And now it was being decreed in Mygdonia's tents that he must be removed fromthe field - taken out of play in this southern theatre, manoeuvred north wherethe warlocks could neutralize him. Such was the word her lover-lord had senther: move him north, or make him impotent where he stayed. The god he servedhere had been easier to rout. But she doubted that would incapacitate him; therewere other Storm Gods, and Tempus, who under a score of names had fought in moredimensions than she had ever visited, knew them all. Vashanka's denouement mightscare the Rankans and give the Ilsigs hope, but more than rumours andmanipulation of theomachy by even the finest witch would be needed to makeTempus fold his hands or bow his head. To make him run, then, was animpossibility. To lure him north, she hoped, was not. For this was no place forRoxane. Her nose was offended by the stench which blew east from Downwind andnorth from Fisherman's Row and west from the Maze and south from either theslaughterhouses or the palace - she'd not decided which.

So she had called a meeting, itself an audacious move, with her kind where theydwelled on Wizardwall's high peaks. When it was done, she was much weakened - itis no small feat to project one's soul so far - and unsatisfied. But she hadsubmitted her strategy and gotten approval, after a fashion, though it painedher to have to ask.

Having gotten it, she was about to set her plan in motion. To begin it, she hadcalled upon Lastel/One-Thumb and cried foul: 'Tempus's sister, Cime the freeagent, was part of our bargain, Ilsig. If you cannot produce her, then shecannot aid me, and I am paying you far too much for a third-rate criminal'spaltry talents.'

The huge wrestler adjusted his deceptively soft gut. His east-side house wascommodious; dogs barked in their pens and favourite curs lounged about theirfeet, under the samovar, upon riotous silk prayer rugs, in the embrace of comelykrrf-drugged slaves - not her idea of entertainment, but Lastel's, his sweatingforehead and heavy breathing proclaimed as he watched the bestial event a dozenother guests found fetching.

The dusky Ilsigs saw nothing wrong in enslaving their own race. Nisibisi hadmore pride. It was well that these were comfortable with slavery - they wouldknow it far more intimately, by and by.

But her words had jogged her host, and Lastel came up on one elbow, his cushionssuddenly askew. He, too, had been partaking ofkrrf- not smoking it, as was theIlsig custom, but mixing it with other drugs which made it sink into the blooddirectly through the skin. The effects were greater, and less predictable.

As she had hoped, her words had the power of krrf behind them. Fear showed inthejowled mountain's eyes. He knew what she was; the fear was her due. Any ofthese were helpless before her, should she decide a withered soul or two mightamuse her. Their essences could lighten her load as krrf lightened theirs.

The gross man spoke quickly, a whine of excuses: the woman had 'disappeared ...taken by Askelon, the very lord of dreams. All at the Mageguild's fete where thegod was vanquished saw it. You need not take my word - witnesses are legion.'

She fixed him with her pale stare. Ilsigs were called Wrigglies, and Lastel'scraven self was a good example why. She felt disgust and stared longer.

The man before her dropped his eyes, mumbling that their agreement had nothinged on the mage-killer Cime, that he was doing more than his share as it was,for little enough profit, that the risks were too high.

And to prove to her he was still her creature, he warned her again of theStepsons: 'That pair of Whoresons Tempus sicced on you should concern us, notmoney - which neither of us will be alive to spend if -' One of the slaves criedout, whether in pleasure or pain Roxane could not be certain; Lastel did noteven look up, but continued:'... Tempus finds out we've thirty stone of krrf in-'

She interrupted him, not letting him name the hiding place. 'Then do this that Iask of you, without question. We will be rid of the problem they cause,thereafter, and have our own sources, who'll tell us what Tempus does and doesnot know.'

A slave serving mulled wine approached, and both took electrum goblets. ForRoxane, the liquor was an advantage: looking into its depths, she could see whatfew cogent thoughts ran through the fat drug dealer's mind.

He thought of her, and she saw her own beauty: wizard hair like ebony and wavy;her sanguine skin like velvet: he dreamed her naked, with his dogs. She cast acurse without word or effort, refiexively, giving him a social disease noSanctuary mage or barber-surgeon could cure, complete with running sores uponlips and member, and a virus in control of it which buried itself in thebrainstem and came out when it chose. She hardly took note of it; it was a smallshow of temper, like for like: let him exhibit the condition of his soul, shehad decreed.

To banish her leggy nakedness from the surface of her wine, she said straightout; 'You know the other bar owners. The Alekeep's proprietor has a girl aboutto graduate from school. Arrange to host her party, let it be known that youwill sell those children krrf - Tamzen is the child I mean. Then have yourflunky lead her down to Shambles Cross. Leave them there - up to half a dozenyoungsters, it may be - lost in the drug and the slum.'

'That will tame two vicious Stepsons? You do know the men I mean? Janni? AndStealth? They bugger each other, Stepsons. Girls are beside the point. AndStealth - he's a/wzzbuster- I've seen him with no woman old enough for breasts.Surely -'

'Surely,' she cut in smoothly, 'you don't want to know more than that - in caseit goes awry. Protection in these matters lies in ignorance.' She would not tellhim more - not that Stealth, called Nikodemos, had come out of Azehur, wherehe'd earned his war name and worked his way towards Syr in search of a Troshorse via Mygdonia, hiring on as a caravan guard and general roustabout, or thata dispute over a consignment lost to mountain bandits had made him bond-servantfor a year to a Nisibisi mage - her lover-lord. There was a string on Nikodemos,ready to be pulled.

And when he felt it, it would be too late, and she would be at the end of it.

Tempus had allowed Niko to breed his sorrel mare to his own Tros stallion toquell mutters among knowledgeable Stepsons that assigning Niko and Janni tohazardous duty in the town was their commander's way of punishing the slatehaired fighter who had declined Tempus's offered pairbond in favour of Janni'sand had subsequently quit their ranks.

Now the mare was pregnant and Tempus was curious as to what kind of foal theunion might produce, but rumours of foul play still abounded.

Critias, Tempus's second in command, had paused in his dour report and nowstirred his posset of cooling wine and barley and goat's cheese with a finger,then wiped the finger on his bossed cuirass, burnished from years of use. Theywere meeting in the mercenaries' guild hostel, in its common room, dark ascongealing blood and safe as a grave, where Tempus had bade the veteranmercenary lodge - an operations officer charged with secret actions could be nopart of the Stepsons' barracks cohort. They met covertly, on occasion; mosttimes, coded messages brought by unwitting couriers were enough.

Crit, too, it seemed, thought Tempus wrong in sending Janni, a guilelesscavalryman, and Niko, the youngest of the Stepsons, to spy upon the witch:clandestine schemes were Crit's province, and Tempus had usurped, oversteppedthe bounds of their agreement. Tempus had allowed that Crit might take overmanagement of the fielded team and Crit had grunted wryly, saying he'd run thembut not take the blame if they lost both men to the witch's wiles.