The last candidate entered the room. Thrusher slid back under the eaves as soonas he had shut the door.

There were two types to these women Jubal had hired. The first was small-built,all teeth and eyes and utterly devoid of the traditional virtues almost everysoldier brought into battle. The second type was a man save for accident ofbirth-big and broad, strong as any man of equal size, but as lacking in militaryhonor as her scrawny sister.

This one was of the first type; her head barely reached Walegrin's chest. In away she reminded him of Illyra and the resemblence was almost enough for him toorder her out on the spot.

She was shaking out her short kilt; repairing a knot at the shoulder of hertunic which tried to conceal a small breast as grimy as the rest of her.Walegrin judged she hadn't eaten for two or three days. A half-healed slashstiffened her face; another wound ran down her hard, bare arm. Someone had triedto kill this woman and failed. She tugged wide-spread fingers through hermatted, dark hair, doing nothing to improve it.

"Name," he demanded when she stood still again.

"Cythen." Her voice was remarkably pleasant for one so callused.

"You use a sword?"

"Well enough."

"A lad's sword, not a man's, I suppose."

Cythen's eyes flashed from the insult. "I learned the sword from my father andmy brothers, my uncles and cousins. They gave me theirs when the time came."

"And Jubal?"

"And you," she stated defiantly.

Walegrin was impressed by her spirit-and wished he could hire her relativesinstead. "How have you survived since Jubal's death-or don't you think he'sdead?"

"There's not enough of us left for it to make a difference. We always had moreenemies than friends. The hawkmask days are over. Jubal was our leader and noone could take his place, even for a few weeks. Myself, I went to the Street ofRed Lanterns-but it's not to my taste. I was not always like this.

"I saw your man face down a Stepson-so I've come to see you and what you'reworth."

A man shouldn't look at his prospective officer that way-not that she wasflirting. Walegrin felt she was trying to reverse their roles.

"Jubal was smart and strong-maybe not as smart and strong as he thought he was;Temp us got him in the end. I put a high price on my loyalty and who I give itto. What are your plans? It's rumored you have hard steel. Who do you use itfor?"

Walegrin did not reveal his surprise; he just stared back at her. He had farless experience than the slaver, fewer men and far less gold. Ranke, in the formof Tempus, had brought Jubal down-what chance, truly, did he have? "I have thesteel of Enlibar forged into swords. The Nisibisi do not fight in neat ranks andfiles; they ambush and we will ambush them in turn until we've made our names.Then with more swords-"

She sighed loudly. For one raging moment Walegrin thought she would turn on herheels and leave. Had she honestly expected him to scrabble for Jubal's lostdomain? Or did she sense the hollowness of his confidence?

"I doubt it-but at least I'll be out of Sanctuary," she offered him her hand asshe spoke.

A mercenary captain welcomed his men with a hand-shake and a comrade's embrace.Wale-grin did not embrace women as comrades. When he needed to he found someordinary slut, laid her on her back and, with her skirts up to hide her face,took what he needed. He had seen women, ladies, that he would not treat in sucha manner-but they had never seen him.

Cythen was no slut, and she'd hurt him if he treated her that way. She was nolady, either- not with her clothes half-gone and covered with dirt. Still, hewasn't about to set her back on the streets-at least not until she had a goodmeal. After quickly wiping his hand on his hip, Wale-grin took hers.

She had a firm grip, not man-strong but strong enough to wield a sword. Tryingto make it seem natural, Walegrin raised his other arm for the embrace and wassaved from the deed itself by a thumping, shouting commotion on the stairsoutside.

Thrusher was flat against the wall. Walegrin had a knife out of its forearmsheath and just enough time to see Cythen remove a nasty assassin's blade fromsomewhere in her skirt before the door burst open.

"They've taken her!"

The light from the torch on the landing blinded Walegrin to the details of thescene before him. There was a central figure, huge and yelling; writhingattachments to it, also yelling and presumably his guards, and finally Thrusher,leaping out of the darkness to wrap lethal arms around the neck of the unsubduedinvader. The dark hulk groaned. It fell back, squeezing Thrusher against thewall. It twisted, freeing its right arm, then calmly peeled someone off its leftside and threw him into the eaves.

"Walegrin!" it bellowed. "They've taken her!"

Cythen was crouched on the balls of her feet, beneath the giant's notice but notWalegrin's. She was ready to strike when he laid a hand on her shoulder. Sherelaxed.

"Dubro?" Walegrin asked cautiously.

"They've taken her!" The smith's pain was not physical, but it was realnonetheless. Walegrin did not need to ask who had been taken, though he couldnot imagine how they had gotten past the smith in the first place.

"Tell me slowly: Who took her? How long ago? Why?"

The smith drew a shuddering breath and mastered himself. "It was just pastsundown, a beggar-lad came up. He said there'd been an accident on the wharf.'Lyra bid me help if I could, so I followed the lad. I lost him almost at once^there was nothing on the wharf-" he paused, taking Walegrin's wrist in a bonecrushing grip.

"It was a trap?" Walegrin suggested, grateful for the gauntlet that protectedhis wrists from the full power of Dubro's despair.

The smith nodded slowly. "She was gone!"

"She hadn't simply followed you and gotten lost-or gone to visit the otherS'danzo?"

A deep-pitched groan forced its way out of Dubro's throat. "No-no. T'was alltorn about. She fought, but she was gone-without her shawl. Walegrin, she goesnowhere without her shawl."

"She might have escaped to hide somewhere?"

"I've searched-else I'd have been here sooner," the smith explained, shiftinghis grip from Walegrin's wrist to his less-protected shoulder. "I roused all theS'danzo-and they searched with me. We found her shoe behind the farmer's stallby the river, but nothing else. I went home to look for signs." Dubro shookWalegrin for emphasis. "I found this!"

He withdrew an object from his pouch and held it so close that Walegrin couldn'tsee it. A measure of calm returned to the smith, he released Walegrin and lethim study the object. It was a metal gauntlet boss, engraved and distinctiveenough to identify its wearer, should he be found. But Walegrin did notrecognize it. He handed it to Thrusher.

"Do you recognize it?" he asked.

"No-"

Cythen took the boss from Thrusher's hands. "Stepson-" she said with both fearand anger. "See here, the lightning emerging from the clouds? Only they wearsuch designs."

"You have a plan?" Dubro demanded.

It wasn't only Dubro waiting for a plan. With the mention of the Stepsons,Cubert had re-entered the room, and Cythen was warm for blood; the hawkmasks allhad reasons for vengeance. Even Thrusher, still rubbing his sore head, acted asif this were a challenge that must be answered. Walegrin tucked the boss in hisbelt-pouch.

"We know it was a Stepson, but we don't know who," Walegrin said, though hesuspected the one who had overturned Illyra's table earlier. "We don't have timeto run them all to ground, and I don't think Tempus would let us. Still, if wehad a Stepson hostage or two ourselves, it would be easier-"