That afternoon the talon was sent to the ruins of the temple of Darkness to help with the excavation. Several other talons joined them, and Derrick explained to Sara that every squire and knight in Neraka came at least once a month to work on their queen's temple.
"Why?" Sara asked. "The walls of the upper temple are gone. What do they hope to find below?"
He cocked an eyebrow and confessed, "I don't know. They've never told us."
Nor did anyone mention a reason this time. The officer in charge, a Nightlord in gray robes, sent them off to sort through the rubble hauled out of the buried corridors the slaves. Sara took one quick look over the wall at the • deep cavern where the slaves still trudged out with their large buckets full of debris. Little had changed. The draconians in charge of the slaves looked like the same ones as before, and they cracked their whips with equal force. The slaves still moaned their monotonous cry.
The young squires, Sara, and Massard hurried on to the pile to get to work. They sorted rock into more piles, the small bits for use as filler in rock walls and foundations, the larger pieces for construction. Anything that was not rock was immediately turned over to the Nightlord for inspection. Whether it was a piece of bone, a jeweled necklace, or a hunk of armor, he examined it all minutely and placed it carefully in wooden crates for later study. It was tedious, backbreaking work.
In the brief moments when Sara had a chance to straighten her back and pay attention to things around her, she noticed Massard was staying rather close to her. He did not try to speak to her or look at her; he just kept a watch on her presence. It was disconcerting, and she found herself looking over her shoulder time and again to see where he was.
If the squires noticed any abnormal tension between their officers, they did not comment on it. They worked hard through the afternoon, although Jacson spent more time cracking jokes and entertaining his companions than moving rock.
When evening filled the city with gloom, the Nightlord dismissed the talons from their labor. Weary and sore, the recruits marched back to their quarter to rest and eat before standing their watches. Instead of retreating to his tent or going to the nearest tavern as usual, Massard sat down on a stool near the cooking fire and continued his sidelong observation of Sara.
"I wish he'd go away," Marika whispered to the older woman as they cooked strips of meat over a makeshift grill. "What's he staying around for?"
Sara could only shrug. She wished he'd leave, too. She Wanted to search his tent or follow him somewhere to catch him doing something his superiors would frown upon. He had to be spending a small fortune at the taverns in Neraka, certainly more than he earned. So where was he getting the coins? Other blackmailing schemes? Illegal deals? She hoped fervently he was up to something. But she couldn't do anything-even make a pretense of collecting the fifty steel coins-as long he watched her like a guard dog.
Massard's presence dampened the entire evening for everyone. They were not accustomed to his dour, frowning company. Their conversation died to silence, and they sat shooting curious and disgruntled looks at his broad back.
Quickly they ate their meal and went about their business, leaving Sara to bank the fire and put the cooking equipment away. Finished at last, she went to her tent and tied the flap tightly behind her. Only then did she hear Massard retire to his own tent, and even though she listened for movement from his tent most of the night, the knight officer did not come out again until dawn.
The next day repeated the previous one almost exactly, except by evening Sara had blisters on her blisters, a permanent cramp in her back, and an intense desire to throttle Massard. He hadn't let her out of his sight the entire day. Now she had only one night and a day left, and she was no closer to solving her problem. By now the squires were starting to wonder about Massard's strange behavior and Sara's unspoken tension. Derrick, then Kelena, asked her what was wrong, and she had to pretend ignorance, an act she was sure Derrick, at least, did not believe.
Sara retired early to her tent that night, and even her frustration could not keep her awake. She slept soundly until Derrick woke her to take her watch late in the night.
The young man held up his small hand lamp and flashed his crooked grin when she came out, yawning and stretching. He nodded toward Massard's quiet tent. "Sounds like the old man isn't back yet."
Sara came wide awake. "Back?" she snapped. "Back from where? When did he leave?"
Derrick was startled by her intensity. "He left just before my watch. I don't know where he went. Probably a tavern, since he went to the city. Why? What's going on?"
She put her hands on his arms and looked up at his worried face. "Something I need to take care of alone, Derrick. Go to your tent and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
He eyed her suspiciously, but a squire could not question an officer, even a junior one. "Be careful," he said at last. "Massard is dangerous and unpredictable."
Sara was surprised by his insight and pleased by his concern. She pushed him gently toward his tent, then she collected her sword, dagger, and a slender blade she tucked in her boot. She slipped on her black cloak and struck out into the dense darkness.
14
She should have reported to the officer of the watch. He would be expecting her shortly, and her absence would be seen as dereliction of duty, an offense the knights punished harshly. But Sara did not believe Massard had gone to a tavern. It was too late, for one reason, and for another, she hoped fervently he had slipped away to do something he shouldn't. It was worth the risk to her to look. The trick would be finding him in the maze of streets and alleys both outside and inside the walls.
She had a bit of luck at the main gate. The officer of the watch at the walls was the young Knight Officer Targonne, who was a frequent guest at General Abrena's dinners. Sara had impressed him considerably by her actions to stop the assassin's knife, and he had altered his opinion of her age-worn abilities.
"Massard?" he replied to her query. "Yes, I know him. He went through perhaps an hour ago. Bundled in his cloak and reeking of spirits." The young man lifted his nose disdainfully at the memory. "He headed up that way, toward The Broken Barrel."
Sara gave him her thanks and walked up the road toward the notorious tavern. The Broken Barrel was one of those places where the patrons went for the brawls as much for the brews. There were usually more broken heads than broken barrels in the decrepit old place.
Despite the late hour, there were still some customers in the tavern when Sara poked her head in the door. She quickly scanned the drunken faces and ducked out again before someone saw her. Massard was not there.
How far could he go in an hour? Where did he go?
Sara studied the street in both directions and saw nothing more than a couple of draconians walking into a distant building and a gully dwarf poking through a pile of trash. She heard rats scuttling in the alley behind her. A few lights gleamed in the windows of the crowded tenements.
She began to walk slowly along the street, keeping her eyes open and her ears attuned to the night noises around her. She nearly walked past the gully dwarf, then changed her mind and paused beside him.
The furtive creature saw the black-cloaked figure and backed away warily. "No hurt, no hurt," he croaked at her in Common tongue. "I only look for food."
"Don't be frightened," Sara said softly. "I'm just looking for a friend. I thought he might have passed by here a little while ago. A big man, a knight like me. He has a beard and walks hunched forward."