The lamps proved to be the only path he could follow, and without the light of Ammas's airy spirit, he began to appreciate just how large the patches of darkness between each of them were. Denisius knew he ought to be calling out for Casimir, but something held him back: whether it was Vos's sour assessment of their chances without Ammas or the way the Doyenne had known who each of them was the moment they arrived, he had the distinct feeling that she was watching every square inch of these empty halls.

After a few minutes of fumbling back along the way Ammas had led them, he found himself following not only the scattered lamplight but also the thickening smell of rieldo smoke. Not far past the entrance to the library, he saw Casimir, silhouetted by the light spilling from the edge of the table where they had eaten. Ammas was visible in profile and one of the Doyenne's wrinkled hands was just barely within view.

"Cass!" Denisius whispered. The boy whirled around, holding a finger to his lips. Denisius knelt beside him with a grin. "Come on, lad, what are you doing? I'm sure Ammas doesn't want you spying on him."

"Just wanted to listen," Casimir said stubbornly, his whisper much more practiced than Denisius's was, or ever would be.

"No, I don't see Meryk often," the Doyenne was saying. To Denisius's surprise he saw her fingers toying with a smoldering rieldo cigar. Her hand moved out of view and he could hear her inhaling with obvious relish. "He knows I don't approve of the way he goes about his ridiculous protests. He hasn't come to Autumnsgrove in years."

When he saw Casimir crouched by the creaking bookshelves, Denisius's first instinct had been to shoo the boy back to the cells. But now his own curiosity began to get the better of him. Here was an opportunity to listen to two fugitive cursewrights, both experienced and skilled, and hear what they had to say when they thought they were alone. They might speak of things that had not been spoken of in decades, and he would be privy to them. They might even, he thought with a burst of hope, talk of ways to help Carala.

So, quelling any thoughts of guilt he might feel at abusing Ammas's trust, Denisius crouched beside Casimir, both of them exchanging a grin.

Now Ammas spoke. "I correspond with him. He's visited Munazyr a few times. He spoke most highly of you."

"He speaks highly of anyone who might have something he could use."

"I don't blame him." Ammas puffed lightly on his own cigar. "He might be a more frequent visitor if he knew you were entertaining clients from the Imperial family."

Othma scoffed. "It'd be a marvelous test of all his fiery speechmaking, especially if you bring him a pretty young thing like that. I imagine his words would lose their barbs."

"Yours haven't."

She chuckled rustily. "And why should they? So she steps out from that jeweled palace she's spent her whole life. Am I supposed to keep her pampered and free from the truth of things?"

"I expected worse. I half-thought you might not even help me."

"I have my reasons, Ammas. You were always a fine student, and a better cursewright."

"Good enough to tell you to your face that you went too far with Barthim?"

"I should not have brought up your father. For that I am sorry. I forgot myself, for a moment. It has been happening more as I grow old."

"Never mind that. Barthim is my friend. I vouch for him and his faithfulness not just to the gods but to me. I don't care if he follows the Hethmar, or Tol Daether, or even if he worships the Eternal Sultan or the Dread Titans -- "

"You always disdained the gods. You have no understanding of this matter."

"I understand you went out of your way to offend a man I respect and who is helping me for no profit I can see, other than for friendship."

"Very well," said Othma stiffly. "Let him come back to Autumnsgrove when your task is done, and if he's lived up to what you tell me I'll garland him with laurels."

"I don't want that. I want you to pay him the same respect you pay me,"

"He hasn't earned anything like it."

"Not that you've seen. I have."

A long, considering silence followed this. "If you vouch for this man, I will trust your judgment," she said at last, haltingly. "But I seem to be doing a lot of that tonight. Perhaps it's just having seen a ritual werewolf in the flesh. I never thought to see such a thing in my life."

"It pleases you?"

"Say instead that it intrigues me, much as it intrigues you, of course. But more, they will need us. Whoever was toying with this risks a plague to put the Yellow Death to shame."

"Men of faith like Barthim will need us too."

"Indeed," she said softly, drawing deeply on the cigar. "And men of even less worth, like your friend the Gallis boy."

Casimir looked at Denisius quizzically. Denisius merely looked dumbfounded.

"He's just young. Young and mostly untested. He's bright, and a better fighter than he thinks. Why, under Munazyr -- "

"Do you really know nothing of the Gallises, Ammas?"

"I suppose I don't." Ammas's voice was perplexed.

"What do you know of Marhollow?"

"It's remote, it's small, and it's cold enough for seretto trees to grow there. Beyond that, not much. The Gallises didn't found it, but I don't think -- "

"And Briarcliff?"

"I never studied there, but I heard nothing but good things -- "

"What do you know of how it was destroyed?"

Both Denisius and Casimir shifted closer, listening eagerly.

"Nothing. I heard no details. I was on the run myself by then."

"You've heard nothing in the last twenty years?"

"If I spent all my life chasing after the stories of what happened to our fellowships, Othma, I'd have no time to practice my trade."

"I will tell you, then." A creaking sound followed as the Doyenne settled into her chair. "Almost all was over. The Maathinhold fell early. The fools who launched the Blackspur died above us, although at least they did the Emperor the favor of relieving him of his even bigger fool of a General Haddow. Your father and all the conspirators behind the plot against the Emperor had been dealt with, as well as your uncle. There wasn't much of us left. And so the scholars of Briarcliff, nearly two hundred in all, began discussing the possibility of surrender. There had been amnesties already, for the healers if not many others. Rumors of secret cabals operating under Imperial control. It seemed impossible the Anointed Realms could function without us, and of course there have been sorry attempts at filling the void."

"Witch-finders," Ammas said sourly. "I ran afoul of a few near the Scorched Desert some years ago. They have no skill at all."

"Not compared to a trained cursewright, I agree. But they do show a certain brutality I am sure pleases the Emperor. Such things were far on the horizon when Briarcliff was besieged, though. It had survived the purge mostly untouched, being so far away from the centers of the Empire. But with the greater Acadmies destroyed, the Throne turned its eye to Marhollow. Jaren Cyrik was a wise man, but naive. He went to the local lord for assistance. Erstan Gallis, your friend Denisius's father. A young man at the time, but a little older than his son is now. Not so callow as to be useless, but not so seasoned that Jaren couldn't impose his will on him if it became necessary. At least that's how Jaren seems to have thought. He and Erstan met, and Erstan agreed that he would present the terms of surrender to the envoy from Talinara. Instead, what Erstan did was to contact the Emperor directly, and offer the use of his militia, some five hundred warriors, in the purging of Briarcliff."

In the silence that followed this Denisius could hear nothing but the beat of his own heart and the soothing ticking of the timepiece secreted against his breast. The delicious lamb stew sat in his stomach like a lump of lead.

"How bad was it?" Ammas said quietly.

"As bad as any of them. Jaren went first, I understand, slain by archers as he entered Coldspring Hall's courtyard to begin the negotiation, along with some of the senior scholars. They were taken completely by surprise. And I will say this: Erstan Gallis is a coward and a lickspittle to the Emperor, but not a butcher. He had a man in his service, a soldier returned from the purges who came to Marhollow because he had a young sister in Briarcliff, studying with the astrologers. Erstan agreed to help spirit her out. So far as I know she survives to this day, far from Somilius Deyn. For that drop of mercy I spare his son today, whatever I might wish to do to the boy."

"Do I know this soldier?"

"You travel with him, yes."

"I can't believe Vos hasn't told me."

"I think he would rather his master not know. If Denisius knew what his father had done to our brethren, I doubt he ever would have dared show you his face. Certainly he would have known better than to come here. And Vos may feel guilty himself, one young girl weighed against the scores who were murdered. But then you can't expect a swordsman to understand the bonds among our kind."

Ammas fell silent, studying his hands; the stub of his cigar. Denisius could almost feel Othma watching her old student.

"I am surprised at you, Ammas. To know so little of a man you travel with; a man promised in marriage to your client."