The hand was no longer there. Grinning, Shandower set his head back and closed his eyes.

Myrmeen stared at his face and thought of the sensations that had coursed through her for the brief time that she had been empowered by the gauntlet: The magic had flowed through her, making her feel invulnerable, forcing away her fear and her doubts, helping her to focus on her single, driving goal, to destroy the Night Parade. Shandower was overcome by its power, she realized. If he had not been, he would have gone insane years ago.

Then she thought of Lucius, of the warm, caring man he had revealed himself to be. He would survive, she thought. He had to survive. Myrmeen shifted her gaze to Krystin, who held her arm where she had been wounded. Myrmeen went to the girl, pried her arm away from the gash, and realized that they were already risking infection.

"We have to clean and dress the wound," Myrmeen said.

"I'm fine," Krystin argued, looking to Ord for support. He shook his head and looked away. "Don't treat me like a child. Erin lost his arm, and he's not crying for help. I'll live, all right?"

"You'll live, both of you will, because I'm going to see that you get help," Myrmeen said.

"There's a healer I trust," Shandower said softly, "not far from here. We should see him before we leave the city. It seems we have stirred up too great a storm for even the Harpers to weather."

Suddenly, Myrmeen heard a scurrying in the shadows. She drew one of her blades and flung it in the direction of the sounds. A tiny squeal came from the temple's ruins. She walked past the overturned pews to find a dying rat in the corner. Shoving her boot against its quivering body, Myrmeen withdrew her knife.

Had she looked up, she would have seen a familiar pair of red eyes that she had glimpsed many times in nightmares. "Rats," Myrmeen said. "They're everywhere." The figure clinging to the ceiling moved carefully, making no sound as it crawled out through the broken skylight and vanished into the cold, clean air of twilight.

Lord Sixx had been watching the battle from a distance. All had not gone according to plan, but he had made the best of a steadily deteriorating situation. The humans knew they had been found out, and so their attacks against his people's lairs would end. This might have been enough to solidify his standing with his subjects, but the perpetrators had survived, and only their blood would answer the need he shared with his people for retribution.

There were easier ways to deal with them, of course, than the ones he had chosen so far. With the mage dead, they would be much more susceptible to his spies. All he had to do was find them in one place and have Imperator Zeal unleash his power upon them, as he had the archers during the battle.

Sixx grinned. Zeal had killed a half dozen of his own kind to protect his lover's life. He had made his personal allegiance very clear. If Lord Sixx had not used his own power to put Zeal down, he would have taken out the false members of the local militia, too. According to the stories Sixx had overheard concerning the battle this day, if Zeal had been a rival for his power, unwittingly or not, he had just lost his standing.

There were more pressing concerns for him to think about. He knew the Slayer's identity. His name was Erin Shandower, and many had seen his face. The man had been grievously injured. It was more than likely that he would retreat to the where he had secreted the apparatus. Sixx had driven the man to ground and would follow him as he went. Sixx found this course of action preferable to a direct confrontation with the man who had felt the energies of the apparatus circulating within his own body as if it were his life's blood.

Following would be difficult. The Night Parade would be expected. He felt like a fool for having allowed Alden to reveal himself. An ally within their ranks would prove invaluable just now.

Sixx thought of the girl. He remembered the distant manner in which she had treated the Lhal woman and the curse the girl had hurled at Myrmeen when the woman had not tried to save her Harper friend. She obviously was falling in love with the boy, though she had not yet admitted that to herself. The girl had proved herself in battle, and, more importantly, she had proved herself to be human. Alden had been an outsider. They would not expect betrayal from one of their own.

Ideas were forming in his mind when Tamara returned to him and told him what she had overheard at the temple. Alden had remained behind to continue the surveillance. Suddenly, Lord Sixx knew exactly how to manipulate events so that everybody would get what he or she wanted-everyone except the Harpers, who would die, but not before revealing their secrets to him. When this was over, his agents would track them across the Realms if need be and end their threat before it could even begin.

Myrmeen had hoped that Shandower would lead them to a cleric who could heal the torn flesh of her daughter's arm with a few simple spells. Instead, he had taken them to a run-down little house where they had suffered through a battery of questions from an obese, white-haired woman who wore a dowdy dress fifteen years out of style. Only when they had answered all her queries were they allowed access, despite Shandower's and Krystin's obviously severe wounds. Krystin had withdrawn into the shadowy world of her emerald locket.

Downstairs, the physician, a battlefield healer that Shandower once had given the money to retrieve his failing practice, cleaned and dressed Shandower's stump. The healer was in his late fifties. He had a hawklike nose, fine gray eyebrows, a heavily lined face, bushy white hair, and hands that were unusually long and thin. He had been ordered by the local officials to stop practicing medicine after he had refused to pay a tariff on his services. To all appearances he had retired, but he maintained a small practice in his cellar, behind a false wall. It was in that musty chamber that he was busy treating Shan-dower while the others waited upstairs.

Myrmeen sat beside Krystin, trying to think of something to say to her. That's your whole problem, she thought. Stop trying and just do it. Say whatever comes into your mind. You're certainly not going to offend her.

Myrmeen cleared her throat and said, "Even if you're left with a scar, that's not always such a terrible thing."

Krystin did not look up from the emerald locket.

"They can be marks of courage. I have several myself, each with its own story to tell." Myrmeen wondered if she was talking to herself. Krystin had honored her earlier promises regarding her theft at the Blood-Stained Sword: She had excavated and returned the remaining portion of gold to Myrmeen and confessed to the depository's owner, thus ensuring that criminal charges would not be filed against the former employee who had retrieved the gold for her.

The one thing she had not done, however, was return the locket. Strangely, it was her tenacity that had made Myrmeen begin to look beyond her own anger at the child's actions and start to wonder what it had been about the object that had driven the girl to such lengths.

Earlier that day, before they had left for Heaven's Lathe, Lucius had casually examined the locket and pronounced that it contained no magic. The object was nothing more than a chunk of metal whose seals were fused, its secrets hidden within its dented and cracked surface. Myrmeen had not excused Krystin's actions, but nearly losing the girl in battle, and her efforts to save herself, had awakened a sense of compassion that she had been forcing away for a long time.

"You did well, Krystin. I am proud of you and I will no longer doubt your abilities in a fight. Can you hear me?"