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  “It will be done.”

  Damodar backed away and stalked quickly out of the hall. His guards followed, relieved to be away from dead dragons and mad magicians. It was not the kind of duty they craved, not the special, more enjoyable tasks Damodar had trained them for.

  “You will not catch me sleeping again,” Damodar muttered to himself as he made his way out of the chamber and down the spiral stairs. If only I didn’t need him for a while. What a pleasure it would be to watch a dragon snatch him up.

  A sudden, most interesting thought appeared in Damodar’s head. Profion had said he wanted no one left alive who had seen his disastrous experiment. The young courier who’d brought the news of the Emperor’s death… He hadn’t actually seen very much. Still, best to follow Profion’s orders, was it not?

  He thought, then, of a way to keep the members of his own Crimson Guard alive. They would be sent at once to a far outpost of the Empire for a while. As Profion said, they were ugly louts, every one, no one would argue that. Who, then, could tell one horrid fellow from the next…?

  * * *

  The great chamber was empty except for the stiffening carcass of the dragon crushed beneath the heavy metal door. Corruption of the flesh had already begun. Color had fled from the bright crimson scales, leaving a dismal, powdery shade of gray.

  The odor of putrefaction was intense, an almost visible pall that would soon spread far beyond the chamber itself. The workers had been ordered to hack the body up and remove it, but they were slow to return, and no one in charge of the lot was anxious to lead them there.

  It wasn’t long before immense black rats scuttled out of the rocky walls and began to tear hungrily at the ruined flesh. On their heels came a horde of carrion creatures—beetles, roaches, fat blue flies.

  A small trail of dragons blood began to spread across the stone floor. It reached the mage’s abandoned rod, stained it rusty red, trickled past the cobblestone hollows, out of the chamber, and down the spiral stairs. It was joined by another turgid stream, and then another, and another after that.

  The stream moved faster, as its growing strength swept it down one level and the next, until it poured with a rush into the dimly lit room that held Profion’s waterwheel.

  As the bloody tide met the surface of the underground river, it hissed in protest, writhed like a living thing, boiled and sizzled, then burst into flame. With a great explosive rush that woke the new Empress from a troubled sleep, the fiery river raced through every tunnel, every sewer, every passage, every hollow it could find on its swift, relentless path down, down, and ever down, through the very roots of the ancient city itself.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Ridley awoke with a start, waking just in time to duck. The crock full of wine shattered inches from his head. Rolling quickly over the hard stone floor, he went to his knees and scrambled for the door. Ridley could always find the door. Awake, asleep, in daylight or dark, a person who takes things from others and never gives them back has to know his way in, and more important still, he has to know his way out.

  This time though, he was puzzled somewhat, for he hadn’t stolen anything at all. The girl with green eyes and spiders in her hair had given him a kiss, and he’d given one back. Nothing more than that. They’d danced half the night at the Ferret and Fox, later at the Dog and the Duck, and somewhere else after that.

  The lady liked to dance and didn’t want to quit, but Ridley was dead on his feet and had to stop. All he remembered was coming back to her place, dropping to the floor, and taking a little nap.

  It might be, he thought as another crock missed him by a hair, that she was somewhat upset about the nap.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, backing into a corner as she reached for a rather large pot. “I dozed off a minute, Elweeda, and I apologize for that.”

  “You napped on my floor an hour and a half,” she shouted back, “and my name’s not Elweeda! It’s Alycia, you miserable oaf!”

  “I really loved the dancing,” he said. “You’re light as a feather on your feet. If we could try again some time—”

  The pot was already in flight, but Ridley was half a second faster and made it out the door. The missile shattered, and Alycia called him something he’d never heard before.

  “I hate a misunderstanding,” he muttered as he stumbled down the broken wooden stairs. “Takes all the cheer out of life, and spoils the day besides.”

  Outside, a sickly yellow moon was lost behind gray and somber clouds, clouds the color of a dead man’s hide. Ridley guessed it was still a good hour till dawn. A thief preferred to work and play at night, have a nice breakfast, and then sleep the light away. This particular night, however, hadn’t ended in a very pleasant way. Maybe, he thought, if he talked to Alycia, maybe stole her something nice, they could get back together again.

  Stopping at a fountain in a narrow alleyway, he cupped his hands, splashed cool water in his face, and ran his fingers through a tangle of dark, thick hair. He was neither tall nor overly short, a man with rough-hewn features, nut-brown eyes, and a disarming smile that seemed to put everyone at ease. Well, most of the time, he thought, except for this one unfortunate night.

  His clothing wasn’t new, just this side of worn. A cape of mottled gray topped a vest, trousers, and shirt a dull brown. Leather gauntlets and boots that were comfortable—again, unless he’d danced the night away—were better than they looked. Across his waist he wore a thick crossbelt with a sword on one side and a dagger on the other—arms that were common to many a man who wanted to survive in such dangerous and unforgiving times.

  This was the Ridley he wanted everyone to see, the Ridley no one could recall. No one remembered his features or his dress moments after they passed him in the street. A thief nobody forgets, Ridley knew, was a thief whose carcass would rot on a gibbet one day.

  He yawned, flexed his hands, and stretched his aching limbs.

  Breakfast seemed a good idea. Two plover eggs, fresh sugar-bread, and a slab of red beef that didn’t smell bad. Badger Bob owed him for a fine bolt of cloth he’d filched from a silk caravan. The cloth was another chapter in Bob’s eternal quest for the hand of the widow Gill.

  “You need to see to that nail in your boot,” announced Ridley without turning around, “the left one, I think, though I might be wrong about that.”

  “I know about the nail,” Snails said as he approached. “I don’t need you to be checking my boots. I can handle that myself.”

  Ridley knew Snails like he knew the back of his hand. He knew, at once, from the timbre of his voice, that his friend had a bone to pick and even knew what it might be.

  “All right, let’s get it out,” he said. “I should have told you I might be a little late. I sort of forgot the time.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I’m well aware of that.”

  Ridley perched on the edge of the fountain, picking at a string that was hanging from his shirt. If I pull it, he decided, the whole thing will likely unravel. A shirt with a string is better than no shirt at all.

  “You knew I was going back to the Ferret to meet a lady there. You saw me doing that. Besides, Snails, when did I have to start checking my life with you? I’m fully grown; you might make a note of that.”

  A black cloud descended, settling on Snails, and with it a look in Snails’ eyes that told Ridley there was more hurt than anger there.

  “Look,” he said quickly, “now I didn’t mean that, I—”

  “I sat up in that damned tree half the night,” Snails said, “perched like a bloody bird on a limb. It was cold up there, Rid. I ’bout froze solid. Finally, after the guardsman near spotted me twice, I had the good sense to come down. If I hadn’t, I guess I’d be up there still.”

  Ridley looked bewildered. “What were you doing sitting in a tree? Of all the dumb—” It suddenly struck him, and it all came back. “By the gods, Snails, I straight out forgot!” He groaned and slapped his head. “I did, friend, and I can only confes
s I’m a miserable soul and not worthy of you at all. Would you like to hit me, knock me to the ground? I’ll give you a shot. No, now, I’ll give you two. It’s two I deserve, and maybe more than that.”

  “I wouldn’t need two, and the offer’s tempting, Ridley, I won’t deny that. The fact is, I’d rather we’d gotten our hands on Meister Jax Winkit’s brass candlesticks, which there’s no chance at all of doing now, seeing as how he’ll be back from Gonnetz Town this very day.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “You did. I heard you say it clear.”

  “We could have used those candlesticks, Rid.”

  “Surely we could.”

  “I believe that’s what I said. I don’t see as you need to be saying it again.”

  Ridley didn’t answer. Snails stuck his hands in his pockets, kicked at the ground, then looked at Ridley again.

  “So. How was your evening with the lovely what’s-her-name?”

  “Alycia. Not Elweeda, and why I called her that I’ll never know.”

  “Women don’t care for that. They like it when you truly know their name. Is that all you did? I’ve a feeling there’s some more than that.”

  “I laid on the floor and took a nap.”

  “Took a nap… ?”

  “I couldn’t help it. We danced a great deal. I simply meant to rest for a while. That woman is possessed, Snails. There’s a demon in her toes that won’t let her stop.”

  Snails shook his head. “Doesn’t sound to me like a love that’s destined to last.”

  “You can safely say that.”

  “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

  Ridley looked at Snails. He was almost certain that his friend’s words were less than sincere, that instead, they betrayed a sense of pure delight.

  “She’s too tall for you. I think I told you that.”

  “I recall that you did. It appears, though, from what you’ve said, the lady’s not looking for height as much as she is for a man who can stay awake a while.”

  Ridley looked at Snails’ somber face, then burst out laughing and slapped his friend solidly in the chest.

  “You’ve the best of me, as ever, Snails. Breakfast today is on me. Anything you like.”

  Snails frowned. “We’re not going to eat at the Badger’s, are we? I’d as soon do without as step in there again.”

  “The Badger?” Ridley looked stunned. “You think I’d take my dearest friend to a sewer like that? I’m hurt, Snails. I can’t believe that even crossed your mind.”

  * * *

  Night seemed reluctant to creep away. Only the shyest edge of dawn, a weak luminescence scarcely akin to light at all, found the river below the ancient walls.

  Ridley and Snails were mere shades in this moment, neither daylight nor dark. Ridley was clad, as ever, in brown and a cape of mousy gray. Snails, hardly visible at all, was a Crosshatch of every dull shade it was possible to wear. Patches on his jacket, patches on his shawl, patches on his worn mustard tights. Patches on the leather bags and sacks that hung loosely from his belt. Patches appeared on patches themselves.

  Still, if anyone should doubt he could give as well as he got, they would do well to look at the well-dented sword that was always at his side.

  “I feel,” Ridley said, “it was just as well we missed Meister Winkit’s candlesticks. I’ve given the matter some thought, and I’m no longer sure those items were really brass at all.”

  Snails smirked. “If they’re not, what is it you think they are?”

  “They might be pewter or some base metal made to look like brass. People do that all the time.”

  “Some people do, but why Meister Winkit, Rid? He’s got more money than the king of the elves.”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

  “No, but you would go far enough to make me think it was wise of you to while away your time with what’s-her-name and not steal anything at all.”

  “Afycia. And I meant nothing of the sort.”

  “I am not as dull-witted as you think, Ridley. I might seem the fool, but that’s simply a guise. I believe you have said many times—”

  “I know what I’ve said: That it’s wise to put honest folk at ease. And I don’t think you’re a fool, Snails. I cannot imagine you’d even think such a thing of me. All I—Double damnation, what’s that?”

  Ridley stopped. A fierce tongue of fire abruptly blossomed halfway up the city wall. As the two watched in awe, the flames hissed and roared, then spilled down the wall in a bloody waterfall, rushed past the battlements, and spilled into the river, where they steamed and sizzled for an instant before setting the water afire.

  “Well,” Snails said, “that’s something new. I wonder what the fools dumped in the sewage up there.”

  Ridley and Snails took their cups and walked out the tavern door. “Whatever it is, I wish they wouldn’t dump it down here.”

  “Now where else you think they’re going to dump it, except on the poor? That’s the way of life, the way it’s always been.”

  In only a moment, the river quay was crowded with people, some still in their bedclothes, shaking their heads in anger and disbelief at the burning river coursing by.

  “I’m telling you,” Ridley said, “this has to be some twisted magic experiment gone seriously wrong. One of those crazy magicians up there. Some fool in a robe drops a snake in his pot when he should’ve dropped a frog. Likely happens all the time.”

  Snails made a noise in his throat. “Anything goes wrong up there, you blame it on mages. Every time it rains, it’s somebody’s spell.”

  “Well, when was the last time you saw a fiver catch fire?” Ridley watched the bright reflection of the river on the faces of the crowd. “Answer me that. You think the royal louts up there care if we all burn up down here? Take my word, friend, they surely do not. The people of Oldtown are good for taxes and working till their backs give out, and that’s all.”

  Snails raised a brow. “When did you pay taxes? As far as that, when did you ever use your back?”

  “Never to both, but a lot of good people do, and I respect them for that.”

  “Someone’s got to do it, or else there’d be nothing to steal. Say, look at that! Strike me blind if that’s not a pretty form and face.”

  Ridley watched, as a lady who clearly didn’t belong in Old-town at all stepped gracefully out of her carriage, sighed in desperation, and stomped her tiny foot. Her liveried driver scratched his head, gazing at the broken wheel. He plainly had no idea what to do, and no one in this part of town seemed anxious to help.

  “She’s a beauty, that’s a fact,” Snails said, “but the purse she’s likely left in that carriage is prettier still. Go talk to her, Rid. Pretend to help the dolt with the wheels. While you’re doing that—” Snails stopped, waving a hand in Ridley’s face. “Are you there, friend? Are you hearin’ what I said?”

  “I am,” Ridley answered, “but I’ll tell you now, robbing that lady’s a precious waste of time.”

  “It is? You mean, like me sitting up in a tree all night? Wasting time like that?”

  “I said I was sorry, but I don’t intend to say it again. You got a decent breakfast, and that’s all of that.” Ridley looked down at his boots, then up at the city walls. “We talked about this last night, remember? I said we’re not going to be small timers anymore. We’re going to be major thieves, Snails, and all the major thievery’s up there.”

  Snails let out a breath. “I remember, and you know what I said: That I was perfectly happy stealing little things down here.”

  It was clear that Ridley’s thoughts were far away, and Snails didn’t like that at all. He felt the same queasy, empty feeling he’d felt the night before. Ridley was thinking again as he stared at the burning river, and that was always bad news.

  “Ridley, old friend.”

  “The magic school. That’s the thing to do.”

  “What is?” Snails looked pale. “Rid, you’re scaring me. Please don’t do
this again.”

  “You gave me the idea yourself. About magic up there. You’re a genius, Snails. You’ve hit it right square, and I’m proud of you, lad. I’d never have thought of it myself.” Ridley paused and grinned. “We’ll only do the one big caper, instead of all the smaller jobs. That makes a lot more sense than stealing Meister Winkit’s candlesticks.”

  “Huh-uh. Not me, no sir.” Snails raised his palms to shove the idea away. “I’m not going near Sumdall City, and I’m certainly not breaking into the magic school. That’s absolutely insane, Rid! Just put the idea right out of your head.”

  “This is absolutely perfect,” Ridley said, as if no one had spoken at all. He pointed out to the burning river. “Look at that, will you, Snails? Everyone will be busy putting out the fire, and do you think our precious mages will care if anyone gets hurt? I’d love to find a way to give those mages some payback.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Snails said soberly. “‘Ridley the Savior.’ That’ll be the day. Look, Rid, things are the way they are, and there’s nothing we can do to change it. All right? You got your haves and your have-nots. We are your gotta-gets.”

  “Hey, come on.” Ridley gave Snails a friendly tap on the shoulder, which Snails just as quickly brushed away. “Think of the treasures they must have up there. Gold, for sure. Mages love gold, and likely precious gems as well. Buckets full of gems—diamonds, rubies, every kind there is. We’ll never have to work again.”

  “No, we won’t,” Snails said soberly. “You don’t work if you’re dead, not even in Izmer. No one can make you do that.”

  “Come on, friend. I’m standing you another cup of ale, maybe three or four. Trust me. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Snails had an answer to that, but he knew it was useless to bother Ridley with reason, logic, or truth of any sort.

  CHAPTER

  5

  The Council room was immense. Great oaken beams rose up in breathtaking arcs to a high, domed ceiling. At the center of the dome was a circular window of multi-colored glass inlaid with the runes, signs, and mysterious symbols of the great mages of the present and far distant past.