"Almost," Tsem said, triumph and worry both audible to her ear, so familiar with his voice. A crowd burst apart before them, as much from the force of Tsem's presence as from his mass.
The scene revealed then was a strange one, and oddly enough, the first thing that Hezhi noticed, the thing that she would always remember, was the River, right there, lapping at a wooden walkway no more than ten steps away. Looking at him, from level ground and not from above, the River was somehow more awesome, a sheet of power that lay over every bit of the world but for that upon which she stood. Rivergulls complained above, fighting the wind forcing them from shore and whatever meals they might find there.
Next she saw the bodies, the blood, and, last of all, him. He was the man from her dream, there was never any question, though at the moment he looked absolutely unlike any image that had ever come to her. Spattered in blood, his face an odd, angry red, wearing some sort of peasant garb, he sat watching them and the crowd, looking across the bodies as if they were a field of grain he had just reaped, as if he were resting a bit before gathering it up, his sword a red sickle on his knee. It was he, though; she smelled a hard, sweet metallic smell that was not just blood but his blood, and she knew it, as if she had smelled it or even tasted it before. That was the River in her, she knew, recognizing him, not her eyes, not her nose.
What's more, he knew her, too. His strange gray eyes flashed, a weird little smile played across his lips.
The River, the bodies, the man—there was a stroke or two missing from the painting, she understood, and Tsem's stunned grunt of consternation suggested what it might be. The gray-eyed man confirmed her guess, in a wintery voice.
"Our friend Zeq' should be out in the channel about now," he said. "Seems he didn't care much for the elite guard's attention."
"How did they know?" Tsem bellowed. "Who told them?"
Hezhi was becoming aware of the crowd, a sea of faces staring at them, angry, curious, frightened.
"I don't know," Perkar said. "I only know we have to leave some other way, and quickly." He frowned. "You're hurt."
"They caught us at the gate to the palace, too."
The man stood and strode over to the two, so that they need not shout. "A city guardsman just came by," he said. "He probably went for reinforcements."
"Probably," Tsem answered, glancing around at the carnage, at the man's clearly hideous wounds.
Closer, he looked more like his dream image, though the dream image had been more boyish somehow, younger. Perhaps it was the blood that made him look older. His eyes focused on hers again, and then he dropped to one knee.
"Perkar Kar Barku," he said. "I believe you summoned me, Princess."
Hezhi opened her mouth—she did not know what her reply would have been—when there was a hoarse shout up the street.
"Guards coming!" someone in the crowd cried, and she couldn't tell if she and her companions were being warned or whether the person was eager to see another slaughter.
"This way," Tsem bellowed, and once more they were running, pounding over the cobblestone streets. Above them, the dark sheet of night was drawing over the sky, hastened by clouds flying in on some high, furious wind. She glanced now and then at Perkar, wanting to ask him so much, wondering how he could still be alive with such terrible wounds.
"The South Gate is our only chance," Tsem gasped. "It will be least guarded. Perhaps the barbarian and I can fight our way through."
South Gate? Something about the South Gate rattled memories, didn't it? She tried desperately to think. They rounded a corner— Perkar was hanging back, trying to discourage the crowd—fully half of them were following the trio, clearly hoping to see more fighting. Tsem, ahead of her, nearly slipped in a puddle of some nameless gunk…
That jarred her memory. "Tsem!" she yelled. "Tsem, the sewers!"
"What?" He stopped and turned toward her, shuddering. She remembered that running was difficult for him.
"The new part of the city drainage—the one Yen is working on—it runs out past South Gate."
"I don't understand, Princess."
"We can cross under the wall. Just help me find Caul Street."
XI
The Changeling
After all that had happened that day it was the dank tunnels Perkar and his companions descended into that brought shivers to his spine. The closeness and the dark evoked memories he had no wish to recall.
"That grate up there is beneath Moon Street," Hezhi called, gesturing at a cataract of light falling through from above.
Passing beneath it, Perkar glanced up, saw perhaps ten faces crowded against the fading light. They still had followers from the Riverside, it seemed. Which was unfortunate, since that would certainly attract the attention of soldiers, sooner or later.
"How much farther?" Tsem called.
"Not too far. They just began construction of the new section, so the outer grill should have been removed. It comes out a few hundred yards from the wall."
"What if it's guarded, too?" Perkar asked.
"I don't know."
"We might have done better at the gate," he observed. "Fighting up a ladder will be real trouble."
"They will have bows at the gate," Tsem informed him.
"Ah."
"Anyway," the girl, Hezhi, put in, "we won't have to climb up. The duct should open from a hillside."
Perkar was curious as to why a princess should know the ins and outs of the sewers. For that matter, a part of him was fascinated by the very concept of these underground ditches built to drain the city of rain, floods, and Human waste. It was not something he would have ever thought of or searched for, that much was certain.
The three of them slogged on.
"The girl looks like a god," Harka volunteered.
"What?" he whispered, low, so that the others would not think him insane.
"She is not a god, but she certainly resembles one. This is very odd."
"Is she my enemy, Harka?" Perkar barely sighed. "Did the River send me to serve her or stop her?"
"Perhaps the River did not summon you at all. Perhaps it was always she."
"You say she resembles a goddess. Is she more powerful than the River? Could she force her will upon him?"
Harka hesitated before answering. "No," he said finally.
"Everyone who pursues her serves the River. The emperor's guard, the priesthood. Yet she is of his blood."
"A rebellious child?"
"Why should a barbarian be summoned from half a world away to kill a rebellious child?"
"Perhaps no one who serves the River can do it. Perhaps only an outlander."
"Still, that feels wrong. In my dreams, she wanted me to help her. That means I should kill her."
"Only if she is your enemy, and not the River. Remember what Brother Horse said, about a god so large his head doesn't know what his feet are doing?"
"I wanted this to be simpler," he muttered, somewhat more loudly than the rest of his conversation with his sword. Tsem sent him a sharp glance over his shoulder.
"You always do," Harka said. "It is your chief character flaw."
That should not have come as a shock to Perkar, but it did. "We'll think about that later," he muttered. He crinkled his nose, and then, in a louder voice, asked, "What's that smell?"
"Sewage," Tsem answered.
"No, no," Hezhi gasped. "I smell it, too. Incense, or a priest's broom."
"Above us?" Tsem said hopefully. "At the gate?"
"We don't pass beneath the gate," she said. Her voice sounded choked, as if she were about to cry. Small wonder; a girl her age shouldn't see this much killing, be caught up in so much terror. She was right, too. The smoke was coming from up the tunnel, not wafting down through one of the infrequent grills.