Her voice trailed off. Speaking of things shaped like a snake, an enormous serpent had just emerged from the door of the chapel. It measured more than fifteen feet, almost twice as long as Zeerith; and although it had a male human head, it had no hair. Instead, it flared out a cobra's hood with menacing intent.

«Honored naga,» Wheezle shouted quickly, «we come in peace!»

«Do you?» His voice was iced with hostility. «When you hold my daughter captive?»

«Daughter?» Zeerith whispered.

«She isn't a captive,» Yasmin put in quickly, «she's a refugee. If we hadn't helped her out of town —»

«She should not have been in town!» the male naga roared. «Do you think we approve of leggers stealing our children? I have missed this daughter for years. I have sought this daughter for years. And only tonight, in the moment of her molting, could I finally sense her awakened soul. It is a gift our kind possess, to locate kin. Now she has been found, and her kidnappers will pay!»

«They didn't kidnap me,» Zeerith protested weakly. «They saved me from a fire —»

«Silence!» the other naga commanded. «You have known nothing but slavery, since the day of your birth. It has confused you. You think of your captors as generous people who gave you food and attention; but all leggers are exploiters, child, and they want you to do their bidding. If these particular leggers have not hurt you, it only means they are more subtle than most – they snare you with honey, rather than violence. You are too young and trusting. I know better.»

«You know fizz,» said November in disgust. «If this is your daughter, take her and be piked; but save the sermons for someone with a stronger stomach. I'm not getting paid to put up with such barcardle, and I certainly won't —»

A beam of red light lanced from the naga's forehead. It struck November in the face, splashed out, and wrapped around her head like a veil. She lifted her hands as if she could pull loose the weaving scarlet; but the glow swept down her body like a wave washing over the shore, speeding down to her toes and out to her fingers in less than a second. Her arms jerked to a stop. Indeed, her whole body froze as stiff as rigor mortis, and she tumbled to the ground like a statue knocked from its pedestal.

After a few seconds, the red light faded. She looked no different – still flesh and blood, not turned to stone – but if she was breathing at all, it was too thready to tell.

Yasmin slid her sword from its sheath. Reluctantly, I did the same. «Sir,» Yasmin called to the naga, «whatever you believe, we've done nothing wrong. The truth is, we've only known your daughter a few hours, and in that short time, we've saved her life from three separate threats. Of course, you'll just dismiss my claim as another lie. However, I'm not lying when I tell you this: the fate of thousands depends on us reaching Sigil before disaster strikes. You stand between us and the portal we need. We don't want a fight, but we'll do what we must with a clear conscience – you struck the first blow.»

Miriam raised her fists into a fighting stance, but whispered out of the side of her mouth to Hezekiah. «Why don't you just teleport us inside?»

«I can't,» the boy grimaced. «Rivi blanked me back at the house.»

«You've had a sleep since then,» I reminded him, but Hezekiah simply glowered.

«Not enough sleep,» he muttered, «and not the right kind.»

«We're waiting,» Yasmin called to the father naga. «Get out of the way, and we'll leave without a fuss. We're fond of Zeerith and would hate to hurt you for her sake; but we will if you leave us no choice.»

«You never had a choice, leggers.» The naga's voice was venomous… not a pleasant word to consider while confronting a giant snake. «When I sensed my daughter's molting,» he continued, «she was still inside the town. I thought I'd need an army to rescue her. As it turns out, you've conveniently brought her to me… but I still have the army.»

Suddenly, we were surrounded by scratchy rustling sounds. More than a dozen serpentine heads lifted from mounds of fallen leaves scattered around the forest – a platoon of nagas emerging from camouflage. Yasmin sprinted for the door of the chapel, but beams of scarlet light shot out from three directions and brought her down like a lassoed steer. She had time to curl into foetal position before the rays froze her as solid as November.

Miriam cursed and threw herself on top of Hezekiah. I dropped to the ground and rolled in the general direction of the chapel, aware that snakes were probably better at dirt-hugging than I was. Out in the darkness, Zeerith sobbed, «No, please, no…»

…then my world went scarlet, rapidly followed by black.

Magic spells have many different aftereffects. Some leave you feeling as if giants have diligently clubbed every bone in your body; others cause no direct pain, but make you painfully sensitive to loud noises; a few put you into a state of insatiable arousal; and one I ran into in Ysgard left me unable to see any shade of green for three days.

I paid the mage double for that one.

When I awoke from the naga's spell, my throat was ragged by a raspy dryness, as if some frenzied clawed creature had crawled down to my epiglottis and was now digging its way out. There was a marble floor beneath my cheek, and lying on it had stiffened most of my muscles; but I was alive and relatively undamaged, a condition I certainly hadn't expected after the nagas coldcocked me.

Blinking, I sat up. The space around me was huge and very white, with marble slabs on the floor, walls, and even ceiling. In front of me, a row of unglassed windows opened onto a grayly overcast day, its sky displaying that muted fluffiness that always promises snow. Narrow marble benches ran under the windows, situated so that you could lean back and prop your arms comfortably on the window-ledge behind you.

A man was doing precisely that, sitting casually, watching me gather my senses.

«Hello, Britlin,» he said at last.

«Hello, Father,» I answered.

Niles Cavendish had aged considerably since I'd seen him last. His black hair was now amply salted with streaks of white; his moustache had turned completely gray, and every line on his face had deepened. Laugh-lines they were called, and Father Niles had obviously laughed a great deal after walking out on his wife and child.

«How are you feeling?» he asked.

«Physically or emotionally?»

«Let's go with the physical for starters.»

I shrugged, then silently chided myself – if I reverted to a sulky adolescent at the first glimpse of this man, I'd soon despise myself. Being able to act like a grown-up was something that set me apart from him… wasn't it? «No broken bones,» I said. «I'm fit to fight a pit fiend.»

«With my sword.» He nodded down at my side, where the rapier still hung from my belt. «I'm glad it wasn't lost.»

«You can have it back any time you want.»

I began to unbuckle the sheath, but he waved at me to stop. «Keep it. I haven't handled a blade in twelve years; I'd probably cut myself. If it comes down to hack and slash, I'll leave that honor to the next generation.»

«Honor,» I muttered under my breath. Then more loudly, I said, «Can you tell me what's going on here?»

«You've arrived at the Court of Light,» Niles Cavendish replied. «The Holy of Holies for the entire naga race. Their Supreme Goddess Shekinester lives here somewhere, though I've never seen her. Not knowingly, anyway. I've seen one sodding lot of snakes over the years, and maybe one of them was divine… but who knows?»

«Are we still in the Outlands?»

«Indeed,» he nodded. «Only about twelve hours from Plague-Mort. I gather that's where the nagas bagged you.»