When his chest neither rose nor fell, she slid off him and ceased singing. Shelicked the tips of her wands and wound them back up in her thick black hair. Shesoothed his body down, arranged it decorously, donned her party clothes, andkissed him once on the tip of his nose before heading, humming, back down thestairs to where Lastel and the party still waited. As she passed the bar, shesnatched a piece of citrus and crushed it in her palms, dripping the juice uponher wrists, smearing it behind her ears and in the hollow of her throat. Some ofthese folk might be clumsy necromancers and thrice-cursed merchants with storebought charms-to-ward-off-charms bleeding them dry of soul and purse, but therewas nothing wrong with their noses.

Lastel's bald head and wrestler's shoulders, impeccable in customed silk velvet,were easy to spot. He did not even glance down at her, but continued chattingwith one of the prince/ governor Kadakithis' functionaries, Molin Something-orother, Vashanka's official priest. It was New Year's holiday, and the week wasbursting with festivities which the Rankan overlords must observe, and seem tosanction: since (though they had conquered and subjugated Ilsig lands and Ilsigpeoples so that some Ran-kans dared call Ilsigs "Wrigglies" to their faces) theyhad failed to suppress the worship of the god Ils and his self-begottenpantheon, word had come down from the emperor himself that Ran-kans must endurewith grace the Wrigglies' celebration of Ils' creation of the world and renewalof the year. Now, especially, with Ranke pressed into a war of attrition in thenorth, was no time to allow dissension to develop on her flanks from so paltry amatter as the perquisites of obscure and weakling gods.

This uprising among the buffer states upon Upper Ranke's northernmost frontierand the inflated rumors of slaughter coming back from Wizardwall's mountainousskirts all out of proportion to reasonable numbers dominated Molin's monologue:"And what say you, esteemed lady? Could it be that Nisibisi magicians have madetheir peace with Mygdon's barbarian lord, and found him a path throughWizardwall's fastness? You are well-traveled, it is obvious.... Could it betrue that the border insurrection is Mygdonia's doing, and their hordes sofearsome as we have been led to believe? Or is it the Rankan treasury that issuffering, and a northern incursion the cure for our economic ills?"

Lastel flickered puffy lids down at her from ravaged cheeks and his turgid armwent around her waist. She smiled up at him reassuringly, then favored thepriest: "Your Holiness, sadly I must confess that the Mygdonian threat is veryreal. I have studied realms and magics, in Ranke and beyond. If you wish aconsultation, and Lastel permits-" she batted the thickest lashes in Sanctuary"-I shall gladly attend you, some day when we both are fit for 'solemn'discourse. But now I am too filled with wine and revel, and must interrupt youyour pardon please-that my escort bear me home to bed." She cast her glance uponthe ballroom floor, demure and concentrating on her slippered feet poking outunder amber skirts. "Lastel, I must have the night air, or faint away. Where isour host? We must thank him for a more complete hospitality than I had thoughtto find...."

The habitually pompous priest was simpering with undisguised delight, causingLastel to raise an eyebrow, though Cime tugged coquettishly at his sleeve, andinquire as to its source: "Lord Molin?"

"It is nothing, dear man, nothing. Just so long since I have heard courtRankene-and from the mouth of a real lady. . . ." The Rankan priest, knowingwell that his wife's reputation bore no mitigation, chose to make sport of her,and of his town, before the foreign noblewoman did. And to make it more clear toLastel that the joke was on them-the two Sanctuarites-and for the amusement ofthe voluptuous gray-eyed woman, he bowed low, and never did answer her genteelquery as to the whereabouts of the First Hazard.

By the time he had promised to give their thanks and regards to the absent hostwhen he saw him, the lady was gone, and Molin Torch-holder was left wishing heknew what it was that she saw in Lastel. Certainly it was not the dogs heraised, or his fortune, which was modest, or his business ... well, yes, itmight have been just that ... drugs. Some who knew said the best krrf-blackand Garonne-stamped-came from Lastel's connections. Molin sighed, hearing hiswife's twitter among the crowd's buzz. Where was that Hazard? The damn Mageguildwas getting too arrogant. No one could throw a bash as star-studded as this oneand then walk away from it as if the luminaries in attendance were nonentities.He was glad he had not prevailed on the prince to come along.... What awoman! And what was her name? He had been told, he was sure, but just forgot. ...

Outside, torchlit, their breath steaming white through cold-sharpened night air,waiting for their ivory-screened wagon, they giggled over the distinctionbetween "serious" and "solemn": the First Hazard had been serious, Molin wassolemn; Tempus the Hell-Hound was serious, Prince Kadakithis, solemn; thedestabiliza-tion campaign they were undertaking in Sanctuary under the auspicesof a Mygdonian-funded Nisibisi witch (who had come to Lastel, alias One-Thumb,in the guise of a comely caravan mistress hawking Garonne drugs) was serious;the threat of northern invasion, down-country at the Empire's anus, was mostsolemn.

As her laughter tinkled, he nuzzled her: "Did you manage to ... ?"

"Oh, yes. I had a perfectly lovely time. What a wonderful idea of yours thiswas," she whispered, still speaking court Rankene, a dialect she had been usingexclusively in public ever since the two of them-the Mazedweller One-Thumb andthe escaped sorcerer-slayer Cime-had decided that the best cover for them wasthat which her magic provided: they need not do more. Her brother Tempus knewthat Lastel was actually One-Thumb, and that she was with him, but he wouldhesitate to reveal them: he had given his silence, if not his blessing, to theirunion. Within reasonable limits, they considered themselves safe to bargainlives and information to both sides in the coming crisis. Even now, with the warbarely under way, they had already started. This night's work was her pleasureand his profit. When they reached his modest east-side estate, she showed himthe portion of what she had done to the First Hazard which he would like bestand most probably survive, if his heart was strong. For her service, shedemanded a Rankan soldat's worth of black krrf, before the act. When he had paidher, and watched her melt it with water over a flame, cool it, and bring it tohim on the bed, her fingers stirring the viscous liquid, he was glad he had notargued about her price, or about her practice of always charging one.

2

Wizard weather blew in off the sea later that night, as quickly as one of theSanctuary whores could blow a client a kiss, or a pair of Stepsons disperse anunruly crowd. Everyone in the suddenly mist-enshrouded streets of the Maze ranfor cover; adepts huddled under beds with their best warding spells wrappedtighter than blankets around shivering shoulders; east-siders bade their jestersperform and their musicians play louder; dogs howled; cats yowled; horsesscreamed in the palace stables and tried to batter their stallboards down.

Some unlucky ones did not make it to safety before a dry thunder roared andlightning flashed and in the streets, the mist began to glitter, thicken, chill.It rolled headhigh along byway and alley, claws of ice scrabbling at shutteredwindows, barred doors. Where it found life, it shredded bodies, laceratinglimbs, stealing away warmth and souls and leaving only flayed carcasses frozenin the streets.