Free Ceremony by Glen Cook Page A

are at one thousand feet. That places a barrier forty miles wide directly across his path. He cannot avoid being seen or sensed without going at least twenty miles out of his way. In that country, in that ice and snow, that would mean at least three days of extra work. That should give winter’s paw a little extra edge.”
    “I like that. Go on.”
    “The other darkships are searching for him or physical evidence of his passage. The wind is blowing hard and there is fresh powder snow, but even so he cannot help leaving a trail.”
    “Very good. Very good indeed. Logically, that should do for him, one way or another. Keep pressing so that he has to keep going out of his way. He will not dare light a fire. His food supply will dwindle. When he becomes weakened and tired he will have more difficulty hiding from the touch.”
    Marika was not confident of that. She ought to claim a favor from Bagnel. His tradermales had tools more useful than silth talents. A few dirigibles prowling the wastes searching with heat detectors might locate Kublin more quickly than any hundred silth.
    “Edzeka. The hard question. What chance that he had help? From inside or out?”
    “From inside, none whatsoever. Any helper would have fled with him, knowing we would truthsay every prisoner left behind. Which we did, without result. And there never have been any friends of the brethren or Serke among the sisters. Help from outside? Maybe. If someone knew he was there and had a means of getting messages to and from him.”
    “A thought only.” Another thought: the means of communication might have existed right inside Kublin’s head. In all the years of isolation he would have had ample time to practice his fartouching. “Nothing came of the truthsaying?”
    “Nothing had as of my departure. Final results will be available upon my return. Had they amounted to anything I am sure I would have heard.”
    “Yes, Well. You may break radio silence if anything critical develops. If you do not have the necessary equipment, requisition it before you leave.”
    “Thank you, mistress.”
    “Have you enjoyed Ruhaack? You ought to get out more.”
    “I have my work, mistress.”
    “Yes, as we all do. Thank you for the report. This bears thought.” Marika extricated herself and hurried toward her apartment, lost in contemplation of what Kublin’s escape might portend.
    If he did make it out, he could become especially troublesome if he did know what had happened to Gradwohl. She could not be certain he had been unconscious throughout their confrontation.
    She had to consult Bagnel. Bagnel knew a little about Kublin. He could judge what Kublin’s escape could mean within the brethren.
    Silth and huntresses who had survived the destruction of Maksche controlled that wing of the Ruhaack cloister where Marika dwelt. They were few, but intensely loyal to Marika, for they knew that she had tried to avenge their injury and knew she had not given up hope of further vengeance. They guarded her interests well. It was something of an amusing paradox. Marika had not been popular at all before the attack on Maksche.
    A sister named Jancatch, who had been but a novice at the time of the Maksche disaster, awaited Marika at the entrance to her cloister within the cloister. Her face was taut. Her ears were down.
    “Trouble?” Marika asked, thinking, what else?
    “Perhaps, mistress. There was an urgent appeal for your presence from Most Senior Kiljar of the Redoriad some hours ago. An almost desperate call. We replied that you could not come because you had not returned from your travels. We were asked to inform you immediately you did arrive, and to ask you to waste no time. No reason was stated, but there are rumors that she is dying.”
    “Kiljar has been dying for most of the time that I have known her. With one breath she predicts that she will not live to see the sun rise again, and with the next vows to outlive all the carrion eaters waiting to grab the