“Then you’ll help us, Uncle,” says Kalliarkos, his words more command than request.
“You can’t free them.” Thynos stares Kalliarkos down. “No one can.”
This time Kalliarkos does not give way. “Yes, I can. Jes and I can. And we are going to. So your choice is either to aid us or get out of our way.”
26
At the speed to which Kalliarkos whips the horses we quickly return to the city. Inarsis directs us to a barracks compound for Efean soldiers, where he obtains the things we need. The gate-wardens at Eternity Gate allow Kalliarkos and Thynos to enter the City of the Dead without a single question, even though it is the middle of the night. Inarsis walks ahead, carrying lamps, and I walk behind, carrying a jug of broth slung over my shoulder and a covered tray that the priests believe is an offering, but which really contains clothing.
The lower paths that lead through the community mausoleums and the Weeping Garden are quiet. A few mourners wait with tomb wreaths and offering trays to set before the bones of their ancestors. Path-wardens bow as we walk past. Partway up the hill Lord Thynos veers off, leaving us.
Out of the darkness Lord Ottonor’s tomb rises before us. A single oil lamp burns on the porch, as it is said, “The everlasting flame of memory burns on the strength of a man’s fame.” Years from now, when his living oracle ceases to speak, offerings will no longer be laid at his door, because his clan has been exiled. Its seal of bricks will be broken, his bones interred in a vase, and the tomb cleaned and anointed for a new inhabitant, one whose fortune may burn brighter and flame burn longer than Ottonor’s fortune and fame, marred as they have been by his disgraceful ending.
We proceed around to the oracle’s alcove at the back of the tomb. The alcove is a narrow cleft built into the wall where supplicants can kneel and hear the oracle’s voice through a tiny opening no bigger than my hand laid flat. I kneel and peer through, but no light burns within. What if Lord Gargaron had them smothered the way tomb servants were back in the old empire?
My pulse roars in my ears. I dare not whisper to see if anyone is alive inside because the oracle is not our ally and might call for the priests.
After making sure no path-wardens are in sight I pull off my linen sheath, fasten on my Fives jacket, and wriggle into a climbing harness used to train fledglings as they learn more advanced skills. Kalliarkos hands me a packet of tapers and flint for light. I climb up on Inarsis’s shoulders. My feet balanced on his hands, he hoists me so I can scramble up onto the roof.