She'd healed the horse, obviously. She had the healing touch, when she wantedto, had Ischade. He was so glad to see the bay, who nuzzled in his pockets for acarrot or the odd sweetmeat, it took him a while to clear his throat and makesure his eyes were dry before he turned to thank her: "It's wonderful having himback. There's not another in my string to equal him-not his size, his stamina,his conformation. But why didn't you tell me? I'd not have believed he couldbe..." His words slowed. He looked harder at her. "... healed. That's what youdid, isn't it? Spirited him away somewhere after I had to leave him for dead,and nursed him back to health?" The horse's teeth felt real enough, nipping hisarm for attention. "Ischade, tell me that's what you did."

Her words were wispy as the wind. "I saved him for you, Straton. A parting gift,if this visitor of yours..." She pointed up the road, where a figure could beseen if one looked hard through the moonlight-a rider so far away the sounds ofhis horse's hooves were yet masked by the breathing of the bay. "If this visitormakes an end to what is-was-between us. It's yours to say."

With that, she turned and went into her house and the door closed, of its ownaccord, with an all-too-final sound.

He'd never heard it close that way before.

He examined the bay from head to tail, from poll to fetlock, waiting for whoeverit was Ischade said was coming, but he couldn't find a scar. It was botheringhim more and more. He'd seen Janni, once a Stepson, now a decomposing thingmotivated by revenge upon its Nisibisi murderers; he'd seen Stilcho, in bettershape but still not one to be mistaken for a living man. But the bay was justexactly what he'd been-all horse, all muscular quarters and deep-hearted chest.The bay couldn't be a zombie horse. At least he didn't think it could.

He was just thinking to mount up and see how it went when the approaching riderdrew close enough to halloo: "Yo! Strat, is that you?"

And that voice froze Straton like a witch's curse: it was Critias. Critias, hisleftside leader; Critias, to whom he'd sworn his Sacred Band oath. "Crit! Crit,why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Crit just kept riding toward him, inexorable on a big sorrel. Crit, seeking himhere. That meant that Crit had heard. That he knew, or thought he knew, the howsand whys of something Straton barely understood himself.

They'd come together to Ischade's house the first time- met her together. Then,Crit had tried to "protect" Straton from the necromant. Now, if damage therewas, it was done.

Crit said, "Am I too late?" crooking one leg over his saddle and fishing in hispouch for the makings of a smoke. In Ischade's garden there was always a weirdlight and it underlit the line officer's face so that Strat couldn't tell whatCrit was thinking. Not that he ever could.

Something inside him tensed. He said, because there had been no Sacred Bandgreeting between them, "Look, Crit. I don't know what you've heard or what youthink, but she's not like that...."

"Isn't she? Still got your soul. Ace? Or wouldn't you know?" Crit's eyes wereslitted and he fingered the crossbow hanging from his saddle.

Strat noticed that there was an arrow nocked, and that the bow would fire, fromthat position, straight into him at the click of a safety and the touch of atrigger. He tried to shrug away the suspicion he felt, but he couldn't. "You'rehere to save me from myself? She's the only reason we've survived here-the Band,the real Stepsons-while you and the Riddler have been upcountry playing yourpalace games. I'm not asking you where you've been. Don't ask me how I've spentmy time. Unless, that is, you're ready to be reasonable."

"I can't. I haven't time. Riddler wants us to roust Roxane, get the Globe ofPower and destroy it by sunup. Maybe your soul-sucking friend'll have a fewideas as to how to help us, if she likes you so well. If she does, maybe I'lllet her live until you can explain. Otherwise..." Crit lit the smoke he'd rolledand the spark illumined a carefully arranged face that Straton knew wasn't oneto argue with. "Otherwise, I'm going to bum her ass to a crisp and then do whatI can to beat some sense back into you... partner. Before it's too late. So, youwant to call her out? Or just come with me and we'll die like we're supposed to,shoulder to shoulder, fighting the Nisibisi witch."

Strat didn't have to call Ischade; she was beside him, somehow, though he hadn'theard the door open or seen light spill out and he didn't think Crit had,either.

She was so tiny in her cowl and long black cloak. He wanted to put an arm aroundher shoulder, dared not, then dared. "She's on our side, Crit. You've got to-"

"The hell I do," Crit said, and shifted his gaze to her. "I bet I don't have toexplain one whit to you, honey. I just hope you're not too hungry to waitawhile. We've got something on that's just your style."

"Critias," said Ischade with more dignity than Strat would ever have, "we shouldtalk. No one has been hurt, no one has to be. You come-"

"-to get my partner. We can leave it at that."

"And if he is unwilling to leave?"

"Doesn't have squat to do with it. I've got responsibilities; so does he, evenif he's forgotten them. I'm here to remind him. As for you, we can use you.Come help out, and I'll let you have your say-later. Right now, I've gotorders. So does he." Critias gestured to Strat, who looked at Ischade andcould not, in front of Critias, plead with her for patience, for help, oreven for his partner's life.

But Ischade didn't strike Crit dead, or mesmerize him. She nodded primly andsaid, "As you wish. Straton, take the bay horse. He'll serve you well in this.I'll ride your dun. And we'll give Critias what he wants-or what he thinks hewants." She turned then to Crit.

"And you, afterwards, will give me the courtesy of a hearing."

"Lady, if any of us can hear anything after sunrise, I'll be more than willingto listen," said Crit as Ischade raised a hand and Strat's dun trotted towardher.

Roxane had been waked abruptly from exhausted sleep when Niko lopped the headfrom her finest minion-she would miss the bodyguard snake. And Stealth wouldregret what he had done.

She'd paid a heavy price this evening; her thighs ached and her buttocks smartedas she got out of her bed and felt her way through the dark.

Her Foalside home was small sometimes, large at others. Tonight, it wascavernous with all the forces she'd disturbed.

She found her witching room and and sluiced the sweat from her body as shefilled her scrying bowl herself.

Then, trembling with pain and fury, she spoke the spell to open the well thatheld the power globe, and another to summon a fiend of hers-the slave namedSnapper Jo who spied for her in the Vulgar Unicorn where he tended bar.

Before the fiend arrived, she spoke her spell of utmost power and in the bowlshe saw a fate she didn't understand.

Men were there, and the cursed Beysa, and a goddess called Mother Bey locked inlove or hate with Jinan's terrible father, Stormbringer. And these two deitiesstraddled the winter palace while, inside, Niko played with children and Tempuswith the fates of men.

She trembled, seeing Tempus and Niko in one place-the very place where hersurviving snake (more talented than most) slithered corridors in Beysib-snakedisguise, biting and killing where he could.

Good. Good, she thought, and brought back Niko's face to the surface of herbowl. But this time, the vision was not of him alone. Over one of Niko'sshoulders she could see the Riddler-or the Rankan Storm God, whose aspect wasthe same; over the other, a woman's face and that face was comely in an awfulway-her own.