"What?"

He heard the word, spat indignantly by the voice of Tale Splintersteel. In the next instant the Zhakar cursed, and then his voice was muffled. Mutely Ariakas raged- so close to success, and now to be thwarted!

Straining to penetrate the silence, he heard a pattern of low, deliberate breaths, and recognized the cadence of one of his training exercises from the temple. Lyrelee! Judging from the sound, the priestess was nearby, though she was obviously reluctant to call out. He heard scraping on the floor, and deduced that she, too, had been ensnared in the folds of a net.

Gradually he twisted his helmet around, casting the illumination of the gem. away from himself. True to his deduction, the gleaming light revealed Lyrelee, trussed like a rolled roast of meat in folds and coils of netting. Her own eyes met his for a moment before she turned away from the light and resumed her silent, deliberate struggle to escape.

Ariakas no longer heard anything from Tale Splinter-steel or their captors. They were gone. Judging from the captive's exclamation of surprise, the Zhakar hadn't exactly been rescued. But if not, why had he and Lyrelee not been taken? Or harmed, for that matter? The two had simply been trussed up, with embarrassing ease, and left to squirm to freedom-long after Tale Splintersteel had been spirited away.

Ariakas seized the hilt of his sword and began to saw the blade back and forth over several of the cords in the net. The material proved surprisingly tough, resisting the razor-sharp blade for the better part of a minute before Ariakas severed the first strand. Cursing silently at the time-consuming task, he started on the second strand, and then the third, and the fourth.

By this time his muscles had begun to cramp up, and sharp pain racked his spine because of the uncomfort shy;able position in which he found himself. He paused in his struggles, leaning around to get a look at Lyrelee- and was surprised to see that the priestess had almost broken free. Somehow, by flexing her arms around to her back, she squirmed through the coils. Ariakas gave up his own nearly fruitless struggles in the hopes that soon she could help him.

Her hands emerged from the top of the net, and then the collar of coils slipped down her forearms, past her elbows, and tangled around her head. With a few twists of her neck, the priestess drove her forehead out of the narrow aperture. The rest of her supple body followed quickly.

As soon as she was free, she sprang to her feet and then dropped into a crouch, looking back and forth through the corridor. Seeing nothing, she darted to Aria-kas's side and began working at the net with deft fingers. Within a few minutes she had loosened the knots, and he was able to pull slack line through the constricted mouth. Careful not to scrape the edge of his sword on the floor, Ariakas crawled forth and stood, his body creaking in pain and stiffness.

"Well done, priestess," he said, impressed.

"Did you see who attacked us?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just some movement in the shad shy;ows-and a smell. Something like wet fur."

"I saw even less," Lyrelee admitted ruefully. "Though I, too, remember the smell." The priestess fell silent for a moment, obviously reflecting. "Have you ever heard of the shadowpeople?" she asked, finally.

"Only the word itself. Wryllish Parkane seems to think they don't exist. I assume they have something to do with this attack?"

"Only speculation," she said. "They're said to lurk in caverns and caves throughout the Khalkists. Very reclu shy;sive folk, though reputedly harmless. They'll go to great lengths to avoid being seen."

"What makes you think of them now?" he inquired.

"Only this," she responded. "They're supposed to be covered with fur."

Ariakas reflected on that news for a moment. "Do you know of anyone who fights with nets?" He was still amazed at how effectively they had both been neutral shy;ized by the meshwork ambush.

"That's new to me," she admitted. She looked at one of the tightly webbed objects. "I don't even know what it's made out of-look, it's not hemp."

Ariakas saw long fibers woven into a tight spiral. The material was smoother than either hempen rope or wool. When he pulled at one of the narrow strands, the mater shy;ial dug into the flesh of his hands, but absolutely refused to break. "It's plenty strong, whatever it is. I'll take this one back with us as a sample. But first, to business."

"Which way do you think they went?" asked the priestess.

"Splintersteel squirmed when they hit him, and then the sounds ceased. I don't think it's likely they carried him past us. Lef s try checking out our back-trail."

They started along the corridor, walking as quietly as possible. Ariakas held his sword ready before him, while Lyrelee frequently whirled and scrutinized the shadows behind them. After a few minutes they came to the first branching corridor, and here they paused. Turning his face toward the floor, Ariakas brought the gem to bear on the blank stone. If there was any clue as to the direc shy;tion of their quarry, it was beyond their skills to find.

"I have an idea," Lyrelee said, indicating the main pas shy;sage. "Let's go a little farther."

Ariakas agreed and followed the priestess for another hundred paces. They came to a three-way branch, with corridors leading forward, to the right, and left. Once again there was no visible spoor to tell them which path to follow.

"Down there are the water warrens," Lyrelee announced, pointing left. "They're surplus overflow, mostly, for the temple's cisterns. But they go quite a long way, and both of us smelled something wet."

"I can't argue with your logic," replied the warrior. "We're reduced to guesswork any way you shake it!"

The passage proved to be more finished than many of the other tunnels in the catacomb network. Ariakas saw evidence of bricklaying to reinforce many walls, and soon they came to a well-chiseled flight of stairs, leading downward. As soon as they began the descent the war shy;rior noticed the air growing damp around him, and he felt the dank mustiness of the walls. His light spell cast illu shy;mination about two dozen steps down, and for a long time it seemed as though this stairway must descend into the very heart of the world. He lost count of the individ shy;ual stairs, though the number certainly passed a hundred.

Then, finally, the light reflected against a smooth, dark surface-liquid. Soon he saw the stairs end at a subter shy;ranean wharf. The stone pier, sprouting from a narrow landing, extended onto a surface of still water. The light spell swept over several tall posts placed, presumably, for the hitching of boats.

When they reached the bottom Ariakas saw that one long-hulled craft did in fact bob at a mooring, far out at the end of the pier.

"Is the boat usually here?" he asked.

"In the past there've always been two of them," Lyre-lee replied. "The priests use the boats for fishing, for patrols … but not very often."

Ariakas stalked onto the pier. The light reflected from dark and still waters stretching beyond-far beyond its illumination.

"Where does it lead?" he asked, gesturing to the placid lake.

"Well, nowhere in particular, I guess," the priestess replied tentatively. "I've only been this far-but Wryllish Parkane indicated that it's just a watery portion of the Sanctified Catacombs. I assume that some of the pas shy;sages go pretty far."

In the space between their words, the silence yawned around them, wider and darker than any quietude of the upper world. It was a silence that brought things like heartbeats into the audible range, made a gasp of breath seem like a shriek of alarm.

In this background of stillness, they heard a noise, a brief splashing of water. They waited breathlessly, but the sound was not repeated.