Walegrin squatted in the moonlight. The ale had warmed him against the nightbreezes and made him both more expansive and optimistic than usual. "With thepromise of swords I can recruit men-only a few at first. But we'll travel north,taking commissions-taking what's necessary. I'll hire more as I go. We'll arriveat the Wizardwall fully mounted and armored. We'll prove ourselves with honorand glory against the Nisibisi, then become the vanguard of a legion."

Chuckling loudly, the metal-master finally took a sip of ale. "Glory and honor,Walegrin, lad-what will you do with glory? What do you gain with honor? Whatbecomes of your men when Wizardwall and the Nisibisi are forgotten?"

Honor and glory were their own rewards for a Rankan soldier and as for war-asoldier could always find a conflict or commission. Of course, Walegrin hadneither glory nor honor and his commissions thus far had been pedestrian-likeduty at the Sanctuary garrison: the antithesis of honor and glory. "I will beknown," he resolved after a moment's thought. "While I'm alive I'll berespected. When I'm dead I'll be memorialized-"

"You're already known, lad, or have you forgotten that? You have rediscoveredEnlibar steel. You don't dare show your face because of it. How much honor andglory do you think you'll need before you can walk the streets of Ranke? Twentyfive swords? Fifty swords? Do you think they'll believe you when you tell themwe made the steel with bits of an old Wrigglie necklace? Eh?"

Walegrin stood up. He paced a circle around the seated cripple. "I will succeed.I'll succeed now or die."

With a quick, invisible movement of his crutch, Balustrus brought Walegrinsprawling into the dust. "It is impolite to speak to the back of my head. Yourfortunes have changed, and could change again. The Empire has never given youanything-and will not ever give you anything. But the Empire means nothing toSanctuary.

"There is power here, lad, not glory or honor but pure power. Power you can useto buy all the honor and glory you want. I tell you, Walegrin- Jubal's notcoming back. His world's ripe for taking."

"You've said that before. So Jubal rots under his mansion. How many bloodiedhawkmasks have been nailed to the Downwind bridge? Even if I were tempted,there's nothing left."

"Tempus is culling the ranks for you. The wiserones are safe, I'm sure. They'veheard Jubal isn't dead and they're waiting for his return-but they don't knoweverything."

There was an evil confidence to Balustrus' tone that made Walegrin wary. Henever fully trusted the metal-master and trusted him less when he spoke inriddles.

"I was not always Balustrus. Once I was the Grey Wolf. Only twenty-five yearsago I led all the Imperial legions into the mountains and broke the last Ilsigresistance. I broke it because I knew it. I was born in those mountains. Theblood of kings and sorcerers runs in my veins, or it did. But I knew the days ofkings were over and the days of Empire had come. I destroyed my own peoplehoping for honor and glory among the conquerors-"

Walegrin cleared his throat loudly. There wasn't a citizen alive who hadn'theard of the Grey Wolf: a young man clothed in animal hides, given a hero'swelcome in Ranke despite his Wrigglie past-and tragically killed in a fall fromhis horse. The whole capital had turned out for his funeral.

"Perhaps my friends in Ranke were the fathers of your friends," Balustrus saidto Walegrin's skepticism. "I watched my own funeral from the gladiators'galleries where drugged, stripped and branded I'd been left to die or improve myone-time friends' fortunes." He laughed bitterly. "I wasn't your ordinary Rankangeneral-they'd forgotten that. I could fight and I could forge weapons such asthey'd never seen. I'd learned metal-mastery from my betrayed people."

"And Jubal-what's he got to do with this?" Walegrin finally asked.

"He came later. I'd fought and killed so often I'd been retired by my owners,but then the Emperor himself bought me, Kittycat's father. I trained the newslaves and Jubal was one of them. A paragon-he was born for the death-duel. Itaught him every trick I knew; he was a son to me. I watched fortunes changeeverytime he fought. We soon both belonged to the Emperor. We drank together,whored together-the life of a successful gladiator isn't bad if you don't mindthe brand and collar. I trusted him. I told him the truth about me.

"Two days later I was on the sand fighting against him. I hadn't fought for fiveyears; but even at my best I was no match for him. We fought with mace andchain-his choice. He took my legs with his second swing. I had expected that,but I expected a quick, merciful death as well. I thought we were both slaves:equals and friends. He said: 'It's been arranged,' pointed to the Imperialbalcony and struck my legs again.

"That was summer. It was winter when I opened my eyes again. A Lizerene healerwas at my side congratulating himself on my recovery-but I had become this!"

The metal-master jerked his tunic upward, revealing the remains of his legs. Themoonlight softened the horror, but Walegrin could see the twisted remnants ofmuscle, the exposed lengths of bone, the scaly knobs that had once been knees.He looked away before Balustrus lowered the cloth.

"The Lizerene said he'd been paid in gold. I returned slowly to the capital, asyou can imagine, and painfully, as you cannot. Jubal had been freed the dayafter our battle. I searched for years and found him Downwind, already wellprotected by his 'masks. I couldn't adequately thank him for my life so I becameBalustrus, his friend. I forged his swords and masks.

"Jubal had enemies, most more able than I; I feared my revenge would bevicarious and his death swift. When Tempus came I thought we were both doomed.But Tempus is cruel; crueler than Jubal, crueler than I. Saliman came here onenight to say his master lay alive among the corpses at the charnel house, anarrowhead in each knee. Saliman asked if I would shelter the master until hedied-as he was certain to do. 'Of course,' I said, 'but he need not die. We'llsend him to the Lizerene.' "

The ale no longer warmed Walegrin. He was no stranger to hate or revenge; he hadno sympathy for the slaver. But Balustrus' voice was pure sated, insane malice.This man had betrayed his own people for Ranke-and been betrayed by Ranke inturn. He had called Jubal his son, told him the truth about himself and believedthat his son had immediately betrayed him. Walegrin knew he was now Balustrus''son.' Did the metal-master expect to be betrayed-or would he betray first?

Balustrus submerged himself in his satisfaction; he said nothing when Walegrintook his mug of ale far across the courtyard to the shadows where Thrusher sat.

"Thrush-can you go into the city tonight?"

"I'm not so far gone that I can't thread the maze."

"Then go. Start looking about for men."

Thrusher shook off the effects of the ale. "What's happened? What's gone wrong?"

"Nothing yet. Balustrus is acting strangely. I don't know how much longer we cantrust him."

"What's made you agree with me at last?"

"He told me the story of his life. I can see Illyra in ten days-after the newmoon and after she's cleansed. We'll leave for the north the next morning, withthe silver and the ore if we don't have swords."

Thrusher was not one to say 'I told you so' more than once. He got his cloak andwent over the outer wall without anyone but Walegrin knowing he was gone.

5

The metal-master organized his courtyard foundry with military precision. Withinsix days of the successful tempering, another ten blades had been forged.Walegrin marked the progress in his mind: so many days until he could visitIllyra, plus one more before the swords were finished; yet another to meet withthe men Thrusher was culling out of the city and then they could be gone.