And Mouse heard her moan, “Why did you do it? Why did you follow me?”
The Silent Lady moved. She picked the starflower up off the stone, casting the shadow of the carved sword across the floor. Mouse saw her face highlighted by the white light. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she knelt and touched the Speaker’s arm.
The priestess hissed between clenched teeth. “Get up. . . .”
“I’m so sorry,” the Silent Lady whispered. “I see how you loved him, though you yourself did not realize until now. Let that love guide you, dear woman, and leave the sword to sleep. The time of its return is not now, and your goddess will drive you only to death.”
The high priestess drew a ragged breath and let it out in a sob. Then she gathered herself and rose with her arms wrapped tightly about her robe, the woven strands of her wig falling in her face.
Turning, she pointed to the nearest eunuch. “You,” she said, in a voice as sharp and sure as a spear. “Bring me that sword.”
The eunuch’s face became that of a phantom in the torchlight. His eyes, lost in hollows of shadows, widened until the whites gleamed, and Mouse saw a spasm run through his body. Otherwise, he could not move.
The high priestess’s hand lashed out and struck him across the face, sending him sprawling backward among his fellows. “Do as I say,” she growled.
The other eunuchs pushed him, and he stumbled into the chamber. “No, stop!” the Silent Lady cried.
“Restrain her,” said the high priestess, and two other slaves leapt forward and grabbed her, one by her hair, the other by the back of her robe, dragging her from the chamber. The luckless eunuch, compelled by his mistress, approached the stone as Stoneye had. Mouse heard him whimper, and she saw the sweat streaming down his face. She wished she could move, could run and spare herself the sight to come. But to run among the Diggings meant certain death, so she remained frozen, unable to tear her gaze away.
The eunuch reached out. With a moan, he gripped the hilt. Then he gasped and fell across Stoneye’s prone body.
The sword remained unmoved.
“Enough!” the Silent Lady cried. “Enough of this! Don’t you see you’re murdering them?”
“You,” said the Speaker, and collared another eunuch. “Bring me that sword. Bring it now!”
He recoiled from her grasp. With a wail, he turned and ran down one of the split passages, dropping his torch with a crash behind him. Its flame sputtered, then extinguished, but the sound of its rolling nearly drowned the sound of his footsteps as he lost himself in the deep black.
“Speaker!” cried one of the priestesses in protest.
But the high priestess whirled upon her. “Yes?” she demanded. “Have you something to say? Do you wish to volunteer, to serve your goddess to the last?”
The priestess shrank back, and the Speaker turned to yet another eunuch. “Bring me that sword!” she said.
The Silent Lady screamed and wrenched against the clutches of those holding her. “Stop this! Stop, I beg you!” she cried. “You’ll kill them all, and you’ll still not gain that sword! It’s senseless; it’s cruel!”
“They are my slaves,” said the high priestess, turning upon the small woman. “They’ll do as I say.”
“You can drain this whole world dry, and Halisa will remain in its resting place until its time has come,” the prophetess said, her face fierce.
“Why did you come here, then?” The Speaker took the Silent Lady by the front of her robe, hauling her up with surprising strength until she stood upon the tips of her toes. “Did you intend to kill my slaves? Is that it?”
“I came at the request of Halisa’s former bearer to tell the Flame at Night where the sword might be found. That is all.”
“That can’t be all!” the high priestess cried, shaking the Silent Lady and slamming her against the stone doorway. Mouse, standing so near she might reach out and touch them both, shrank into herself, desperate not to be seen.
The Silent Lady, helpless in the priestess’s powerful grip, shook her head, and her face was sad but defiant. “Only Etanun or his heir can safely bear the sword from its burial chamber.”
“Where is this heir?” the Speaker demanded.
“I do not know.”
Shrieking like a bird of prey, the high priestess flung the Silent Lady to the ground. She drew a long sacrificial knife from her belt and advanced as though to spill the young woman’s blood as she would a goat’s upon the altar.
Mouse screamed and jumped forward, flinging herself between the two.
After the fact, she wondered at herself. It was a rash, heat-rushing moment. She did not think; she merely acted. It didn’t matter that the lady in question neither knew nor acknowledged the goddess. She was the Silent Lady; Mouse knew it with a completeness more real than rationality. So she stepped between the prophetess and the knife.