“Every reason, Eistaa. I know things about Gendasi* known to no others alive. I know of the ustuzou there and can speak with them through the one I taught—who spared my life when the other ustuzou would have killed me.”

“Yes, these are matters of interest. But not sufficiently interesting enough to keep you from the groves, would you not agree?”

“I agree. There is only one reason to keep me from the groves. I know of life and death and have lived where all others have died. That is knowledge you should have, Eistaa—and I can teach it to you. You now have the power of death of every Yilanè in this ambesed, even your efenselè. You have only to command—and they die. But that is only half of what you should have. Life is the balance of death, as sea is the balance of sky. I can teach you of the power of life.”

With that Enge fell into static silence, looking and waiting. Ignoring the uproar from Saagakel’s advisers, just as the Eistaa did. She looked back at Enge in the same silence, the process of her thoughts invisible.

“All here will be silent,” Saagakel ordered. “I have decided. As interesting as your arguments are—they are equally dangerous. You said it yourself—the existence of the Daughters of Death threatens an eistaa’s rule. Therefore an eistaa has but a single choice.” She made a gesture calling the nearest two of her advisers forward. “Seize this bold creature, bind her and lead her to the groves. There will be no sedition spread in my city.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Strong thumbs bit deep into Enge’s flesh as she was seized and pushed down to her knees, held there as one of the retinue hurried away for bindings. Saagakel sat back with dignity as an excited babble of conversation sounded behind her. Above all this one voice rang out clearly, ordering them aside; there was one yipe of pain as a foot was trod upon. Through the assemblage a Yilanè pushed, made her way forward to stand before Enge, to look down at her closely.

“I am Ambalasi,” she said hoarsely. Now that she was close Enge could see the lines of age on her face, the ragged edge to her pale crest. Then she turned about to face the eistaa and raked the claws of one foot along the ground in a sign of great disapproval. “I don’t think that this is wise, Saagakel. There is much of importance in what Enge says, much to be learned from her.”

“Too much of importance in what she says, wise Ambalasi, to let her remain free to spread her poison. I respect your great knowledge of the working of science—but this is a matter of politics and I listen only to my own advice.”