As the hours or moments passed, he became aware of his body, his breathing, his appalling weakness. One muscle at a time, he realized that he was no longer sprawling on the Archpriest’s table in the Church of the Great God Rile. He was not held flat, vulnerable, ready for torture and sacrifice. Rather, he seemed to sit half upright, propped on a hard surface that may have been stone. There was warmth on his face and brightness beyond his closed eyes. It made him think of sunlight.

He was not in the Church. Someone had moved him.

And while he pondered that mystery, he noticed that he could hear voices.

At first, they sounded as far off as his past life. When he concentrated on them, however, they became more distinct. Like the strange taste in his mouth, cloying and sweet, he should have been able to remember them.

One was crisp, authoritative: the voice of a woman accustomed to making decisions and acting on them. It said, “We must.”

Another voice objected, “But we do not know his secret.” It was softer. More seductive. “If we do not know how he does what he does, we cannot end it.”

The first woman responded, “His death will end it.”

“It will end him,” countered the second. “It will not end what he can do. It will not prevent some other priest from wielding the same power. If we do not learn how his sorcery is exerted, we cannot protect ourselves. We cannot protect anyone.”

“I understand you,” snapped the first. “But we have no time. Pulling that cart costs days. It exhausts the horses. It may cost many days. I have hundreds of leagues to go. You must cross almost as many. Every day is precious.”

Hells! thought Elgart. He knew that voice. If he could just remember—

The softer woman relented. “Then rouse him.” She sounded frightened. “We must hope that he can be lured or coerced to betray himself.”

Those women were as reckless as Elgart himself. Choosing to prod the hornet’s nest— But he had always been that way. Surely they knew better?

Then a different voice said, “There is no need.” A man’s voice. Sleep or drugs blunted its edges. But something in it suggested a trickle of melting ice: a trickle that might become a torrent. “I will answer.”

“Will you?” demanded the harsher woman.

Like a sigh, the man said, “It is why I have come so far. To answer.”

Elgart made a subtle effort to open his eyes. Their lids were crusted with immeasurable hours or days of sleep. He managed only the thinnest slit. Through it, his sight was no more than a dull smear as if his eyes had forgotten how to focus.

Like the women’s, the man’s voice was familiar. Elgart had heard it more recently than theirs. He feared to recognize it.