And the water in her bowl took chop as the salt hit it, then began to cloud andthen to bubble as if salt had turned to acid in hearts all around the town. Thecolor of the water grew grayer, more opaque, and outside her skin-coveredwindow, snow began to fall in giant flakes.

"Go, snakes," she crooned, "go meet your brothers in the palace of the prince.Meet and eat them, then defeat the peace between the Beysib and her Rankan host.And find those children, both, and bite them with the poison of your fangs, sothat death beats down on midnight wings and Niko will be forced to come to me...to me to save them." Almost, she didn't get those last words out, because achuckle rose to block the speech's end-especially the word "save."

For as she'd looked into the bowl she'd seen a vision, then another. First she'dseen riders, and a boat with a lion rampant on its prow: one rider was herancient enemy, Tempus, called the Sleepless One, avatar of godly mischief;another was Jihan, a more potent enemy. Froth Daughter, princess of the endlesssea, a copper-colored nymph of matchless passion, a sprite with all the strengthof moon and tides between her knees; another was Critias, Strat's partner andbetter half, the coldest and boldest of the Stepsons, and the only man among thelot of them who didn't need more-than mortal help to do his job. And on theboat, now seeming like a wedding gift, all wrapped in gilt and gloriouslycolored sails as it drew nearer, was a man she'd helped become a king, one whoowed an unequivocal debt to Death's Queen-Theron, Emperor of Ranke, who was soanxious to pay Roxane's price he was trekking to the empire's anus to bow hisknee.

Oh, yes, she thought then. Trouble, let it come. For Roxane, once the visionswere cleared from the salted water of her bowl by an impatient, dusky hand, hadan idea-a thought, an inspiration, a vengeful task to undertake fitting to allthe harm past and present denizens of Sanctuary had done her: She'd seen theerror of her ways, and now she'd seen a new solution. She'd given up too muchfor Nikodemos, who'd turned on her and spumed her. She'd trade this batch ofhapless souls to get back what she'd so foolishly bargained away.

And then it was left to her only to dismiss the snakes, drink the water in thebowl, and settle down spread-legged in the middle of her summoning room floor,awaiting the Devils of Demonic Deals, the Negotiators of Necromancy, theUnderworld's Underwriters, to appear, to take the bait a witch could offer andthen, when sated, be tricked into giving Roxane back immortality in exchange forthe deaths of a pair of children who might be gods if ever they grew up, andthat of Nikodemos, who deserved no better if he'd thought to spurn the witch wholoved him and survive it. Of course, she'd throw in Tempus, too, for fun. He'dmake an undead of choice to send raping and pillaging up and down the streets ofSanctuary of an evening, streets so thick with hatred and slick with blood noone would even think to worry about what kind of death they got.

For Sanctuarites cared only for this life, not the next. They were ignorant ofchoices made beyond the grave, or given up today for trifles. They didn't knowor care that an eternity of hell could be had for cheap, or that the godsoffered out another way. • -

This was why she liked it here, did Roxane. Even once she'd sacrificed Niko andhis ilk-the entire Sacred Band and unpaired Stepsons, if she got lucky-she'dstay around. Once there was no more Ischade to interfere, no silly priests likethe Torchholder to try to resurrect a dead god's cult, the place would let herhave her way.

And so, decided, she crooked a finger and, from nowhere visible, a sound likehellish hinges squeaking reverberated through her chamber, a non-door swungdown, and a Globe of Power could be glimpsed, spinning gently on its axis ofgolden glyphs, its stones beginning to glow as its song of sorcery spun louderaild, from hells Sanctuary wasn't used to accommodating, a demon choir began tochant.

It was the old way, the only way: evil for evil, tenfold. And she'd promisedhell to pay, visited upon this town for its of-fenses and its slights.

There remained only to touch flesh and nail to the globe spinning larger,closer, right before her eyes.

She reached out and braced herself, for a demon lover would come with contact:One did have to pay as one went, even if one was Nisibis's finest witch.

Her nail screeched into the high peaks' clay, and a demon screeched intoexistence between her knees, and a hellish gale whose like was known as wizardweather up and down the land stretched from Sanctuary's southernmost tip upalong the Ran-kan seaboard where the imperial ship was under way.

And everywhere men remarked that, even for wizard weather, the gale was fierceand loud, and full of sounds the like of a goddess being raped in some forgottenpassion play.

Sanctuary promised nothing of the sort to Critias, who'd ridden downcountry atan ungodly rate with Tempus and his inhuman consort, Jihan, daughter of theprimal power men called Stormbringer (when they were so unlucky as to have tocall Him anything at all).

The ride-across No Man's Land, a shortcut full of shades and mirages through adesert the party shouldn't have been able to cross in twice the time-hadn't beenthe sort of trip Crit liked. It was too fast, too easy, too full of magic-orwhatever the equivalent was when power was fielded not by a human mage, but byJihan, daughter of Stormbringer, lord of wind and wave.

Now that they'd nearly reached the town, it was too late for Crit to ask hiscommander questions-whether, as rumor had it, Abarsis had really appeared to theRiddler in Theron's palace; why, even if that were true, Tempus had seen fit tosplit his forces: the three of them were worth more than the score of fightersaccompanying Theron on his ocean voyage.

But straight answers were lacking in the Rankan Empire this season, and Tempus,with Jihan around, was more obscure than usual.

So it came to pass that Tempus said to Crit as they came down the General's Roadto the ford at the White Foal River: "Make your own way henceforth. Stepson,among the pigs in their mire. Find Straton and reconvene your covert actors:I want the whereabouts of Roxane and her power globe by midnight."

"Is that all?" Crit asked, sarcasm finding its way into his tone-no disrespect,but gods whispered in the Riddler's ears and never spoke to Critias at all, sothat orders like these always seemed impossible, issuing from nowhere, thoughhe'd hardly ever failed to carry through a task, however vague, that the Riddlerset him.

But this time, as his sorrel stallion pawed the White Foal's mud and lewdly eyedthe blue roan Jihan rode, Crit was more than usually defensive: Down inSanctuary, across the Foal somewhere, was Kama, Tempus's daughter, whom Crit hadgot with child. It had been in the Wizard Wars, against the Riddler's orders,and ill had come of it for everyone involved. He'd not thought of her-an act ofwill, not fortune-until this moment, but looking out across the Foal where thelights of Sanctuary's whorehold, the Street of Red Lanterns, were twinkling inthe dusk, suddenly the mercenary fighter could' think of nothing else.

And Tempus, who understood too much too often, who healed from every mortal cuthe took, who buried everyone he loved in time and enjoyed the confidence of godsand shades, said softly in a voice like the river coursing gravel, "No, not all.A start. Take a unit of your choosing, find Straton, use what he has, destroyRoxane's power globe by dawn, then seek me in the palace."