Ischade's robe brushed him as she took her place. She knelt there all too closefor any comfort; she bent her head, bowed over, her hands on the wounded face.There was suddenly outcry, a struggling of limbs beneath them ... 'For the gods'sake!' Mradhon exclaimed, his gorge rising; he thrust at Ischade, shoved herback, froze at the lifting of her face, the direction of that basilisk stare athim.

'Pain is life,' she said.

And the boat began to move, slowly, like a dream, the while the wind swirledabout them and the river roared beneath. His companions - they were hazy shapesin the night about Ischade. The wounded man stirred and moaned, threateninginstability in the boat should his thrashing become severe. Mradhon reached downand held him, gently. The witch touched him too, and the struggles took harderand harder restraint. The moans were pitiful.

'He will live,' she said. 'Stilcho. I am calling you. Come back.'

The Stepson cried out, once, sharply, back arching, but the river took thesound.

It was a boat, running on the flood. Erato saw it, his first thought that someriverfisher's skiff had come untied in the White Foal's violence.

But the boat came skimming, running slowly like a cloud before the wind acrossthe current, in a straight line no boat could achieve in any river. Eratostirred in his concealment, hair rising at his nape. He scrambled higher amongstthe brush, disturbed one of his men.

'Pass the word,' he said. 'Something's coming.'

'Where?'

'River.'

That got a stare, a silence in the dark.

'Get the rest,' Erato hissed, shoving at the man. 'They're going to come ashore.Hear me? Tell them pass it on. The back of the house: that's where they'llcome.'

The man went. Erato slipped along the bank at the same level, towards thebrambles, which served as effective barrier. The house they watched - they didnot venture liberties with it, did not try the low iron gate, the hedges. Tryreason, he thought. He was in command. It was on him to try reason with thewitch; and it had to be the witch out there: there was nothing in all sanitythat ought to be doing what that boat did. He moved quietly, gathered up menhere and there while the boat came on.

The bow grated on to rock and kept grating, pushing itself ashore, and theStepson moaned anew, leaning against the gunwales of the boat.

'Bring him,' Ischade said, and Mradhon looked up as the witch stepped ashore, onthe landing which rose in steps up to the brambles. He flung an arm about theStepson, accepted Haught's help as he stood up, as now the Stepson fought to gethis own feet under him, more than dead weight. The boat rocked as Mor-am wentpast and stepped out, close to Ischade. They went next, stepping over the bow tosolid if water-washed stone footing, and Moria came up by Haught's side, whileIschade stood gazing into the dark beside them.

Men were there, armed and armoured. A half a dozen visible. Stepsons.

The foremost came out a few steps. 'You surprise us,' that one said. 'You didit.'

'Yes,' Ischade said. 'Now go away. Be wise.'

'Our man -'

'Not yours,' she said.

'There's more of them,' Mradhon muttered to her; there was the light of torchesup on the height of the bank, just the merest wink of red through the brush.'Give him over, woman.' He was holding the Stepson still, and the man wasstanding much on his own between himself and Haught, standing, having nostrength, perhaps, to speak for himself. Or no will to do so - as there seemed acurious lack of initiative on the part of the Stepsons who faced them in thedark.

'Go away,' Ischade said, and walked past, walked up to the iron gate that closedthe bramble hedge at the back of her house. She turned there and looked back atthem, lifted her hand.

Come. Mradhon felt it, a shiver in his nerves. The man they were carrying took astep on his own, faltering, and they went on carrying him, up the steps, to thegate Ischade held open for them, into a garden overgrown with weeds and brush.The back door of the house swung open abruptly, gaping dark; and they wenttowards this, up the backdoor steps - heard hasty footfalls behind them, Moria'sswift pace, Mor-am's dragging foot. The iron gate creaked shut.

'Get him in,' Ischade hissed at their backs; and there was not, at the moment,any choice.

Light flickered, the beginnings of fire in the fireplace, candles beginning tolight all at once. Mradhon looked about in panic, at too many windows, a housetoo open to defend. The Stepson dragged at him. He sought a place and withHaught's help bestowed the man on the orange silk-strewn bed, the gruesomenessof it all niggling at his mind - that and the windows. He looked about, sawMoria close to the shelf-cluttered wall, by the window - saw the gleam of firethrough the shutter-slats.

'Come out!' a thin voice cried, 'or burn inside.'

'The hedges,' Haught said, and Ischade's face was set and cold. She lifted herhand, waved it as at inconsequence. The lights all brightened, all about theroom, white as day.

'The hedges,' said Mor-am. 'They'll burn.'

'They're close.' Moria had sneaked a look, got back to the safe solidity of thewall. 'They're moving up.'

Ischade ignored them all. She brought a bowl, dipped a rag, laid a wet cloth onthe Stepson's ravaged face, so, so tenderly. Straightened his hair. 'Stilcho,'she addressed the man. 'Lie easy now. They'll not come inside.'

'They won't need to,' Mradhon said between his teeth. 'Woman, they don't care ifhe fries along with us. If you've got a trick, use it. Now.'

'This is your warning,' the voice came from outside the walls. 'Come out orburn!'

Ischade straightened.

Beyond the window slats a fire arced, flared. Kept flaring, sun-bright. Therewere screams, a rush of wind. Mradhon whirled, saw the blaze of light at everywindow and Ischade standing black and still in the midst of them, her eyes -

He averted his, gazed at Haught's pale face. And the screams went on outside.Fire roared like a furnace about the house, went from white to red to whiteagain outside, and the screams died.

There was silence then. The fire-glow vanished. Even the light of the candles,the fire in the fireplace sank lower. He turned towards Ischade, saw her let goa breath. Her face - he had never seen it angry; and saw it now.

But she walked to a table, quietly poured wine, a rich, rich red. She turned upother cups, two, four, the sixth. She filled only the one. 'Make yourselves athome,' she said. 'Food, if you wish it. Drink. It will be safe for you. I saythat it is.'

None of them moved. Not one. Ischade drained her cup and drew a quiet breath.

'There is night left,' she said. 'An hour or more to dawn. Sit down. Sit downwhere you choose.'

And she set the cup aside. She took off her cloak, draped it over a chair, bentand pulled off one boot and the other, then rose to stand barefoot on the litterthat carpeted this place; she drew off her rings and cast them on the table,looked up again, for still no one had moved.

'Please yourselves,' she said, and her eyes masked in insouciance something verydark.

Mradhon edged back.

'I would not,' she said, 'try the door. Not now.'

She walked out to the middle of the silk-strewn floor. 'Stilcho,' she said; anda man who had been near dead moved, tried to sit.

'Don't,' Moria said, a strangled, small voice - not love of Stepsons, it wassure; Mradhon felt the same, a knot of sickness in his throat.

Ischade held out her hands. The Stepson rose, swayed, walked to her. She tookhis hands, drew him to sit, with her, on the floor; he knelt, carefully.