And still he sought, and remembered.

"Thou shalt have a sword," that voice had said inside his head, a lion agrowl inthe shadowed corridors of his mind, "if thou free'st my valued and loyal ally.Aye, and a fine sheath for it, as well. In silver!"

Hanse knew fear and some anger; he wanted nothing of that incestuous god ofRanke, for it had to be Vashanka whom Tempus served close. No? I serve-I mean...I do not... No? Tempus is my... my... I go to aid a fr-a man who might helpme, he tried to tell that god in his mind, for he admitted to no friendsand had sworn to Tempus that he had none and wanted none. He who had friendswas vulnerable, and Hanse much preferred his image of himself as aseparate room, a person apart, an island.

Leave me and go to him, jealous god of Ranke? Leave Sanctuary to my patronShalpa the Swift, and Our Lord Ils. Ils, 0 Lord of a Thousand Eyes, why is itnot You who speaks to me?

Yet a miracle surely transpired that night, and it served to save the life ofHanse and thus of Tempus, whom Hanse freed. Hanse knew no pride in having servedand been saved by the god of the Rankan overlords, and he found his lake ofalcohol. When he emerged and dried out, he was still troubled.

He was not the first in such straits to have turned god-ward.

Not Vashanaka-ward! On four separate occasions he had visited the sanctuaries ofUs and Shipri All-mother, His spouse. Ils, god of the Ilsigi who long ago fledone land and found this one, and founded Sanctuary. (There was no temple totheir fourthborn, Shalpa, who shared birthdate with his sister Eshi. Shalpa wasHe to Whom There is no Temple, and The Shadowed One, in his night-dark cloak. Hewas Shalpa the Swift, too. Shalpa of the night, and untempled: patron ofathletes and of thieves.)

Hanse went avisiting the house of gods, and came the time there he felt his hairquiver and start up while his stomach went chill and as if empty, for he feltsure that one of Them spoke to him. A god, aye.

Us Himself? Shalpa His son? (Considering his recent drinking, Hanse laterwondered if it might more likely have been Anen. He was firstborn of Ils andShipri, and he was patron of bibbers and taverners.)

Whoever it was spoke to him in his head, it was not Vashanka, not there in thehouse of the gods of Ilsig.

Hanse of the Shadow, Chosen of Ilsig, Son of the Shadow.

We exist. We are here. Believe. And look for this ring.

He saw it. The gaud appeared from nowhere and hung there before his eyes. Now itwas as if solid, and now he seemed to see through it, into the templeappointments beyond. A ring that seemed a single piece of gold, unfused, and setall about with twinkling little blue-white stones like stars. In its center abig tiger's-eye, caged in gold bands. And that orange-yellow gemstone, thattiger-eye-seemed to stare at him, as if it was more than merely a chatoyantstone of quartz fibers.

And then it was gone, and so was the voice that had been inside his head,addressing him- hadn't it? Had it?-and he was left slumped and slick all overwith sweat. He had to apply his mind and then make conscious effort even toclose his mouth. The temple's coolth had become chill.

After a while he felt strong enough to move. Move he did, for he was not mindedto remain there in that joint temple ofllshipri. He departed, all prickly stilland wet with sweat even down his legs. He squinted on leaving the dimness of thetemple, for the time was mid-afternoon, not night at all.

Had it begun then, even in daylight?-the hallucinations, the false feeling ofimportance that was a lie swarming up like a nest of spiders from the lees ofswilled wine?

Or did I hear-could I have heard ... a god? . The god?

He had walked from the temple, seeing nothing and no one. A person apart and anisland indeed! Until, as if a hood had been lifted off his head to bare hiseyes, he saw Mignureal.

She came directly toward him, looking at him, that S'danzo daughter of hisfriend Moonflower of the Seeing eyes. Moonflower who so well knew him-and didnot want him having aught to do with her daughter. Mignureal. Headingpurposefully toward him, gazing at him. A girl who looked thirteen and wasolder, long since pubertous and interested in Hanse-fascinated with Hanse as awoman is ever fascinated by and with the rascal. It pleased her to act as if shewas thirteen, not a woman of sixteen, most of whose age-peers were wedded or atleast bedded.

"My daughter is very young and thinks you are just so romantic a figure," thatgreat big woman said, who was such a pretty little woman inside the masses offlesh her husband so loved. "Will you just pretend she is your sister?"

"Oh you would not want that," Hanse had assured her, in one of those rarerevelations as to the sort of childhood he must have had. "She is my friend'sdaughter and I shall call her cousin."

Hanse meant that promise. Besides, Mignureal had seen him quaking and blubberingwith fear, a victim of that fear-staff of the perverse gods, and he did not careto look her in the eyes. It was she who had rescued him and led him, a tremulousmouse helpless against the power turned on him, back to her mother.

And now here she came, bearing some colorful bundle. Small and dark and yet notat all a creature of night and shadows as he was. Mignureal was a creature ofday and this day in her bright yellow skirt she wore a strange look, as if shewas drugged.

If she is, Hanse thought fiercely, I will beat her and take her home and curseMoonflower for allowing it to happen to this... this dear maiden.

But then he stopped thinking. She was before him, stopping and forcing him tostop. And when she spoke her voice was odd and flat as her eyes, emotionless asher face. She spoke as if she said words she had only learned-the words, nottheir meaning-like a girl who had leamt her part for some temple rite on a godday.

Dark brown eyes like garnets and just as lacking in softness, she said, "You areinvited to dinner tomorrow night. You will be in no danger. Wear this clothing.The place is known to you. It is long unpeopled, but its water is a silver pool.The silver is your own, Son of the Shadow, Chosen ofllsig. Come, tomorrow evenas the sun sets, .to the aerie of the great ruler of the air."

Without blinking, she pressed into his hands that which she carried, and turnedand ran in a butterfly flurry of yellow skirts and streaming blue-black hair.Hanse stood, stupidly staring after her until she rounded a corner and was gonedown another street. Then he looked down at his gift. All in shades of blue andsome green, with a flash of yellow-gold embroidery. A fine tunic, and a cloakconsiderably better than good. Good clothing!

Clothing so fine existed in Sanctuary, of course. No S'danzo girl had any of itthough, nor did a youth who gained his living by stealth.

Whence, then, came this soft fabric?

From the same place those words came from, he thought, for they were notMignureal's words. And again the phrases Son of the Shadow and Chosen of Ilsig!A shiver claimed Hanse then, and possessed him for a long moment.

" 'Day to you, Hanse-ah! I see you had a good night, 's more like it, hum?" Andthat acquaintance went on smiling, for what else could he think? Where elsecould Hanse have gained such a bundle of finery, save through a bit of climbingand breaking-and-entering on yesternight?

Hanse stood directing thoughts to his feet, and at last they began to respond.He walked on, trying to make his bundle as small as he could, lest some memberof the City Watch espy him, or a Hell-Hound from the palace, or someone nosyenough to consider turning him in or blabbing it about that Hanse had stolengood soft, decorated clothing sufficient to pay his room's rent for the nexttwelvemonth.