He walked forward with his hands held out before him, still trawling his memory for more facts. Voyagers had been into some of these places, and though the constructions, shapes and sizes were often similar, the contents were vastly different. Built by different tribes and clans, a huge variety of beliefs were displayed in the way their Chieftains and holy people were buried.

Ramus felt his way along a wall which soon ended in an open area. He squatted and moved on, shuffling his feet and reaching out to sense whatever was before him.

This place is for the dead, he thought. His head thumped in a sudden wave of pain and he slipped to the side, reaching out to prevent himself from sprawling to the floor. In this darkness, light burned behind his eyes, but it was a false light of agony. He groaned, then felt something curved and smooth beneath his hand. A skull. There was no mistaking it. And something moved in its eye socket, something wet and round, an incorruptible eyeball seeing him in the dark and marking him. . . .

Ramus cried out and pulled back his hand. A grub, he thought. An insect, a blind rodent. Something alive, not long dead. Don't be a pissing fool.

A noise came from behind him, deadened by the thick stone wall. He recognized it as feet slipping on the wet steps that led down. So here it comes, he thought, and he closed his eyes and began to concentrate. His breathing became slow, he shoved the irrational fear of the dead from his mind, the sound of rainwater flowing down the entrance steps seemed even farther away, his shivering ceased as he found warmth in the darkness—and then the words were in his head, waiting to be spoken.

I cannot, he thought, but the knowledge was brash and insistent.

I should not, he thought, but events had created enemies for him. And even then, contemplating what may be murder, Ramus believed in the greater good.

“Ramus?” a voice said. It was a whisper, respectful rather than afraid. He could not tell whether it was Konrad or Ramin, but that mattered little.

“Leave me alone,” Ramus said. “I don't want to hurt you.”

The Serian slid across the floor, the noise of his movement echoing briefly from the walls and confusing Ramus. He turned left and right, unsure now where the man stood. He could be directly before him, and if he reached out his hand . . .

“I don't want to hurt you,” Ramus said again, softer this time, more heartfelt.

“Nomi wants what is hers,” the voice said. The cramped, flat tones inside the cairn hid the identity of whoever had come down after him.

“They're no use to her,” Ramus said.

“I don't care,” the Serian responded. “I'm here until I find you. I'm here until I have those pages. If that means my sword is stained, then so be it.”