She paused just inside the door and looked about. He knew that she was looking for someone specific-he did have the true talent of a seer, though only weakly. That was very odd; how would a Dыsarran know anyone in Weideth? There were no other city-folk in the tavern just then-only him and a dozen of his fellow villagers.

He was interested. Could it be that she was not a refugee after all?

The innkeeper had noticed her now and was coming over to speak to her. The Seer watched and had one of his erratic flashes of insight. She was looking for him, the Seer of Weideth. Before he could do anything about this sudden knowledge, she was asking the innkeeper, who pointed him out.

He put down his wine cup and considered her as she approached the table.

"I am looking for the Seer of Weideth," she said.

"I am he," he answered. "Have a seat."

Made awkward by her injured foot, she took a moment to arrange herself on the offered chair. The Seer looked her over.

She was olive-skinned, like most Dыsarrans, with thick, curling, black hair which she wore long; a few strands spilled out of her cowl, reaching down past her breast. She seemed pretty, but he could not see clearly the outline of her face. There was something out of the ordinary about her that he sensed rather than saw, an aura of perversity and twisted emotion.

"I am Aralure; I'm a wizard's apprentice. I was sent here with a message for you."

She was lying about her identity, but had indeed been sent to him. He nodded. If it was important, he could worry later about who she really was and why she was lying.

She hesitated. "How can I be certain you're really a seer?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Ask anyone in Weideth." He knew her uncertainty was due partly to the ease with which he had accepted her lie. When she still seemed unsure, he added, "Your name is not Aralure, and you are not a wizard's apprentice, but you do have a message for me. What is it?"

"How do you know who I am?"

"I don't, but I would be a very poor seer if I could not tell truth from falsehood."

That seemed to satisfy her. "I have been sent here to warn you and any other magicians I may find, of whatever discipline, of the actions of a certain overman."

"You refer, I suppose, to Garth of Ordunin, who caused so much havoc in Dыsarra."

"You know his name?"

The Seer was gratified by her surprise. "Oh, yes," he answered. "Am I not the Seer of Weideth?"

The girl eyed him dubiously. "How much do you know about him?"

"Tell me what you came to tell me."

The Dыsarran considered for a moment, then said, "As you will. It was Garth who loosed the White Death upon the city, you know. He killed a great many people in other ways as well, including several priests. He was responsible for the burning of the market place."

"I know all that, and I am sure you know that it is common knowledge. The refugees who have passed through Weideth have kept us well-informed, quite aside from my own abilities. We have an ancient prophecy here that when an overman comes out of the east to Dыsarra he will unleash chaos and disaster upon the world. It would appear that Garth is the overman described, and the White Death the prophesied disaster. What of it? Why have you come here to tell me what I already know?"

"You did not allow me to finish, my lord. Did you know that the overman is still spreading destruction? Three days ago he destroyed the fortress town of Skelleth, on the northern border of Eramma."

The Seer studied the girl. "How do you know that?" He could perceive beyond any doubt that she spoke the truth as she knew it. "Skelleth is a fortnight's ride from here."

"My master has methods of learning what goes on in the world."

"Your master is the one who sent you to me?"

"Yes."

"Who is he?"

"A wizard; he prefers not to give his name."

"He's no wizard. Is he a priest, perhaps?" He read in her face that he had guessed correctly. "A priest who seeks vengeance upon Garth?"

She nodded reluctantly.

He sat back. It seemed plain enough. One of the Dыsarran cults, unable to avenge itself directly, hoped to recruit his aid in pursuing the overman. He had little love for any of the vile cults of the black city, but if this Garth were in truth disturbing the peace of the world and causing further destruction, then the overman had to be stopped.

He wondered why the priest had chosen him to contact. Were there no wizards left in Dыsarra?

Perhaps there weren't; the plague might well have depopulated much of the city. Reports were vague and inconsistent, since even those still healthy remained in isolation in their homes for the most part.

Or perhaps this priest had an inflated idea of the Seer's own power; perhaps the, priest did not realize that the Seer's predecessor, a truly remarkable prophet of great vision, had died and been replaced by a much lesser seer.

Perhaps...but there was no need to wonder, when he could ask the girl. "Why were you sent to me?" he asked. "What can I do?"

"I don't know," she admitted truthfully. "My master did not say. He told me to seek you out, and to speak also to any and all other seers, or wizards or magicians I might encounter."

Perhaps this priest thought that the Seer would spread the word, until eventually the news reached someone in a position to act upon it. That made sense, though he found himself resenting slightly the implication that he was a gossip. As a matter of fact, though there was no way the priest could know it, he would see that the news, once verified, did indeed reach those who could respond appropriately; he would send a message to the Council of the Most High, of which he was a very junior and peripheral member. No priest would know that the Council existed, though; it had been a lucky chance, he was sure, that brought this young woman-whoever she was-to one of the councilors.

Surely it could be nothing more than that.

"I see," he said. "Very well, then. You have done your duty." He wondered if he should pursue the question of her identity, but decided against it. Every sect in the city was dedicated to darkness, in one way or another, and every sect apparently had been affronted by Garth. It mattered little, he thought, which one had chosen to take action.

There was the question, though, of how word had been received from Skelleth in a fourth the time it took a man with, a good horse to cover the intervening distance. Perhaps one of the priests had a hireling wizard with a scrying glass. That might be dangerous.

It wasn't his concern, however. He would contact the Council, tell them everything he knew on the subject, and let them worry about it. His place was here in Weideth, tending to the needs of the villagers, guarding and interpreting the prophecies of his forebears.

He downed the rest of his wine and rose. The girl rose as well. He nodded politely to her and turned to go.

The Aghadite watched the gray-robed man leave with her contempt scarcely hidden. The fool had hardly questioned her at all! He had asked for no proof, no details of Skelleth's destruction. He had hot questioned her motives nor divined her identity. He had not even taken the trouble to ask her to show her face!

He was probably a worthless drunkard, she decided, whatever talent he might possess.

It didn't matter; all that mattered was that she had done what Haggat had ordered and delivered the message. Her part was finished. She could not imagine what good it could do to inform this third-rate oracle of Garth's actions-but she was still a novice in the ways of intrigue. Haggat knew what he was doing, she was sure.

And if he didn't, if the whole thing turned bad, that was all right, too; she would use the failure to ruin Haggat and enhance her own position in the cult. She could advance with equal ease, she knew, either by allowing herself to be-pulled along in Haggat's wake or by stabbing him in the back.