His nerves taut, he marched onward, striding faster, no longer concerned that his boots would make too much noise on the planking beneath them or that haste would make him appear suspicious to anyone looking up from below. He gazed down into chamber after chamber and felt grateful the catacombs were so extensive. Until he ran out of spaces to check, he could still hope. But at the same time, he hated that the warren was big and labyrinthine enough to so delay his determination of the truth.

He passed through yet another newly cut doorway then at last he saw her, lying on her back on the floor of an otherwise empty room with a scatter of earth around and beneath her. Sleeping, surely, for she displayed no marks to prove otherwise. No wounds, and none of the bloat or lividity of a corpse.

"Tammith!" he called, trying to make his voice loud enough to wake her but not so loud as to be overheard outside the chamber.

She didn't stir. He called again, louder, and still she didn't respond.

He trembled and swallowed, refusing to believe someone had killed her with a poison or spell that didn't leave a mark, recently enough that her body hadn't yet started to deteriorate. It simply couldn't be so.

Except that he knew it very well could.

There were no stairs in this particular room. He swung himself over the guardrail and dropped, as, in what had come to seem a different life and a brighter world, he'd once leaped from the deck of a ship onto a dock in Bezantur.

The landing jarred but didn't injure him. He rushed to Tammith, knelt, and touched her cheek. Her skin was as cool as he'd feared it would be. His voice breaking, he spoke her name once more.

Her eyes flew open. He felt an incredulous, overpowering joy, and then she reached up and seized him by the throat.

In one respect at least, the temple of Kossuth in Escalant was like most other human households: Nearly everyone slept away the time just before dawn. That was why Hezass Nymia, tharchion of Lapendrar and Eternal Flame of the god's house, chose that time to lead his four golems on a circuit of the principal altars. Carved of deep brown Thayan oak to resemble men-at-arms, the glow of the myriad sacred fires reflecting from their polished surfaces, the automata had been fashioned first and foremost to fight as archers, and their longbows were a part of their bodies. Hezass had them carrying sacks in their free hands.

Lifeless and mindless, the golems were tireless as well. Yawning, Hezass envied them that and wondered if this surreptitious transit was truly necessary. He was, after all, the high priest of the pyramidal temple and so entitled to his pick of the offerings the faithful gave to the Firelord.

It was the accepted custom, but custom likewise decreed that the hierophant should exercise restraint. One could argue that such self-control was particularly desirable if the previous Eternal Flame, proving not so eternal after all, had fallen to his death under mysterious circumstances, and the current one had somehow managed to secure his appointment even though several other priests were further advanced in the mysteries of the faith.

Yes, all in all, it was best to avoid the appearance of greed, Hezass thought with a wry smile, but the truth was, he had little hope of avoiding the reality. He coveted as much as he coveted, and he meant to have it. Better then to do some of his skimming when no censorious eyes were watching.

The golems' wooden feet clacking faintly on the marble floor, the little procession arrived at another altar, where women often prayed to conceive, or if they had, for an easy delivery and a healthy baby. Hezass picked up a string of pearls, scrutinized it, and put it back. He liked to think he had as good an eye as any jeweler, and he could see the necklace was second-rate. The delicate platinum tiara, on the other hand, was exquisite.

Responsive to his unspoken will, one of the golems proffered its sack, but since it only had the one functional hand, Hezass had to pull open the mouth of the bag and drop the headdress in himself. As porters, the constructs had their limitations, but their inability to speak made up for them.

"That is a nice piece," drawled a masculine voice.

Startled, Hezass nearly whirled around but caught himself in time. Better to move in a leisurely fashion, with a dignity befitting an Eternal Flame and tharchion, like a man who hadn't gotten caught doing anything illicit. He turned to meet the dark-eyed, sardonic gaze of a gaunt figure whose capacious scarlet sleeves currently concealed his withered fingers.

Hezass dropped to his knees. "Your Omnipotence."

"It looks Impilturan," Szass Tam continued. "Brides from wealthy families often wear such ornaments on their wedding days. Please, stand up."

Hezass did so, meanwhile wondering what this unexpected intrusion portended. "I haven't had the honor of meeting with Your Omnipotence in some time."

"We've both been busy," said the lich, sauntering closer, the hem of his red robe whispering along the floor, "but you're awake, I'm always awake, most of the rest of the world is asleep, so this seems a convenient moment for us to talk."

Hezass wondered how Szass Tam had known he was awake and precisely where to find him. "I'm at your service, of course."

"Thank you." The necromancer casually pulled a crystal-pointed enchanted arrow from a golem's quiver, examined it, and dropped it back in. "I admit, it concerns me a little to find you out of bed. If you're suffering from insomnia, I know a potion that will help."

"I'm fine," said Hezass. "I'm just getting a head start on my duties."

The wizard nodded. "I can see that, though technically, it's arguable whether pilfering from the offerings constitutes a duty."

Hezass forced a smile. "Your Omnipotence always did have a keen sense of humor. You know, surely, that I'm entitled to my share."

"Oh, absolutely, but if you start claiming it while the coins and other valuables still lie on display atop the altars, before the clerks make their tally, doesn't that mean you underreport the take to the Flaming Brazier and send Eltabbar less than its fair share? If so, isn't that the equivalent of robbing the Firelord himself? I'm afraid Iphegor Nath would think so. He might try to punish you even if you are a tharchion, and who's to say he wouldn't succeed? He's made a considerable contribution to the campaign against the undead horde in the east, and we zulkirs are accordingly grateful."

Hezass drew a long, steadying breath. "Master, you know that even if there's anything… irregular about my conduct as Eternal Flame, it's no worse than the way other folk in authority behave every day across the length and breadth of the realm. You also knew what sort of man I am when you helped me rise in the church and later gave me Lapendrar to govern."

"That's true," said Szass Tam, "and I'll tell you a secret: It doesn't bother me if you dare to rob a god. Do the gods deal with us so kindly or even justly as to merit abject devotion?" He waved his hand at the offerings on the altar. "Look at all this-not the gold and gems that usually catch your eye, but the copper, bread, and fruit. Needy women have given what they could ill afford, perhaps all they possessed, to bribe your god, yet he won't answer all their prayers. Some petitioners will remain barren or perish in childbirth even so. Why is that, and what's the sense of a world where it's possible for women to miscarry and infants to die in their cribs in the first place?"

Hezass had no idea what the necromancer was talking about or how to respond. "Master, you understand I share a true bond with Kossuth even if I do pocket a few too many of the trinkets the faithful offer him. He forgives me my foibles, I believe. Anyway, the world is what it is. Isn't it?"