Corvan nearly fell out of the crypt door in shock. Kate was leaning heavily on Jorad’s arm. Her face was pale, and her eyes were dull, as if she had been drugged. He had to get her out of there, but how could he possibly get to her with a sea of armed warriors in the way?

  A man at the front of the palace defectors on the right side whistled at Kate, and a few of his companions joined in. The leader’s head snapped around, squinting in disapproval, the beady eyes of the animal hat glinting in the firelight. The whistles immediately died off.

  The rebel leader shouted something about his new counterpart, becoming the Cor-Van, and the impending victory over Kadir. The rebel soldiers on the left leapt to their feet, chanting a single phrase over and over, jumping about and working themselves into a frenzy. Their bouncing braids all ended in a fork that mimicked the one hanging from the back of the leader’s skin hat. Their celebration spilled into the aisle before the former palace guards joined in; men with braids mingling in with those in the faded red cloaks.

  Over their heads, dressed in the white cloak, with her red hair tucked under a tiara sparkling in the firelight, Kate looked like a queen. Then she wavered on her feet, and Jorad had to pull her closer to keep her upright. Corvan nudged the door a bit wider. Tsarek had warned him that Kate would die under the light of the lumiens; she already looked barely alive. If he didn’t act right away, Kate would be gone forever. “Come on, Corvan,” he muttered, “there has to be something you can do. I was too afraid to help Tarran. I won’t make the same mistake with Kate.”

  Pulling the hammer from the holster, he stared at the end, but there was no light and no sense of power or direction. He snapped it back in place. Morgan’s black knife would be more useful in a fight than a dead hammer. Digging into his pack he pulled out the sheathed blade and a bright red cylinder on a stick— one of his bottle rocket fireworks from home— tumbled out. With the fireworks to create a diversion, he might get close enough to help Kate escape. Setting he knife aside, he dug frantically through the pack and pulled out the pack of firecrackers, the waterproof tube of matches, a stubby candle, and two more bottle rockets.

  Flipping out the can opener on the Swiss Army knife, h punched three holes around the edge of his last tin can. Inserting the bamboo shaft of the bottle rockets into the holes, he positioned the can just inside the door. With the smallest blade of the knife, he drilled three holes just below the top of the candle, placed it on the top of the can, and inserted one rocket fuse into each hole. If his rough calculations were correct, by the time the candle burned down to the fuses, he could work his way around the perimeter to reach Kate and Jorad. If Jorad was any sort of priest at all, he would leave the rebel leader behind and help get Kate to safety when the rockets went off.

  The noise of the chanting crowd was deafening in the enclosed space of the crypt. The scene outside the door was becoming even more intense, the men slamming into each other. A shower of dust drifted past the open door. He had forgotten about the guards on the rooftops. Those off to the sides could easily see him if they looked his way. He stepped back inside, fighting off the rising fear. Jumping back to the pack, he grabbed the tube of matches lying next to Morgan’s black knife, the firecrackers and the Roman Candle firework. It was time to act, not think about everything that could go wrong.

  Lashing the knife to his forearm, he slid the Roman candle under the sheath, stuffed the pack of firecrackers into his back pocket, and grabbed the matches. Back at the door, he dropped to his knees by his bottle rocket contraption and twisted off the cap of the waterproof tube of matches.

  Only three matches remained. He struck one on the rough side of the tube, but the head snapped off and fizzled on the ground. With trembling hands, he pulled out the second one. It sputtered to life, he touched it to the wick, a small flame sprang from the candle, but as he dropped the match to the ground, the wick wavered and died to a smoking ember.

  One match left. He held his breath as he stuck it. The match caught and he dropped the case and cupped it with his other hand until the flame grew strong, then held it up to the candle until the match singed his fingers. With the candle burning brightly he carefully slid the can over the threshold of the door, then packed dirt around the bottom to angle the three rockets out of the crypt and over the heads of the raucous crowd.

  Stepping past the rockets, Corvan slipped out the door and headed to the right, keeping his back pressed tight against the crypt walls. At first, he had room to maneuver, but then discovered the celebration had spread to the crypt walls on the side with enthusiastic soldiers blocking his way. A fight broke out in front between a red cape and a man with a braid, forcing him to back away into a crevice between two crypts.

  Something was missing. He felt for the knife; still there, along with the Roman Candle. The krypin rope was still attached to his belt. The pack! He had left it in the crypt but there was no time to go back; the rockets would be flying any time now.

  The crowd swirled away from the fighting men and he caught a glimpse of Jorad and Kate just twenty feet ahead through the thrashing tangle of bodies. The alley behind them was empty, but armed guards stood watch on the two crypt roofs flanking the narrow channel. One of the guards peered over the crowd, then leapt across the gap to his companion. He pointed toward Corvan’s flickering candle, shouting into the other man’s ear. The other guard nodded, and together they moved across the tops of the crypts to the left and toward Corvan’s bottle rockets.

  Thrusting himself from the crack, Corvan pushed towards Kate through the mass of bodies, bouncing with them in their frenzy as he moved steadily toward the fire. He fell hard against a stout man, who promptly shoved him into someone else. Corvan evaded another body check, then stepped in close to Jorad. The priest was staring down into the brazier, his face smoldering in anger. Corvan grabbed his shoulder, Jorad twisted to face him, and his mouth dropped open.

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  Corvan leaned close and shouted over the din. “Soon there will be a bright light in the sky and loud noises. When that happens, get Kate out of here and meet me by Morgan’s grave.”

  Jorad hesitated, glanced across at the rebel leader, then nodded. Corvan stepped off the mound and dropped down at the wall next to the three older men who stood back watching the crowd in disdain.

  The rebel leader moved closer to the fire, hollering and motioning for silence. Over his head and across the crowd, Corvan could see the two guards peering down at his flickering candle. “Come on, come on, do something,” Corvan urged aloud as the din began to die down.

  Someone kicked his side. He looked up to find one of the older men standing over him, shaking his head in disgust. The man thought he was telling the leader to do something. Not wanting another kick, Corvan slid away along the wall and bumped against two full jars of fuel leaning against the wall. The jars tipped slowly over on their pointed bottoms, scraped slowly along the wall, then fell, oozing their contents down the incline into the alley.

  The energy of the crowd was dissipating. Those closest to the fire were now just standing and silently staring at Kate.

  “Come, High Priest,” the rebel leader cried out, pointing at Jorad. “Come and bless our union.”

  The crowd fell silent as Jorad raised both hands. “Gods of the Cor, we seek your approval. We ask you to give us a sign if you are unhappy with us. Show us if we have moved forward without understanding your will.”

  The men nearest the fire shifted uncomfortably. The false Cor-Van motioned his three older comrades forward as Jorad continued to pray, asking in more fervent terms for the gods to demonstrate their displeasure if this were not the right time for the Cor-Van to unite with this counterpart and march on Kadir.

  The three men closed in on Jorad and Corvan rolled on his side and dug into his pocket. The rockets in the crypt door had failed. The firecrackers would need to provide a diversion instead. Taking aim, he lobbed the entire packet toward the brazier.

  As the bright yellow packet tumbled through the air, a shaft of light tore through the darkness, followed by a blast that shook the ground. The entire company of men threw themselves on the ground and covered their heads. One of the guards candle cried out as he fell off a crypt roof.

  Two more bright lights screamed into the sky, momentarily illuminating Jorad leading a docile Kate out through the passage.

  Bang! Bang! The pair of explosions cracked the night air, then darkness dropped over the clearing. The rebel leader called out for more light and one of his older helpers grabbed a jar and sloshed more oil directly into the brazier. The flames leaped up just as the firecrackers began to go off in rapid succession, spitting balls of flaming oil in all directions.

  The man with the jar jumped back, sloshing oil over his robes. In a flash, his clothes were on fire, and he ran into the crowd. Men clambered over one another to get away before someone tackled him and rolled him in red cloak to put out the flames.

  Most of the soldiers were sprawled on the ground and the rest were milling about in confusion. Jumping up, Corvan put his back to the wall to slip undetected into alley entrance, but the leader on the mound was looking directly at him. An intense hatred twisted the man’s face into a snarl as fierce as the animal face on his head. Corvan’s special cloak had failed him. Whatever the rebel leader saw in him, it wasn’t good. The man shouted at the two remaining henchmen and pointed at Corvan. Swords drawn; the two men advanced on him.

  The last of the firecrackers spit a blob of flames at Corvan’s feet. He had one last trick up his sleeve. Whipping the Roman candle out from under the lashed knife, he bent to light the fuse from the bubbling flames.

  The two armed men stopped short at the sight of the firework sparking in Corvan’s hand like a magician’s wand. Their leader shouted another command, but before they could move, a flaming ball shot from the cardboard barrel with a soft fwoop and hit one in the shoulder. The man turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

  Corvan shuffled sideways, keeping his back against the wall and his eyes focused on the next man.

  Fwoop, fwoop. Two green balls whizzed past the man’s head, then he also pulled back and ran away.

  Corvan turned to enter the alley, but now the rebel leader himself was blocking his retreat. The tall man was so close, Corvan could see that the animal skin hat was from some sort of large bat, its wings and body clinging to the man’s head like a leathery skullcap with its small bony claws curled around the man’s ears. Corvan pointed the candle at the man, but all that came out was a small blue dud that rolled up to his feet and died. The man crushed it under his boot, then pulled out a long sword.

  Corvan backed away, slipped in the black oil, and fell hard against the wall of the crypt. His hood fell back from his head, and the leader’s eyes grew wide as a thick cloud of smoke from the brazier billowed around them. Obscured by the smoke, Corvan pushed in tight against the wall, squeezing past the man into the narrow channel and freedom.

  He stood to run but a sword pierced the curtain of swirling smoke, followed by the contorted angry face of the rebel Cor-Van.

  “Die, you evil sorcerer, you servant of the darkness.” The man raised his sword over his head, and Corvan found himself looking directly into the eyes of the bat-like creature before it pushed itself up on its bony wings, hissing at him past pointed teeth. It was alive!

  Corvan yelled and desperately shoved the sputtering Roman candle toward the creature’s head.

  A blazing red ball shot out and exploded in the rebel leader’s right eye. The man cried out and the creature on his head leaped up into the air and flapped off into the darkness.

  The man’s sword fell with a splash into the pool of oil as another dazzling red ball hit him square in the chest, rolled down his robe, then dropped into the black gleam of oil in front of his feet. The fire leapt up, and the leader disappeared behind a tower of flames that swept toward Corvan.

  Corvan tore ahead of the fire, slipping his way through the black goo and out into the maze of small streets, leaving a trail of flaming footprints in his wake.

  Another ball from his Roman candle shot into the darkness, giving him a quick look at his surroundings. Was this the right way? He aimed the cardboard tube higher as he ran.

  A final yellow ball sailed through the sky.

  Just ahead was the half-dead tree.