"Run!" I shout.

We bolt for the door, our shoes clacking across the broken mosaic floor. But it is not enough to drown out the hideous screeching, growls, and barks.

"Go, go!" I scream.

"Look!" Felicity shouts.

The darkness of the vestibule is moving. Whatever was above us has gotten to the door before us, trapping us here. The keening dies down to a low, guttural chant."Poppets, poppets, poppets . . ."

They step from the shadows, half a dozen or so of the most grotesque creatures I have ever seen. Dressed to the very last one in tattered, filthy white robes over ancient chain mail and sharp, steel-toed boots. Some have long, matted hair that trails over their shoulders. Others have shaved their heads bald, the cuts still fresh and bloody. One fearsome soul has but one long strip of hair in the center of his head, running from forehead to collar. His arms are ringed in bangles, and about his neck is a necklace made of finger bones. This one, the leader, steps forward.

"Hello, poppet." he says, smiling hideously.

He offers his hand. His fingernails have been painted black. There are deep black lines inked up his sine"Y arms, thorny stems weeping tears of pitch. They end above his elbow, where fat red flowers bloom in a band around his arm. Poppies.

Nell's words swim back to me: Beware the Poppy Warriors.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

THE SHADOWS MOVE. THERE ARE MORE OF THEM. Many more. Far above us, they perch on railings and rafters like a flock of gargoyles. One dangles a mace on its chain, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum. I am afraid to look at the man in front of me, but at last I do, into eyes that are rimmed by black kohl in a diamond shape. It is like looking into a living Harlequin mask.

My throat's gone dry. I can barely stutter out a greeting. "H-how do you do?"

"How do we do what, poppet?"

The others laugh at this, a sound that gives me chills.

He steps forward, closer. He's got a crude sword that he uses like a walking stick, his hand clenched about the handle. Every finger wears a ring.

"We're sorry to have intruded . . ." My mouth is too dry. No other words come.

"We're lost," Felicity croaks.

"Aren't we all, poppet? Aren't we all. My name is Azreal. I am a knight of the poppy, as are we all. Ah, but you haven't told us your names, fair ladies."

We say nothing.

Azreal clucks his tongue. "Oh, that won't do at all. What have we here? Ah, I see you have made friends with the forest folk." He pulls the bow and arrow from Felicity and lays them on the ground. "Foolish poppet. What did you promise-omise them?"

"It was a gift," Felicity says.

The crowd breaks into a hiss of a chant. "Lies, lies, lies, lies . . ."

Azreal grins. "There are no gifts in the realms, poppet. Everyone expects something. What does such a sweet lass do with such a dreadful gift? Tell me, poppets, what were you looking for? Did you think this was the Temple?"

"What Temple?" Felicity says. Azreal laughs at this."Such spirit. Twill be almost a shame to break you. Almost."

"And if we were looking for this Temple?" I say, heart beating fast in my chest.

"Well, poppet. We'd need to keep you from it."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you bind the magic? No, poppet. Then we'd have none wandering near us. No one to play with."

"We're not here to bind the magic. We want what you do, a piece of it," I lie.

"Lies, lies, lies, lies."

"Shhh," Azreal says, spreading his hands, wiggling his fingers."The Poppy Warriors know why you've come. We know one of you is the Most High. We can smell the magic in you."

"But. . . ," I say, trying to find a way to reason.

He puts his finger to my lips. "Shhh, no negotiating. Not with us. Once we break you, we can suck the magic from your very bones. A sacrifice. Twill give us fierce power indeed."

"But it dooms you," Ann whispers.

"We are already doomed, poppet. No use crying over spilled blood. Now, which of you shall we offer first?" Azreal stops before

Felicity. "Such games we could play together, poppet." He trails his sharp fingernail down Felicity's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. "Yes. You would be such good sport, my pretty pet. We've found our first offering."

He grabs Felicity's arm and she falls to her knees, terrified.

"What can I offer you?" I shout.

"Offer us, poppet?"

"What do you want?" "Why, to play our games, of course. We've no quests left to us, no crusades. Only games."