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Johnis grabbed an iron poker and rammed it between the bars on the window and the wood surrounding. He ripped away the barrier and jumped through the window. Ran around the side of the building and darted down an alleyway. They wouldn’t risk taking Silvie down the main road. He wouldn’t bother trying to catch up and overpower that many men.
    Instead he raced for the temple.
    Shaeda had not given him her strength. As they ran closer, her thoughts grew erratic, senses heightened. She was . . . nervous? Invisible talons drove into him. Raked over his body. Johnis bit his lip so he wouldn’t cry out.
    Just as before, his loyalty, his love for Silvie, overpowered Shaeda’s stranglehold. Her grip slipped. He pressed on.
    Johnis caught up to the Throaters and raced up the temple steps to meet them at the top. He drew his sword, but suddenly Shaeda overwhelmed him, forced his knees to buckle.
    No! They have Silvie! I must save her from the priest!
    Shaeda growled in his head. The Throaters came at him. Johnis struggled, but the Leedhan was too strong. Everything grew hazy and purple, then faded . . .

four
    M y general and my priest,” Qurong mocked. “What’s a ruler to do when he grants his priest authority over his general, only to have the priest prove less competent than the general?” The supreme commander had spent the better part of an hour upbraiding both Marak and Sucrow, and Marak was more than ready to move on.
    “My lord—” Marak began, even though at the moment Qurong was raging against Sucrow.
    His leader continued his rant. “No! You saw an opportunity to show off, and you failed miserably, Priest! Now, give me one reason I shouldn’t just execute the both of you and start over with this newcomer who claims he can do both your jobs!”
    “Respectfully, my lord, he cannot,” Marak interjected.
    Qurong swerved and demanded a report. Marak told him everything—beginning with the arrival of the mysterious couple, Josef and Arya, and ending with his reasons for refusing to turn over the amulet and the prisoners.
    “A Leedhan.” Qurong bristled.
    “Yes, my lord,” Sucrow answered. “The boy’s account fits the legends.”
    The supreme commander glared at Marak. “Where is the amulet the priest wished in his possession?”
    Tread lightly , Jordan would have told him. Don’t be hasty, brother. Don’t accept power when you don’t trust the source.
    “It is in safe keeping, my lord, secured along with the two prisoners.”
    “And so you’ve defied my orders to report to the priest?” Qurong demanded. “Have you gone the way of the rebels?”
    “No, my lord. I have not. And I—”
    “And the wench Sucrow wanted is now dead?”
    Marak tensed.
    This pleased the priest. Sucrow was smirking at him, staff in hand. Marak felt light-headed and angry. Jordan’s chiding voice echoed in his mind.
    Marak cleared his throat. “My lord,” he spoke in a very low voice. “Those albinos were executed days ago.”
    “You finally proved man enough to do it, then,” Qurong sneered. He glanced at the slave near his general, saw the little pendant she was wearing, and scowled.
    Jordan would tell him not to go through with this.
    Don’t accept evil to further good , he would say.
    Why not?
    Marak, you bullheaded idiot. What good comes of wiping out an entire race of people?
    Marak was barely listening to Qurong and Sucrow, even as Sucrow went on about the Leedhan’s capabilities. He should be paying attention, but he couldn’t with this strange feeling nagging at him.
    He threw the priest a glare. Sucrow seemed uninterested. No, he was . . . manipulating them?
    “My lord,” Marak interrupted, “If this expedition mounts and proves successful, all of the albinos, including Thomas of Hunter, will be dead in a matter of days. And I prefer to conduct my own interrogations since the priest’s serpent warriors seem to have a fascination with cutting out prisoners’ tongues before they’ve a chance to