make their stealthy way from the temple, thence to Molin’s dwelling for a joyous
reunion. But then they must act promptly – yes, roust the Prince out of bed for
authorization – and occupy the temple and arrest everybody in sight before new
trouble got fetched from this world.
Rosanda gained some self-control as he talked. ‘Oh, my, oh, my,’ she wheezed,
‘you unbelievable, wonderful men.’
An ear-piercing trill slashed across her voice. The escapers looked behind them.
At the entrance to the house stood a thickset middle-aged person in the scarlet
robe of a ranking priest of Ils. He held a pipe to his mouth and blew.
‘Hazroah!’ Rosanda shrilled. ‘The ringleader!’
‘The High Flamen -‘ Danlis began.
A rush in the air interrupted. Cappen flung his vision skyward and knew the
nightmare was true. The sikkintair was descending. Hazroah had summoned it.
‘Why, you son of a bitch!’ Jamie roared. Still well behind the rest, he lifted
his spear, brought it back, flung it with his whole strength and weight. The
point went home in Hazroah’s breast. Ribs did not stop it. He spouted blood,
crumpled, and spouted no more. The shaft quivered above his body.
But the sikkintair’s vast wings eclipsed the sun. Jamie rejoined his band and
plucked the second spear from Cappen’s fingers. ‘Hurry on, lad/he ordered. ‘Get
them to safety.’
‘Leave you? No!’ protested his comrade. Jamie spat an oath. ‘Do you want the
whole faring to’ve gone for naught? Hurry, I said!’
Danlis tugged at Cappen’s sleeve. ‘He’s right. The state requires our