Tithian bowed his head. “Yes, my king.”
Kalak studied Tithian for a few moments, then nodded. “Good. Now, who else knows about my tunnel?”
“Only the guard I left at the other end,” the high templar replied.
Kalak smiled. “Have him lay the bricks back over my door when you return to the ziggurat.”
“As you wish,” the high templar nodded. “And after he’s done that, I’ll kill him personally.”
“Yes, Tithian,” Kalak said, looking back to his obsidian pyramid with an eerie smile. “We must keep my tunnel a secret.”
NINE
TIN GATES
Sadira stood beneath a portico across the street from Tyr’s gladiatorial arena. The immense structure’s high walls were supported by four stories of marble arches, with those at street-level covering short tunnels that ran into the stadium. Though the crimson sun had just risen, these entryways already swarmed with slaves cleaning the stones in preparation for the coming games. From inside the passageways echoed the creak of pulleys and a constant din of strident hammering, high-pitched and sharp.
“Can’t you at least tell me why I’m doing this?” Agis asked. He stood next to Sadira, along with his manservant Caro. “I’d hate to think I’m risking my life for the sake of a test.”
The sorceress shook her head, sending waves of rosy light dancing through her hair. “That’s not the way we work,” she said sternly. Though her statement was technically true, what it implied was not. The Alliance had not authorized her to contact the noble. Asking Agis for help was Sadira’s idea. “If you can’t convince Tithian to do as you ask, it’ll be better if you don’t know much.”
On his master’s behalf, Caro demanded, “Better for whom?”
“Better for the Veiled Alliance,” Sadira replied. “If Lord Tithian realizes Agis is trying to influence him through the Way of the Unseen, nothing will save your master.”
The shriveled dwarf looked at Agis, creasing his hairless brow against the ruddy rays of the morning sun. “You deserve to know why you’re risking your life,” Caro declared, casting a caustic glance at Sadira. “She’s playing you for a fool.”
“Agis said he wanted to help the rebellion,” the half-elf replied. “Here’s his chance.”
The dwarf shook his head. “You should tell us why-”
“That’s enough, Caro,” Agis interrupted. “I’m the one who’s taking the chances here. If I don’t need to know the reason, then neither do you.”
Caro glared at Agis, but pressed the matter no further.
Sadira took the noble’s hand and squeezed it warmly. “Be careful. When you return, don’t stop to talk to us. Walk down the street six blocks, then wait for us there. Once I’m sure you haven’t been followed, we’ll join you.”
Agis smiled. “You are careful, aren’t you?” Without waiting for a response, he set off across the street.
Sadira watched him go, hoping she was not making a terrible mistake. Two days earlier, when Agis had set her free, she had feared the noble’s generosity was a templar plot to locate the Alliance. Instead of trying to find her contact, she had taken a room and spent the night waiting for the sorcerer-king’s guards to break the door down.
Sadira had spent the next day trying to look suspicious, striking up conversations with perfect strangers and sneaking into the back entrances of a dizzying array of shops and taverns. During the whole time, she had kept a careful watch for templars or anyone else who looked like he might be following her, but had seen no one. At last she had come to the conclusion that Agis’s offer was sincere.
It was then that the sorceress had made her most difficult decision: not to return to the Veiled Alliance. Ktandeo would have bustled her out of the city immediately, giving no further thought to Rikus or to convincing the mul to kill Kalak, so Sadira had decided to accept the senator’s offer of help.
The sorceress had approached the noble in the Alliance’s name, hoping he could use his status to arrange a safe meeting between her and Rikus. Unfortunately, she had soon realized that even Agis could not organize a rendezvous without the possibility of alerting Tithian to what was happening. Nevertheless, Sadira had asked him to try. Unless she spoke to Rikus, the Alliance’s plan for asaassinating Kalak was doomed anyway.
On the other side of the street, Agis paused at an entrance to the stadium. A sour-faced templar met the noble at the open gate, a steel-bladed glaive in his hands. “You’re not permitted inside,” the man said flatly.
“I’m Agis of Asticles,” the noble replied.
“So?”
“Tithian-er, the High Templar of the King’s Works-asked me to meet him here this morning.”
The templar’s scowl deepened. “Why didn’t you say so?” he demanded, stepping aside. The man turned and called over his shoulder, “This is the one.”
Another templar, this one a woman in her mid-thirties, stepped from the shadows. “This way,” she ordered, waving him forward.
Agis stepped beneath the arch and was temporarily blinded by the stark contrast between the morning light and the shady stadium. The smell of burning charcoal hung heavy in the air, and the sound of striking hammers echoed down stone passageways opening to both sides of the corridor.
“I said, this way,” the female templar repeated, grabbing Agis’s arm and roughly pulling him forward.
They emerged onto a cobblestone terrace that ran along one side of the stadium. Far below the terrace lay a huge field of sandy ground that would have taken even a mul half a minute to sprint across. At one end of the field stood Kalak’s immense palace, with its large balcony overhanging the arena. At the other end loomed the rainbow-hued ziggurat, still shrouded beneath a web of ropes and swarming with an army of slaves.
Below the terrace, tier after tier of stone benchwork descended toward the sandy arena floor. Behind Agis rose more grandstands, with an immense balcony overhanging them. Though the senator was not fond of the sport played in the stadium, he had to admit that the structure itself was an impressive feat of architecture.
Agis’s guide led him along the terrace, stepping around several large braziers filled with glowing charcoal. Sweating smiths heated ingots of tin over the coals while others worked nearby to hammer out thin sheets of the light metal.
Just past the smiths, the templar stopped and motioned Agis into one of the entryways that led back out into the street. “The high templar will meet you in here.”
Agis stepped into the dark corridor. Although he could see a templar guard silhouetted against the light coming from the street, there was no sign of Tithian. To either side of the small tunnel, a stone stairway ascended into the inner sections of the stadium hidden beneath the grandstands. Down these stairways rolled such a din of hammering and whip snapping that his ears began to ring.
Agis walked toward the guard, thinking that the templar might know where Tithian was.
The hammering ceased. A muffled command sounded in the stairway to the left, then the clatter of chains echoed through the stones. The templar at the end of the corridor leaped into the street, barely avoiding a large gate as it dropped out of the ceiling and crashed to the ground with a deafening roar.
Agis found himself staring at a distorted, silvery reflection of himself. He walked to the gate. It was as solid as a wall, and its entire surface was covered by a layer of tin. The sheets had been so carefully joined together that Agis could not have slipped the tip of his dagger into any of the seams.
The noble heard footsteps from the stairway behind him. He turned just in time to see Tithian lead a small party of templars into the tunnel. The high templar’s beady eyes gleamed with delight, and his bony features seemed unusually cheerful.
When he saw Agis, Tithian smiled broadly and stretched out his arms in greeting. “My friend!”