And Kama, sensitive in her way, dutifully gave him half of all she made.

So Hakiem was watching, paring a bunion where he sat on a splintered keg, whileKama pleased her listeners, when a dark tall youth with a week-old beard and ablack sweat-band tied around his head eased toward Kama through the crowd.

It was Zip, and Hakiem wasn't the only one who marked him: Gayle, a foul-mouthedmercenary who'd joined the Stepsons in the north, was lounging between twopilings, as some Stepson always did when Kama was on the streets.

Hakiem saw Kama pale as the scruffy, flat-faced Ilsig caught her eye. She losther train of thought, polished phrases turned to incoherent clauses, and sheskipped to her story's ending so abruptly her gathered clients muttered amongthemselves.

"That's all, townsfolk-all for today. I've got to leave you-nature calls. Andsince you haven't had your money's worth, this telling's on the house." Kamajumped down from the crates on which she'd sat, ignoring the rebel leader andheading straight for Hakiem, her hand nervously pulling hair back from her brow.

The youth followed. And so, at professional stalking distance, did the Stepson,Gayle.

"Hakiem," Kama whispered, "is he still there? Is he coming?"

"He? They're both coming, girl. And what of it? That's no way to build areputation, cutting half your story out and giving refunds before anybody'sasked...."

"You don't understand... Sync's gone missing. The last we saw of him, he waswith that gutterslime, the one from the meeting-Zip." As she spoke, Kama wastearing open her gearbag, in which metal clanked: this woman never went far fromher squadron without her cache of arms.

And up behind her, as she bent over her sack, came Zip, who grabbed her with acrooked elbow around her throat and pulled her back against some bales of clothbefore Hakiem could shout a warning or the Stepson, lurking at an appropriatedistance, could intercede in her behalf.

"Don't move, lady," Zip said harshly through gritted teeth. "Just call yourwatchdog off."

Kama gagged and struggled.

Gayle took a half-dozen running strides, then halted, frowning, sword drawn butfists upon his hips.

Zip did something to Kama that made her writhe, then stand up very straight."Tell him," he said, "to back off. I just want to give your bedmates a message.Tell him!"

"Gayle!" Kama's voice was thick, gutteral; her chin, in the crook of Zip'smuscular arm, quivered. "You heard him. Stand down."

The Stepson, uttering a stream of profanity built around a single word, hunkereddown, his sword across his knees.

"That's better," Zip whispered. "Now, listen close. You too, tale-spinner:Roxane's got Sync. He asked me to set up a meeting, and I did that. But whathappened after- that's no fault of mine. It might not be too late to save hissoul, if any of you care."

"Where?" Kama croaked. "Where has she got him?"

"Down by the White Foal-she's got a place there, south of Ischade's. The vetswill know where it is. But you tell 'em I told you-that it's not my fault. Andthat if they don't get to him fast, it'll be too late. Hit the place in thedaytime-there's no undeads around then, just some watchmen and a few snakes.Understand, lady?"

Again, he tightened his arm and Kama's head snapped back. Then he pushed herfrom him and jumped high, grabbed the rope on the bales behind him, swung up andover, and was gone, as far as Hakiem could tell.

Hakiem reached Kama first, coughing and trembling on the dockside. He was tryingto get her up, while she shrugged off his aid and tried to catch her breath,when he realized that the Stepson, Gayle, wasn't helping him.

Hakiem looked around just in time to see Gayle vault the bales after Zip,throwing-stars in hand, and let fly.

Kama saw it too, and screamed brokenly: "No! Gayle, no! He's trying to helpus...!"

"Pork help!" Gayle called back, just before he disappeared. "I hit him. He won'tget far-and if he does, the porker's done for, anyhow." Then Gayle toodisappeared.

"Done for?" Hakiem repeated dumbly. "What does he mean, Kama?"

"The stars." Kama got to her knees, her lips puffy, her expression unreadable.When she saw that Hakiem didn't understand, she added: "Those stars are what theBandarans call 'blossoms.' They're painted with poison." And, hands on herknees, bent over, she retched.

Hakiem was still digesting all of that when Kama straightened up, took a handfulof sharp-edged metal from her bag, and started climbing the bales.

"Where are you going, woman? What about the message?"

"Message?" Kama looked down at him from atop the bales. "Right. Message. Youtake it-tell Strat. He'll know what to do."

"But-"

"Don't 'but' me, old man. That boy's dead if I can't rein Gayle in and get tohim in time. We don't kill those who help us."

Like a doused flame, she was gone.

Strat would rather have been anywhere else than in the brush surroundingRoxane's Foalside haunt. He'd had experience with the Nisibisi witch before.

If he hadn't known that Hakiem was trustworthy, that Kama had disappeared,chasing after the street tough who'd brought the message, and that the successof the Stepson/3rd Commando mission into Sanctuary hinged on proving that Roxanecouldn't send them running with their tails between their legs, he'd have passedon this particular frontal assault.

As it was, he had no choice.

And he had a good chance of succeeding: he'd asked Ischade to come alone-she hadher own bones to pick with Roxane; he'd requisitioned enough incendiaries fromMarc's illicit store to send all of Sanctuary up in flames. And his men knew howto use them. The trick was getting Sync out of there before firing up thewitchy-roast.

Randal, their Tysian wizard, was sneaking around in mongoose form, right now,taking care of Roxane's snakes and reconnoitering the premises.

When they saw a hawk fly over, right to left, they'd light the horseshoe-shapedfire they'd prepared and rush the place: twenty mounted fighters ought to beable to do the job.

The horses were hooded, their blinders soaked with soda water. The men hadbladders of it on their saddles, to wet bandanas if the smoke got too thick.

Ischade was still beside him, in a meditative pose, whatever magic she was goingto field unrevealed.

She just waited, tiny and delicate and too pale in the light of day, her claretrobe pulled tight about her like a child in her mother's clothes.

"You can still walk away from this," Strat assured her with a gallantry hedidn't really feel. "It's not your fight."

"Is it not? It's yours, then?" Up rose Ischade, and suddenly she was terrifying,not small any longer, not the petite, sensual creature he'd brought here.

Her eyes were hellish and growing so large he thought he might be sucked insidethem; he recalled their first encounter, long ago, on a dark slum street, whenhe'd been with Crit and they'd seen those eyes floating over a teenage corpse.

He found he couldn't answer; he just shook his head.

The power that was Ischade bared its teeth at him, the kill-fervor there assharp as any Stepson's-or any night-mad wolf's. "I'll bring you your man. All ofthis"-Ischade spread a robed arm, and it was as if night split the day- "thatyou do is unnecessary. She owes me a person, and more. Wait here, you, and soonyou'll see."

"Sure thing, Ischade." Strat found himself squatting down, digging in the sodwith his brush-cutting knife. "I'll be right here."

He must have blinked, or looked away, or something- the next he knew, she wasgone, and a hawk's baby-cry resounded overhead, and men set their fires and ranfor their horses.