the other patched.

"Damn," Tempus snarled at the priest, "does it need the smoke?" He took Niko bythe arm and led him out into clean air, closed the door. "I'm not asking thistime; get to bed."

"Can't sleep," Niko said. The ashbrown hair fell loose across his brow, trailedinto Jinan's unspeakable unguents. "No use-"

"You're raving." He took Niko's arm willy-nilly, led him

on.

"I saw Janni," Niko said, mumbled, in a sick man's disjointed way. "I saw himhere-"

"You don't see a damn thing, you're not going to see a damned thing if you don'tget out of that foolery and leave those brats to the priests."

"Randal-"

"-can take care of it." He reached Niko's appointed bedchamber, opened the doorand led him as far as the rumpled bed. "Now stay there, or do I have to set aguard?"

"Eyes aren't that bad," Niko murmured. But he felt of the bedside and sat downlike a man with too many bruises.

Tempus had none. They healed. Everything slid off him and vanished. Only Nikohad the bandages, Niko had the scars, Niko was fragile as all he loved. "Staythere," he said, too sharply. "I've too much else. I don't need this."

Niko subsided quietly. Lay back with his eyes shut. It was not what he had meantto say or do. He walked over and pressed Niko's hand, walked out then.

Call off the damn dinner, he thought. What's to be gained? How did I agree tothat?

It was before hell broke loose; it was to calm a nervous town. It was to get themeasure of a witch and her intentions. And to discover the threads that Strathad run here and here and here through the town. In that regard it made moresense than not. The affair was a stone in motion, downhill, and it would saysomething now to the town to break off this engagement. "... Souls of yours andmine..." Straton was one of those souls at imminent risk. And if there was athing which might pull Straton into reach it was this, his own witch-lover'sarranging.

Why meet with them? Why this courting of Stepsons?

That was the insane question. He thought ofKorphos again; and the arrows. Andpoisoned wine. And the Emperor.

He was not accustomed to direct challenge, but it was still possible.

The door stayed open to a steady stream of martial guests, arrivals afoot andahorse out front, with the clank of swords in the foyer, the inpouring ofwolfish men who towered and clattered with weapons they did not give up at thedoor. Hand after huge hand took Moria's as she stood sentry at the door of herborrowed house, a powdered, perfumed mannequin that said over and over How kind,thank you, welcome, sir and smiled till her teeth ached. Hands which could havecrushed her lingers lifted them to lips smooth, bearded, mustached, oliveskinned and white-skinned and unmarked and scarred; and each time she recoveredher hand and stared a moment too long into the eyes of this or that man shefelt the blue satin dress too low and the perfume too much and her whole selfestimated for value right along with the vases and the house silver. And shewas the thief!

Man after man and not a woman in the lot until a tall woman with one longpigtail came strolling in and crushed her hand in a grasp rougher than themen's. "Kama," that one said. Her hand was callused as the men's. Her eyes weresmouldering and dreadful. "Pleased," Moria breathed, "thank you. Do come in.Dining hall to your right under the stairs." She worked her fingers and thrustout her hand valiantly to the next arrivals, seeing more on the street. More andmore of them. There could not be enough wine. A stray lock of her coiffureslipped and strayed down her neck, bouncing there. She borrowed both hands up tostab it back into place with a hairpin, realized the tall soldier in front ofher was staring down her decolletage and desperately thrust out her hand. "Sir.Welcome."

"Dolon," that one said, and headed in the wake of the woman with the pigtailwhile others came up the steps.

0 Shalpa and Shipri, where's the Mistress, what am I doing with these Rankans?They know I'm Ilsigi, they're laughing at me, they're all laughing....

A man arrived who was not a soldier, who came with servants: she mistook him fora passerby until he abandoned the servants and came up the steps, seized herhand and kissed it with a flourish of his cap.

He looked up. His hair was fair brown, his eyes were blue; he was Rankan of theRankans and noble and he stared into her eyes as if he had discovered somestrange new ocean.

"Tasfalen Lancothis," he murmured, and never let go of her hand. "You are thelady-"

"Sir," she said, quite paralyzed by a nobleman who stared into her eyes in thatway. And she was further baffled when he plucked a black feather from his capand offered it to her. "How kind," she murmured, blinking at him and wonderingwhether she had gone totally mad or was another Rankan here to make sport ofher. She put it in her decolletage, having no better place, and saw his eyesfollow that move and lift to hers again with profoundest concentration. "Mylady," he said, and kissed her hand a second time, which meant men standing inline behind him. Her heart raced in a sense of impending disaster, theMistress's dire displeasure. Heat and cold chased one another from her breast toher face. "Sir-"

"Tasfalen."

"Tasfalen. Thank you. Please. Later. The others..."

He let go her hand. She turned desperately to the men next, passed them throughwith a hand to each and caught her breath as she stared at the tall pair next,the taller one with the face that she had seen only at distance, riding throughthe streets on a fine horse. His clothing was plain. His face was smooth andcold and he was younger than she had thought until he took her hand and shelooked up into his eyes by accident.

She stood there in mortal terror, mumbled something and surrendered a limp handto the man next-"Critias," he named himself. "Moria," she said, never taking hereyes from the man who walked through the hall, an apparition as dreadful asanything the house had yet hosted. 0 gods, where is She? Is She going to come atall? They'll steal the silver, they'll drink down the wine and wreck the houseand come at me next, they'll kill me, they will, to spite Her....

Thunder rumbled above the house, the light outside was stormlight, and never adrop of rain spotted the cobbles. She looked outside in mortal terror, expectingmore apparitions. Wind skirled, committed indiscretion with her skirts. She heldher threatened hair and watched wide-eyed as a last man came from around thecomer where the horsemen had turned in, where the beggar-stableboys Ischade hadprovided did service with the horses, in the little stable-nook to the rear ofthe house. The man wore cloak and hood. For a moment she thought it was Stilchoand held onto her coiffure and dreaded his approach. But it was not, it was adifferent man, who came up the step with a matter-of-fact tread and looked up ather with an expression different than the rest-with an expression as if she werea wall in his way and he had suddenly realized something was in front of him.For a moment as he threw his hood back he looked confused, which in these grimmen was different in itself.

"I'm due here," he said.

She liked this one better. He was human. She stared at him and blinked in thewind and got out of his way. "Down the hall," she called after him, and seizedthe door, seeing no one else on the street, and pulled it to. Caught her skirtand freed it and got the door shut. By that time he was gone down that hall, hadfound the dining hall for himself.