From across the bridge, touched by the final, fading light of day, Malocchio Aderre called out. "This," he cried, indicating the carnage with a broad sweep of his arm, "this means nothing."

Without moving, Soth replied, "You are correct, child lord. I swept aside this attack as if it were nothing. So, too, with any other annoyances you send against me." He sheathed his sword. "We can agree to end this now, since 1 have no further time for such foolishness."

Malocchio ordered his remaining troops to mount. He lingered a moment longer, though, his black-clad form indistinguishable from the gathering gloom of night.

"You're correct, Soth," he said at last. "For now, you have more pressing problems than me, bogey men under your bed with prior claim. But you, Vistana-" again Malocchio Aderre warded himself "-I am your worst fear. I am your only fear."

With those words hanging in the air, Malocchio Aderre vanished. To their credit, the soldiers held their ground for almost ten seconds before fleeing headlong down the road.

"You are under my protection," was all Soth said as he turned and strode away from the bridge.

Magda Kulchevich found, some comfort in those words, but not nearly enough.

There was a dank coolness to the vardo that comforted Inza. The wagon's high shutters were open, which Magda never tolerated so late in the year, and the curtains were drawn tight to keep out even the starlight. The ashes were cold in the stove.

Magda was not there to object. Not two days after her encounter with Lord Aderre, she'd taken to the road, only Sabak by her side. The sudden leave-taking had surprised her troupe; though Inza and the others sometimes traveled for weeks on their own, Magda rarely spent more than a few hours away from the Wanderers. This time, though, she had been gone for eight days. The troupe still had no idea what quest had prompted her to abandon them so soon after Malocchio's threats and a battle that had clearly left her shaken.

Inza didn't really care why her mother had gone, only hoped that her business kept her for a while longer. Not too long, of course, but time enough for the girl to enjoy some privacy.

Except for the time it had taken to handle one minor task she could trust to no one else, Inza hadn't left the vardo for more than a few moments in the past eight days. Much of her time had been spent admiring the intricately carved wooden chest she'd retrieved from Ambrose. The box still held salt, payment for the other goods they'd traded to the mine store. Soon enough, though, the troupe would journey to the border and turn the salt into gold or wine or some other commodity with more value in Sithicus. When they had done so, she would have the chest for her treasures.

There was something hypnotic about the patterns on the chest's lid. Now, as she had done each night since her mother's departure, Inza carefully withdrew the chest from beneath her cot. She ran her fingers over the tangled vines. Not even the deep scratches left by some clumsy oaf at Ambrose's shop could diminish their appeal.

She might have spent hours contemplating those twisting, twining vines, had not a shrill cry from the camp disturbed her meditation.

"By Nuitari's black glow, who has done this?"

It was her mother's voice. Better that she's returned, Inza noted silently. Better that we get this unpleasantness over with.

The girl sighed, pushed herself to her feet, and brushed the dust from her scarlet skirt. Carefully, so as not to disturb any of the junk her mother so prized, she made her way to the entrance. Flinging aside the jewel-spangled cloth that served as the vardo's door, Inza stepped out into the night.

Magda stood beside the communal fire, her travel pack at her feet. Dust caked her boots and legs. Her cloak hung in tatters from her shoulders.

"Why, Mother," Inza said sweetly, "I'm glad you've come back to us. I was worried."

Inza danced down the wagon's steps and entangled her mother in a hug not all that dissimilar from the clinging embrace of the carved vines she so admired. "You must be exhausted," the girl said, still hanging from Magda's neck. "Rest by the fire and let me fix you something warm."

Magda was indeed tired, and a drink would have done much to improve her spirits, but she disentangled herself from her daughter's embrace and waved away her offers of hospitality. "I told you to look after him," she said. Her face flushed with anger.

Inza batted her lashes. "I don't know what you mean, Mother. Have I failed you somehow?"

"Don't play the cherub with me," Magda shouted, words hotter than the roaring fire. "You're too old for that role."

The raunie hefted her small travel pack and tossed it onto the vardo's steps. She walked slowly to stand over a bald Vistana, who was rolling in the dirt nearby. It was Bratu. The burly man seemed oblivious to everything around him save his tightly bandaged hands.

From the instant Magda branded Bratu an Oathbreaker, his mind had begun to fray at the edges. He had punctured his eardrums in hopes of silencing the Whispering Beast. When that did not hush the mysterious creature's voice, he tore off his own ears. Still Bratu heard the mutterings of his unseen accuser. Slowly, the sporadic murmuring became a constant litany. Every lie, every broken promise and dark deed, was chanted over and over, a never-ending recital of every crime and trespass. Day and night the accusations continued, until the man's mind unraveled completely.

Such was the possible fate of any Sithican caught betraying an oath. Elf or Vistani, peasant or nobleman, breaking one's word might draw the most unwelcome attention of the Whispering Beast down upon you. He did not stalk every liar, which made some dismiss the "Whispering Madness" as nothing more than the ravings of guilt-racked consciences. It was true, too, that some who had never been caught at their deception were driven mad by fearful anticipation, wondering when the whispering would start.

Only the Wanderers knew that the Beast's ire was always drawn to those who broke an oath publicly sworn, their betrayal publicly revealed. Magda had realized full well what the brand of Oathbreaker had meant to Bratu. The burly gypsy, too, had known of the risks when he breached the communal vow he'd sworn to her.

Magda detested meting out such cruel punishments, but she knew they were necessary if the Wanderers were to survive in Sithicus. In the wake of her harsh verdict, though, she also insisted that the troupe continue to care for Bratu. His fate was now in the hands of the Beast; his fellows would do nothing to make his life any harder.

As she stared down at the man, it was clear to the raunie that someone had disobeyed her. Bratu's mouth was caked with blood. His tongue had been torn out at the roots. Only one of her tribe would be so bold.

Magda turned to her daughter. "You did this," she rumbled.

"No!" Inza gaped in shock. "He did it himself."

"Through these?" Magda knelt and gently took one of the man's hands in hers. Thick bandages bound the fingers together. After Bratu had injured his ears the second time, the raunie herself had ordered his hands swaddled so. "You are a poor liar."

When Magda stood, all the anger was gone from her face. Her voice had no more emotion than Soth's. "I want to know why, Inza. Sit with me. Speak to me of reasons."

The Wanderers had learned to fear that command. Magda used it only when she herself could see no reason to allow a Vistana to stay with the tribe.

Inza decided there was no point in maintaining the facade of innocence any longer, so she settled on one of the chairs that had been drawn to the fire. As her mother saw to it that Bratu was bathed and his wounds given fresh dressings, the girl surveyed the camp. The remaining fifteen Wanderers had suddenly heard the urgent call of tasks inside their vardos and fled to them. Inza thought them cowards, but secretly wished she might run off as well. Her mother had reacted all out of proportion to her crimes, and Inza really didn't have the patience to coddle the old woman tonight.