‘They are coming,’ Dubro whispered as she neared him.
‘I see them. We have only a few moments now.’
From around her waist she unwound two coils of rope taken from the bazaar forge.
She had devised her own plan for the actual exchange, as neither the dream
spirit nor her meditations had offered solid insight or inspiration.
‘They will most likely follow the same path we did, since they are carrying a
body also,’ she explained as she laid the ropes across the mud, burying them
slightly. ‘We will trip them here.’
‘And I will switch our corpse for the girl?’
‘Yes.’
They said nothing more as each crouched in a mud-hole waiting, hoping, that the
procession would pass between them.
The luck promised in her dream held. Molin Torchholder led the small procession,
bearing a large brass and wood torch from Sabellia’s temple in Ranke itself.
Behind him were three chanting acolytes bearing both incense and torches. The
last two torches were affixed to a bier carried on the shoulders of the last
pair of priests. Torchholder and the other three trod over the ropes without
noticing them. When the first pallbearer was between the ropes Illyra snapped
them taut.
The burdened priests heard the smack as the ropes lifted from the mud, but were
tripped before they could react. Marilla and the torches fell towards Dubro, the
priests towards Illyra. In the dark commotion, Illyra got safely to a nearby
pile of building stones, but without being able to see if Dubro had accomplished
the exchange.
‘What’s wrong?’ Torchholder demanded, hurrying back with his torch to light the