My body wouldnt respond to my will. Too stiff, too battered and bruised for flight, I tried to charge the second soldier. Mostly I stumbled toward him. He gaped, then he ran. I was astonished.

I heard a sound like the cough of a tiger behind me.

A man came out of nowhere down the ravine. He threw something. The fleeing soldier pitched onto his face and didnt move.

I got out of the brush and placed myself so I could watch the killer and the dirty slave who had made the tiger cough. The killer was a huge man. He wore tatters of Taglian legionnaires garb.

The little man came around the brush slowly, considered my victim. He was impressed. He said something apologetic in Taglian, then something excited, rapidly in dialect I found unfamiliar, to the big man, who had begun searching his victim. I caught a phrase here and there, all with a cultish sound but uncertain in this context. I couldnt tell if he was talking about me or praising one of his gods. I heard the Foretold and Daughter of Night and the Bride and Year of the Skulls. Id heard a Daughter of Shadow and a Year of the Skulls before somewhere, in the religious chatter of god-ridden Taglians, but I didnt know their significance.

The big man grunted. He wasnt impressed. He just cursed the dead soldier, kicked him. Nothing.

The little man fawned. Your pardon, Lady. Weve been killing these dogs all morning, trying to raise a stake. But theyre poorer than I was as a slave.

You know me?

Oh, yes, Mistress. The Captains Lady. He emphasized those last two words, separately and heavily. He bowed three times. Each time his right thumb and forefinger brushed a triangle of black cloth that peeped over the top of his loincloth. We stood guard while you slept. We should have realized you would need no protection. Forgive us our presumption.

Gods, did he smell. Have you seen anyone else?

Yes, Mistress. A few, from afar. Running, most of them.

And the Shadowmasters soldiers?

They search, but with no enthusiasm. Their masters didnt send many. A thousand like these pigs. He indicated the man I had dropped. His partner was searching the body. And a few hundred horsemen. They must be busy with the city.

Mogaba will give them hell if he can, buying time for others to get clear.

The big man said, Nothing on this toad either, jamadar.

The little man grunted.

Jamadar? Its the Taglian word for captain. The little man had used it earlier, with a different intonation, when hed called me the Captains Lady.

I asked, Have you seen the Captain?

The pair exchanged looks. The little man stared at the ground. The Captain is dead, Mistress. He died trying to rally the men to the standard. Ram saw it. An arrow through the heart.