Bifalt! she cried. Husband! Please hear me! This cannot be the end! Bullets could not reach Rile, but the priests might falter. Jaspid tries to give you an opening. The Great God had no priests at his back. It will close soon. You must strike now.

With her whole heart, she promised, I love you!

The body between Klamath and Elgart quivered. The right hand moved. Dragging through the slush, it braced itself.

By agonizing increments, King Bifalt tried to obey his wife.

At once, Klamath and Elgart raised him. With their help, he stood, tottering. His left hand clutched his side. Dark fluid leaked between his fingers. His right hand groped, empty and helpless.

Estie turned away. We have no time. She did not know what she was supposed to do. She knew what she could do.

Now Queen Estie of Amika did not resist her fears. She used them. She needed every scrap of passion to shout at Rile.

Butcher!

She did not try to match Magister Avail’s force—or her own extremity when she had first screamed Bifalt’s name. One blow would not be enough. She had to deliver more.

Rile’s head jerked as if he had been slapped.

Tyrant!

He staggered back a step, caught himself. With one hand, he rubbed at his forehead.

Coward!

He looked around wildly. She thought that she saw a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. With a frantic gesture, he sent two more priests to his books.

You kill your own servants!

He tottered.

Estie gathered herself for one more shout, but she could not do more. At that instant, her world was flipped on its head. Her power left her. Without it, she could hear.

As timorous as prey, Beatrix Threnody clung to the inner wall near the edge where the balcony had been broken. Bits of stone still slipped from the torn rim and fell out of sight. Fright was her only enduring gift. It seemed to be the only one she had.

But she did not lose her grip on her two wielders of the seventh Decimate. On her left, she clutched the older man, Magister Able. On her right, she held the young woman, Apprentice Evensong.

She expected to cower where she was until she was killed. What else could she do? Her bond with the library and all of its knowledge was useless here. Magister Rummage had tried the final Decimate and failed. She was doomed to be the last steward of the Repository.

But then Magister Oblique called to her.

“Librarian! There is a devotee of Spirit among the rubble! Lylin, I think. She has a rifleman with her. He may be Prince Jaspid.

“He has fired at the Great God! Now he waits.”