"As you wish, Hierarch Torchholder. I'll tell my lads to hoist it up. You'llneed a strong cart, my Lord. She's as heavy as the god."

Both men laughed heartily. Then, looking mildly annoyed, the High Priest ofVashanka in Sanctuary stood up and rubbed his arm. A tiny object dropped to thefloor. Walegrin felt bitter bile surge up his throat as the Rankan retrieved thebit and examined both it and his arm.

"It broke my skin," he said.

"Scraps," the metal-master replied, taking the small flake from the priest'shand.

"Sharp scraps. We should put them on the edges of our swords," Torchholderlaughed, and took back the offending object. "Not glass either . . . Some newproject of yours?"

"No-"

Walegrin could not hear the rest of Balustrus' reply. His fear-clouded mind hadfinally placed the Lord and his name: the Torch himself, War-god Priest. As ifit were not bad enough to have the regular Imperial hierarchy sniffing along histrail, now here was the Wargod too-and the Sacred Bands? Walegrin was numb fromthe waist down, unable to move closer or run away. Damn the S'danzo and theircurses. Damn his father, if he weren't already damned, for killing Rezzel andincurring supernatural wrath.

But Molin Torchholder was laughing now, giving the metal-master a small coinpurse and a brief, casual blessing on his work. Walegrin, whose panickedthoughts always moved too quickly, knew he'd been sold. When the priest and hisbodyguards had disappeared out the door, Walegrin confronted the withered,smiling, metal-master.

"Was it worthwhile?" he demanded.

"The palace has the best money in the city. Some of it was truly minted in Rankeand not cut three times since with lead or tin." Balustrus looked up from hiscounting and studied Wale-grin's face. "Now, son, whatever you've done to getRanke on your tail-don't go thinking I'd be on their side. Your secrets are safefrom Ranke with me."

Walegrin tried to laugh, but the attempt failed. "I'm to believe that the Torchhimself just happened to wander down here-and that he just happened to find apiece of ore stuck to his arm and then he just happened to give you a doublehandful of gold?"

"Walegrin, Walegrin," Balustrus swung down from the stool and tried to approachthe angry soldier, but Walegrin easily eluded him. "Molin Torchholder has onlypaid me what is due me-for the work on Vashanka's bell. Now it might seemstrange to you that such a man would come here himself-but the Hierarch hastaken a personal interest in this project from the beginning. Anyone in town cantell you that. Besides, did I know you were going to be here this morning? Did Isuspect that today I'd hold Enlibrite ore in my hands? No.

"Now, I expect you'll believe exactly what you want, but it was happenstance,all of it. And Torchholder's suspicions are not aroused; if they were he wouldstill be here, believe that. Mark me well: I know him and the rest better thanyou imagine."

It was not the first time Balustrus hinted that he knew more than he was saying,and the notion did nothing to reassure Walegrin. Kilite had often done the samething-and Kilite had finally betrayed him. "Truly, metal-master, when can I havemy swords?" he asked in a slightly calmer voice.

"Truly lad, I do not know. The bell is finished, as you heard. I have no othercommissions waiting at my foundry. I'll start testing your ore as soon as thepriest claims his bell. But, Walegrin, even if I stumble upon the righttemperatures and the right proportions at once-it will still take time. I'veonly two lads to help me. I've agreed to payment in kind-but I cannot hire menwith unforged swords. Besides, would you want me to contract day-labor from thetaverns?"

Walegrin shook his head. He'd relaxed. His body could not stand the tension hebrought to it. He was exhausted and knew his hands would shake if he moved them.What Balustrus said was true enough, except-He paused and a measure of hisconfidence returned. "I've five men with me: good men; more than equal to daylabor. They sit idle until the swords are ready. They'll work for you."

It was the metal-master's turn to hesitate. "I'll not pay them," he announced."But they can stay in the outbuildings of the foundry. And Dunsha will make foodfor them as she does for the rest of us." He seated himself in his stool andsmiled. "How about that, son?"

Walegrin winced, not from the offer which was all he had desired, but fromBalustrus' attempts at friendship and familiarity. Of course the smith hadn'tbeen in Sanctuary when Walegrin was a youth. He hadn't known Walegrin's fatherand could not know that Walegrin allowed no-one to call him 'son.' So, Walegrincontrolled his rage and grunted affirmatively.

"I'll give you another piece of advice-since you're already in my debt. You'vegot a hate and fear about you that draws trouble like a magnet. You think theworst, and you think it too soon. You'll be doing neither yourself nor your menany good by going north. But, now listen to me, the Sacred Band of Stepsons andprobably the Hounds as well will have to go-and then there'll be no-one of anypower and ability here. Jubal's gone-you know that-don't you?"

Walegrin nodded. Tales of the night assault on the Downwind estate of theslaveholder circulated in numerous variations, but everyone agreed that Jubalhadn't been seen since. "But I don't want to spend my life in Sanctuary lookingafter gutter-scum!" he snarled back at his would-be benefactor.

"Mark me-and let me finish. You're fresh back. Things have changed. There're nomore blue hawks to roam the streets. That's not to say that them as wore themasks are gone-not all of them, not yet. Only Jubal's gone. Jubal's men andJubal's power are there for the taking. Even if he should return to this town,he'll be in no condition to raise his army of the night again. Let Temp us,Zaibar-" Balustrus spat for emphasis, "and all their ilk fight for Ranke. Withthem gone and your steel you could be master of this place for life-and give iton to your children as well. Kittycat would surrender in a day."

Walegrin didn't answer. He didn't remember sliding the bolts back before openingthe door, and perhaps he hadn't. He was ambitious to gain glory, but he had noreal thoughts for the future. Balustrus had tempted him, but he'd frightened himmore.

The morning sun brought no warmth to the young man. He shivered beneath hisborrowed, monk's cloak. There weren't many people on the narrow streets andthose took pains to stay out of his path. His cloak billowed out to reveal theleather harness of a soldier beneath it, but no-one stopped him to askquestions.

The taverns were boarded up as the barkeeps and wenches alike caught a few hoursrest. Walegrin pounded past them, head erect, eyes hard. He reached the Widewaywithout seeing a welcoming door. He headed for the wharves and the fishermenwhose day began well before dawn. They would be ready for refreshment by now.

He wandered into a slant-walled den called the Wine Barrel; Fish Barrel wouldhave been a more appropriate name. The place stank of fish oil. Ignoring thepervasive stench, Walegrin approached the rough-hewn bar. The room had fallensilent and, though a swordsman like himself had nothing to fear from a handfulof fishermen, Walegrin was uncomfortable.

Even the ale was rank with fish-oil, but he gagged it down. The thick brewbrought the clouds of dullness his mind craved. He ordered another three mugs ofthe vile, potent stuff and belched prodigiously while the fisherfolk enduredhim.

Their meek, offended stares drove him back onto the wharf before he was half asdrunk as he wanted to be. The tangy air of the harbor undid him; he vomited intothe water and found himself almost completely sober. In an abysmal mood, hetugged the priest's cowl over his head and held the cloak shut with a deathgrip. His path wound toward the bazaar where Illyra lived and saw the future inthe S'danzo cards.