us for our help, and we have taken you through the outer guard as we agreed. Do you now wish to leave us?"

The herder cast back the hood of his robe, revealing a head of dark hair and a long, thin scar running along his cheek. His companions did likewise, one shaking out a long braid that dangled down her back. The tallest one carefully disentangled his hood from a magnificent pair of horns.

"We must leave you and find our companions in the city," Gerrard said. "We are grateful for your assistance, but now we must find a way above."

The leader drew deeply on the pipe and spat into a convenient brass cuspidor that had been placed near his side. "Not an easy task."

"Nevertheless, we must try."

The leader nodded slightly. "I can show you a way into the city," he said after long contemplation of the fire. "It is a secret known to my people. In the past it has allowed us to enter the city without paying the entrance fees and taxes that are charged by the magistrate. In the lifts, you would be quickly discovered by the guard. But if you and your friends take the way I show to you, you will go undetected."

"Is the way safe?"

The leader shrugged. "We have not traveled to the surface that way in some seasons. The last time I passed through that way, I experienced no difficulties."

Gerrard glanced at the others of his party. "What do you wish in return?"

The leader stroked his chin, his eyes bright and glittering. "You have said little of what you wish to do in the city." "If I said less than I knew, Most Respected Shi'ka, it was because I did not wish to put you and your friends in danger." "But I suspect what you intend will threaten the chief magistrate and those who support him." He lifted a hand, stopping the other's protest. "I will be satisfied if the rule of the magistrate is weakened. Such a thing would be of great service to the people of my tribe, who suffer beneath the taxes and bribes of his rule."

Gerrard looked at him for a time in silence. "I can promise you, Shi'ka, that whatever we do in the city, the magistrate isn't going to like it."

Shi'ka nodded solemnly. "Very well. Let us sleep. Then, in the deeps of night, long before morningsinging, I will bring you to the secret way."

He motioned for his fellow tribesmen to clear away their meal. Weary with the long Jhovall drive, Shi'ka rolled himself up in a blanket and began to snore heavily. The others of his tribe followed suit.

Around the tent, the business of Mercadia went on unabated. The markets never closed, and the busy trading and selling at the foot of the mountain did not slow. The coming storm only added urgency to the marketplace. Through all the dark hours, peals of thunder were echoed in the hustle and bustle of the stalls.

A few hours after nightsinging had resounded from the minarets of the city far above, the black night was pregnant with rain. Shi'ka roused Gerrard and his companions from sleep and led them through the crowds of merchants and traders who thronged the area. After a walk of considerable distance, they reached a series of stalls hung with rich rugs of complex design. Shi'ka hastily pushed Gerrard and the others through the stall and into a tiny room in back, hung with rugs and smelling of musk and the oil used to polish rug racks.

The Jhovall trader grasped one edge of a large heap of carpets and indicated Tahngarth should take the other. With a grunt, they lifted the pile and moved it aside, revealing a small trapdoor studded with heavy nails. Shi'ka pulled up the door and gestured Gerrard toward the dark hole. The Benalian could see a slender ladder leading down into blackness.