strike and make things even more ‘interesting,’ perhaps even considering how to
help it strike. The woman was shameless, insufferable-and so much herself that
Mriga suddenly found herself liking Ischade intensely.
“Excellent,” Mriga said. “What needs to be done?”
“If you haven’t buried him already,” Ischade said, “do so. Otherwise we would
find him on the wrong side of the frontier … and matters would become even
more complicated than they are at the moment.”
“Very well. When will we be leaving?”
“Midnight, of course: from a place where three roads meet. Ideally, there should
be dogs howling-“
Tyr gave Ischade an ironic look, tilted up her head and let out a single long
note, wavering down through halftones into silence.
“So that’s handled,” Siveni said, reaching for her spear. “And as for three
roads meeting, what about the north side of that park by the Governor’s Walk and
the Avenue of Temples? The ‘Promise of Heaven,’ I think it’s called.”
Ischade chuckled, and they all rose. “How apt. Till midnight, then. I will
provide the equipment.”
“That’s gracious of you, madam. Till midnight, or a touch before.”
“That will do very well. Mind the second step. And the hedge: it has thorns.”
Mriga walked through the open gate with satisfaction, patted the bay’s neck, and
stepped sidewise toward midnight. Siveni came after her, her spear shouldered
and sizzling merrily, and went the same way. Only Tyr delayed for a moment,
staring at the bay-then nipped it neatly in the left rear fetlock, scrambled
sideways to avoid the kick, and dove past Mriga into night.