/ might as well go down and see what he found. It will be the last chance I have.

He sighed, securing the plaited ropes to a large rock and lowering himself into the crypt. In another moment, he was out of the harness and over by the shards, matching them to the drawings.

Some Sarrazan work-older than I've ever seen, by the look of the clay. He noted the jar's grainy surface and its peculiar yellow color. After the cataclysm in the forest, the elves' clay was dark, almost red, and much smoother.

"This is before…" he muttered. The broken lugs of the jar looked very familiar, though. He ran his fingers over them, tracing the wavy lines and the intricate circles. Glyphs like the ones on the jars he had at home. Glyphs like the ones on the totem Cheyne had been polishing.

Ah, no, Cheyne! I should have known. I should have known. But I couldn't tell you any more. And now you have set forth toward the most dangerous part ofallAlmaaz with the crudest assassin in Sumifa after you, he raged silently, quickly gathering the shards, wrapping them and placing them in his bag.

His mind racing, Javin began to climb back into the harness. There was no time to lose. As he raised himself up the rope, he paused, gathering strength-the

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descent into the crypt had been much easier on his hand and aching arm. As he hung there resting, panting, he twirled slowly back and forth, the new angle on the room intriguing him. From here, he could see light from behind a small crack about halfway up the wall.

He swung himself closer to the wall and caught hold of another crack to steady himself. With his bad hand, wincing, he removed his hand sweep from his belt and brushed away the dust and sand from the rift in the marble. There appeared to be something blocking light from the other side.

Something remotely the shape of a human hand, a couple of gold rings visible upon its fingers.

Excited, his heart pounding, Javin followed the line of the light and made out some kind of fabric, its purple dye still strong and dark. The juma records stated the Collector had been buried in his "robes of purpure royal." Javin could only hang there and stare.

By the Circle's sacred oath!

He pried as much of the wall away as he could, the marble coming out in small chunks, breaking along the main fracture line. After another moment or two, Javin had cleared an opening of about three inches at its widest point. He could see the body clearly. A stray shaft of sunlight overhung the desiccated mummy, illuminating the sunken face, the fragile, darkened skin. Thousands of years of the dry desert climate had protected the corpse so perfectly that Javin could see the man's final expression. Samor had died smiling, his face peaceful and serene, and the obvious haste of his interment had not changed it. Javin ached to get at his find, to discover the secrets of the body behind that wall.

/ have found you. Samor, I have found you! He slapped the wall mightily with his good hand, frustration and joy breaking his heart. Laughing, Javin hung swaying like a pendulum upon the plaited ropes, tears streaming down his face.

But there was nothing for it. Even if the Holy Book of the Confessors was on the other side of that wall,

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Cheyne was still in grave danger. Javin wiped his face upon his sleeve, drew himself up and out of the crypt, into the light and heat of the day.

/'// come back for you, Samor. I will not leave you here, unmarked and unknown.

With a salute, and the Circle's prayer of benediction upon his lips, favin walked slowly to the mess tent, his head aching from the last of the fever, his heart from being torn in two.

He stuffed as much food as he could find and a skin of water into his pack, and was heading out of the tent as the first Fascini counsel chair turned onto the site.

"Your horse is missing and so is Kifran," said Muni, suddenly standing squarely in front of him.

"By the Seven, Muni, you can put a fright in a man!" said Javin. "My horse? Ah, I see. Kifran, you say. Muni, you will never see him again, but try to recover my horse, if you will. He will probably show up in some Fascini stable soon. But I must go now, horse or no. To the Borderlands."

"How can you think you can make such a journey with the poison not yet done with you? I beg you, let the surgeon take the finger, Javin. This is far from over," said Muni.

"I'm all right. The pain comes and goes; I'm moving fine again. The doctor has done all he can. I have no time to recover from an amputation. I need my hand now. I have to go after Cheyne."

"So he has found a direction for his quest. I am not surprised." Muni regarded Javin for a long time. "You are leaving the site to them?" He pointed to the purple-fringed sedans rounding the last curve before the broken face of Caelus Nin.

"I am leaving the site to you, my friend. I have no choice. He is my son." Javin dropped his head, took a deep breath, and then met his old friend's eyes.

"Muni, I found him. I found the Collector. He's in the wall, in the room under the slab. Don't let them close us down."

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Muni smiled implacably and raised his hand in farewell. "We will be here when you both return."

"I need a horse. Has the doctor left?" said Javin.

"Yes, but you can still catch him." Muni smiled.

Javin ducked out the back of the tent and ran for the river, putting the ruins between him and the sedans, hoping he hadn't been seen.

"I hope I have not let you go to your death, my friend," Muni breathed to himself.

In a few minutes and a thousand apologies to the puzzled physician, Javin was on the back of the doctor's old horse, trotting toward Sumifa. When he cleared the Lion gate, he let the horse have its head. He pulled his kaffiyeh close, held his throbbing hand inside his robes, and hoped the doctor didn't live too close to the Citadel.

He had nothing to worry about. In what looked like the worst part the Barca, on perhaps the worst street, the ancient horse stopped and refused to move another inch. Javin climbed down, searching the storefronts and hovels for anything that looked like a surgery. He had no time for this, but he had promised the doctor he would return the animal and get a better one in Sumifa. In the third doorway on the street, a young woman stood waiting outside, one arm cradled in the other, her face ashen with pain, favin brought the horse around up to the house. A blue crescent was painted crudely upon its door.

"Mujida, I am returning the doctor's horse. Is no one else at home?"

"He lives alone. I am waiting for him myself. My arm is broken. He set it last night, but it is aflame today. I need something for the pain. They have told me he was called out to the diggers. That is all that I know," she said wanly.

"How did this happen, Mujida? Is there no one else to help you?" said Javin, wondering why she didn't just take the pain-dulling shirrir, like everyone else in the Barca.

The girl smiled ruefully. "How can I request treatment at the hand of the Schreefa when she is the one

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who sent the one who broke it? The doctor will return soon. He will have something that will leave me able to look for work." She sounded a little stronger, her words full of anger.

"It is the fault of the diggers, I tell you. My man's work is uncertain, and now my work is gone, since the shop is burned. That young digger, the fair one, he has gone with my employer and a drunkard who pretends to guide them across the western erg on a treasure hunt. And all I have left is this." She held out a small bronze-bound book.