No, I have nothing to do with gods. I do not notice them, and they do not seeme. My gift is S'danzo. I am S'danzo. We live by fate. We do not touch theaffairs of gods.

But Illyra could not convince herself. The thought circled in her mind that shehad wandered beyond the realms of her people and gifts. She lit the incense ofgentle-forgetting, inhaling it deeply, but the sound of Dubro's anvil breakingand the images of the three cards remained ungentle in her thoughts. As theafternoon waned, she convinced herself again to approach Moonflower for advice.

The obese S'danzo woman's three children squalled at each other in the dustwhile her dark-eyed husband sat in the shade holding his hands over his eyes andears. It was not an auspicious moment to seek the older woman's counsel. Thethrongs of people were leaving the bazaar, making it safe for Illyra to wanderamong the stalls looking for Dubro.

'Illyra!'

She had expected Dubro's voice, but this one was familiar also. She lookedclosely into the crowd at the wine-seller's.

'Cappen Varra?'

'The same.' He answered, greeting her with a smile. 'There was a rope acrossyour gate today, and Dubro was not busy at his fire - otherwise I should havestopped to see you.'

'You have a question?'

'No, my life could not be better. I have a song for you.'

'Today is not a day for songs. Have you seen Dubro?'

'No. I'm here to get wine for a special dinner tomorrow night. Thanks to you, Iknow where the best wine in Sanctuary is still to be found.'

'A new love?'

'The same. She grows more radiant with each day. Tomorrow the master of thehouse will be busy with his priestly functions. The household will be quiet.'

'The household of Molin Torchholder must agree with you then. It is good to bein the grace of the conquerors of Ilsig.'

'I'm discreet. So is Molin. It is a trait which seems to have been lost amongthe natives of Sanctuary - S'danzo excepted, of course. I'm most comfortablewithin his house.'

The seller handed him two freshly washed bottles of wine, and with brieffarewells, Illyra saw him on his way. The wine-seller had seen Dubro earlier inthe day. He offered that the smith was visiting every wine-seller in the bazaarand not a few of the taverns outside it. Similar stories waited for her at theother wine-sellers. She returned to the forge-home in the gathering twilight andfog.

Ten candles and the oil stove could not cut through the dark emptiness in thechamber. Illyra pulled her shawls tightly around her and tried to nap untilDubro returned. She would not let herself think that he would not return.

'You have been waiting for me.'

Illyra jumped at the sound. Only two of the candles remained lit; she had noidea how long she had slept, only that her home quivered with shadows and a man,as tall as Dubro but of cadaverous thinness, stood within the knotted rope.

'Who are you? What do you want?' She flattened against the back of the chair.

'Since you do not recognize me, then say, I have been looking for you.'

The man gestured. The candles and stove rekindled and Illyra found herselfstaring at the blue-starred face of the magician Lythande.

'I have done nothing to cross you,' she said, rising slowly from her chair.

'And I did not say that you had. I thought you were seeking me. Many of us Haveheard you calling today.'

He held up the three cards Marilla had overturned and the Face of Chaos.

'I - I had not known my problems could disturb your studies.'

'I was reflecting on the legend of the Five Ships - it was comparatively easyfor you to touch me. I have taken it to myself to learn things for you.

'The girl Marilla appealed first to her own gods. They sent her to you since forthem to act on her fate would rouse the ire of Sabellia and Savankala. They havetied your fates together. You will not solve your own troubles unless you canrelieve hers.'

'She is a dead woman, Lythande. If the gods of Ilsig wish to help her, they willneed all their strength - and if that isn't enough, then there is nothing I cando for her.'

'That is not a wise position to take, Illyra,' the magician said with a smile.

'That is what I saw. S'danzo do not cross fates with the gods.'

'And you, Illyra, are not S'danzo.'

She gripped the back of the chair, angered by the reminder but unable to counterit.

'They have passed the obligation to you,' he said.

'I do not know how to break through Manila's fate,' Illyra said simply. 'I see,they must change.'

Lythande laughed. 'Perhaps there is no way, child. Maybe it will take twosacrifices to consecrate the temple Molin Torch-holder builds. You had best hopethere is a way through Manila's fate; A cold breeze accompanied his laughter.The candles flickered a moment, and the magician was gone. Illyra stared at theundisturbed rope.

Let Lythande and the others help her if it's so important. I want only theanvil, and that I can have regardless of her fate.

The cold air clung to the room. Already her imagination was embroidering uponthe consequences of enraging any of the powerful deities of Sanctuary. She leftto search for Dubro in the fog-shrouded bazaar.

Fog tendrils obscured the familiar stalls and shacks of the daytime bazaar. Afew fires could be glimpsed through cracked doorways, but the area itself hadgone to sleep early, leaving Illyra to roam through the moist night alone.

Nearing the main entrance she saw the bobbing torch of a running man. The torchand runner fell with an aborted shout. She heard lighter footsteps running offinto the unlit fog. Cautiously, fearfully, Illyra crept towards the fallen man.

It was not Dubro, but a shorter man wearing a blue hawk-mask. A dagger protrudedfrom the side of his neck. Illyra felt no sorrow at the death of one of Jubal'sbully-boys, only relief that it had not been Dubro. Jubal was worse than theRankans. Perhaps the crimes of the man behind the mask had finally caught upwith him. More likely someone had risked venting a grudge against the seldomseen former gladiator. Anyone who dealt with Jubal had more enemies thanfriends.

As if in silent response to her thoughts, another group of men appeared out ofthe fog. Illyra hid among the crates and boxes while five men without masksstudied the dead man. Then, without warning, one of them threw aside his torchand fell on the warm corpse, striking it again and again with his knife. When hehad had his fill of death, the others took their turns.

The bloody hawk-mask rolled to within a hand-span of Illyra's foot. She held herbreath and did not move, her eyes riveted in horror on the unrecognizable bodyin front of her. She wandered away from the scene blind to everything but herown disbelieving shock. The atrocity seemed to be the final, senseless gestureof the Face of Chaos in a day which had unravelled her existence.

She leaned against a canopy-post fighting waves of nausea, but Haakon'ssweetmeats had been the only food she had eaten all day. The dry heaving of herstomach brought no relief.

'Lyra!'

A familiar voice roared behind her and an arm thrown protectively around hershoulder broke the spell. She clung to Dubro with clenched fingers, burying herconvulsive sobs in his leather vest. He reeked of wine and the salty fog. Shesavoured every breath of him.

'Lyra, what are you doing out here?' He paused, but she did not reply. 'Did youbegin to think I'd not come back to you?'

He held her tightly, swaying restlessly back and forth. The story of the hawkmasked man's death fell from her in racked gasps. It took Dubro only a moment todecide that his beloved Illyra had suffered too much in his absence and torepent that he had gotten drunk or sought work outside the bazaar. He lifted hergently and carried her back to their home, muttering softly to himself as hewalked.