"A libation to the gods of Ilsig!" Hanse said firmly, and-he meant it.

From the secret hiding place it had occupied for a month and more, somehowresisting alcoholic urges to sell it, he took out a packet. It was the one hehad brought away the morning after That Night. It contained the shining andobviously valuable surgical instruments of Kurd the vivisectionist, whom Tempushad lately sent off to another plane of existence or inexistence. Thieving wasout of the question now, and such excellent tools would bring him plenty ofcoin, the naked Hanse thought, and he opened the package on the rickety littletable.

And he stared.

The surgical instruments were gone. The packet contained some forty feet ofsupple, slim, inch-wide black leather strap; a shirt of superb mail, black; aplain black helmet with nose-, temple-, and neck-guards. And a ring. It was notblack. It was of gold, and it was set with a large tiger's-eye, caged in bandsof gold and surrounded by small blue-white sones.

He spent a lot of time that day wrapping and tightening the leather strappingaround the silver sword-sheath given him by him called Stepson. Thus its ornatevalue was concealed. He tried on the mailcoat and marveled at its suppleness andspent many many minutes learning to get it off. Over the head, yes, but onecould not hoist it up and over as one did a tunic-not just under forty pounds ofboiled leather covered with rings of black metal! The helmet fitted perfectly,of course.

The ring he would not try on. It was hers, Hers and his sign; he could notconsider it his ring. It and four of his five silver coins he carefully stashedbefore he went down, rather late in the afternoon, for something to eat. He worethe old camel-hued tunic with the raveling hem.

He ate well, drinking only barley water.

"Saw you going out last night, Shadow-spawn," the taverner said quietly,admiring the silver coin and trying to be cool about it. "Musta been a goodnight, hmm?"

"Aye. A good night. Aye! Don't forget my change."

It was too late to do much of anything. He wandered a bit, hoping to catch sightofTempus. He did not, andhad to go back. pretending notto hurry, to check hisnew possessions.

He did. It was all there. The change from the silver coin was still in the drawtop bag he was not stupid enough to wear on his belt. And there were five silvercoins in his stash.

Hanse sat on the edge of his bed, thinking about that.

Looks as i;fmy, uh, immortal allies want me to have no financial worries' They'dmaybe not wish to be served by what I had to remind Kadakithis I am for was?}"Just a damned thief!"

Over the next several days he spread the money around, happily giving a silvercoin to dear old Moonflower ("because you're beautiful, why else?") and two to aone-armed beggar with two fingers missing, because Hanse recognized a victim ofKurd; and he gave to others. The krrf dealer was suspicious on receiving asilver Ran-kan Imperial ("for the future, just in case; don't forget my face,now!") but he took the coin.

And always when the spawn of shadows returned to his room above a tavern, alwayshis secret hiding place offered one ring and five silver coins.

Tempus, meanwhile, had been astonished, but certainly agreed to the training. Heassigned Nikodemos called Stealth to the daily duty. And now it had gone on, andon, day after day of practice and sweating and cursing, and now Niko had toldhim that he was good, and a natural. Elated, Hanse had sunk a knife into thefellow's shield while of course pretending that it was a sneer become action.Then he had saluted and betaken himself around that building while Niko stoodlooking long-suffering and boyish, and on the way home Hanse had given away asilver coin. He had already spent another this day. And there were fiveremaining in his room, too.

He opened his eyes. He knew absolutely that a moment ago he had been sleepingsoundly, and had come instantly awake. There was no time to wonder why; all hehad to do was turn his head to see that it was still dark, the middle of thenight, and that he had a visitor.

She was Mignureal, looking a bit older and truly beautiful, all in white andpalest spring-yellow. And surrounded by a pale glow, a sort of all-body nimbusof twilight.

"Gird thyself, Hanse. It is time."

Weeks and weeks ago, when first he returned from that night up at Eaglenest, hewould have shuddered at such words. Not now. Now Hanse was a trained fighter andhe had given it plenty of thought and he was more than ready. He had not knownit would come this way, but as he rose to obey he was glad that it had. This wayhe had no time to think about it, to worry about what might happen to him. Itwas time. He girded himself.

He donned tights and leathern pants; woolen footsers and a thief's soft, paddedsole buskins. Next the new cotton tunic, long, and over that the padded one. Theglow remained in his room; Mignureal remained, this Mignureal, fromattractive moth into beauteous butterfly. The mail-coat jingled into placeand he buckled on the sword. Not the practice sword; the sword of the Stepson,with which he had privately practiced.

The figure in his room stretched forth a hand. "Come, Hanse. We have to go now.It is time, Son of Shadow."

He picked up his helm. "Mignureal? Have you ... a brother? A twin?"

"You know that I have."

"And what do you call him?" He took her hand. It was cool, soft. Too soft, forMignureal.

"You know what I call him, Hanse. I call him Shadow, for shadows he rules andbirths, Shadowspawn. Come Hanse, Godson."

He went, under the helmet. Surely there were some awake even at this hour, andsurely some saw the strange couple. As surely, none recognized Hanse the thiefin his warlike attire and under the helm, for anyone who knew him or knew of himwould never expect to see him so accoutred and so accompanied.

Under a frowning parlous sky, in an eerie almost-silence kept alive and madebearable only by insects, they went away out of the Maze, and out of Sanctuary,and up to Eaglenest. And into Eaglenest they went, all dark and ancient now thatplace of ghosts and gods. Their way was lit by the nimbus of a goddess, whosehand remained soft in Hanse's.

A place of gods indeed, for they went through the manse and out the back and theworld changed.

Here was an eerie sky shot through with ribbons of gold and pale yellow andcitrine and marred by clouds whose underbellies were mauve. Here was a weirdvista from the nightmares of poison. Stone formations rose in impossible shapes,bent and snaked along the ground to rise again; ugly rockshapes in red and burntochre and siena, imitating vines fighting their way through an invisible stonewall or plants tortured into convoluted shapes by alkali or lime.

The strange stone-shapes stretched out and out to become only shadows on aplain, a vista that stretched out gray to meet that nacreous sky. And there wasno sound. Not the faintest hum of a single lonely insect; not the merest peep ofa nightbird or the scuttle of tiny feet or of fronds whispering in a nightbreeze. Here was no sun and yet no night, and no flora or fauna either.

Here were only Hanse, armored and armed, and Mignureal, and here came Vashanka,at the charge.

Purple was his armor, hawk-beaked his helm and tall-spiked atop; black hisshield and the blade of his sword so that there was no gleam to announce itsonrush. Hanse drew, hurriedly shifted his buckler into place, thought ofMignureal and knew he had no time to glance aside. Here came a god, armed andarmored, charging to end this now, right now.