Special thanks, as always, to all my family and friends, without whom I’d be very lonely. To my tireless agent, Lucienne Diver; my wise editor, Anne Lesley Groell; to the wonderful artist Michael Komarck, and the good folks at Bantam. To my readers, who keep me going. To the amazing folks at the Flewelling Yahoo! Group and my Live Journal who, as always, know far more about my work than I do, and are always there to help and cheer me on. Much appreciated.

And a special shout-out to fan artist Mathia, whose rendition of Korathan inspired a nice bit of business.

This book is dedicated to
Doug, Matt, and Tim, with love, for everything.
And to Nancy Jeffers, my friend, guide, head
cheerleader, and all-around goddess. Long overdue,
babe! Thanks for all your enthusiasm for this
project, and all the others.

You are the wanderer who carries his home in his heart. You are the bird who makes its nest on the waves. You will father a child of no woman.

- words of the Dragon Oracle at Sarikali, to Alec í Amasa of Kerry

CHAPTER 1

The Stag and Otter

S
EREGIL BALANCED PRECARIOUSLY atop the shard-lined wall, impatiently scanning the shadowy garden below for his misplaced partner. Alec had been right behind him when he’d shimmied out the library window, or so he’d thought.

Everything about this job had taken too long: finding a way in, finding the right room (for which they’d been given the wrong directions), then finding the stolen brooch in question, the possessor of which-one of the most vicious new blackmailers in Rhíminee-had very wisely kept in a casket with several dozen others. Seregil had to scrutinize each one by a lightstone’s glow. If he hadn’t been so fond of the young lady whose reputation hung on the success of this night’s work, he’d have given up the whole damned mess hours ago.

Dawn was a faint smudge above the rooftops now. A weak but welcome breeze whispered through the yellowing leaves of the garden below. It tugged at the long, stray strands of dark hair clinging, sweat-plastered, to Seregil’s forehead. Summer’s heat was lingering into early autumn this year. His thin linen shirt was soaked through and rank under the arms. The swath of black silk across his lower face was sticking to his lips. He just wanted to go home to a bath and clean cool sheets…

Yet there was still no sign of Alec.

“Hey! Where are you?” he called softly. He was about to risk calling out again when he heard a muttered curse from the shadow of a pear tree near the house.

“I dropped it,” Alec hissed, still out of sight.

“Oh, please tell me you’re joking!” Seregil whispered back.

“Shh! They’ll hear you.”

The telltale scrape of iron against stone came from the nearby kitchen as some early-rising servant stirred up banked coals on a hearth.

Seregil climbed down the lime tree they’d used for a ladder, with every intention of collaring Alec and dragging him away-by force if need be.

The younger man’s dark clothing made him all but invisible in the shadows, except for his blond braid. He’d pulled off his head scarf somewhere along the way and his hair gleamed tellingly over one shoulder as he scrabbled about on hands and knees, searching frantically in the grass.

“Leave it!”

Stubborn as always, Alec crawled back toward the house instead, frantically brushing his hands over the clipped turf. Seregil was reaching for Alec’s braid when the sound of a door opening sent them both flat on their bellies. Neither breathed as a young servant trudged by with reeking pails of night soil, passing within a few feet of where they lay.

As soon as he was gone, Alec was on his feet, pulling Seregil up. “Found it! Come on.”

“ Now you’re in a hurry?”

They ran for the tree. Seregil, the better climber, laced his fingers together and gave Alec a one-footed boost up into the lowest branches. Before he could follow, however, he heard a startled gasp behind him. Turning, he found the servant staring straight at him, empty pails on the ground at his feet. They stood eye-locked for an instant, then the child found his voice and shrieked, “Robbers! Mistress Hobb, loose the dogs!”

Seregil scarcely felt the rough bark of the tree as he launched himself up. He hadn’t once been known as the Rhíminee Cat for nothing. In his haste, he was careless, though, and sliced his hand open on one of the pottery shards set into the top of the wall. Ignoring the pain, he vaulted over and landed in a crouch on the pavement beside Alec. As they sprinted away, two enormous mastiffs came pelting out through a side gate, and several men with them, armed with cudgels.

“Do it!” Alec hissed, eyes wide above his mask. “Do the dog thing!”

“I’d have to stop first, wouldn’t I?” Seregil panted, trying to staunch his bloody hand in his shirttail as he ran. “Follow me.”

The Temple District was not the sort of neighborhood in which masked men being pursued by large dogs went unremarked upon, even at this hour. The Scavenger crews were already at work, and Seregil collided with one of them as he rounded the corner into Long Yew Street. He kept his feet but had to roll awkwardly across the top of her stinking barrow, coming eye to eye with a rotting dog in the process.

“I’ll have the Watch on you, you bastards!” she screeched after them as they pelted on.

And all the while, their enemy the sun was rising, and the dogs were gaining.

Seregil caught Alec’s arm and steered him down a side street lined with shops. Alec pulled away hastily.

“Bilairy’s Balls, you stink!”

Seregil thought that certainly summed up their night’s work.

At the far end of this street, a wall screened the sacred grove behind the temple of Dalna.

“Up,” he ordered, making a stirrup of his hands again.

He winced as Alec thrust a dirty boot against his wounded palm and jumped. Making the top of the wall, Alec reached down to Seregil, but once again, it was too late. The dogs came boiling up, snarling and slavering.

Cornered, Seregil thrust out his bloody left hand, first and little finger extended and turned it like a key in a lock. “Soora thalassi!”

It was a minor spell, and one of the very few he’d ever been able to reliably accomplish. But this one always worked, and he’d probably done it thousands of times over the years. All the same, he held his breath as the dogs skidded to a halt. The larger of the two sniffed at him curiously, then wagged her tail. Seregil gave them both a pat on the head and waved them off.

Judging by the outcry close behind, though, their masters hadn’t given up yet. With Alec’s help, Seregil scrambled quickly up the rough stonework. They dropped over the other side and collapsed, panting, with their heads between their knees. It was still dark and cool in the beech grove. Overhead, the fading leaves rattled soothingly in the breeze. A small shrine stood nearby, and a broad path led in the direction of the temple.

Seregil breathed the fragrant, herb-scented air and willed his heart to stop pounding. A few of the brown temple doves fluttered down to join them, cooing eagerly for a handout. On the other side of the wall, he heard their pursuers pound by, cursing the dogs and still thinking their quarry somewhere ahead.

“Cut that a bit close, didn’t we?” Alec pulled off his sweat-soaked mask and used it to bind Seregil’s hand.

The salt stung the raw skin and Seregil winced. “We’re going soft. Too much larking about.

So, how the hell did you drop the thing?”

Alec pulled the brooch from inside his shirt. It was a delicate piece; a tiny crescent set with pearls. “It’s so small. I was trying to put it somewhere safe, so I wouldn’t-”

“Drop it?”

Before Alec could defend himself, a high-pitched voice called out, “You there! What do you think you’re doing? This is sacred ground!”

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