through the bazaar and out of the Common Gate.
They faced a long, but not difficult, walk beyond the walls of the city. As
Dubro pointed out, the demoiselles of the Street of Red Lanterns had to follow
their path each night on their way to the Promise of Heaven. The ladies giggled
behind their shawls at the sight of the two bearing what was so obviously a
corpse. But they did nothing to hinder them, and it was far too early for the
more raucous traffic returning from the Promise.
Huge piles of stone in a sea of muddy craters marked the site of the new temple.
A water-laden canopy covered sputtering braziers and torches; otherwise the area
was quiet and deserted.
It is the night of the Ten-Slaying. Cappen Varra told me the priests would be
busy. Rain will not stop the dedication. Gods do not feel rain! Illyra thought,
but again did not know and sat with her back to Dubro quivering more from doubt
and fear than from the cold water dripping down her back.
While she sat, the rain slowed to a misty drizzle and gave promise of stopping
altogether. She left the inadequate shelter of the rock pile to venture nearer
the canopy and braziers. A platform had been built above the mud at the edge of
a pit with ropes dangling on one side that might be used to lower a body into
the pit. A great stone was poised on logs opposite, ready to crush anything
below. At least they were not too late – no sacrifice had taken place. Before
IHyra had returned to Dubro’s side, six torches appeared in the mist-obscured
distance.