Chapter ElevenThere was no sign of pursuit; perhaps the priests of Andhur Regvos thought him lost somewhere in their labyrinth.
The plaza was still mostly empty. A few humans wandered about, ignoring him, though he was sure he must be a rather strange sight: an overman emerging from the temple with a bloody sword in one hand and a scorched and blackened dagger in the other, and a great black stone—the cover had twisted out of position, and he could see that the altar-stone was of some material resembling obsidian—under one arm.
Of course, he was still mostly in the temple’s shadow; or perhaps the Dûsarrans assumed him a participant in some secret ritual best left uninvestigated.
It would not do, he knew, to walk the streets of the city like this; he shrank back into the doorway, and sea
