drifted to the window. Below, the festivities were approaching a roar. The rope divers had begun jumping. He saw nothing alarming. He moved to the doorway, checked the hall. Nothing. From a shelf nearby he took an earthen jar, scattered part of its contents outside. Tiny seeds rolled around. He stomped one. It exploded with a loud pop. "Good enough." He closed and locked the door.
"Tell your story, Sister," Greystone said. His crossbow remained unwavering. "I haven't heard a good fairy tale in years."
"Kralj Odehnal—the sorcerer who had you captured, and would have had you killed had he taken Ride-Master Jehrke into his power ... "
"We know all that. We want to know about you. Who are you?"
"Easy, Greystone," Chaz said. "Would you care for something to drink, sweet lady?"
The woman glanced at the remains of the Protector. "I couldn't."
"Going to have to do something about him," Chaz muttered. "Starting to spook me, hanging there. Like he was watching everything we do."
"Tell your story," Greystone snapped.
"I am Caracene, a slave of Kralj Odehnal, who is known to his creatures as The Master. I was given to him as part payment for his joining the scheme to destroy Protector Jehrke and unseat Shasesserre as mistress of the world."
She was no Shasesserren, nor had her like appeared among the city's slaves. At least openly. Such beauty was too rare and precious to be allowed public display. Nor did she dress as, or have the manner of, a slave. Those eyes ... She was a slave-taker.
Puzzled, Chaz asked, "Who gave you to him?" He found that name Odehnal vaguely familiar. He could not imagine anyone bribing such a monster.
The woman stared at the cadaver on the wall. "I cannot say. One greater than he. One from whom none escape."
"Horsefeathers," Greystone said again. "We're being stalled, Chaz. It's time for a truthcasting. I'm no sorcerer, but I can manage that much."
The woman bolted to her feet. "No! It would kill me! I must go. I was wrong to come here. There is no hope here, either." She looked at the dead Protector once more. "Not even he ... "
Chaz moved to comfort her. As he reached out, a loud pop! pop! pop! came from beyond the door.
The woman gasped, "He knows I thought to betray him!"
Greystone jerked his crossbow irritably, indicating that she should retreat into the connecting library. Chaz moved to a peephole that, through a succession of mirrors, would show him who was outside without his having to reveal himself.
VIII
Rider slowed his pace after he had run three miles. Not that he was exhausted. He'd barely worked up a sweat. He ran ten miles every morning. But the tracks he followed were increasingly fresh. He did not want to overtake his man here, between the piers and yards and warehouses and ways of the Golden Crescent , and the strip of ten thousand markets the great ships served. There were crowds like no other city ever boasted. This was the hub of world trade, where the quarters of the earth came together in a frenzy and babble. Here there was no privacy, ever.
Rider's mouth was set in a grim smile. No doubt about it. His father's killer was headed into the trap prepared.
He stopped to purchase a quart of juice and a meat pasty. There had been no time to eat before. When he estimated time enough had passed, he washed at a public fountain, then strode toward the airship yards.
None but guards were on duty there, for it was a public holiday. The gatemen knew him, waved him through. He strode between vast construction docks, mooring stays, gas works where Jehrke's apprentices produced the magical air that buoyed the ships of the sky. All this vast industry was his father's doing. His greatest legacy to the city, perhaps, for it would go on even if his peace failed to persevere. The secrets here would be the first plunder sought by Shasesserre's enemies.
Thus, Rider had altered his father's message, knowing his murderer would believe the airship yards the likeliest place for the
"Tell your story, Sister," Greystone said. His crossbow remained unwavering. "I haven't heard a good fairy tale in years."
"Kralj Odehnal—the sorcerer who had you captured, and would have had you killed had he taken Ride-Master Jehrke into his power ... "
"We know all that. We want to know about you. Who are you?"
"Easy, Greystone," Chaz said. "Would you care for something to drink, sweet lady?"
The woman glanced at the remains of the Protector. "I couldn't."
"Going to have to do something about him," Chaz muttered. "Starting to spook me, hanging there. Like he was watching everything we do."
"Tell your story," Greystone snapped.
"I am Caracene, a slave of Kralj Odehnal, who is known to his creatures as The Master. I was given to him as part payment for his joining the scheme to destroy Protector Jehrke and unseat Shasesserre as mistress of the world."
She was no Shasesserren, nor had her like appeared among the city's slaves. At least openly. Such beauty was too rare and precious to be allowed public display. Nor did she dress as, or have the manner of, a slave. Those eyes ... She was a slave-taker.
Puzzled, Chaz asked, "Who gave you to him?" He found that name Odehnal vaguely familiar. He could not imagine anyone bribing such a monster.
The woman stared at the cadaver on the wall. "I cannot say. One greater than he. One from whom none escape."
"Horsefeathers," Greystone said again. "We're being stalled, Chaz. It's time for a truthcasting. I'm no sorcerer, but I can manage that much."
The woman bolted to her feet. "No! It would kill me! I must go. I was wrong to come here. There is no hope here, either." She looked at the dead Protector once more. "Not even he ... "
Chaz moved to comfort her. As he reached out, a loud pop! pop! pop! came from beyond the door.
The woman gasped, "He knows I thought to betray him!"
Greystone jerked his crossbow irritably, indicating that she should retreat into the connecting library. Chaz moved to a peephole that, through a succession of mirrors, would show him who was outside without his having to reveal himself.
VIII
Rider slowed his pace after he had run three miles. Not that he was exhausted. He'd barely worked up a sweat. He ran ten miles every morning. But the tracks he followed were increasingly fresh. He did not want to overtake his man here, between the piers and yards and warehouses and ways of the Golden Crescent , and the strip of ten thousand markets the great ships served. There were crowds like no other city ever boasted. This was the hub of world trade, where the quarters of the earth came together in a frenzy and babble. Here there was no privacy, ever.
Rider's mouth was set in a grim smile. No doubt about it. His father's killer was headed into the trap prepared.
He stopped to purchase a quart of juice and a meat pasty. There had been no time to eat before. When he estimated time enough had passed, he washed at a public fountain, then strode toward the airship yards.
None but guards were on duty there, for it was a public holiday. The gatemen knew him, waved him through. He strode between vast construction docks, mooring stays, gas works where Jehrke's apprentices produced the magical air that buoyed the ships of the sky. All this vast industry was his father's doing. His greatest legacy to the city, perhaps, for it would go on even if his peace failed to persevere. The secrets here would be the first plunder sought by Shasesserre's enemies.
Thus, Rider had altered his father's message, knowing his murderer would believe the airship yards the likeliest place for the
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