"But now they call Afsan himself a demon," said Cadool. "He was almost killed in the ruling room yesterday. Dybo’s feelings are the only thing keeping Afsan alive, and who knows how long it will be before the imperial advisors convince Dybo to put him to death."

"But to kill a Quintaglio…"

"It’s been done before, Tetex. In Larsk’s time, the hunters who didn’t accept his claims were executed."

Tetex nodded solemnly. "You’re right. We must act quickly."

"Has word gone out with our newsriders?"

"They leave tonight."

"And Keenir?"

"He’s loading provisions aboard the Dasheter now. At dawn, he’ll set sail for the west coast to fetch Lubalites from there. When he landed there with Afsan, he told many hunters the story of Afsan killing the great serpent. He’s sure that most will agree to come back here with him."

"That’s still fifty days or so, round trip, even for the Dasheter." said Cadool.

"That it is. But it’ll take at least that long for any of those who the newsriders contact to assemble here. Everyone who knows the hand sign will receive the special call."

"Where will we gather?"

"At the ruins of the temple of Lubal, on the far side of the Ch’mar peaks."

Cadool’s tail swept in a wide arc. "I hate that place — buildings half buried under lava flows."

"But no one goes there anymore; it’s an ideal spot to wait for the others."

Cadool nodded. "I suppose." He looked back at the floating sphere of skulls. "Afsan himself did not know the hand sign."

Tetex blinked. "He didn’t?"

"Not really."

"Did you show it to him?"

"Of course."

"Well, he knows it now," said Tetex.

"And that’s enough?"

"We must pray that it is. There’s little we can do for him without greater numbers. He has to hold on for sixty-one days."

Cadool looked puzzled. "Sixty-one?"

Tetex patted the cover of the book she held. "That will bring us to the traditional date of the feast of Lubal. At the fifth daytenth, we’ll march into the Capital."

Except for Cadool, who came once more with food, Afsan had no visitors for the next fourteen days. It was clear what was being done. Those who held sway with Dybo hoped the isolation would make him more willing to accede to their wishes. But a Quintaglio could take a lot of isolation before being disturbed by it. In fact, after the confines of the Dasheter, and the continual company of the delegation from Carno on his trip here, Afsan found being left alone with his thoughts a welcome change.

When he did at last have a visitor, it wasn’t who he had hoped for. The door to the storage room burst open. Afsan leapt to his feet. Standing in the entryway, robes swirling, was Det-Yenalb, Master of the Faith.

Afsan did not bow. "I didn’t expect to see you," he said.

"And I prayed my whole life never to see the likes of you," hissed Yenalb. "But now you are here, and you must be dealt with." He handed a piece of writing leather to Afsan. "I want you to draw your cartouche on this. I’ll witness it with my own."

Afsan read the page. I, Afsan, formerly apprentice to the Chief Court Astrologer, before that a member of Pack Carno of Arj’toolar province, hereby affirm without reservation the existence of the Divine, that She is the one true God, that She created all life, and that the Face of God is her true countenance and Larsk is a true prophet. I disavow any claims to the contrary, and renounce and rescind any statements I may have made in the past that disagree with the content of this declaration. I have placed my mark below voluntarily, without coercion, and of my own free will. May God have mercy upon me.

Afsan handed it back to Yenalb. "I can’t agree to that."

"You must."

"Or?"

"Or suffer the consequences."

"I’ve already lost my job and my freedom. What else can you do to me?"

"Believe me, child, you do not wish to know."

"You can’t have me killed. That’s against the teachings."

"A demon may be disposed of."

"If Dybo agreed with you that I was a demon, I would be dead already. Therefore, he doesn’t."

Yenalb made an unpleasant sound. "It’ll take more than sophistry to save you. The sacred scrolls confer extraordinary powers upon my office. I can select any fate I wish for you."

"You threaten me with death? You would commit murder?"

"You yourself dispatched a crewmember aboard the Dasheter, so I’m told. A fellow named Nor-Gampar, wasn’t it?"

"That was different. He had gone into dagamant; he was crazed."

"And perhaps you are becoming crazed even as we speak. Perhaps I will have no choice but to rip your throat out."

"I am as calm as one could be, under the circumstances."

"Are you, now?" Yenalb stepped closer to Afsan. "I am a priest. It’s my job to whip individuals or groups into a frenzy. I could set you off with a few choice words, or incite those guards standing out in the hall."

"Dybo would never permit that."

"Are you sure?"

"You’d be found out. The first time he, or someone else, asked you what had happened to me, you’d be discovered."

"Would I?"

"Of course! Your face would flush blue."

"Would it?" Yenalb’s teeth clicked. "Not every person can be a priest, you know. It takes a special disposition, special talents, special ways. Have you ever seen a priest’s muzzle show the liar’s tint?"

Afsan stepped backwards quickly, widening the space between them. "No … you’re saying that you can lie openly? No. It can’t be. You’re just trying to make me nervous, trying to frighten me into agreeing to recant."

"Am I? Do you wish to put the issue to a test?" Yenalb stepped closer again. "Agree to the words on that piece of leather, Afsan. Save yourself."

"I am trying to save myself. And all of us. Even you."

Yenalb’s tail swished. "You are so young. And, except for your current delusion, so bright. Recant, Afsan."

"Even if I did draw my cartouche on that document, what would that prove? Anybody who asked me if I was sincere in my change of mind would know in an instant that I wasn’t; I at least cannot lie openly … and for that I’m grateful."

"Grateful to whom, Afsan? I thought you didn’t believe in a God."

"I mean simply…"

"Yes, I know what you mean. Of course, you’d have to leave Capital City; indeed, we’d have to eject you altogether from the Fifty Packs. No one could see you again."

Afsan’s jaw dropped open.

"Why so shocked?" said Yenalb. "Surely it’s better than death. You’re an extraordinary hunter; we’ve all heard the tales. You’d have no trouble fending for yourself. Why, you could even continue to pursue your astrological interests. I’d arrange for you to have your — what are those corrupt things called? — your far-seer to aid in your studies."

Yenalb waited a few moments, letting that sink in. "And," said the priest, in a studied, offhand way, "we could even arrange to find a volunteer companion for you. I understand you have a friend in Pack Gelbo who shares some of your interests, and some of your heresy." Afsan’s head snapped up. Yenalb made a great show of trying to remember. "Now, what was her name? Something exotic, I seem to recall. Novato? Why, yes, I believe that was it. Wab-Novato."

Afsan felt his pulse quickening. "How do you know about her?"

"There are delegations here from every Pack paying tribute to the new Emperor. I learned from Det-Zamar, the priest you traveled here with, that you had visited Pack Gelbo before going to Carno. The delegates from Gelbo were more than pleased to answer a few questions for the Master of the Faith." Yenalb turned his muzzle to face Afsan directly. "Think of it, boy! Put your mark on that declaration, and then you and your friend can go safely, under my authority. There’s plenty of land on the southern shore of Edz’toolar where the two of you could hunt and live and study in absolute peace."