He was tearing at his own clothing, yanking his trousers open and shoving them down, his lust further inflamed by the sight of her slender body. He half stumbled and lurched closer, his meaty hands grasping and clawing at her naked flesh.

Roxanne made a last desperate bid for freedom, ordering her drained muscles to offer up what strength they had left. But the effort was little more than a jerk, and cost her almost unimaginable pain as the men tightened their grip on her arms.

"Hold her," the one pawing her grunted as he reached a hand down to guide himself. "Hold her-"

She didn't have the strength to fight, the breath to scream, or the will to die. The tears she might have shed were burned dry by her hatred before they could escape her eyes. She stared over his shoulder at tiny distant lights high on the highest mountain, and tried to detach her mind from the agony and degradation of what he was doing to her.

They were laughing. The other two, the ones holding her, were laughing and fondling themselves with their free hands, waiting for their turn. They would take turns with her all night, using her again and again until dawn stole their courage and sent them slinking away from what would be left of her.

She couldn't… couldn't… Something inside her snapped, and the pain was gone. She didn't feel anything at all. Or hear anything. Or see anything.

Tremayne drew his cloak about him to protect against the chill of the night air, and leaned against the balustrade. Far below, the valley was spread out in the peculiar flickering darkness of an Atlantia night; up here atop the tallest of the seven mountains that ringed the valley, the air was clear and sharp. Sound carried well up here.

Especially some sounds.

He tried to dose his mind to what was happening at the other end of the terrace, not so much disturbed as disgusted. His "uncle" Varian-the title was actually one of respect, since their familial connection was distant-was entertaining his favorite concubine, a plump village girl of perhaps eighteen who had already borne him four sons and who was eagerly at work to accept a fifth into her womb. Varian tended to get sons on his women; his favoritism toward the improbably named Virginia stemmed more from her energetic lustiness than her fertility.

They were rutting now on a pile of cushions at the opposite end of the terrace, some sixty feet from Tremayne, and he knew it would not disturb his uncle at all if he went over and pulled up a chair to watch; Varian, upon occasion, enjoyed performing for an audience-usually made up of his sons.

Tremayne, however, was no voyeur. He would have much preferred to go inside, but knew only too well that his "cousins" were engaged in activities similar to those of their sire. He doubted he could find an empty room.

So, dosing his ears to the sighs and moans coming from that end of the terrace, he gazed out over the valley and let his thoughts wander. They were disjointed, as thoughts often are, skipping across his mind like stones on a pond. Occasionally one would drop and cause ripples that circled outward.

The lady. No, don't think of her. Think of something that won't drive you mad. Your father sent you back here to Atlantia to find out why the earthquakes have worsened, why the tides are erratic, and why even across the sea the flickering clouds above this continent are visible. All the wizards outside Atlantia are worried-and now you know why.

Yes, he knew why. Because here on this isolated island continent, ambition and greed had ran rampant. An old civilization was splintering, the population teetering on the brink of extinction, the very ground beneath them shuddering in the first throes of death.

The Master wizards here saw themselves as gods. Especially Varian.

After being in this house for several months, Tremayne had come to the conclusion that Varian was a glutton, his appetites insatiable. He was a glutton for food, but since he was also a glutton for sex, perhaps he needed the energy. He was a glutton for power. He was obsessed with the determination to rule Atlantia, whatever the cost-and his frantic begetting of sons on every powerless female capable of bearing them was only one of the strands of his web.

Varian, Tremayne had realized, intended quite literally to people the wizard population with his offspring and eventually crowd out all other male wizards. He was confident of his ability to control his sons-with some justification, Tremayne thought-and equally scornful of the other Master wizards' less energetic reproductive abilities. As for the female wizards, he was plotting even now to find a way to destroy their Sanctuary and them.

He'd steal their powers if he could-and he hasn't given up the idea of that yet. He hates and fears them, but he can't help wondering… It's all that's forbidden to him, taking a woman of power into his bed. One day his lust may overcome even his fear of vulnerability, and he'll risk his life to satisfy his urges.

Somewhat grimly Tremayne wondered if Varian had considered the fact that by slaughtering their female infants and busily using the available powerless women as broodmares, he and his male offspring were steadily destroying the balance of the population. Probably not. Though there was a certain cunning in his nature, Varian's appetites overwhelmed any rational overview of the future. His obsessions were blind, deaf, and mute.

"Alone again? God rot you, Tremayne, it isn't natural for a man your age to ignore bitches the way you do!"

Tremayne glanced briefly aside to find his uncle, stark naked despite the chill of the air, staring at him with a frown.

"Didn't you take a fancy to that black-haired bitch who was twitching her teats at you during supper?" Varian asked, leaning an elbow on the balustrade as he looked at the younger man.

Tremayne had once objected to his uncle's degrading terms for women-powerless women were bitches to him, and female wizards were whores-but Varian had only laughed at him. Having always considered himself rough-mannered, Tremayne knew that here in his uncle's house, and perhaps in Atlantia itself, he was by comparison a veritable gentleman.

"No," he said finally, his voice even. "She was very pretty, but I won't bed a child half my age."

Varian looked surprised. "A child? Fifteen's a bitch all filled out and haired over. Why, I got a boy on her… let's see, must be a year ago. You have to get 'em while they're fresh, man, not dried up and stretched out of shape."

For a brief moment Tremayne felt curiously detached. He was, he realized, listening to a Master wizard, probably the most powerful one in the world, and this supposed giant had absolutely nothing on his mind except breeding. Varian was barely forty, just ten years older than Tremayne. He had more than sixty of his sons in residence (those deemed too young to be sexually active occupied a house nearby), triple that number of girls and women in various stages of being impregnated, a home that was a virtual palace, and any luxury he could wish quite literally his for a snap of his fingers.

Tremayne imagined Varian and his offspring breeding like rabbits for another thirty years, and into his mind crept the dear, cold awareness that they would have to be stopped. Somehow. Before Atlantia broke under the weight.

"You worry me, Tremayne," Varian said.

Tremayne looked at him, not for the first time grateful that his own considerable abilities shielded his thoughts from even a Master wizard. "Would it ease your mind if I told you I kept a mistress in Sanctuary?" he asked dryly.

Varian's frown cleared, though the twist of his full lips indicated scorn for a man who could be satisfied with only one woman. "I suppose that's where you were all afternoon?"