Something hit him so fast he never saw it coming. He slammed back against theside of the shaft, then fell.

Squeak. Azel remained motionless only because of the watery state of hisflesh. Weak as a newborn, he couldn't betray himself when he wakened.

He cracked an eyelid, saw the Dartar kid from the Shu. That little bastard waseverywhere. Haunting him. How the hell had he gotten up here? Azel realized hehad rolled off the trapdoor after he'd fallen asleep.

Gorloch or luck gave him the moment he needed and the energy to capitalize.

The Dartar turned, reached for the Arif brat, got him by the foot. Azel puteverything he had into his punch. The Dartar flew backward, fell, the brat'sshoe flipping after him. "Hope you land on your head, asshole."

He didn't have energy enough to stand. The rainwater where he'd lain was red.

Clots of blood floated there. Damn! He was bleeding to death. Wouldn't that beironic? He rolled into a sitting position atop the trapdoor. Thank Gorloch ithad fallen shut. He would not have had the strength to close it had it fallenthe other way.

He fiddled with his bandages till he got the bleeding stopped. One more smalleffort, then he would put down roots.

He eased over to the Witch. "Wake up, woman." No response. Whap! He crackedher cheek with his palm, rocked her head halfway around. "Come on, damn it!

This is it. You get on the stick and call up Nakar or kiss your ass good-bye.

They know where we're at and we got nowhere else to hide." He popped heragain. This time he glimpsed a flash of eyeball.

That was it. That was all he had, except an ounce of iron will that let himguide himself as he collapsed, so his torso sprawled across a corner of thetrapdoor.

The first blow reached her but the drug held her. The second sent alarums ofpain coursing through her. She opened one eye far enough to see her tormentor.

Azel? But how ... ? She was soaked. She lay in a pool of water. Rain fellupon her still. Thunder stalked overhead. The chill followed the pain insideher, opening channels through which thought and sense began to flow. Shegained control as Azel fell as if he had melted.

She shoved her upper body up to the length of her arms, turned her headslowly. Her thoughts did not run crisply but she could reason. And she couldremember some of what had been happening around her while the drug ruled her.

She understood where she was and why and how she had come to be there and forone moment she actually appreciated Azel and his stubbornness.

She had yielded to weakness, perhaps to defeatism, and had permitted herselftoo much of the drug. Fool. Maybe she was as crazy as Azel claimed. Maybe she didn't deserve Nakar back. Maybe she was too weak.

Her body would not support itself. She collapsed. But she resisted the allureof sleep, of escape. The hour had come. Time had run out. Azel had said theyknew where she was ... Her gaze fell on the boy.

He was asleep. More than asleep. Unconscious. She felt Nakar in there, quiescent, in a twilight of near-awareness, reluctant to come nearer thelight.

Ala-eh-din Beyh.

Of course! That was it, as Azel had insisted. Nakar dared not come forward. Todo so meant facing the consequences of total defeat. He had lost that struggle... Her fault. Her fault completely.

But ... Vaguely, as though recalling a fading dream, she recapturedtenuous memories from below. Azel hitting the other child. Azel had broken hisneck. Ala-eh-din Beyh would not be there now. That vicious soul had traveledon.

It was here for the taking. All she had lived and suffered for. If she kepther wits and conquered her flesh and found the strength to draw forth herbeloved's soul.

She wept a single tear, though. Never again would her man be the man she hadknown. The body was still down below. That Herodian sorceress, that bitch fromthe same kennel as Ala-eh-din Beyh, would have wasted no time destroying it.

She looked at the boy and laughed madly, picturing herself mothering the newyoung Nakar. Then she turned to the things Azel had brought up. What sheneeded would be there. Azel always did whatever had to be done.

She was slow, so slow, but soon she was ready, soon she was reaching into thedarkness, calling her love.

Arif was lost in a nightmare. He could not wake up. He was terrified but notas much now as he had been. This was so unreal he could not believe it completely. He seemed to hear his mother reassuring him, "It's only a dream, Arif. It's only a dream."

Something alien was there in the darkness with him, frightened and wary, too, but big and dangerous and patient, like a giant, poisonous toad waiting in thedark for prey. That thing moved seldom. So far he had fought it off each timeit had. He had begun to gain confidence there.

Then the voice came, remote at first, a woman calling. "Mother?" The voicecalled, compelling and reassuring. He seemed to turn toward it and move thatway. The voice grew louder. He moved eagerly-till he recognized it as thevoice of the beautiful, evil woman who stole children.

He tried to stop moving toward the light, could not.

The thing in the darkness shifted, turned its invisible eye upon him. He feltits amusement, its iron, wicked intent.

He tried to scream.

That thing swam up toward the light, gaining fast.

Instinct made Yoseh flail out. He was not conscious enough to think. One handdragged over several rungs. He felt fingernails rip and break. He got a solidhold. His arm wrenched violently. He screamed.

He grabbed with his other hand before the first gave way. He stopped hisplunge. He clung there shaking and whimpering with pain, afraid to move.

The child-taker had not been dead. Had not been sleeping. Now the man wouldtake steps.

He had to get word to Nogah and Mo'atabar and the Herodian sorceress now. Buthe could not move. His muscles had locked, refused to let him. His fear offalling would not respond to his will.

He could not yell again, either. His tight, dry throat would let him donothing but croak.

Tears flowed. A coward. He had feared he was, always. And now, when alldepended upon him acting, he could not. He burned, thinking of the shame uponhis father.

Aaron had himself under control now. Outwardly he portrayed quiet calmness.

But could it last? His mind was a hornet's nest of terrible thoughts andfears.

The hidden room was crowded beyond enduring. They were packed in there bellyto- back, shoulder-to-shoulder, breathing into one another's faces, smellingone another's fear. The sorceress had not been able to prevent the Living frombreaching the temple wall. She had had to spend too much attention on Zouki.

Aaron could hear the Qushmarrahan rebels cursing outside the wardrobe. Thewardrobe that would hide nothing if opened because Medjhah had demolished theconcealed opening.

There was no sound in the little room. Most of them were holding theirbreaths. Only the sorceress was doing anything. Something to shield them, tohide them, to baffle the Living, he prayed.

He called upon Aram's love and mercy repeatedly, silently, in his heart.

In time Kosuth and Medjhah returned from their quests. In whispers theydelivered negative reports. The bolt-hole in the floor just led down and downto water. The other ran to a hidden exit inside the guardroom behind thepostern-inside the brick wall Fa'tad had installed.

"Even so," Mo'atabar murmured. "Even so." He began indicating men. "Crawl inthere. Hide. It's too crowded in here."

Despite the maddening crowding no one wanted to go into the crawlway. Aaronthought only a second and knew he would fight if they tried to send him. Hecould not endure the closeness.

How much worse for these men, reared in the wide expanses of the mountains andTakes, beneath sprawling desert skies?