"I thought you could use it," Marissa said in her soft voice. Sarah smiled. Marissa was so thoughtful. At first Sarah had been put off by the other's title and light, Rankan good looks. Now she wondered if she could have made it this far without her friend.

"Thank you, Marissa. I think you're right." She took a sip of wine, letting the liquid numb her mouth, enjoying the sensation of it sliding down her throat.

"Cade's really getting to you, huh?" Marissa said with a raised eye- brow.

"Oh, that man. I don't understand him." Sarah's voice dropped to a whisper. "He frightens me."

Marissa laughed. "He frightens everyone," she answered, "even Targ."

"I can't believe that." Sarah considered the notion that anyone or anything could frighten Marissa's strange mercenary and found it ludi- crous. As ludicrous as, well, as thinking anything scared Cade.

"0h, it's true," Marissa said. "Targ snorts and struts around every time Cade walks into a room." She smiled though Sarah thought it looked a little strained. "I swear his hair stands orTend." Sarah laughed at that. Targ's excessive hairiness had been a running'joke between the two for some time. The thought of all that red hair standing up straight was amusing. "Just like a little porcupine," she said, and the two laughed again.

"Marissa," Sarah said, her voice losing all trace of amusement, "why have you hired more mercenaries?" Marissa was quiet. She hated this. She liked Sarah and longed to tell her the truth, all of it. The lies between the two of them kept them apart, but she owed people and she had always paid her debts.

"Well, I'll tell you, Sarah," she said. "This town, it is so dangerous, I just feel safer- Gods know I have the money to spare."

"How many did you hire?"

"Three, not counting Targ, of course." Marissa bit her lip. "I'll tell you a secret." She looked around- "I've told them to keep an eye out on your house, too. So that ..." She left the rest unfinished. Sarah looked away, but her hand patted her friend's knee briefly.

"Thank you, Marissa." She turned back. "But I don't think anyone is going to bother us with Cade around." She took a large swallow of wine. "You know why Cade is here, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. Again Sarah was struck by Marissa's odd unease at her words. Marissa was hiding something, but Sarah did not intend to pry, respect- ing the other's private pain.

"Yes," Marissa said, "yes, he's here to find Terrel's, uh, murderer."

"He is going to kill whoever is responsible, Marissa."

"Well, Terrel was his brother."

"I know, but it all seems"-Sarah shrugged-"so dramatic." Marissa laughed. "Oh, really, Sarah, that sounds so silly." "No, I'm serious." Sarah turned to her friend. "Six months ago I was the wife of a potter. I had"-she swept her arm in an arc behind her-"a nice house, nice things, two wonderful children, and a man I loved dearly," Marissa laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. "And now - . ." Sarah shook her head. "Now I don't know.

"My husband has been murdered, tortured to death in that same house, while my children and I slept. Why? I don't even know. Then this man shows up. This strange man. My husband's brother, but the two are not anything alike. My mysterious brother-in-law shows up. With his words and his armor, his dark looks, and dark ways. Suddenly, suddenly I find myself in the middle of a conspiracy, a piper's tale of murder and revenge." Sarah drank deeply again from the wine cup. "I don't under- stand anything anymore, Marissa, and I'm tired of being afraid."

Marissa had no answer for her. No words of comfort to offer. She knew all too well what it was like to fear, what it was like to have the world change overnight; to go from a warm, safe place to a world of sudden threats and shadows. What could she say to this woman? What comfort could she give, she who had no comfort in her own life?

"Sarah," she said aloud, "Sarah. I don't know what anyone can say or do to help. But I'll tell you one thing." She almost flinched when Sarah turned to face her with those dark, sad eyes. "I think there is more of Terrel in Cade than you think. No matter what happens, he will do everything he can to help you and I don't think it's only because his brother would have wanted him to."

It was cold comfort, but in this new world it was often the only hope

Sarah was allowed.

It took two more days for Targ and Cade to put the rest of the pieces together. That Terrel had been running something for the PFLS was definite; what he had been running was another thing. Why was still a mystery. But Cade now had the most important answer. The contact was in Downwind. Downwind-the one place in Sanctuary Cade had avoided, though in his heart he had known, from the beginning, that it would be his destination.

But first he must talk to Sarah again. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation. The woman was half terrified, half fascinated by him. He was afraid he would have to reveal too much to her. There were things he might have to say, show, things he could never take back. But he had to find out what she knew. Accordingly, after dinner he ordered the chil- dren to bed. This earned him a dark look from the woman, but he ig- nored it. He faced his brother's wife across a table still covered with the remnants of the meal.

"Sarah, we must talk."

"Indeed we must." Her voice was firm. "You can't order my children around like that. You have to-"

Cade interrupted. "No, Sarah, not now. We have to talk about Terrel." She grew quiet at that. "Sarah, Terrel was involved much more deeply with the PFLS than you thought."

"What do you mean?"

"He was running contraband for them."

"I know he gave them some money, but everybody was supporting one group or another."

"He was doing more than contributing a few spare coins." Cade sighed, his hand drumming against the table edge. "When Terrel stayed late, he was making pots, special pots."

"Cade, that is what he did for a living."

"I know that." Cade leaned over the table. "But these pots were built to hide things."

"What sort of things?"

"Who knows?" Cade shrugged. "Weapons, money, messages, even drugs, whatever it was doesn't matter now. What matters is that he did it for the PFLS. He was not just paying them; he was one of them."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it." Cade leaned back, staring at her. "I've discovered a whole underground organization, very well coordinated, slipping all sorts of things through the different control zones of the town. Terrel was part of it, and it's because of that he was killed."

"Why?"

"I'm still not entirely sure. Could have been a lot of reasons-one of the other factions found out, one of his own people betrayed him, per- haps even the PFLS themselves were the killers."

"But why? If he was helping them, why would they kill him?"

"Lots of reasons: a shipment got lost, an internal upheaval." His voice was bitter. "Sarah, this town was a mess, insane. No one knew who was in charge of what. The control areas changed daily, hourly. Somehow, someone decided Terrel had broken a rule, and they made him pay." Sarah's face was pale and her lips trembled, but she could think of noth- ing to say.

"Well." he continued, "there are a few things we can infer." He waited but she was still silent. "Okay, they didn't torture him for information."

"How do you know?"

"Because he was killed here, while you were sleeping. Yet you and the children never woke. Why? Magic-possibly. A sleeping draught-less likely. No one, anywhere, heard a sound the whole time Terrel was dying. I think magic, a spell to contain any sound he or his torturers made." He shook his head. "A lot of effort. Why not just kidnap him, take him somewhere else, interrogate him there? But, no, they did it here, there- fore it had to be for one of two reasons: to set an example, or to exact revenge. Probably revenge."

"I don't understand."

"If he was killed as an example, well, there were other ways they could have done it, less hazardous ways, and more obvious ones. Besides, as I said, lots of people were doing what Terrel did. He wasn't a big enough fish to go to such lengths for. No, it has to be vengeance." Cade ground his teeth together, the skin of his face pulled tight, making his scars stand out in high relief. "They broke every bone in his body, Sarah. Think about it. That's not a normal torture, and as far as I can discover no one else has been killed this way. He was killed that way because ... be- cause someone knew."

"About what happened, his hands," she said.

Cade looked surprised. So Terrel had told her. "Yes." He said no more.

The two sat, lost in their memories. She recalled a warm night, a storm coming in, her new husband sitting on the bed telling her the tale of his deformity in a monotone. He, his mother, and Cade had come to Down- wind; forced there because, with the death of their father there was no money, and there was no family to help them. Terrel's mother found what work she could, buying Terrel a slate, working hard to find the chalk. It had made it all livable for him, given him a hope for another way of life.

Then one day, four years after they had moved, a gang jumped him, breaking the slate, the chalk, and the fingers that loved to draw; maiming him for life, so he could never be the artist he dreamed about ...

But Cade had other memories. "Sarah." She looked up at him, now with a tear in her eye. "Terrel told you what happened. Do you know the rest?"

"The rest?"

So, Cade thought, he never knew. Well, that's something, I guess. Cade had never told anyone before, kept it to himself. Now he could not hold it in, though he could see no purpose in his honesty.

His voice was harsh. "He came home that night, his lip cut where he'd bitten it through, trying to hold back his cries. His hands-if he had come home sooner, maybe we could have set them. I don't know. They were ruined." He looked away from her. "He was in such pain.