Tall and thin, Lythande, above the height of a tall man, lean to emaciation,with the blue star-shaped tattoo of the magiciaft-adept above thin, archingeyebrows; wearing a long, hooded robe which melted into the shadows. Clean-shaven, the face of Lythande, or beardless - none had come close enough, inliving memory, to say whether this was the whim of an effeminate or thehairlessness of a freak. The hair beneath the hood was as long and luxuriant asa woman's, but greying, as no woman in this city of harlots would have allowedit to do.

Striding quickly along a shadowed wall, Lythande stepped through an open door,over which the sandal of Thufir, god of pilgrims, had been nailed up for luck;but the footsteps were so soft, and the hooded robe blended so well into theshadows, that eyewitnesses would later swear, truthfully, that they had seenLythande appear from the air, protected by sorceries, or by a cloak ofinvisibility.

Around the hearth fire, a group of men were banging their mugs together noisilyto the sound of a rowdy drinking-song, strummed on a worn and tinny lute - Lythande knew it belonged to the tavern-keeper, and could be borrowed - by ayoung man, dressed in fragments of foppish finery, torn and slashed by thechances of the road. He was sitting lazily, with one knee crossed over theother; and when the rowdy song died away, the young man drifted into another, aquiet love-song from another time and another country. Lythande had known thesong, more years ago than bore remembering, and in those days Lythande themagician had borne another name and had known little of sorcery. When the songdied, Lythande had stepped from the shadows, visible, and the firelight glintedon the blue star, mocking at the centre of the high forehead.

There was a little muttering in the tavern, but they were not unaccustomed toLythande's invisible comings and goings. The young man raised eyes which weresurprisingly blue beneath the black hair elaborately curled above his brow. Hewas slender and agile, and Lythande marked the rapier at his side, which lookedwell handled, and the amulet, in the form of a coiled snake, at his throat. Theyoung man said, 'Who are you, who has the habit of coming and going into thinair like that?'

'One who compliments your skill at song.' Lythande flung a coin to the tapster'sboy. 'Will you drink?'

'A minstrel never refuses such an invitation. Singing is dry work.' But when thedrink was brought, he said, 'Not drinking with me, then?'

'No man has ever seen Lythande eat or drinK,' muttered one of the men in thecircle round them.

'Why, then, I hold that unfriendly,' cried the young minstrel. 'A friendly drinkbetween comrades shared is one thing; but I am no servant to sing for pay or todrink except as a friendly gesture!'

Lythande shrugged, and the blue star above the high brow began to shimmer andgive forth blue light. The onlookers slowly edged backward, for when a wizardwho wore the blue star was angered, bystanders did well to be out of the way.The minstrel set down the lute, so it would be well out of range if he must leapto his feet. Lythande knew, by the excruciating slowness of his movements andgreat care, that he had already shared a good many drinks with chance-metcomrades. But the minstrel's hand did not go to his sword-hilt but insteadclosed like a fist over the amulet in the form of a snake. '

'You are like no man I have ever met before,' he observed mildly, and Lythande,feeling inside the little ripple, nerve-long, that told a magician he was in thepresence of spell-casting, hazarded quickly that the amulet was one of thosewhich would not protect its master unless the wearer first stated a set numberof truths - usually three or five - about the owner's attacker or foe. Wary, butamused, Lythande said, 'A true word. Nor am I like any man you will ever meet,live you never so long, minstrel.'

The minstrel saw, beyond the angry blue glare of the star, a curl of friendlymockery in Lythande's mouth. He said, letting the amulet go, 'And I wish you noill; and you wish me none, and those are true sayings too, wizard, hey? Andthere's an end of that. But although perhaps you are like to no other, you arenot the only wizard I have seen in Sanctuary who bears a blue star about hisforehead.'

Now the blue star blazed rage, but not for the minstrel. They both knew it. Thecrowd around them had all mysteriously discovered that they had businesselsewhere. The minstrel looked at the empty benches.

'I must go elsewhere to sing for my supper, it seems.'

'I meant you no offence when I refused to share a drink,' said Lythande. 'Amagician's vow is not as lightly overset as a lute. Yet I may guest-gift youwith dinner and drink in plenty without loss of dignity, and in return ask aservice of a friend, may I not?'

'Such is the custom of my country. Cappen Varra thanks you, magician.'

'Tapster! Your best dinner for my guest, and all he can drink tonight!'

'For such liberal guesting I'll not haggle about the service,' Cappen Varrasaid, and set to the smoking dishes brought before him. As he ate, Lythande drewfrom the folds of his robe a small pouch containing a quantity of sweet-smellingherbs, rolled them into a blue-grey leaf, and touched his ring to spark the rollalight. He drew on the smoke, which drifted up sweet and greyish.

'As for the service, it is nothing so great; tell me all you know of this otherwizard who wears the blue star. I know of none other of my order south ofAzehur, and I would be certain you did not see me, nor my wraith.'

Cappen Varra sucked at a marrow-bone and wiped his fingers fastidiously on thetray-cloth beneath the meats. He bit into a ginger-fruit before replying.

'Not you, wizard, nor your fetch or doppelganger; this one had shouldersbrawnier by half, and he wore no sword, but two daggers cross-girt astride hiships. His beard was black; and his left hand missing three fingers.'

'Us of the Thousand Eyes! Rabben the Half-handed, here in Sanctuary! Where didyou see him, minstrel?'

'I saw him crossing the bazaar; but he bought nothing that I saw. And I saw himin the Street of Red Lanterns, talking to a woman. What service am I to do foryou, magician?'

'You have done it.' Lythande gave silver to the tavern keeper - so much that thesurly man bade Shalpa's cloak cover him as he went - and laid another coin, goldthis time, beside the borrowed lute. -

'Redeem your harp; that one will do your voice no boon.' But when the minstrelraised his head in thanks, the magician had gone unseen into the shadows.

Pocketing the gold, the minstrel asked, 'How did he know that? And how did he goout?'

'Shalpa the swift alone knows,' the tapster said. 'Flew out by the smoke-hole inthe chimney, for all I ken! That one needs not the night-dark cloak of Shalpa tocover him, for he has one of his own. He paid for your drinks, good sir; whatwill you have?' And Cappen Varra proceeded to get very drunk, that being thewisest thing to do when one becomes entangled unawares in the private affairs ofa wizard.

Outside in the street, Lythande paused to consider. Rabben the Half-handed wasno friend; yet there was no reason his presence in Sanctuary must deal withLythande, or personal revenge. If it were business concerned with the Order ofthe Blue Star, if Lythande must lend Rabben aid, or the Half-handed had beensent to summon all the members of the Order, the star they both wore would havegiven warning.

Yet it would do no harm to make certain. Walking swiftly, the magician hadreached a line of old stables behind the governor's palace. There was silenceand secrecy for magic. Lythande stepped into one of the little side alleys,drawing up the magician's cloak until no light remained, slowly withdrawingfarther and farther into the silence until nothing remained anywhere in theworld -anywhere in the universe but the light of the blue star ever glowing infront. Lythande remembered how it had been set there, and at what cost - theprice an adept paid for power.