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But how much longer could he refuse? In theory, Shex was a mere vitan, chief priest of a single temple, unable to compel a devitan, the primate of an entire city, to do anything. But in actuality, he’d come as the Vitanar’s representative, and a time was rapidly approaching when Yzil would be able to deny him no longer, lest continued resistance make matters even worseassuming such a thing was possible.

“I’m reluctant,” Yzil said, “to trouble His Holiness when I’m certain that, with more study and prayer, Exzethlix can solve its own problems.”

“He wouldn’t consider it ‘trouble,’” Shex replied. “Like the god who speaks with his voice, he cares for the strength and vitality of all our race.”

“Still,” said a new voice, managing the ixitxachitl tongue with facility despite the handicap of a tongue and voice box never intended for the purpose, “it would be unnecessary. I will help you, for a price.”

Baring their fangs, tails lashing, all the vampire rays in the shadowy coral hall with its dozens of irregular arched doorways turned toward the shalarin. Yzil understood their startled outrage. No one but ixitxachitls and sacrifices ever entered this holy place. Tu’ala’keth had not only intruded, but presumed to speak unbidden. Her escort, a common warrior, looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to attack her or grovel in apology for her insolence.

Yzil felt a pang of anger himself, though it was more out of concern for his own well-being that the sanctity of the shrine. Years ago, Tu’ala’keth had approached him with a bargain. Like all spellcasters, the two of them were eager to acquire esoteric lore and the power that came with it, and it was certain that, pursuing their separate paths, each had discovered secrets unknown to the other. Such being the case, they’d share as much as they could, without, of course, forsaking or betraying their respective faiths.

It had actually worked out quite well. The tricks Tu’ala’keth had taught Yzil helped him ascend and cling to his high rank while scores of ambitious wretches such as Shex strove to usurp it. In the end, Yzil might even have grown a bit “fond” of the shalarin, if he understood what that alien concept truly meant.

Still after an absence of a decade, why did Tu’ala’keth have to turn up now? If one cared to take it that way and Shex undoubtedly wouldher intrusion here was further evidence that Yzil had lost control. Worse, his collaboration with her could itself be construed as proof that he’d embraced Qyxas’s forbidden views.

Yet she’d spoken of providing help, and really, now that she’d already interrupted the proceedings, could she make things much worse? Perhaps it would be sensible to hear her out.

The other ixitxachitls had all pointed themselves in her direction. In another moment, they’d swarm on her, and she hadn’t made a move to protect herself. She simply gave Yzil a cool, level stare.

He’d often thought her arrogant self-assurance would someday be the death of her. It still might, but not just yet. “Stop,” he said. “For the moment, the shalarin is under my protection.”

She inclined her head as if acknowledging a simple courtesy

“Who is this thrall?” Shex demanded.

She answered before Yzil could. “Tu’ala’keth, waveservant and keeper of Umberlee’s shrine in Myth Nantar.”

“And envoy for the Nantarn Council,” Yzil added, knowing she was quick-witted enough to go along with the lie. Despite their general disdain for inferior races, as a practical matter, ixitxachitls sometimes had to negotiate with them. He reckoned it was safer to present Tu’ala’keth as an emissary than to admit the two of them had traded conjuring techniques and lists of the true names of netherspirits and elementals.

Still the explanation elicited a dubious stare from Shex. “Does His Holiness know you’re treating with the allied peoples?”

“About matters of consequence only to my own city,” Yzil said. “That lies within in my authority, as you presumably know. Waveservant, you… claim you can help us?”

“I do,” said Tu’ala’keth. “But I must know the details of your plight.”

“No!” snarled Shex. “Say nothing.”

“You’re not in charge here,” Yzil said. “I am. Don’t presume to give me another order, or I’ll kill you before you finish speaking.”

Shex folded himself small in apology but for only a moment. It was a token gesture, not a show of true respect. “Please, forgive me, devitan. I expressed myself poorly. But surely you see you can’t confide weakness to a shalarin. She’ll tell our enemies. We already need to kill her just for overhearing the little bit she has.”

Tu’ala’keth smiled. “If you mean to kill me, it cannot hurt to tell me everything.”

That startled a chuckle out of Yzil, who couldn’t recall the last time that anything had amused him even slightly. “She has you there, Shex.” He faced Tu’ala’keth. “Do you understand how ixitxachitls reproduce?”

It took her a moment to respond. Plainly, whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that, which meant her claim that she could end the crisis derived from nothing more than her confidence in her own abilities and the power of her goddess.

“I do not know a great deal about it,” she said at length, “but I have always assumed the females lay eggs.”

“You’re right,” Yzil said, “and something is coming in the night and smashing them.” “‘Something?’”

“No one’s seen it, even though I’ve pulled nearly all my troops back into the city to stand watch. I’ve also performed divinations, but some opposing power prevents them from revealing anything helpful.”

Or conceivably, the difficulty could be that he’d fallen from favor with Ilxendren, and accordingly, the god declined to communicate with him. He didn’t believe it himself, but knew his minions had begun to wonder, and that Shex would unquestionably suggest it to the Vitanar as soon as he had the opportunity.

“I assume,” said Tu’ala’keth, “you gathered all the eggs in one repository, then sealed and shielded it with magic.”

“Yes, but it didn’t keep the… entity out.”

“How many eggs does it destroy?”

“A dozen or so each night. One such loss is of little consequence, but over time, the sum will become catastrophic.”

“Does it eat the embryos?”

“No. It simply kills them.”

“Hmm.” The shalarin frowned, pondering.

After a few seconds, Yzil could contain himself no longer. “Can you help us?”

“I already told you, yes.”

“Then you understand what’s attacking us, and how to deal with it?”

“Not yet. But Umberlee does, and she will aid me.”

“This is preposterous!” said Shex. “The shalarin is a slave creature and the priestess of a lesser power. It’s blasphemy for her to claim she can do what priests of the one true god cannot, and sin for us to hear it without striking her down.”

“Then strike me down,” said Tu’ala’keth, “if you can.”

“Done.” Shex declaimed the opening phrases of a prayer intended to riddle her body with wounds, as if she’d been stabbed by a dozen spears at once.

But Tu’ala’keth simply gripped the skeletal hand dangling around her neck and cast forth a flare of raw spiritual power. Her goddess had a measure of dominion over all sea creatures, even ixitxachitls, and because she had no need to recite an incantation, she was able to strike first.

Still Yzil reckoned she’d made an error. Shex was a cleric, too, strong of will and spirit. This, moreover, was a shrine of Ilxendren, where the influence of the god of vampirism, vengeance, and cruelty was exalted, and other forces, muted.

Yet even so, power, the strength of her faith made manifest, hammered and burned from her pendant. Every ray in the shadowy hall flinched, and Shex, the target of the attack, simply couldn’t bear it. Abandoning his spell halfway through, he wheeled and bolted into a corner, where he cowered helplessly