the memory of what had happened to them, whispering anew
the warning it had given him eariier, teasing him with se3′
satisfied, purposeless glee. Why hadn’t he listened, it whis-
pered? Why had he been so stubborn?
The lights of the Tyrsian Way burned through the darkness
ahead, and moments later they stumbled to the edge of the street
There were people clustered there, dim shapes in the night, fac
less shadows that stood mute witness to the chaos beyond
Most were farther down near the park’s entry and saw nothing
of the two ragged figures who emerged. Those who did so
quickly looked away when they recognized the Federation uni-
forms.
“Where do we go now?” Par whispered, leaning against Coil
for support. He was barely able to stand.
Coil shook his head wordlessly and pulled his brother towam
the street, away from the lights. They had barely reached it’
cobblestones when a lithe figure materialized out of the shadow
some fifty feet away and moved to intercept them. Damson, Par
thought. He whispered her name to Coil, and they slowed e^
pectantly as she hurried up.
“Keep moving,” she said quietly, boosting Par’s free arm
about her shoulders to help Coil support him. “Where are the
others?”
Par’s eyes lifted to meet hers. He shook his head slowly and
saw the stricken look that crossed her face.
Behind them, deep within the park, there was a brilliant ex-
plosion of fire that rocketed skyward into the night. Gasps of
dismay rose out of those gathered on the streets.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Don’t look back,” Damson whispered, tight-lipped.
The Valemen didn’t need to.
Morgan Leah lay sprawled upon the scorched earth of the Pit,
steam rising from his doming, the acrid stench of smoke in his
mouth and nostrils. Somehow he was still alive, he sensed-
barely. Something was terribly wrong with him. He felt broken,
as if everything had been smashed to bits within his skin, leaving
him an empty, scoured shell. There was pain, but it wasn’t phys-
ical. It was worse somehow, a sort of emotional agony that
wracked not only his body but his mind as well.
“Highlander!”
Padishar’s rough voice cut through the layers of hurt and
brought his eyes open. Flames licked the ground inches away.
“Get up-quickly!” Padishar was pulling at him, hauling him
forcibly to his feet, and he heard himself scream. A muddled
sea of trees and stone blocks swam in the mist and darioiess,
slowly steadied and at last took shape.
Then he saw. He was still gripping the hilt of the Sword of
Leah, but its blade was shattered. No more than a foot re-
mained, a jagged, blackened shard.
Morgan began to shake. He could not stop himself. “What
have I done?” he whispered.
“You saved our lives, my friend!” Padishar snapped, drag-
ging him forward. “That’s what you did!” Light poured through
a massive hole in the wall of the Gatehouse. The door that had
been sealed against their return had disappeared. Padishar’s voice
was labored. “Your weapon did that. Your magic. Shattered that
door into smoke! Gives us the chance we need, if we’re quick
enough. Hurry, now! Lean on me. Another minute or two …”
Padishar shoved him through the opening. He was dimly
aware of the corridor they stumbled down, the stairs they
climbed. The pain continued to rip through his body, leaving
him incoherent when he tried to speak. He could not take his
eyes from the broken sword. His sword-his magic-himself.
He could not differentiate among them.
Shouts and a heavy thudding broke into his thoughts, causing
him to flinch. “Easy, now,” Padishar cautioned, the outlaw’s
voice a buzzing in his ears that seemed to come from very far
away.
They reached the ward room with its weapons and debris.
There was a frantic pounding on the entry doors. Their in
shielding was budded and staved.
“Lie here,” Padishar ordered, leaning nun back against the
wall to one side. “Say nothing when they enter, just keep still.
With luck, they’ll think us victims of what’s happened here and
nothing more. Here, give me that.” He reached down and pried