“What happened in the tower?”

“What’s that?”

“The tower of St. Asla’s. You said you climbed it.”

“Of course we bloody well climbed it.”

“Well . . . what happened?”

Aerling snorted. “Put it this way. Being Skali’s son, young Geli may have had a beak on him like a bird, but he couldn’t fly like one.”

It was becoming very clear to Viyeki that the informality he had enjoyed with Lord Yaarike during their flight from the southern lands was now truly gone. He had to wait in the antechamber for his master’s time just like any other high official of the Builders’ order.

Viyeki noticed other high officials looking at him more than they generally did, some curiously, some with scarcely hidden resentment. He wondered whether Yaarike had already told some of them about his plan to make Viyeki his successor. Whatever the case, the magister seemed in no hurry to see him; Viyeki spent a long time waiting in the antechamber.

At last the door to the inner sanctum swung open and several figures emerged. General Suno’ku was in the lead, her pale hair bound in tight military braids, her owl helmet under her arm. As she and the other Sacrifices walked past, faces resolutely empty, she saw Viyeki and slowed long enough to nod formally to him.

“Try and talk sense into your high magister,” she said quietly as she passed, and in that instant he suddenly perceived the force of her contained anger and had to resist the urge to step back, as if from an open flame.

Yaarike sat behind the wide table in the middle of his sanctum, almost hidden behind mounds of maps and building plans. Viyeki’s first thought was that his master had aged tremendously in the last months. Yaarike’s back was as straight as ever, and the hands holding the documents were steady, but there was something in his eyes and face that Viyeki had not seen before, a suggestion of weakness that he could not quite identify but could not ignore. Was it despair, or something more complicated? The continual pounding of the Northmen at the gates had become a drumbeat of approaching doom, and the entire city seemed to shuffle to its rhythm. Only the rigorous training of their orders—or the active threat of overseers with whips—kept both the high and low castes at their work.

“Come in, Viyeki-tza,” Yaarike said when he saw him. “Close the door. Have you been to the Singers’ order-house?”

“I have been there, yes, but that is all. I told my name and my commission to the speakstone in the courtyard but they did not open the doors or even answer.” Scorned and ignored, Viyeki had felt like a mere messenger instead of a magister’s heir.

Yaarike slowly shook his head. “Lord Akhenabi is determined to win the war by himself.”

“But why, Master? Why will he not work with you?”

“Oh, he sends his minions when it is necessary. And it is not me he resists, but cooperation with the Order of Sacrifice.”

Yaarike seemed to be doing Viyeki the honor of speaking to him as an equal again, or nearly, and that eased the host-foreman’s mind. “It is a bad time for rivalry,” was all he said. “The mortals are at our door.”

“The queen is asleep,” said the high magister, shaking his head. He lifted an ornament from the table, the skull of a witiko’ya, one of the long-toothed, wolflike creatures who had made the lands around Ur-Nakkiga their home before the Hikeda’ya came. Carvings all over the city portrayed the great hunts of yore, of Ekimeniso and even Queen Utuk’ku herself riding in pursuit of the deadly beasts, carrying no weapon but hunting spears. “The queen is asleep and the mortals, as you correctly observe, are at the door. Now is precisely the time for rivalry. When our revered Utuk’ku is awake, all of the ambitious lords and ladies are bottled in a jar like flies and can only buzz in circles, gaining small advantages here or there. No, now is the time for those who want it to grab for power.” Yaarike laughed sourly. “In fact, there may never be another chance like this, Host Foreman. They are playing for high stakes in the very shadow of destruction.”

“I saw General Suno’ku in the antechamber,” Viyeki said. “She told me, ‘Try and talk sense into your master.’ If I may be so bold, Magister, what did she mean?”

Yaarike set down the long-toothed skull and flicked a bit of dust from its low crown. “She wants my help to force Lord Akhenabi into line, because I am one of the eldest of the order-magisters—almost as august as Akhenabi himself.” He showed a wry smile that had little warmth. “She thinks the Lord of Song unwilling to bend himself to the greater good.”

“And is she right?”

“Of course she is, as she defines it. But Akhenabi has always considered the greater good to mean what is best for the Order of Song. And for himself.”

“So there is nothing you can do.”

“Oh, there are things I may yet accomplish before I leave this world. Important things for the survival of our race. But these are not your concerns, Viyeki-tza. You will follow me to the magister’s chair, if I have my way. But you will not be me, nor should you. There may yet be some great calamity in my future, and I wish you to remain separate from me in the thoughts of those outside our order. We will have to stop meeting, at least in the open.”

Viyeki felt something like a blow against his heart. “Stop meeting . . . ?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Magister, surely nothing you could do . . .”

“I have my reasons.”

Viyeki had not heard his master’s voice so stern and unyielding toward him since his earliest time in the order. His hands moved rapidly: I am admonished, followed by a second sign that meant silent as the stone.

In a flat tone Yaarike said, “And yet I can see you still have questions.”

It was true, Viyeki’s heart was full of pain that he had thought was hidden. He was unhappy to know he had revealed himself so easily. “Yes, High Magister, I fear that I do. Why is Host Foreman Naji appointed to the greatest task?”

Yaarike eyed him expressionlessly. “What greatest task is that?”

“The work around the mountain’s gates, Magister. The work to improve our only protection against the Northmen.” Viyeki looked down at the stone flags instead of at his master and tried to find an appropriate composure.

“Ah,” said Yaarike after a long moment. “I wondered what was troubling you. I could see it behind your movements.” The High Magister pushed his chair back from the table and stood, showing his age in the deliberate way he did it. For a moment Viyeki spotted a bright flash of firelight at Yaarike’s throat, or so it seemed. Seeing the Heart of What Was Lost again, even for a brief instant, made him think of the proud moment when Yaarike had trusted him with the safety of his family treasure. But the news of Naji’s appointment had made that triumph seem hollow.

“I will walk you to the door,” the magister said. “Yes, it is time for you to go, Host Foreman. Learn to measure yourself. Excess of anything is hard to hide—joy, anger, sorrow. And when you reveal yourself, you reveal yourself to your enemies as well as your allies.”

“Yes, Master. But I still do not fully understand.”

“That may change.”

Viyeki took a deep breath. “I beg pardon, High Magister, but even if you cast me from the order, I cannot be silent. The work at the gates is by far the most important task we have. All our lives rest on it. Host Foreman Naji is not up to this challenge. He is a solid workman, but he has not the skill for such a task.”

The older man looked at him for a long time, long enough that Viyeki could feel his own heart beat more swiftly at the length of his master’s silence. It generally augured either fury or amusement, but little in between.

“I have met no finer Builder’s sensibility than yours in all my years in the order,” Yaarike finally said. “Your grasp of figures and your imagination, which has startled even me—” He broke off. “But I must take more into account than simply skill, Host Foreman. Or ambition. I must make the decisions I think best for all. And this is my decision. Do your work in the deep tunnels, and do it well. If you fear Naji’s abilities are not sufficient, all the more reason for you to prepare a final refuge for our queen and people.”