Zedd could hear a few bugs buzzing about and, in the distance, the mournful call of a coyote. Other than that, the night was still and silent. Hopefully, the Nangtong would be busy picking through Zedd and Ann's things back with the horses.

Zedd reached the top and turned to help pull Ann up. "Stay on your hands and knees. We'll crawl or at least crouch as we go."

Ann whispered her agreement. She made her way atop the bank with him. They struck out, away from the gully. The bright moon came out from behind the cloud. In a semicircle right in front of them, blocking their way, stood the Nangtong. There were perhaps twenty of them. Zedd reasoned that there were more about nearby; Nangtong hunting parties were larger.

They were not tall, and were nearly naked, wearing only a thong and a pouch of sorts that held their manhood. Necklaces made of human finger bones hung around their necks. Heads were shaved bald. They all had sinewy arms and legs and pronounced bellies.

The Nangtong had all smeared white ash over their entire body. The area around their eyes was painted black, giving them the appearance of living skulls.

Zedd and Ann peered up at spears, their barbed, steel points glinting in the moonlight. One of the men chattered an order. Zedd didn't understand the words, but he had a good idea of what it meant.

"Don't use the dacra," he whispered over to Ann. "There's too many. They'll kill us on the spot. Our only chance is if we can stay alive and think of something." He saw her slip the weapon back up her sleeve.

Zedd grinned up at the wall of grim faces. "Would any of you men happen to know where we could find the Jocopo?"

A spear jabbed at him, then signaled them to stand. He and Ann reluctantly complied. The men, not up to Zedd's shoulders, but about as tall as Ann, crowded in around them, suddenly jabbering all at once. Men pushed and poked at them. Their arms were pulled back and their wrists tightly bound. "Remind me again," Ann said to him, "about the wisdom of leaving these heathens to their unenlightened practices."

"Well, I heard from a Confessor, once, that they are quite good cooks. Perhaps we will sample something new and delightful."

Ann stumbled but caught herself as she was pushed on ahead. "I'm too old," she muttered to the sky, "to be mucking about with a crazy man."

An hour of brisk marching brought them to the Nangtong village. Broad, round tents, perhaps thirty of them, made up the mobile community. The low tents hunkered close to the ground, presenting the least possible purchase to the wind. Enclosures made of tall stick fences held a variety of livestock.

Chattering people, wrapped head to toe in unadorned cloth to hide their identities from the sacrificial offerings about to take their prayers to the spirit world, turned out to watch Zedd and Ann being prodded at spearpoint through the village. Their captors, covered in the white ash and with their eyes painted black, were hunters in the guise of the dead. so there would be no danger of their being recognized as one of the still living.

Zedd was jerked to a halt before a pen while men undid the rope tie at the gate. The gate swung open in the moonlight. It seemed that the whole Nangtong village had followed behind. They hooted and hollered as the two prisoners were hustled through the gate, apparently wanting to give messages to the two spirits about to go speak on the Nangtongs' behalf to their ancestors.

Zedd and Ann. their wrists still bound behind their backs, both fell when they were forcefully shoved into the pen. It was a muddy landing. Snorting shapes loped away. The pen was occupied by pigs. The way they had churned the ground into a quagmire, the village must have occupied this place for at least the past few months. It smelled like what it was.

The spirit hunting party, nearly fifty, as Zedd had guessed, split up. Some went back to tents, surrounded by gleeful children and stoic women. Others of the hunters encircled the pen to stand guard. Most of the people who stood around watching were calling out to the prisoners, giving their messages for the spirit world.

"Why are you doing this?" Zedd called to their guards. He nodded his head and inclined it toward Ann. "Why?" He shrugged.

One of the guards seemed to understand. He made a cutting gesture across his throat, and then indicated the imaginary blood running from the pretend wound. With his spear, he pointed at the moon. "Blood moon?" Ann asked under her breath.

"Red moon," Zedd whispered in realization. "The last I'd heard, the Confessors had secured a pledge from the Nangtong that they would no longer sacrifice people. I was never sure if they held to their promise. Just the same, people stayed away.

"The red moon must have frightened them, made them think the spirit world was angry. That's probably why we're to be sacrificed: to placate the angry spirits."

Ann squirmed uncomfortably in the mud beside him. She gave Zedd a murderous look.

"I only pray that Nathan's situation is worse than ours." "What was it you said," Zedd asked absently, "about mucking about with a crazy man?"

What do you think?" Clarissa asked.

She turned a little one way and then the other, trying to mimic a natural stance while feeling anything but natural. She wasn't sure what to do with her hands, so she clasped them behind her back.

Nathan was lounging in a chair as splendid as any she had ever seen, its padded seat and back covered with striped tan and gold fabric. His left leg was draped casually over one of the chair's ornately carved arms as he slouched with his elbow propped on the chair's other arm. His chin rested thoughtfully in the heel of his hand. His sword's finely crafted silver scabbard hung down, so that its point touched the floor in front of the chair.

Nathan smiled that smile he had that said he was sincerely pleased. "My dear, I think you look lovely."

"Really? You're not just saying that? You really like it? I don't look. . silly?" He chuckled. "No, most definitely not silly. Ravishing, perhaps." "But I feel…I don't know. . presumptuous. I've never even seen clothes so fine, much less tried them on." He shrugged. "Then it's about time you did."

The dressmaker, a thin, neat man with only a wisp of long gray hair covering the bald expanse atop his head, returned through the curtained doorway. He gripped each end of the tape measure draped around his neck, seesawing it nervously back and forth.

"Madam finds the dress acceptable?"

Clarissa remembered how Nathan had instructed her to conduct herself. She smoothed the rich blue satin at her hips. "It's not the best fit-"

The dressmaker's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Well, madam, had I known you were to grace my shop, or if you had sent the measurements on ahead, I would certainly have made the appropriate alterations." He glanced to Nathan. His tongue darted out again. "Be assured, madam, I can make any necessary minor adjustments."

The man bowed to Nathan. "My lord, what think you? I mean, if it were altered to suit you."

Nathan folded his arms as he studied Clarissa the way a sculptor studied a work in progress. He squinted as he considered, rolled his tongue around inside his cheek, and made little sounds in his throat as if unable to decide. The dressmaker twiddled with the end of his tape measure "Like madam says, it fits a little sloppily at the waist."

"Sir, have no fear." The dressmaker whisked around behind her, tugging sharply at the material. "See here? I have but to take a dart or two. Madam is graced with an exquisite figure. I rarely have ladies so fine of form. but I can have the dress altered in a matter of hours. I would be most honored to do the work this very night and have it delivered to you at-at-where would you be staying, my lord?"