Yadovír nodded, pleased things were progressing so quickly.

“Wait,” the Ghan laid a meaty hand on Yadovír’s shoulder. The reek of body odor was the last thing Yadovír expected of the Ghan, and he blanched from it. “You no tell me yet. I guess.”

Yadovír inclined his head, hoping no one noticed his fervent desire to vomit.

“You have secret way into city, yes? No need tower and—how say? —elaborate attack? Yes?” The Ghan seemed very pleased at his extensive knowledge of the Vasyllian tongue.

“Yes, Ghan, you are right.”

The Ghan clapped once and said, “Ha!” All the other Gumiren lifted their small wooden cups in salute. It soon became clear that Yadovír and Kalún were expected to do the same. But no one drank yet, to Yadovír’s relief. He could only imagine what sort of abomination these savages drank.

“But I ask you,” said the Ghan, a little crease appearing between his eyes, “Why we go your way? Why, when we already destroy all city in this land. Why use secret way, when we can use our way?”

Yadovír took a deep breath. This was the moment. The power was within reach now.

“It would be easier for all concerned, great one. You would not have to weather this winter, a winter our wise men predict will be terrible. You will lose fewer men, and Vasyllia—a beautiful city with riches you can scarcely dream of—will be yours with little destruction. Is it not better to have a strong city as tributary, instead of burnt ruins? You have seen how tenacious the Vasylli are when pressed to the wall.”

The Ghan did not seem appreciative of that reminder. “Gumiren always destroy city if city no surrender. Always!” He frowned grotesquely, like a mask, and the whole assemblage tensed.

“It is a very wise policy, Ghan Magai. I understand your wisdom. You discourage rebellion, and you reward those willing to submit without a fight. Am I correct?”

The Ghan smiled again. “You clever man. I like you. Yes, you correct understand. But still, you no answer. Why work I with you? Why trust I a traitor to his own people?”

Yadovír’s heart raced briefly at that reminder, but he persevered. “It is a time of confusion, Ghan. The Dar is dead.”

This provoked an unexpected round of whispers, until the Ghan slapped a grimy hand on his thigh, cutting off the sound instantly. He nodded at Yadovír to continue.

“The future Darina is not yet crowned, and already there are people in the city who would stand against her rule. There are several conspiracies, and the people grow testy. There is no better time for your armies to come in secretly, kill the warriors, and secure the city for the Gumiren.”

“What say dark one?” The Ghan nodded at Kalún.

Kalún looked up with a dreamy stare, as though surprised to be called upon. He looked like his mind was addled. Yadovír feared this would be the end of their short conspiracy.

“I am the high priest of Adonais, Ghan Magai,” Kalún said with quiet firmness. “It is my belief that you are sent by my god, an instrument for our correction. I humbly beg you to grant us peace under your wisdom.”

Yadovír breathed out, amazed at the tact from Kalún. The Ghan was also surprised, but far from pleased, as though he had read some secret intention behind the spoken words.

“Dark one. You—no good. You have—how say?—deceit in your heart. Yadovír, we have no agree if dark one remains.”

Yadovír’s mouth dried up in an instant. If they did not agree soon, neither he nor Kalún would be offered the luxury of returning to the prisoners. There was death in the eyes of all the Gumiren.

Sabíana stopped before entering her chamber, her heart leaping like a fish snatching at flies on the surface of a lake. She tried every exercise she knew to calm the heart and still the breathing, but nothing seemed to work. Worse yet, her complete inability to control her emotions at the mere thought of Otchigen lit a spark of panic deep in her stomach, and if she did nothing, soon it would be a conflagration. She pushed the door and entered.

Otchigen lay in her bed, sleeping as before. Even asleep, his allure caught at her and tried to pull her in, a fish-lure sparkling in the sun just above the surface of the water. Let him be Dar. Not quite pushing the thought away, Sabíana poked at the fire in the hearth to give her hands something to do.

Then she sat down in the great chair by the fire, looking at Otchigen. The knife hidden in her palm was a steadying weight.

When Otchigen awoke, his eyes were still watery with sleep. He smiled a little, though now it seemed a hollow mockery of his former joy, which had rivaled the twin waterfalls for its enthrallment with life.

“So. What do you intend to do with me?” he asked, lightly mocking.

“I have not yet decided.”

“I don’t expect a hero’s welcome. There must be much about my disappearance that looks suspicious. I want to explain it to the Dar. Will you let me?”

Sabíana was surprised at the question, not immediately realizing that of course Otchigen could not possibly have known of the Dar’s death.

“Dar Antomír is dead.”

Something twitched in Otchigen’s face, something underneath his face.

“You will have to answer to me now,” she continued, trying to push down her revulsion. “I should have you put before the judgment of the Martial Voice. That would be the proper thing to do. But we shall see. You can speak to me for the time being.”

“Ah, I see. I am being fattened for the slaughter.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps what Vasyllia needs is forgiveness. But you are useful in either case. I can have you executed as a traitor. It would be easy to tie the current invasion to your personal treachery. That would excite the warriors. Or I can publicly pardon you, appealing to the compassion of your fellows. You would then lead them in war against the enemy.”

“You want to know what happened in Karila,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Spare no detail. The full truth, if you please.”

He smiled sardonically, as if questioning the existence of truth at all.

“Nothing could be simpler, Sabíana. There was no real reason for a man of my rank to go on a routine embassy to Karila. But the Dar and I both agreed it would be good for me to leave Vasyllia for a time after Aglaia’s disappearance. There was not supposed to be any trouble. Before we ever reached Karila, in the lower Downs of Nebesta, we were attacked by a band of marauders. I thought they were Karila, but they were darker of skin and spoke an unfamiliar language. I suppose they were from beyond the Lowlands, maybe even the Steppes.”

“Beyond the Steppes,” said Sabíana. “Sounds like the Gumiren.”

“The ones besieging Vasyllia.” Otchigen laughed at the realization. “In that case you could very easily tie my supposed treachery with this invasion.” He descended into thought, the light going out of his eyes in a moment.

“Go on, Otchigen.”

“Whoever they were, they were the most bloodthirsty warriors I have ever encountered. They drank the blood of their horses instead of water. I saw it with my own eyes. They killed every member of the embassy, expect for me. I was necessary, they said, to warn the others of their coming. I think they intended me as a scare tactic, so they began to do unspeakable things to the ambassadors, even after their deaths. I will not describe it. Suffice it to say that had I not been Voyevoda, had I not seen death and torture firsthand, I would have done as they wanted and run screaming for the hills, whipping up the populace with the nameless fear.

“But I did not. As they left me alive, I considered it an uncommon gift from Adonais. I would go searching for my Aglaia, I thought. She was supposed to have been seen near Karila, so I sought her trail. I should have returned home; I know that now. I could have warned Vasyllia. But I wanted to find her. Instead, they found me again and brought me to their great secret, their true inspiration.”

“The Raven.”

Otchigen was taken aback at this. His smile was now venomous. “You know much more than I expected,” he said with a voice not quite his own. Terror ran up and down her back like mice. She clenched her hidden knife so tightly, she was sure it would draw her own blood.

“Yes, I saw him,” continued Otchigen. “Well, not him, exactly. His vessel. That is what they called it, I think. It seems the Raven has a habit of possessing human bodies, though this vessel was hardly human by then. The Raven had consumed most of him already.”

He stopped, the memory apparently too painful.

“The rest is rather dim. The only other thing you might be interested to hear is that I did find one of my family out there. I saw Voran.”

Evidently, whatever valiant effort she mustered to prevent her face from reflecting the mad dance of her heart failed miserably. Otchigen’s snigger was more than malicious, it was nearly feral.