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Eshfen delivered a backhand so hard that Vallo's head snapped to the side, leaving his mouth bleeding. "Shut up. You're not even worthy to imagine the power of the one who commands me. Now lead the way. Remember, if you don't want to turn this party into a tragedy, do as I say. Go on," he commanded, nudging Vallo towards the corridor.

Sidio nodded. No guards in sight.

Vallo protested no more. Though he often wiped the blood from his mouth and chin with his sleeve, he continued on as if he needed only to get rid of a simple setback. He led them through other corridors and smaller rooms, a good distance from the most exposed parts of the mansion, and finally stopped at the end of an archway blocked by a pair of large and heavy wooden shutters. He approached the wall on the left and brushed a hand along the edge of a thick frame that surrounded a painting the size of a doorway.

The man turned and looked at them, his eyes still full of anger. "Back off," he whispered. Seeing that Eshfen and Sidio hesitated, he added, "It opens to the corridor. Step back."

Sidio waited for Eshfen to move before stepping aside.

Vallo pressed something under the edge of the frame. A hiss emanated as the picture moved silently on well-oiled hinges, revealing a dark crack. The man slipped into the passageway and walked at a brisk pace through the half-light. "You'd better close the secret door. Or my men will immediately understand what's going on."

Apparently, the host had taken Eshfen's advice to heart and was trying to avoid interrupting the festivities as much as possible.

They walked about ten paces.

Eshfen blinked as his vision adjusted to the faint light emanating from small bulbs fixed at regular intervals high up near the roof. These were not oil lamps or candles, but very ancient objects, the result of a power unknown to ordinary humans. They had probably been created by the Masters. Just one of these lamps could have made any family living in Kenjir rich. And there were dozens of them.

Vallo turned right and entered a narrow stairwell. The walls of red brick and wooden bars were so close together that Eshfen had to stand sideways to avoid scratching them with his shoulders.

At the end of the stairs, Vallo pressed a hand against a low door. As he emerged from the passage and held the door open, a warm light fell upon Eshfen. The room they entered was vast and unashamedly rich. Consisting of three areas connected by thick arches, it boasted walls painted with golden varnish, tapestries, large frescoes, and imposing colonnades. There were sofas and cushions in every corner, marble tables and dark wooden shelves. Red stone details adorned the furniture, emerald tiles interlaced on the floor to create intricate patterns.

Gold, red, green.

The colors of Larsa, Urook and Napur.

The noble and military families of the three city-states were careful not to mix these colors in the fabrics they wore, in the materials they chose to build their houses, or even in the pigments used for the paintings that decorated them.

But the people of Lenna were not noble.

They were merchants.

The most greedy, dishonest, and influential in Kenjir. And they flaunted an inherent awareness of their position by mixing the colors of cities and cultures they despised.

Were they not all so despicable, Eshfen might have almost admired them for their insolence.

Eshfen gave Vallo a shove and directed him to the far side of the quarters, enclosed by heavy curtains. "Open the safe," he hissed.

Then he motioned to Sidio, "Go and check on Mali."

Sidio hurried away as Eshfen pulled back the curtains of the sleeping quarters.

"How do you know my house so well?" asked Vallo. "I can't stop you, but at least I want to know who betrayed me."

"You will be surprised to learn that your questions are of no value to us," Eshfen replied, pointing to a thick, polished wooden bookcase to the left of the bed. It was filled with scrolls, hand-bound volumes, and small marble statues that looked as if they had been carved from Irmanna's stone.

"But if you survive this evening, I advise you to be more careful. There are too many eyes in this house. And too many mouths ready to talk with little, very little, encouragement," he added.

Vallo nodded. For a moment he seemed almost grateful for the advice. But anger and fear returned to darken his face.

Sidio returned a short time later, grabbed the bookcase, and pushed it aside until he discovered a square door recessed in the wall.

The opening had been forged with a unique iron. No blacksmith in Kenjir could have polished it like this. It was as shiny as a mirror, covered with the finest engravings and bas-reliefs that seemed to depict distant stars.

Lethenium. The iron of the Tutors, the Masters of Urook.

"Don't make me ask a second time, Artisan Vallo," Eshfen said, looking sideways at the man.

Vallo, however, hesitated. Perhaps more out of habit than courage, he began, "You will not be able to escape in time. My guests will already be asking for me. My daughter will be worried."

Eshfen punched him in the nose.

"People like you," he said, pulling him toward the safe, "can't even imagine that something like this could happen, can you?" He grabbed Vallo's neck, preventing him from collapsing, and stared into his bloodshot, wide-open eyes.

"You hide in your rich mansions, move your little soldiers like puppets, and bleed the people of Kenjir as if their lives belonged to you." He moved closer to Vallo's face until the smell of blood dripping from his nose became unbearable.

"But you see, you little gold-coated cockroach, justice takes its course sooner or later. My master is not slow to act, only patient. And he cannot stand the dishonesty behind your bargaining." He shook the man and was surprised at how light he was. Without those fine robes, he probably appeared harmless. He might even have felt pity for him. But in Vallo's eyes burned an old pride.

"Well, Artisan Ochorus Vallo, if you don't want me to break your neck right now, wipe off the blood with your right hand. I think you know what to do next."

Vallo stared at Eshfen in silence, his nose reduced to a shapeless, mushy mass. But he did as he was told. He ran his palm over his upper lip, wincing in pain, and then stretched it out toward the vault.

Eshfen let him go and looked at Sidio out of the corner of his eye. The auxiliary clenched and unclenched his fists. Standing on his toes as if he leap forward at any moment.

"Make sure everything is quiet," Eshfen ordered, more to keep him busy than out of necessity.

Sidio obeyed immediately and returned to Mali.

Alone with Vallo again, Eshfen took a few steps until he stood in front of the safe. "Do I need to remind you of the formula?"

Vallo looked at him as if he were a slightly stupid child. A slightly stupid child who had just massacred his nose. "I'm not sure I can pronounce it properly. My upper lip is swollen."

Eshfen put a hand on his shoulder and pressed a thumb to his neck. "Do your best, Artisan."

Vallo took a breath, coughed a few times, and then wiped his nose again. In a low but firm voice, he said, "Hovver Custodio, Deja Sciello." Despite the nasal nuance that distorted his words a bit, he managed not to twist the syllables enough to activate the vault's defenses. As he placed his bloody palm on the shiny iron surface, a web of red light unfolded from the center to the edges.

A moment later, the sound of clicking gears echoed through the quarters.

The safe opened.

Eshfen struck Vallo on the back of the head with the base of the dagger, a small dark iron ball, and saw him collapse suddenly. Had he made the blow any harder, it might have shattered his skull. But Vallo had done his part. The merchant's fairness, so rare among his peers, had to be repaid somehow.

Eshfen stepped over him and swung open the heavy vault door. He quickly found what he was looking for.

Almost buried under a small mountain of sacks filled with gems and gold coins was a wooden box.

He pulled it out carefully, as if it were burning coal, and clicked the small latch that closed it.

Eshfen's eyes widened when he saw the three objects inside— two iron bracelets and a gold chain attached to a pendant of a small glass globe with a bright white flower inside. The flower seemed to pulsate, as if it were alive and trying to escape the small transparent cage.

Sidio's call pierced Eshfen's ears. "My lord!"

"Where is my master? And who are you?" Talber's voice rang out, controlled, efficient. But Eshfen could detect uncertainty and suspicion, even when hidden in the words of people accustomed to giving orders.

From this position, he could not see his face, but Eshfen was also sure that Talber was trying to intimidate Mali with his gaze.

He heard the girl reply, "Honorable Artisan Vallo is conferring with my superior in the next room. Master Wendingell has entrusted us with a gift for him. A private matter, I am confident you will understand." She said it as if she was tired of repeating it.

Eshfen should have complimented her. But Talber was not convinced. "Private? Out of my way, little girl!"

"Artisan Vallo asked us to make sure no one disturbs him."

"Is that so?" Talber chuckled.

Eshfen cursed, pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, and knelt beside Vallo. He poured its contents into the man's mouth. Vallo might suffer a terrible headache for days, but he would survive.

In the time it took Eshfen to get to his feet, Talber had already entered the quarters. He had almost reached the section that housed the bed and the safe when Sidio clawed at his neck with one arm and began to choke him.

"Don't kill him," Eshfen hissed. "Do you have any more powder?"

Sidio nodded, loosening his grip as he lowered Talber's body to the ground. "You lucky bastard," he whispered contemptuously to the now unconscious cupbearer.

"My lord!" cried Mali, "There are six of them!"

A moment later, the clash poured into the master's rooms like torrential rain. Six guards burst through the wide open doors. They wore light armour, shining as if they had never really known the cut of a sword.

Mali stepped back, serrated blade raised and ready to strike. Sidio juggled the curved dagger from one hand to the other as he looked first at Eshfen, then at the double doors to the right of the bed that led to a terrace jutting out over the sea.

Eshfen recalled the layout of this level. There were no other entrances to Vallo's quarters except for the secret passage at the far end of the last room. Trying to reach it would be foolish. Soon the mansion would be a hornet's nest. Vallo's other men were no doubt close by.

They had to jump.

Beyond the parapet was a terrifying drop down a sheer cliff face overhanging the sea. And below, the rocks.

It was madness, but Eshfen nodded.

As Mali and Sidio attacked Vallo's men, he took the bracelets out of the case and put one on each arm. He pushed them up onto his biceps until hey pinched his skin and would not fall off, then slipped the chain and pendant around his neck. He ran to the balcony doors and threw them wide open. The evening wind swelled the golden curtains, bringing the smell of salt into the room.

With his escape route clear, Eshfen turned to watch the fight.

Sidio and Mali were the best prepared and most promising of their class. Even the most seasoned missionaries held them in the highest regard. But any of those missionaries might have turned their backs on two such aides; they might have demanded that the two sacrifice themselves so that Eshfen could carry out the mission.

Eshfen sighed angrily.

Sidio was boisterous, impulsive and sometimes childish. But his heart was filled with a reverence so hot that it warmed anyone who came near him and knew him a little.

And Mali-she had the makings of a great decision maker. To command entire battalions.

He could not leave them behind.

Not today, Eshfen said to himself, not today.

He leapt into the fray, landing behind one of the two men cornering Sidio. A quick blow to the back of the knee sent the man toppling like a tree with a rotten trunk. Eshfen grabbed his head and snapped his neck, then spun and delivered a powerful kick to the warrior flanking him. His heel crashed into the man's right fist, forcing him to drop his blade. Then he drove his knee into the man's groin.

The man crouched instantly and Eshfen drove the blade through his throat. Looking up, he saw Sidio sprint across the floor and roll towards two more guards.

Sidio twisted his legs to knock down the nearest guard, then dodged the blows of the other, his blade clanking and sparking on the floor. The guard's grunts drowned out the sound.

Eshfen heard voices echoing from the top of the stairs. More guards.

They couldn't face them all.

It was then that he noticed Mali dancing lightly between two other opponents. She dodged their blows, inflicting small cuts, then low, painful blows.

But she was too bold, underestimating the experience of her opponents.

One of them landed a blow that caught her between the shoulder and chest, sending her hard to the ground.

She did not break the fall, but recovered quickly. She rolled backwards and jumped to her feet. Then she lunged forward, elbowing a guard in the jaw and knocking him back, stunned, as she turned to plunge the serrated blade into another opponent's stomach.

It was a rash move.

"Behind you!" cried Eshfen.

Too late.

The guard Mali had struck in the jaw, a very tall woman with shoulders broader than Eshfen's, gasped and coughed heavily, but straightened up.

She stabbed Mali.

The sword pierced the girl's chest and the shiny red tip emerged like a monster's fang.

Eshfen’s gaze crossed Mali's wide open eyes.

He saw them instantly fall into the void.

Sidio shouted in anger as he grabbed one of the guards by the neck and spun around. He dragged the man's weight as he fell to his knees, breaking his spine. Then he sprang to his feet and made for Mali, weeping, but Eshfen yanked him by the wrist.

"Run! Jump!"

The boy trembled with the fury of battle and the pain of loss. But he obeyed and ran for the terrace.

Eshfen regarded the smug expression of the woman who had killed Mali. Without hesitation, he snarled and charged her, sending her crashing to the polished floor. He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her head against the floor until she stopped struggling.

Just then he heard voices approaching. Vallo's other men must have reached the top of the stairs; perhaps they were already at the entrance to the quarters.

Only a few moments had passed since Sidio had given the alarm. But every blow struck, every slash dodged, every drop of blood spilled seemed to have spanned dozens of years.

He had found the Sacred Artifacts, yes. But Eshfen felt defeated as he took Mali's lifeless body in his arms and ran towards the terrace. The girl was light. Too light and young.

He threw her over the railing.

Then he dove into the abyss of dark water.

The impact took his breath away, and the waves, swollen by the wind, swept over him.

Eshfen tried to swim up, but saw only the darkness of an angry expanse of water. He held his breath, fighting the current, the waves, the cold, and the pain in his feet and torso. Falling into the sea from that height had felt like hitting a marble floor.

As he kicked his arms and legs with all his might, he feared he might not make it to the surface. Then, a powerful current swirled and sent him crashing sideways into a rock.

The impact opened a wound that burned like glowing embers.

He fought the instinct to open his mouth and scream, forcing himself to hold his breath again.

The current then carried him upward. Without realizing it, Eshfen found himself gasping for air.

He was close to the rocks.

Too close.

He reached out and grabbed the nearest rock, was pulled away, and slammed his back against a smoother wall. He tried twice more, reaching for slippery ledges he could barely see. He scraped his fingers and bled.

Finally he found a handhold.

He clung to the rock, his chest burning and battered by small cuts and scratches.

He prayed.

He prayed and cried and coughed violently.

And he waited. Waiting for his God to decide his fate.

The force of the waves gradually diminished as the silvery rays of the full moon, finally free of clouds, illuminated everything,

It was then that Eshfen could see Sidio. The boy had fallen against a high cliff nearby. His back was bent at an impossible angle, his face turned toward the stars, his skin very pale. With legs and arms spread wide, softly following the outline of the rock, Sidio seemed to be waiting to be taken by a giant's hand and carried to safety.

Eshfen looked away abruptly, fearing he might not be able to hold on to the rock.

First Mali. Then Sidio.

The girl was no longer silent and withdrawn. The peoples of Kengir had lost the sharpness of her observations and the skill with which she wielded her blade.

And the boy had not lived long enough to become the warrior he deserved. No more mischievous smiles, no more passionate devotion.

Only Eshfen had survived. He closed his eyes. How many times had he walked the fine line between life and death?

How much longer would he be allowed to live and watch such sacrifices?

Cold and pain bit at him like beasts, piercing his limbs, running through his bones. Breathing grew harder and holding on to the rock, resisting the waves, became more and more difficult.

He was about to let go when a whisper pierced his ears, penetrated his mind and ignited a flame in his chest.

Do not doubt.

Do not doubt.

Do not doubt.

There is a way out.

The new, deep tremor that shook Eshfen's limbs had little to do with the chill of the sea. It was pure worship, a fusion of powerful spiritual currents that marked the presence of the one true God.

Rahmadu.

The bracelets he wore began to glow.

They became very hot.

And Eshfen felt light.