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am your protector。 I will return for you。〃
He turned smartly and hurried to the stairs； running so softly she did not hear his feet scuff the stone。 If not for the racing of her heart and the warmth on her cheek where he'd kissed her； she almost would have thought she'd imagined him。
Captain Ault stepped in behind Gaborn and followed him down into the bailey。
How will he escape； she wondered； with Raj Ahten's guards watching the city？
She glanced down at his retreating back； at his blue cloak flapping； as Gaborn made his way through the throng of the blind； the deaf； the idiots and other crippled Dedicates of House Sylvarresta。 He was not tall。 Perhaps a young man could escape the castle without regard。
How odd； she considered； her thoughts still disjointed； to think I love him。 She almost dared hope that they really might wed。
But of course； Prince Orden had to save himself； and she had nothing to offer him。 Dully； she realized that this day could not have turned out any other way。
Perhaps we are both more pragmatic than we want to believe； she wondered。
〃Goodbye； my lord；〃 she whispered to Gaborn's retreating form； and added an old blessing for wayfarers。 〃May the Glories guide your every step。
She turned back to look down on Lord Raj Ahten； grinning and waving to his new subjects。 His dappled gray stallion strode proudly through the cobbled streets； and the peasants parted for him easily； their cheers being steadily more deafening。 He'd already made it into the second tier of the city； past the Market Gate。 He spurred his way up through the streets； and for a moment was hidden from Iome's view。
Suddenly Chemoise stood at Iome's elbow。 Iome swallowed hard； wondering what Raj Ahten would do to her。 Would she be put to death？ Be tortured？ Disgraced？
Or would he leave her some position； let her father reign as a regent？ It seemed possible。
One could only hope。
Down below； Raj Ahten suddenly rounded a corner and was now only two hundred yards away。
She could see his face beneath the sweeping white wings of his helmthe clear skin； glossy black hair； the impassive dark eyes。 Handsome； handsome。 As perfectly formed as if he were sculpted by love or goodness。
He looked up at Iome。 Because she was beautiful as only a princess of the Runelords could be； Iome was growing accustomed to the occasional rapacious stares of men。 She knew how sorely her appearance could arouse a man。
Yet of all the predatory gazes she'd ever been granted； nothing pared to what she saw laid bare in Raj Ahten's eyes。
Chapter 9
THE WIZARD'S GARDEN
Gaborn nearly flew down the stairs of the Dedicates' Tower； making his way through the crowded courtyard； past the smelly idiots； the cripples。
Captain Ault was at his side； and he said； 〃Young sir； please go into the Dedicates' kitchens； and wait until I send someone for you。 The sun will be down in moments。 We can find a way to get you over a wall after nightfall。〃
Gaborn nodded。 〃Thank you； Sir Ault。〃
He'd known for hours that he'd have to make his escape from Castle Sylvarresta； but hadn't believed it would happen so soon。 He'd imagined that the castle's defenders would have put up a great battle。 The castle walls were certainly thick enough； high enough to hold Raj Ahten's army at bay。
He'd wanted some sleep。 He'd had almost none over the past three days。 In truth； he needed almost no sleep。 As an infant； he'd been given three endowments of stamina； and fortunately two of those who'd granted the endowments still lived。 So； in the way of those who had great stamina； Gaborn was able to get his rest on horseback； to let his mind rest； as he moved about as if through a waking dream。 Still； he sometimes wanted a nap。
Food was another matter。 Even a Runelord with great stamina needed food。 Right now Gaborn's stomach was cramping。 Yet he had almost no time to eat。
Worse than that； he'd taken a woundnothing major； but an arrow had pierced his right bicep。 His sword arm。 He'd washed and bandaged it； but the thing throbbed； burned。
And Gaborn had no time to take care of any of these needs。 Right now； he needed a disguise。
He'd killed one of Raj Ahten's outriders； three of his Frowth giants。 His arrows had taken half a dozen war dogs。
Raj Ahten's outriders would want vengeance on Gaborn。 He was cornered。 He didn't feel certain that he could escape； even if he waited an hour for full darkness。 Gaborn had two endowments of scent； but his keen sense of smell was nothing pared to that of some of Raj Ahten's troops： men with noses more keen than a hound's。 They would track him。
Despite his show of confidence to Iome； Gaborn felt terrified。 Still； he took one thing at a time。 He smelled food cooking in the Dedicates' kitchens； hurried through a broad plank door。 Its brass handle felt loose in his hand。
He found himself not in the kitchen； but in the wide entrance to the dining chamber。 To the right of the door； he could see past several heavy beams into kitchens where the cooking fires burned like a blast furnace。 Several plucked geese hung from the rafters； along with cheeses； strings of garlic； smoked eels； and sausages。 He could hear a soup boiling in one of the big kettles next to the fire。 The smell of tarragon； basil； and rosemary lay heavy in the air。 A worktable lay between him and the kitchens； and a young blind girl was there； stacking boiled eggs； turnips； and onions on a huge metal tray。
Down at her feet； a tawny cat toyed with a chewed and frightened mouse。
Ahead； the room opened wide to the thick plank dining tables； black from age and grime； benches running down each side。 Small oil lamps sat burning atop each table。
The bakers and chefs of Castle Sylvarresta were hard at work； piling the tables with loaves of bread； bowls of fruit； filling plates with meat。 While the rest of Sylvarresta's followers had run to the walls to gawk at the battle； the cooks here knew where their duty lay： in caring for the wretches who had given up endowments to House Sylvarresta。
As in most Dedicates' kitchens； the staff was posed mostly of those who had given up endowments themselves： the ugly people who had given up glamour served the tables and ruled the kitchens。 The mutes and the deaf worked the bakery。 The blind and those who had no sense of smell or touch swept the plank floors and scoured the burnt kettles。
Gaborn immediately noticed the silence here in the kitchens。 Though a dozen people bustled about； no one spoke； aside from a curt order here and there。 These people were terrified。
The kitchens offered a mixed palate of smells： the scents of butchered animals and baked bread struggled to overpower the odors of moldering cheese； spilled wine； rancid grease。 It was a ghastly bination； yet Gaborn found himself salivating。
He hurried into the dining hall。 A narrow corridor behind it led to the bakers' ovens。 Gaborn smelled fresh； yeasty bread still steaming。
He grabbed a hot loaf from the table； earning a scowl from a pretty serving girl。 Yet he took the food as if it were his； and gave her a glance that said； I own this。
The wench could not withstand the unspoken rebuke； hurried away。 She held her arms in c