"It's no time to be asking yourself questions, Straton."

"He came to kill me," Strat whispered, then stumbled on a loose roof tile andlurched toward the eaves.

Walegrin caught a fistful of shoulder. "He hasn't-yet. Now move it before welose the other one, too."

Strat glowered and thrust Walegrin's arm aside.

The second interloper knew the backways of Sanctuary and was hugging darknessback toward the Maze and safety. Moonlight caught a youthful outline archingfrom one rooftop to the next and Thrusher's crablike scuttle as he followed.

"Not for the likes of us," Walegrin decided, judging the weight of the leatherarmor he and Strat wore. "We go below. It's our only chance."

He led the way, crashing through the rubble and needing Strat's help more thanonce to shoulder through a crumbling door or wall that threatened to block theirway.

"Lost 'em," Strat muttered when they burst through a flimsy gate to findLizard's Way deserted.

Walegrin cupped his palms around his lips and emitted a passable imitation of ahawk. "Gave it a good try, though," he added between gasps. "Worth a jug betweenus."

Strat was nodding when a hawk cried and a face appeared in the gutters abovethem.

"Round the alleys and back. Captain. We caught her."

"Her?" both men said to themselves.

Kama glared at the night from the calf-deep stench of a Maze rooftop raincistern. Stupidity and bad luck. Another fifteen steps and she would have beenso deep in the Maze they would never have found her, but not this time. Thistime the damn shingle had to give way and take her sliding down a rain trough.That was the bad luck. Stupidity was not knowing the trough ended in a cisternwhen she had taken this exact route a dozen other nights. She would have ignoredthe makeshift rope Thrusher dangled above her if survival weren't more importantthan pride or if her ankle weren't already swollen from the fall and her handsabraded by her efforts to free herself on her own.

She bore the indignity of being hauled up like a sack of dead fish, knowing thatthe worst was yet to come.

"0 gods, no-" a familiar voice breathed softly. "Not you-"

Kama refused to look in that direction but stared instead at the young-ishofficer in charge of the garrison troops who had pursued, then rescued, her.

"Well," she demanded, "are you satisfied or are you going to drag me up to thepalace?"

Walegrin felt his throat tighten. Not that he wasn't accustomed to seeing awoman in men's clothing-in a thief's night-dark clothing at that. This wasSanctuary, after all. The garrison soldier guarding their flank was a woman he'dhired himself and as nasty a fighter as was ever bred in the Maze. But the youngwoman standing in front of him, her wet clothes plastered to her and her longhair snapping like whips when she tossed her head, was the backbone and brainsbehind the 3rd Commando, and probably the PFLS, for that matter. Worse-she wasTempus Thales's daughter.

"Who sent you?" he stammered, and had the god's good luck to find the onequestion that would leave her as uncomfortable as he was.

"Did your... did Tempus send you?" Strat asked, stepping into the light of afreshly kindled torch.

Kama tossed her head, barely acknowledging Strat's question, and stood silentuntil Thrusher stepped forward and grabbed her weapon hand.

"Lady, you want to use this again?"

"Yes-let go of me-"

"Thrush." Walegrin moved to restrain his lieutenant who had already unstopperedhis wineskin. "I'm sure the lady has her own... resources."

Thrush turned around, exposing the wound to the torchlight. Everyone in thecourtyard who carried a sword felt a twinge. The skin on Kama's palm lay intwisted spikes cross-hatched with black splinters from the cistern walls; not awound that killed but one that stole reflexes and precision, which was just asbad. Kama shed a fraction of her composure.

"Lady," Thrush stared up into Kama's eyes, "you got a good doctor in there?" Heshrugged a shoulder Mazeward and pointed the wineskin at her palm.

"Are you any better?"

Thrusher bared all his teeth.

"He's not bad," Walegrin confirmed, "but the demon's piss he keeps in that sackof his is guaranteed." , "Given to me by my one-eyed grandmother...." Thrusherexplained as a stream of colorless liquid spurted toward Kama's hand.

"It'll hurt like hell," a faceless voice warned from beyond the torchlight.

But Kama already knew that. Her face went white and rigid and stayed that wayuntil Thrusher put the cork back in the wineskin. Strat offered a strip of histunic as a bandage as her own clothing was as filthy as the wound had been. Sheseemed relieved when Strat put his hand under her arm.

"Why?" Strat asked in a voice Walegrin saw rather than heard.

"Go on back to the barracks," Walegrin ordered quickly but made no move to leavethe courtyard himself. "We'll see the lady to her lodgings." He met Strat'sglower and outlasted it. "You and I have a jug of wine to split," he explainedwhen his men had vanished.

"Why, Kama?" Strat repeated. "Didn't he think Crit would carry out his orders?"

They began moving slowly toward the warehouse where Strat had left his bayhorse.

"I've been following Crit," Kama admitted. "When I saw him with the bow-I don'tknow if he's got orders or not." She paused to tuck a hank of hair behind herear. Whatever pain remained in her face had nothing to do with her injuries."Nobody in the palace understands any more. They haven't set foot in thestreets. They don't understand what's happening. ..."

Like everyone else who had spent the winter in Sanctuary- rather than in thepalace, or Ranke or some relatively secure war zone-Kama had lived through hell.Walegrin guessed she would have more faith and friendship for anyone who hadalso endured those long, dead-cold nights on the barricades, regardless of thecolor on their armband, than she could feel for any outsider-even her father.

"It takes someone who's been out here to understand," he agreed, sliding his armunder Kama's other arm so she didn't need to put any weight on her twistedankle. "There's one I trust. I'd trust him at my back on the streets and I trusthim in the palace...."

Molin Torchholder slouched back against the outstretched wings of a gargoyle. Hewould have preferred to be somewhere well beyond the city walls but winter wasfinally yielding to Sanctuary's fifth season: the mud, and he wasn't desperateenough to brave the quagmires masquerading as streets and courtyards. The palacerooftop was deserted except for workmen and laundresses who could still becounted on to leave him alone. He closed his eyes and savored the gentle warmthof the sun.

In a methodical fashion he reviewed the conversations and rumors that had passedhis way. The garrison commander, Walegrin, was finally showing promise; actingon his own initiative, he had established friendly relations with Straton andTempus Thales's daughter, Kama. That was a good sign. Of course, the fact thatStraton was on the streets, cut off from both Ischade and the Stepsons anddealing with Jubal, was a bad sign. And confirmation that Kama was theintelligence behind the PFLS was the worst information he'd had in months- evenif it wasn't a surprise. Tempus, never an easy man to predict under the best ofcircumstances, would be chaos incarnate if any of his real or imagined familyturned on one another.

The whining hawkmask the garrison had interrogated had told them everything heknew, and a good deal he did not, about Ischade. Like Straton, the priest foundit interesting that Ischade had rivals within her own household-rivals who couldtransform an Ilsig harridan into a Rankan lady. Molin knew the necromancer hadbeen detaching herself from her magic since her raven had appeared on hisbedpost with no message and less desire to return to the White Foal. If Ischadefound her focus again, the bird would let him know by its departure. If shedidn't, well: Jihan could protect the children, Randal would protect his globe,and the rest of magic could destroy itself for all he cared.