His child, Niko had said. But that wasn't why the Riddler hacked as if splittingcordwood with Niko's dream-forged sword. He'd never fought harder than he didthen to free Stealth-if there was kinship between him and any here, it wasstrongest for his partner.

Admitting this, while all around pieces of snake flew like steaks from the blockof a master butcher and smoke rose as ichor ate at stone, Tempus found reservesof strength in anger.

This youth, foolish Stealth, was not going to die on his account and leave theRiddler with that weight to bear eternally. Jihan and the god-child bom of aceremonial rape-both of them were more than mortal. Niko was just a human fooland human foolishness-honor, valor, sacrifice, and love.-were things Tempuscould not ever claim.

He didn't notice when Beysib and human help pitched in beside him-his god-givenspeed made them seem too slow and the task too great to make them matter.

But Jihan, once he'd cut through the widest coil at her throat, was help worthhaving.

And once she was free, and it was clear that she'd saved the child from certaindeath, the Beysibs and the Rankan priest and Kadakithis all crowded round theFroth Daughter and the child.

Which suited Tempus, who finished cutting the yet-quivering coils from theStepson who'd fought beside him and helped Niko to his feet.

Only when the boy, through his one good eye, put a hand on Tempus's shoulder andsaid, "Life to you. Commander- and thanks," and collapsed into Tempus's arms didNiko's leftside leader have time for snake-bitten children or Jihan.

For he'd found out, there among the butchered chunks of snake and royal ranks ofconfusion, that the bond Niko and he once shared was stronger than it had everbeen.

Jihan limped over to him, where he lay Stealth down, and frowned at the bums onNiko's face and his acid-eaten eye. "The placenta of a black cat, powdered atmidnight, Riddler- that will heal his eye. The rest, I can do."

The Froth Daughter's hand was gentle on Tempus's face, turning it away from theboy. "We have children who are worse hurt," Jihan said. "Both poisoned by thesnake who bit them." Her chest was heaving, her muscles torn; flaps of skin hungloose from her thighs as if a man-wide rope had burned her.

But the children-Arton and Gyskouras, who might be his or perhaps just theoffspring of the god-had crowds to care for them and all of Sanctuary'spriesthood to pray for them, while Stealth had only what a Stepson could expect.

Tempus sat flat on the floor, knees crossed under him, ignoring ichor slickwhich smarted and caused his skin to hiss and curl. "Get me what medicine youcan, Jihan. You and I must heal this one. He wouldn't want life returned bymagic."

They exchanged glances-one immortal and mortally tired, one feral and full ofthe fire of fierce and forgotten gods.

Then Jihan nodded, rose up, and said, "Your dagger skewered the eagle-witch. Isaw it. She's wounded, maybe gone for good."

But it didn't please him, not at the price Niko always seemed to pay for others'folly.

Sometime in that interval, because Niko was conscious and could hear, Tempusaffirmed and renewed their pairbond so that he had a rightside partner onceagain. And so that Niko, should it matter, would know that he was not alone.

Down by the White Foal Bridge, the gathered Stepsons waited: Kama was there,with a dozen hand-picked fighters from Sync's 3rd Commando.

It made Crit uncomfortable to command the Riddler's daughter's unit, so he gavethem the periphery, made them the watch guards, kept what distance from her hecould.

Strat, on the other hand, was comfortable with everything coming out of the darkthat evening-with his bay horse, with paired Stepsons riding up, holdingtorches, with Ischade's whispered council, with men who once were Stepsons andnow were no longer men-men who stayed in shadows when Crit looked at themstraight on.

Strat had "explained" about Stilcho and Janni and Ischade's talent for raisinguneasy dead. Strat said it was a favor she did them, a gift to those who'd diedwith their honor blighted.

Crit hadn't argued-there wasn't time. Strat was addled, bewitched, and if he gotthrough this he was going to beat some sense into the big fool as soon aspossible, do something final about Ischade or make her loose her hold on Strat.

If-

Something puffed and popped and Crit's horse shivered. Looking to his right,Crit saw Randal, the Stepsons' warrior mage, decked out in Niko's armor.

"Greetings, Crit. I heard you'd like some help." The flop-eared mage lookedolder, more fearsome tonight in dream-forged battle gear. He caught Crit staringat his cuirass. "This?" Randal touched his chest. "It's Niko's, still. Just aloan. We ... have an understanding, but no pairbond." The freckled face aped asmile (hat was wan in torchlight as his horse reared and Crit realized it wasn'tquite a horse at all-it was definitely transparent, though horselike in everyother respect.

"Help. Right. Well, Randal, you know the Riddler's orders, if you're here. Anyadvice? Or should we ride right in there, storm the place, bum it to theground?"

At his knee came a touch as soft as a butterfly landing. "I told you, Critias,just walk right in and take it-walk in by my side, if you will.... She's not athome and, if my guess is right, quite indisposed."

Crit looked from Ischade to Randal for confirmation. Randal nodded. "That's mybest guess as well." The mage scratched one ear. "Only, I'll go in with Ischade.Roxane's my enemy, not yours-at least not so much so. And you don't trustIschade ... no offense, dear lady."

"None taken. Yet," said the woman whose head reached only to Crit's knee, butwho seemed taller than anyone else about.

Strat rode up, concerned, looking at Crit as if to say, 'You'd better not starttrouble now, partner or not. Don't push your luck.'

"I'm going," Crit said. "I have my orders."

"Into a witch's house?" Strat shook his head. "You may be my partner, but theseare my men, until we've worked things out. We needn't risk them, or you. We'vegot friends to deal with magic who deal with it routinely. Ischade. Randal.Please be our guests-" As he spoke, Strat bowed in his saddle and, one handoutstretched in a sweeping gesture, motioned the mage and the necromant toprecede the fighters up the cart-track to Roxane's house. And as his gesturinghand neared Crit's horse, it snatched a rein, and held it.

"Strat," Crit warned. "You're pushing matters."

"Me? I thought it was you, mixing in what you don't yet understand."

"Let go of my horse."

"When you let go of your anger."

"Fine," Crit sighed, holding up empty hands and feigning a smile. "Done."

Strat stared a moment at him, then nodded and freed the horse. "Let's go,then... partner?"

"After you, Strat. As you say, you're in command-at least till morning."

Inside Roxane's Foalside home was a smell like burning feathers and a glow as ifthe whole place smouldered.

Ischade was well aware that any instant, the premises might burst into flame.She said so to Randal.

They'd never worked this close, the Tysian Hazard and the necromant.

It was an eerie feeling, especially when Randal drew his kris, a recurved blade,and said, "It directs fire. Don't worry, Ischade. I didn't fight the Wizard Warsfor nothing," in his tenor voice.

They walked over boards that creaked as if the place had been abandoned foreternity and Ischade's neck grew cold with trespass.

Randal said, waxing more the fighter with a woman watching, more the expertFirst Hazard of the Mageguild with a famous witch pacing by his side, "I'll openthe rent where she keeps it, get it out for you. But you'll have to destroy it.I can't."