'Give him to me,' Ischade said very quietly, as if everything was sleeping andvoices ought to be hushed. 'Mradhon Vis -' She had never looked around, and knewhim, somehow, by means that set his teeth on edge. So did calling his name here.'This man they have. Get him up. Whatever you can do for him. Mor-am knows theway.'

He looked past her, to the wretch on the floor, to what this ragged, awful crowdhad left of a man. He had seen corpses, of various kinds. This one looked worsethan most and might still be alive, which daunted him more than death. But itwas a question of downhill. He walked in, among the beggar-horde, among raggedmen and women. Gods! there was a child, feral, with a rat's sharp, frozen grin.He bent above this seeming corpse and picked it up. not even thinking of brokenbones, only struggling with limp weight; the head lolled. It only had one eye.Blood was everywhere.

Haught met him, passing Ischade, got the other arm of this perhaps-living thing,and they took it to the door. Moria was there. Mor-am stood against the wall.

'Mor-am,' Ischade said, never turning her head. 'Remember.' And more quietly:'Get him away now. I have further dealings with these here.'

The nightmare lasted. The silence held, that chill quiet lying over all thealley with its sea of tents. Not the look of her eyes that had wrought thisquiet, no, Mradhon reckoned, but some subtler spell. Or fear. Perhaps they knewher. Perhaps here in Downwind she was better understood than across the river,for what she was, and what her visitations meant.

'Come on,' Mradhon said. He heaved the limp arm further across his shoulder.'Gods blast you,' he said to Moria, 'get going -' for Mor-am began to run,limping, down the lane between the tents and shelters, off into the dark.

It would hold, he thought, only so long as Ischade was in the way, only so longas Ischade dealt with Moruth, who was somewhere in that room. What estate woulddistinguish a beggar king, he wondered in a mad distraction, panting through thetents, managing with Haught to drag the bleeding half-corpse past obstacles,boxes, litter and heaped-up offal of the beggar-king's court. He wished he hadknown the face, had gotten the image clear, but he had focused clearly on noneof them, not one, the way he had not focused on the man he was carrying. He hadnightmares enough to last him; he bore this one with him, past the end of thestreet, around the corner. He twisted his neck to look to his side.

'Moria. Little fool,' he panted, 'get up ahead, get in front of us, don'tstraggle.'

'Where's my brother?' she asked, her voice verging on panic. She had her knife;he saw the dull gleam. 'Where has he gotten to?'

'Back to the street,' Haught guessed, between breaths, and they laboured along,dragging the dead weight, back the way they had come. No sign of Mor-am.Nothing.

'Bridge,' Mradhon gasped, working with Haught to run with their burden as bestthey could. 'Stepsons want this bastard, they get themselves out there and holdthat Ils-forsaken bridge.'

It was a long way through the streets, a long, long course, the noise of theirfootsteps, of their ragged breathing like the movement of an army. Moria ranahead of them, checked comers.

Then one moment she failed to bob into sight again. Haught began to pullforward, doubling his pace. Mradhon resisted.

Then Moria reappeared, dodging round the comer, flat shadow, her hand up as ifthe knife was in it, and another shadow came shambling round wide of her,standing in the way - Mor-am was back.

'B-b-boat,' he said. His breath came raw and hoarse. 'Sh-she says - this pplace. 0 g-g-gods, c-come on.'

'The river's up,' Mradhon hissed, the limp weight sagging against his shoulder,the feel of chase behind. 'The river's up to the bridge bottom, hear? No boatcan handle that current.'

'Sh-she says. C-come.'

Mor-am lurched off, dragging one foot. Moria stood where she was, plastered tothe wall. Wrong, a small faint voice was saying inside Mradhon Vis, a pricklingof his nerves where Moria's twin was concerned. And another voice said she. Theriver. Ischade.

'Come on,' he said, deciding, and Haught shouldered up his side as they headedafter Mor-am.

Moria cursed as they passed and came too, jogging along with them in the dark,under the dripping eaves. She took the lead again, serving as their eyes in thiswinding gut of a street.

Now there were sounds, many of them.

'Behind us,' Haught gasped; and where they were Mradhon could not have sworn,but it sounded like behind. He threw all he had into running, pulled a stitch inhis side as Haught stumbled and recovered, and now Moria was gone again, in theturning of the streets.

They staggered the last alley and on to the downslope to the river, splashingthrough the outpourings of Downwind's streets, past a low wall and down again.'This way,' Moria said, materializing again out of the brushy dark, in the soundof the river, which lay like a black gulf downslope. Mradhon went, steadied hisfooting for Haught's sake. There was the reek of blood from their unconsciousburden, and now the taste of it was in Mradhon's mouth, coppery; his lungsached; he was blind except that Moria was at his nght telling him come on, comeon, down to the river, to the flooded dark, the curling waters that could snatchany misstep and make it fatal. He flung his head up, sweat running in his eyes,sucked air, staggered on the uneven stony shore and nearly went to his knees onthe rain-slick rock.

There was a boat. He saw Mor-am struggling with it, and Moria running to it, ablack shell amid the brush, not distinguishable as a boat if he had not knownwhat it was. There was a muddy slide: boats were launched here, from Downwind,in sane weather, when the river was tamer. But this one hit the water androde calm, stayed close as if there were no currents tearing at it, as if itand the river obeyed two madly different laws.

'G-get him in,' Mor-am said, and coming to the edge, Mradhon took the limpweight all to his side, going into water to the knee to reach the boat,staggering as he flung the body down. The boat hardly rocked. He gripped theside of it, stood there, uselessly, to steady it. Haught crouched on the muddyshore, head down, breathing in great gulps.

'Sh-she said w-wait,' Mor-am said.

Mradhon stood, still leaning on the side, his feet going numb and the sweatpouring down his face into his eyes. Go out in this against orders - no. He sawMoria collapsed, head and arms between her knees, in the clearing of the skythat afforded them some starlight; saw Mor-am's hooded shape standing furtherup, holding to the rope. When he glanced across the river, he could seeSanctuary's lights, few at this hour, could see the bridge, sane andreasonable crossing.

And from the man they had carried all this way, there was no sound, no movement- dead, Mradhon thought. They had just carried a corpse away from Moruth; andeveryone was robbed.

Stones rattled, high among the brush. Heads lifted, all round; and she wasthere, coming down, gliding down the rocks like a fall of living dark, makingonly occasional sound. 'So,' she said, reaching them. She put out a hand andbrushed Mor-am. 'You've redeemed yourself.'

He said nothing, but limped down to the water's edge, and Haught and Moria wereon their feet.

'Get in,' said Ischade. 'It will take us all.'

Mradhon climbed aboard, stepping over the corpse, which moved, which moaned, andhis nerves prickled at that unexpected life. Greater mercy, he thought, withthis stirring between his feet, to use the sword: he had seen deaths such asthis Stepson faced when the wounds went bad, the gaping socket of the missingeye thus close to the brain - it would be bad, he thought, while the boat rockedwith the others getting in. He reached over the side, dipped up water with hishand, passed it over the Stepson's lips, felt movement in response.