Traitors' Gate by Kate Elliott Page B

refugees were prodded into line. Over in the gloom by the alley entrance lay a pair of discarded bodies.
    â€œHow do we get to your temple from here? Which street?”
    â€œLumber Avenue. Who are you?”
    â€œI am a spy. Not from around here.”
    â€œThat I can hear in your speech. Yet there are people who sell information or their services to the army, in exchange for coin or preference or safety.”
    â€œTrue enough, Holy One. But I’m not one of them.” He sensed a smile from her tone. “I need something from you I can’t get from the army.”
    â€œThis reminds me of an episode from a tale, verea. Cruel soldiers. A chatty, attractive spy. A decrepit man of middling years.”
    â€œHow do you know I’m attractive, Holy One?”
    â€œYou’ve held me close a time or two as we’ve made our way here. I know the feel of a shapely female body. I’m not dead. Yet.”
    Her body shook with suppressed laughter. “Then we’ll hope for a happy ending as in the tale, eh?”
    He smiled but could not sustain it. “How can I trust you?”
    â€œHow can any of us trust, in days like these with an army rampaging down the length of the River Istri, burning and killing as they go? Just like in ancient days, as it says in the Tale of the Guardians: ‘Long ago, in the time of chaos, a bitter series of wars, feuds, and reprisals denuded the countryside and impoverished the lords and guildsmen and farmers and artisans of the Hundred.’ ”
    Nekkar mumbled the next line reflexively, overcome with bitter memory of the Guardian he had met. “ ‘In the worst of days, an orphaned girl knelt at the shore of the lake sacred to the gods and prayed that peace might return to her land.’ ”
    Below, soldiers whipped the detainees out of the square as those in line watched helplessly, unable to flee or to fight.
    â€œI’m a hierodule,” whispered the spy. “An assassin, sent from the south. I mean to kill Lord Radas, who walks in the guise of a Guardian wearing a cloak of sun. He commands this army. If we can cut off its head, then we can hope the body will die. Will you and your people help me?”
    Her words struck him harder than the blows that had felled him. “Is this even possible? Guardians can reach into your mind and heart and know what it is you intend. I have faced one. I could hide nothing from her.”
    â€œI will do it, because I must.”
    She was so sure of herself! Not in a boasting way, but in theway master carpenters surveyed roofs and made pronouncements about what it would take to fix them.
    â€œAnd when Lord Radas is dead, the soldiers and their captains and sergeants will run away and we’ll go back to how it was before?” he asked wryly.
    For a while, the assassin remained silent. When she spoke, her words weighed heavily in the humid night air.
    â€œThere comes a time when change overtakes the traveler, as it says in the Tale of Change. Hard to say what lies beyond the next threshold. We must be ready for anything.” She brushed her fingers over his hand as a young woman might greet her uncle, not sexually but affectionately. “I’m called Zubaidit.”
    The gesture sealed his heart. “Very well, Zubaidit. Our resources are limited, but if you can get me back to the temple alive, I’ll do what I can to help you.”
    â€œMy thanks. Tell me one thing, Holy One. Have you heard they are searching particularly for anyone?”
    â€œIndeed, yes. I heard it from the mouth of a Guardian, wearing a cloak of night. She seeks the gods-touched, and outlanders.”
    Her body tensed. “Would you hide a gods-touched outlander, Holy One? If I brought such a one to you?”
    He thought of the man killed in the alley because he had tried to run away to find his children. He thought of the dead in the courtyard of the Thirsty Saw and those being dragged away for