Their elder brother Nogah, who was the captain of their little company, turnedin his saddle, said, "Well spoken, Medjhah. Yoseh, we're not here to die forthe ferrenghi. We're here to take their wages."

Yoseh grunted. Ahead, one of the children had gone to the side of the street to talk to a crone seated on a mat. Old people lined the street on both sides, some on mats, some seated on steps, some trying to hawk, some just watchingthe parade of life. It was a miracle they did not get trampled.

The crone pointed. The boy looked, saw Yoseh and his companions. His eyesbugged. He yipped and dashed into the crowd.

"You see?" Medjhah said. "The streets of Qushmarrah are free of heresy andsedition."

The others laughed. Yoseh did not. As the youngest he was always the brunt oftheir humor. He looked at the old woman. She looked back, her face as empty asa statue's. But he could sense the angry hatred within, like the lakes ofmolten rock simmering deep within the holy mountain Khared Dun. Sometimes thegod in the mountain became angry enough to spew fiery destruction upon anyoneunfortunate enough to be nearby. The crone reminded him of the holy mountain.

That old woman had lost somebody at Dak-es-Souetta.

He felt the heat climb his cheeks. He tore his gaze from the old woman andcalled up all his Dartar contempt for city dwellers. But the embarrassmentcontinued to mount. He had forgotten what he was. Now all these sessile goatflops would see a Dartar betraying his feelings.

Yoseh was very conscious of his youth, of his inexperience, of the unfadednewness of the manhood tattoos upon his face, and of the lance across his lap.

Medjhah assured him that the self-consciousness would pass, that none of thesecity veydeen even noticed.

Yoseh knew that. But knowing with the head and knowing with the heart could beseparated by the journey of the hundred nights.

Someone shouted. Yoseh saw the children rush to the side of the street. Adults followed after more shouts. The children seemed distressed.

Nogah yelled. He begun swinging the butt of his lance, urging his horsethrough the press. Yoseh did not understand. He had difficulties with thecants and dialects of Qushmarrah. But something was happening that Nogahconsidered to be within their venue. He kicked his mount. The camel promptlytried to take a bite out of the nearest citizen.

The crowd was thickest around the mouth of an alley about four feet wide. Thechildren clustered and raised a repetitive wailing chant that sounded like,

"Bedija ghal Bedija gha!"

Nogah shouted at Faruk. Faruk sounded the horn that would summon any Dartar orferrenghi troops within hearing. The crowd began to thin immediately. Nogahsaid, "Yoseh, Medjhah, Kosuth, go in there after them. The rest of us will tryto get around and cut them off. You. Boy. Hold these animals."

The Dartars dismounted in a clatter. Still baffled, Yoseh followed his brotherand cousin into the dark, dank, stinking alleyway. His lance was unwieldy inthat narrow passage.

Fifty feet in they heard a cry. It sounded like an echoing call for help.

Twenty feet onward the alley split at right angles. They paused, listened.

Medjhah shrugged, said, "This way," and turned to his right.

Ten steps. That cry again, from behind. The Dartars turned and ran the otherdirection, Yoseh now in the lead and more bewildered than ever. He kept hislancehead extended before him.

Fifty yards. A hundred. All upslope, tiring. "Slow down," Medjhah said. "Let'sbe careful. It could be a trap." The veydeen were not all passive about theoccupation.

A whisper of scuffling came from up ahead.

The alley bent to the right. Yoseh dashed around the angle and sensed apresence. It resolved into vague shapes struggling. A man trying to drag aboy. Panic swept the man's face momentarily. Then he flung a hand towardYoseh.

The alley filled with a blinding light and heat and a child's cry of despair.

Yoseh went down as Medjhah and Kosuth stumbled into him from behind. The fireburned like the furnaces of hell.

"Gorloch, thou art merciful," Azel murmured as he watched the target takesomething from an older boy and hurry toward the alley whence he watched. Hehad anticipated a long and difficult stalk. They had become wary. But thisbird was flying to the snare like it wanted to be caught.

What the hell was the kid lugging? A goddamned skull. Where the hell did heget that?

Azel fell back a few steps, hoping the kid's eyes would be used to the glareoff the bay and he would come into the alley blind.

No such luck. The kid was not seeing good, but he was seeing good enough. Hestopped a dozen feet too soon.

"Bring it here, boy. Give it to me." The kid moved some. Not enough. He wasn'tcompletely unwary. "Will you hurry it up?"

That got the brat close enough. Azel leaped, grabbed. The kid started yelling.

Azel made him give his name. Taking the wrong brat would be worse than doingnothing.

The kid kicked and yelled and flailed around with the skull. Azel ignoredthat, backed up, watched the brats at the alley's mouth, yelling themselves.

Then figures in black appeared, their weapons glittering.

Azel cursed. "Dartars. Where the hell did they come from?" Fear snapped athim. He spent a part of it by yanking the boy violently. He would lose thosewhoreson turncoats in the maze webbing the Shu quarter south of Char Street.

No one alive knew that one better.

Only the brat wouldn't let him get the head start he needed. He kept onfighting and kicking, yelling and tripping. Azel smacked him around as much ashe dared, but not as much as he wanted. There would be no tolerance shown ifhe delivered damaged goods.

Then they were there in the labyrinth with him, the mercenary betrayers, withabsolute terror coursing before them, and for the first time ever Azel foundhimself compelled to employ his penultimate recourse.

The ultimate recourse fluttered blackly behind his lids as he clung to thebrat with one hand while flinging the contents of the envelope, his eyessealed.

Heat drove him back.

The Dartars cursed and clattered into one another. The kid squealed and quitstruggling. Azel opened his eyes. "That's more like it, you little bastard."

He glared at the Dartars. If he didn't have to keep the kid in hand he wouldstick them with their own spears.

He grabbed up the by now passive boy and draped him over his shoulder. The boyclung to the skull as though it was a protective talisman.

This time it was hard. This time it took all his knowledge of the labyrinth tolose the hunters. Dartars and Herodians and angry citizens were everywhere.

Azel zigged and dodged and at times even crouched in hiding, the kid clampedhelpless and silent in his arms. Of all the damnable luck, those black-clothedcamel jockeys turning up when they did.

There was a warning in what had happened. The easy times were over. And theywere barely past halfway down the list. With Gorloch knew how many more yet tobe discovered.

There was going to be some serious talk after he made this delivery. No waywas he going out again with nothing but a pack of flash to cover his ass.

He reached the outlet from the maze that lay nearest his destination. The bratstarted to struggle again, but that did not last. And he finally turned looseof the damned skull.

Azel scanned the square he had to cross. He saw no sign of excitement. He haddistanced the hunt but probably not the news that a child had been snatched.

Should he try it now, in the long shadows of afternoon, or await the friendlydarkness?

The square was almost empty. The kid was out of fight again. Gorloch knew whatmight creep out of the labyrinth behind him if he sat on his hands.

He grabbed the brat's paw and headed out, fast, like an angry parent. The kidstumbled and whimpered, and that fed the illusion.