"Levictus." Vassili made a show of looking over the latest plans for the cathedral's baptistery. "You overheard?"

The figure moved to the spot where Ral had stood only moments before. His voice, though only a whisper, carried through the chamber.

"Nothing remains hidden from the Dark."

The archpriest reached up to touch the medallion on his chest and forced himself to look upon the man's ruined features. Levictus winced as candlelight reflected off the symbols etched on the golden surface, and Vassili allowed himself a satisfied smile. Sometimes a pet, no matter how faithful, needed to be brought to heel.

He jerked his chin toward the doorway through which Ral had departed. "That one grows bolder every day."

Levictus opened his left hand slightly, and then made a flicking gesture as if to say, The man is insignificant, an insect, but there was something ominous in his gaze.

"In any case," Vassili continued, "there is a more dire matter at hand. Namely, your failure in Ostergoth. You assured me that your necromancy could protect Reinard. I made guarantees based upon that assurance, guarantees which are now returning to haunt me. The duke's brother sits on the Council. He will no doubt demand concessions as a result of this debacle, concessions that will cost me dearly. Well? What say you?"

Still, Levictus said nothing.

Vassili exhaled a long breath. He was tempted to reach for his medallion again. The sunburst sigil of the True Faith was perhaps the only thing his servant feared in the entire world, having been tortured and scarred under its standard. Yet he kept his hands on the arms of his chair. He would show restraint.

"For the love of the Light, man. What is it? Speak."

"Have I not done all that you asked of me?" Levictus stood perfectly still as he spoke, but the scars on his cheeks rippled with every word. "I have spied on your enemies. It was I who discovered the old one's intentions, and I who silenced him. I have done all that you asked, to the letter of your expectations. Would you agree this is true?"

"Yes, Levictus. And forget not that it was I who saved you from the Inquest's torture cells."

Vassili would never forget that day. Twenty years ago, the Church hierarchs saw the filth and immorality lurking throughout the realm and, having secured the emperor's sanction, launched a pogrom to rid the nation of its heretical pagan roots. The fanes of the old gods were rooted out and destroyed, their priests imprisoned or slain on the spot along with any others who refused to convert to the True Faith. Levictus's family was among those swept up by deputized officers of the Holy Order of Inquest. Vassili had been merely an ambitious praetor at the time. On a tour inside the Inquest's dungeons, he'd noticed a particular young man. According to the jailers, his parents and brother had expired under questioning, but this young man refused to repent, though he had been tortured for weeks and was slated for execution on the next day. Vassili sensed something special in this youth, as if their paths had been destined to cross. He used his authority to have the prisoner released and took the waif into his own household. Not long after, his new protege began to display certain unusual traits. With time and study, Vassili realized the amazing treasure he had unearthed.

"Have I failed in any task you set before me, master?" Levictus stepped toward the desk. "Or given less respect than was due?"

The archpriest folded his hands within his sleeves. "No, Levictus. You have served me faithfully. I do not debate it."

"Then when, master? When shall I have my revenge?"

There it was. Vassili chided himself for not seeing it sooner. He never expected the man to forget the torments of his past, but sometimes it slipped his mind. When he'd saved Levictus from the stake, he had promised the youth his vengeance against the Holy Inquest for what they had done to his family. Over the years, he had sustained Levictus on tidbits of revenge, the odd Inquestor or misogynous cleric, fools caught sodomizing their acolytes or plundering the Church coffers. But he understood what Levictus truly wanted.

Vassili composed himself. "Soon, Levictus, if you follow my instructions. It is no easy thing we aspire to achieve. Our realm seethes with corruption. Merchants scheme and bribe their way to high position. Harlots peddle their wares on every street corner in Low Town. Debauchery reigns in the houses of God. Civilization itself teeters on a precipice."

"When, master?"

"Degeneracy is festering in every corner of the realm. Heresy breeds in the streets of our very city. And yet Benevolence does nothing to halt the corruption, but squats in his fortress like a bloated leech and dreams of past glories."

Levictus stared at him.

"Find the girl! By the Noose, Levictus, find her and we can move on to the final phase. Then, you will receive everything you desire."

Levictus maintained his gloomy stare a few seconds more, and then dropped his gaze to the floor. "Yes, master."

"Good. Now go and do not return until you have good news for me."

He made a show of comparing blueprints as Levictus retreated into the shadowy corner from which he had emerged. Moments later, the chill faded from the room.

Vassili leaned back and released a long sigh. Levictus was becoming increasingly difficult to manage, and the thought of the sorcerer running free, no longer under his control, was enough to send him reaching for the bellpull. He needed a drink-something stronger than tea.

While he waited for his servant to appear, Vassili played with the idea of pitting Ral against Levictus. With luck, they would eliminate each other and rid him of both problems. It was an interesting line of thought, one he filed away for the future. He didn't dare upset the delicate balance so close to the fruition of his dream. At this moment, the prelate slept soundly within the walls of Castle DiVecci, never suspecting that his doom approached on silent steps. Vassili almost wished he could see the look on the old fool's face when the end came.

Smiling to himself, he took the scroll from his desk drawer and read its contents again.

he feeling of being watched followed Caim through Low Town as dawn's first rays painted the city in shades of purple and orange. He glanced over his shoulder from time to time, mixed up his pace, and took wrong turns on purpose, but never caught sight of a tail. Meanwhile, the events of the previous night played over and again in his head. Questions piled up, but they lent no answers.

He emerged between two brownstones and hooked a right onto Fulcrum Close. It was a bit of backtracking to get to his destination, but the habits that had kept him alive all these years were ingrained into his bones. When the hairs on the back of his neck tingled, he knew better than to ignore it.

He turned down a street and skipped to a halt as the iron gray walls of the city workhouse emerged from the morning mist. Strands of pearlescent fog snaked through the hollow window sockets of its squat towers and clung to shadowed doorways where the sunlight could not penetrate.

Caim huddled within his cloak as he continued on his way. He made several more turns before he reached the Three Maids. A soft knock at the back door summoned a plump scullion girl who gave him entrance with a smile. The cooks paid him no mind as he slipped through the kitchen. The common hall was empty except for the dregs of last night's carousing, sleeping off their hangovers on the floor. The morning bartender, a lanky six-footer with a floppy crop of orange hair, nodded to him.

Caim placed a silver coin on the bar. "I need to speak to Mathias."

"He hasn't come down yet. He had company last night. Might not be a good idea to disturb them."