“But don’t the Hallowed Ones have some great weaving planned?” asked Alain. “Isn’t their magic enough to defeat—?”

Agalleos slapped a hand against Alain’s mouth. “Speak not of what is forbidden. We are not Hallowed Ones. It is not allowed for us to hear such secrets or even speak of their existence.”

Shevros was staring at Alain as though he’d sprouted horns in place of his ears. Rage growled, and Agalleos, glancing at the hounds nervously, took a step back.

Maklos, standing closest to the edge of the wood, hissed softly. “Uncle. Come see.”

Alain’s face still stung from the unexpected blow. His heart raged, and yet he was ashamed of himself as well. What right had he to delve into the secrets known to Adica and her companions, that they had suffered and died for, that they had trained long years to master? Yet the more he knew, the more likely he could help Adica. Resentment flared. What right had the Holy One to thrust him into a world he did not understand, to command him to play his part, and yet never tell him the truth?

He had so many questions. How was it he could understand his companions? Was it because this was the afterlife? Yet he hadn’t been able to understand Two Fingers, or the folk in the desert, or the Akka people. Instead of the afterlife, perhaps this was simply a different life. Truly, people did not seem so dissimilar here, even if their customs and secrets were unfamiliar to him.

Sorrow licked his hand.

In any case, wasn’t it the Holy One they had come to Shu-Sha’s land to rescue? Once they had rescued her, she could answer his questions.

“Hsst!” Agalleos beckoned to Shevros. “Do you see that standard? What mark?”

Alain eased forward so that he, too, could see. Visitors had come to the outpost, a procession of at least two hundred people, most of them soldiers dressed in bronze armor and helmets and carrying the long spears that he now recognized as typical of the Cursed Ones.

“The blood-knife.” Shevros’ eyes were sharpest. Alain could not quite make out the insignia marked on the white standard, a narrow length of cloth bound vertically along a pole. “Look there. The high priest’s feathers.”

Shevros’ words struck the others to silence. They watched from concealment as the retinue entered through the gate and disappeared behind the palisade bank, but they had all glimpsed the figure wearing a magnificent headdress composed of iridescent blue-green feathers.

With a heavy voice, Agalleos spoke. “There can only be one reason the high priest of Serpent Skirt would leave his temple in the City of Skulls. He must be going out to oversee the return of an important prisoner. Or to kill her.”

They looked at each other, then, the uncle and his two young nephews. They were speaking not with words but with their expressions. Questions were asked, a decision made, and Alain did not yet even understand what was going on.

But they did.

“I’ll go back,” said Shevros. “I know the worm’s road best.” He grinned, just a little, as he looked at his twin. “I know you, Maklos. You’ll not be content if you don’t go forward. I wish you glory of it. Just don’t get yourself killed.” He grabbed his twin by the shoulders and kissed him soundly on either cheek.

“What’s going on?” demanded Alain. They looked at him as if they had forgotten he was there. Agalleos’ words penetrated far enough to waken in his mind the conversation he’d had with Laoina in those last moments before they’d parted. Rage whined. At the northern gate, the priest and his escort appeared again, supported by a dozen men from the outpost as they marched to the ford and began the crossing. “You think that party is going to fetch the Holy One, from wherever she is being held prisoner.”

“We must follow them,” said Agalleos. “We cannot risk losing their trail. Shevros will return by the worm’s road to the camp and alert the queen. Then she can send a raiding party this far, at least. That way, maybe, we can rescue the Holy One. Otherwise…” He shrugged, making the gesture, at his throat, of a knife slitting the skin.

“I have to go back to the camp, to Adica.”

“If you must, then go.” Agalleos said the words without anger or accusation. “But if you go with Shevros, you must go now, and you must leave your spirit guides with us. We’ll take care of them as best as we are able. We’ll bring them safely back to you, if we can.”

Shevros was already shedding most of his gear, taking only a knife, two waterskins, and a pouch of food. His shield, his spear, even his sword he left behind.