Vaulting up on his bay, he wondered if Ischade was right-if he didn't need torisk all this manpower, if magic- hers and Randal's-alone could win the day.

He didn't like to think that way; he was used to letting Crit do his tacticalthinking for him; in times like this, a man who was half a Sacred Band pairsorely missed his partner.

And so, thinking more about who was absent than who was present, he urged hishorse into a lope and sought the firegate, not realizing until a shape hoveredin midair beside him that Randal, on a cloud-effigy of a horse, had drawnalongside.

"In her witching room, he is!" Randal shouted, his face white beneath itsblanket of freckles. "And he's yet salvageable, if we can get him out. But itwon't be easy- he's totally entranced. I couldn't rouse him in my mongoose form.I'll seek my power globe now and do my best. Fare well, Straton! May the Writprotect us all!"

And his nonhorse thundered away on unhooves.

Craziest damn way to run a war! Strat had come back to Sanctuary to get awayfrom just this sort of thing.

The firewall, around him hot and snapping, gave matters the immediacy of battle,the plain-and-simple truth of life and death.

The fire was just a little out of control, and his horse had to leap hot flames.Within, sod was beginning to smoke and combust, sparks flew, men yelled andsquirted water on themselves and their mounts as they let fly with flamingarrows and urged skittish horses toward Roxane's front door.

Strat's plan was to ride roughshod right into Roxane's house, snatch Sync, andget out before she could bewitch them.

It wasn't a plan such as his partner might have made, and he was aware that hemight rescue one soldier only to lose another-or others-to Roxane, but he had todo something.

Just as he'd finally convinced his horse of this, and was ready to lead hisreformed group up her smoking stairs, an apparition appeared in the doorway:Ischade stood there, with Sync, his arm over her shoulder, and they walkedcalmly out onto the veranda and down the steps, onto a lawn spurting sparks andyoung flames.

Men whooped and raced toward her. Sync, beside her, looked around calmly, hisbrow knitted as if a slightly amusing problem had him distracted.

Strat, wondering if he was dreaming-if it could really be this easy-got therefast, and with Ischade's help pulled Sync up behind him on the horse.

The fire was loud, and hot, and the horses and men milling around them made talknearly impossible. But Strat bellowed to the man next to him: "Put her up beforeyou. Let's get out of here!"

The Stepson's mouth formed the word: "Who?"

Strat looked back down, and Ischade was gone. So he gave the signal to end thesack, and with Sync holding tight to his waist, aimed his sweating horse at anarrowing portal in the flames.

In the thick of Downwind, it was nearly dusk, but the flames from the southeastmade a second sunset which wouldn't die.

Zip was in a twilight all his own, stumbling from sewer to alley to dungheap,one hand against his bleeding side, nearly doubled over from the pain.

He'd been stabbed before, beaten often, starved and fevered in the course oflife, but never so close to death as this.

He'd pulled the barbed missile out; he didn't understand why it hurt worse now,not less.

He was sick to his stomach and only intermittently did he recall hisdetermination to get home. Home to his own safe haven, or home to Mama Becho's,where someone would tend him, home to... anywhere where he could lie down, wherethe Beysibs or the Stepsons or the 3rd Commando or the army wouldn't find him.

He was sweating and he was thirsty and he was nauseated. There was a red filmbefore his eyes that made it hard to tell which comer he was on.

If he was lost in Downwind, he was nearly dead: he knew those streets like heknew the tunnels, the sewers... the sewers. If he could find a rat-hole, hecould curl up in one; he didn't want to die in public. That thought, and thatalone, kept him on his feet just long enough for him to stumble into Ratfall,where people knew him.

He heard his name called, but he was down on his knees by then, with his headbetween them. The only thing he could do was curl up before he passed out.

When he woke he was under blankets; there was a cool cloth on his head.

When he could he reached up and grabbed the hand there, held tight to someone'swrist.

He opened his eyes, and a face swam, unrecognizable above him. A voice from thatdirection said, "Don't try to talk. The worst is over. You'll be all right ifyou just drink this."

Something was pushed between his lips-hard like clay or metal; it grated on histeeth. Then his head was raised by another's will and liquid spilled down histhroat.

He choked, sputtered, then remembered how to swallow. When he couldn't swallowmore, someone wiped his lips and then his chin.

"Good, good boy," he heard. Then he slept a sleep in which his side burned andflamed and he kept trying to put the fire out, but it kept starting up fromashes, and his body walked away from him, leaving him invisible and lonely on adeserted Downwind street.

When he woke again, he smelled something: chicken.

He opened his eyes, and the room didn't spin. He tried to sit up, and then itdid.

Voices mumbled just beyond earshot, and then a form bent over him. Long blackhair brushed his cheek.

"That's a good one; here you go, drink this," said a blurry face.

He did, and well-being surged through him. Then his vision cleared, and he sawwhose face it was: the lady fighter, Kama of the 3rd Commando, was tending him.Behind her, the soldier-mage Randal craned his swanlike neck and rubbed hishands.

"Better, you're right, Kama," said the mage judiciously, and then: "I'll leaveyou. If you need me, I'll be right outside."

As the door closed and he was alone with his enemy, Zip tried to push himself upon his arms. He didn't have the strength. He wanted to run, but he couldn't evenraise his head. He'd heard all about Straton's skill at interrogation. He'd havebeen better off dead in the street than being alive and at the mercy of such asthese.

She sat on the bed next to him and took his hand.

He tensed, thinking: Now it will begin. Torture. Drugs. They've saved me onedeath to offer me another.

She said, "I've wanted to do this ever since I first saw you." Leaning close,she kissed him on the lips.

When she sat up straight, she smiled.

He didn't have the energy to ask her what she had in mind for him, or what thekiss was meant to mean; he couldn't find his voice.

But she said: "It was a mistake. Gayle didn't understand what you were trying todo. We're all sorry. You just relax and get better. We'll take care of you. I'lltake care of you. If you can hear me, blink."

He blinked. If Kama of the 3rd Commando wanted to take care of him, he wasn't inany condition to argue.