PROLOGUE by l lp Page A

inclined Liath to take their part. But in the end it was his words that swayed her. How different he sounded from Da, who had always found it prudent to run. Who had taught her to run.
    "I'll go with you to the council," she said finally.
    "Heh." The grunt folded into that curt laugh which seemed to encompass all he knew of amusement.” So you will. Do not think I am unaware of the honor you give to me by granting me your trust. It has been a long time since any of your kind have trusted mine."
    "Or your kind, mine," she retorted. The tart answer pleased him. He liked a challenge, and didn't mind sharp questions.
    "Get what you need, then."
    "I've everything I came with."
    He waited while she coiled the rope.
    "It's well made." The praise warmed her, but she only smiled. He had little enough on his own person for their journey. She had finally gotten used to his clothing, the beaded loincloth, the decorated arm and leg sheaths, and the topknot made of his black hair, ornamented by feathers. He was more wiry than skinny, although he did not look one bit well fed. He took the coiled rope from her and slung it over a shoulder before fishing out an arrow from her quiver. As always, he fondled the iron point for a moment, his expression distant.
    "I fear what your kinfolk have become," he said at random, "to make arms such as this arrow, and that sword." But he only offered her the fletched end of the arrow to hold.” Grasp this. Do not let go as we walk into the borderlands."
    "Shouldn't we tie ourselves to the tree? What if we fall off the edge? You said yourself that this fog marks the edge of your lands."
    He chuckled.” A worthy idea, and a cautious plan that speaks well of you. But there is no danger in the borderlands. We are prisoners in our own land, because all the borders fold back on themselves."
    "Except through the burning stone."
    "Even so." He led her into the fog.
    "Where are we going?" she called, but the mist deadened all sound. She could not even see him, a step ahead of her, only knew he was there by the pull of the arrow's shaft against her palm.
    He knew where he was going. In six steps she stumbled onto a stone step, bruising her shin. She stood on a staircase lined by monsters' heads, each one carved so that it seemed to be emerging from a stone flower that bore twelve petals. The monster was the head of a snake, or that of a big, sleek cat with a toothy yawn, or some melding of the two: she couldn't tell which. Some had been painted red and white while others had golden-brown dapplings and succulent green tongues, lacy black curling ears or gold-petaled flowers rayed out from their circular eyes. On either side of the staircase lay the broad expanse of a vast pyramidal structure, too steep to climb, that had simply been painted a blinding white, as stark as the fog. Here and there, paint had chipped away to reveal gray stone beneath.
    She followed the old sorcerer up the steps. Despite everything, this staircase up which they toiled nagged at her. It seemed familiar, like a whispered name calling from her memory.
    They walked up out of the fog on a steep incline, surrounded by those ghastly, powerful faces. The stair steps went on, and on, and on, until she had to stop to catch her breath. She unsealed the water jug and sipped, cooling her parched throat, but when she offered the jug to the old sorcerer, he declined. He waited patiently for her to finally get up and go again. At last, they came to the top of the pyramid.
    At her back, below and beyond, lay the dense bank of fog. Before her lay another city, somewhat smaller than the magnificent city by the lake but no less impressive for its courtyards and platforms laid out in tidy harmony. An avenue lined by buildings marched out from the plaza that lay at the base of the huge pyramid they now stood on. Every stone surface was painted with bright murals: giant spotted yellow cats, black eagles, golden phoenix, burning arrows clutched in the jaws of