Traitors' Gate by Kate Elliott

then things would change. “Flying provisions up from Nessumara might not seem like much, but it’s something. As long as we hold Law Rock, the people of Toskala have a hope that we can overcome the enemy. That matters, doesn’t it?”
    Since she expected no answer, she was content to lean on the railing as stars came out between the patchwork clouds. The voice of the river blended with the steady wind in her ears. After a while, a lantern bobbed toward them, and Kesta walked up.
    â€œI wondered where you had gotten to.” She hooked the lantern over a post and leaned on the railing next to Nallo. “Did you ever figure out what’s troubling you?”
    â€œI just feel cursed useless, that’s all, but maybe once the halls choose a new commander we can get some kind of order and routine restored.”
    â€œSo we can hope.” Her hand was curled invitingly close to Nallo’s on the railing.
    Nallo sucked in a sharp breath.
    Pil took a step back. “Fire!”
    One moment it was like a lantern’s light flaring in a distant quarter; the next, flames rippled skyward.
    â€œThat’s in Stone Quarter!” Kesta ran to the fire bell, grabbed the rope, and swung the clacker back and forth.
    The noise rose skyward like the blaze, and a cadre of firefighters came running from the barracks to crowd on the balcony and watch, but of course there wasn’t a cursed thing they could do except to wonder what in the hells was going on in the occupied city.
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    T HE TOUCH OF a hand roused Nekkar, and he flinched.
    â€œI’m here to help you, Holy One,” said a female voice softly. She spoke with an odd way of rounding her
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’s, and she stank so badly he gagged. “Can you move?”
    A horrible taste coated his mouth. But when he twitched his feet, his legs, his hands, his shoulders, nothing seemed broken, although shifting the twisted ankle made his eyes tear.
    â€œI think I can walk. Was I beaten?”
    â€œAlas, you were, Holy One. I saw it all from the rooftop. But then they were called off to some other task before they could finish the job, fortunately for you.”
    â€œWho are you, verea?”
    â€œLet’s get you out of this rubbish.”
    The ground slid beneath them as she hauled him out of a pile of stinking garbage. He could barely put weight on his left ankle; pain ripped through his shoulders with each movement. She led him to a ladder propped in the gap between gutter and eaves and, after looping a rope around his midsection, supported him up to the roof of a low storehouse. There he sprawled, spread-eagled and fearful he’d slide and plunge over, back into the rubbish heap. She pulled up the ladder.
    â€œWe’ve got to move you away from this alley, Holy One, before the soldiers come back looking for you. Can you move?”
    The pain made tears flow. “Yes.”
    She patted his forearm. “You’ve got courage, Holy One. Follow me.”
    They wedged the ladder into a higher set of eaves to get from the store house up onto the warehouse roof proper. He tried not to let his weight drag on the rope, but as they bellied up to the peak of the roof, he slipped twice and she dug in her toes and halted his fall. Once at the peak it was easier to move sideways to the far end of the warehouse.
    Like the other quarters, Stone Quarter was laid out in blocks, each block made up of compounds, one vast architecture of roofs crammed in against each other except for the occasional courtyards associated with artisans’ and guild workshops and the six temple grounds. Tonight, not even one paper lantern was hung out under eaves to illuminate the walkways below. No street vendors sold noodles or soup; no apprentices staggered drunkenly down the avenues roaring popular melodies.
    They reached the warehouse’s edge just above an archway whose span bridged the avenue below to reach the roofs on the