The guardians had indeed followed. Each had sunk to one knee and pressed one arm to the ground, while their free hands touched their left breasts. They even bowed their heads, but so tall were they that Ciras could see that the faces had taken on crude definition.

One of the wildmen stood and approached. “Masters our beg you guests our.”

The travelers exchanged glances. Ciras nodded. “Tell your masters we would be delighted.”

The wildman cocked his head like a dog.

“Let me try.” Borosan smiled. “Tell masters your happy guests us.”

The wildman bowed sharply, then froze, as did the other three wearing that same face. The quartet then bowed, and the other eight followed a heartbeat later. They rose to their feet and turned as one. The wildman who had been the spokesman waved them forward.

Ciras looked at Borosan. “Did you have to tell them we were happy?”

“Do you want them to think we are not?”

“Good point.” Ciras followed the wildmen slowly, and tried to see through the opening at the tunnel’s far end. Even as they grew closer, the images remained obscured, and it was not until they moved through something as heavy as a curtain, but invisible, that he got a look at their goal.

As nearly as Ciras could tell, the entire mountain had been hollowed out. Against the walls and working out to the center of the opening, mud dwellings had been constructed in a pattern that, at best, was haphazard. Some clung to walls like birds’ nests and others leaned heavily against their neighbors. Some even rose to three and four stories, with crude ladders leading from one level to another. All around the city, wildmen-men, women, and feral children-swarmed like lice over the buildings.

The building at the center, however, mocked the dwellings around it. There was no mistaking it for anything less than an Imperial citadel, with its thick walls and tall towers ending in pyramidal roofs. The roofs had even been tiled as Ciras recalled from murals, and representations of the gods lurked at each corner.

What surprised him about the fortress was that neither mud nor stone had been used to create it. It appeared to have been shaped of swords and spears, shields and armor. There was no mistaking the forms, which fit flawlessly together. All the things we have been hunting-most all of them anyway-are here. He saw weapons of Imperial and Turasynd manufacture. Here and there, motes of light played along sharp edges or over some detailed embossing, then trailed up over a web of filaments that rose to connect the citadel to the mountain surrounding it.

“Where are we, Borosan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Masters welcome bid.” The wildman spread his arms. “Name Tolwreen.”

Ciras shot Borosan a sharp glance. “That’s the name of Grija’s Eighth Hell, the one saved for magicians.”

Borosan nodded slowly. “The one, according to the stories, from which there is no escape.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

19th day, Month of the Dragon, Year of the Rat

10th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Thyrenkun, Felarati

Deseirion

“Excuse me, did you say something?” Keles looked up from the table. A large sheet of rice paper was weighted with candleholders at the corners and on it Keles had been drafting a map of the new Felarati. He included sketches on separate sheets for other developments that could be overlaid to expand the city.

The woman to whom he had spoken laid her five-stringed necyl and its bow across her lap and cast her eyes down. She wore a robe of crimson with silver edging. Her crest, embroidered in silver and black on the sleeves and breasts, featured two doves nesting. A silver tie gathered her long black hair.

“I asked if there was another selection that would please you.”

“My lady, forgive me, but I get drawn into the things I am doing. In preparing a map, I can see the way things will be, and I become anxious.” He pointed beyond the table toward the balcony. “You’ve lived all your life here; you see the changes. Imagine this city transformed.”

She nodded, then smiled slowly. “It shall forever remind me of you.”

“You’re very kind.” Keles capped his bottle of ink and dried the brush on an ink-stained cloth. Much as Princess Jasai had predicted, Lady Inyr Vnonol had been introduced into his circle of acquaintances just over a week and a half ago and had quickly made demands on his time. She was clearly his to use in any capacity he desired.

He might have, too, were it not for two things. The first was his conversation with the Princess. It put him on his guard, and when Inyr moved into his circle, she’d been simple to spot as a spy.

The other thing that made him wary was really a tribute to the Desei Mother of Shadows. Save for her age and maturity, Inyr might as well have been Majiata Phoesel, his ex-fianc?e. Inyr’s eyes were a slightly lighter shade of blue, but her hair, height, and form were identical to the woman he’d left behind in Moriande. In choosing her, the Desei thought they had found him the perfect mate. Somehow they had missed the way his relationship with Majiata had ended.

Or maybe they hadn’t. Inyr Vnonol did have a maturity that Majiata had lacked. Inyr, from the beginning, had been devoted to Keles. She seemed to want nothing more than to bask in his presence, and she evidenced no interest at all in his work. By contrast, Majiata would have been very interested-at least up to the point where she realized that anything he was willing to show her would be of no value to her family.

Keles turned from his table and smiled at her. “You play beautifully. Whenever I hear the necyl played, I shall be reminded of you.”

Her head came up and she smiled more fully. “But I understood the necyl is not often played in Nalenyr. Did not one of your princes outlaw it?”

And with good cause. “He thought it sounded like a cat being gutted. That’s not what he would have thought had he heard you playing it.” He would have thought it sounded like a cat being gutted slowly.

“Now you flatter me, Master Anturasi.” She shot him a gaze that did send a flutter through his stomach. “Toward what end, I wonder?”

Keles widened his eyes. “Oh, my lady, you do not think I mean to seduce you and despoil your honor? I could never do that. What sort of guest would I be to Prince Pyrust were I to use one of his citizens so?”

“I do not take offense, Master Anturasi.”

“Oh, but you should, my lady.” Keles turned his head so he could not see her. “You come here as a friend, knowing I am lonely and far from home. You play for me, seeking to make me feel better and… The truth is, my lady, that a part of me may indeed have been trying to seduce you. A dark, dishonorable part. I’m sorry. You are kind when you say you take no offense, but I know you must be shocked.”

“Truly, Master Anturasi, I understand.” She set her instrument aside and rose from her knees. “I can see the pain you are in. The longing: for home, for friends, for confidants, for a kind touch…”

He held a hand up to stop her. “No, Lady Inyr, you mustn’t. It’s all true what you say. You have defined my weakness perfectly. And you, a true friend, would help me.”

“I wish to be more than your friend, Master Anturasi.” The warmth and underlying hunger in her voice would have made him succumb, were he not well aware she was a spy in his household. “I, too, feel loneliness, the need for the touch of a friend…”

“No, my lady. No.” Keles shook his head, still refusing to look at her. “You are a sympathetic soul. You empathize with me, but at your peril. Your Prince has told me I will be sent home at the end of six months, perhaps sooner. I would be weak and use you, but you deserve more, so much more.”