'You have one of the beynit?' the talesmith asked, impressed in spite ofhimself.

'They aren't that hard to come by,' the ex-crimelord responded casually, 'whichreminds me. If you need a tidbit to keep your patroness happy with yourservices, tell her that not all the snakebite victims appearing lately are herpeople's work. There are those who would discredit her court by duplicatingtheir methods.'

Hakiem raised his eyebrow in silent question, but Jubal shook his head.

'None of mine,' he declared, 'though the idea bears further study in the future.If you'll excuse me now, I have other matters to attend to ... and tell yourescort I said to see that you reach your next destination safely.'

The sound of Jubal's laughter brought Saliman hurrying into the room.

'What is it?' he asked, half-puzzled, half-concerned by the first outburst ofgaiety he'd witnessed from Jubal for many months. 'Did the old storyteller havean amusing tale? Tell me, I could use a good laugh these days.'

'It's very simple,' the Hawkmaster explained, regaining partial control ofhimself. 'We've been betrayed. Double-crossed.'

'And you're laughing about it?'

'It's not the intent, but the method that amuses me. Though I have no love ofbeing tricked, even I must admit this latest effort displays a certain style.'

With a few brief sentences, he sketched out what he had learned from Hakiem.

'Substitutes?' Saliman frowned.

'Think about it,' Jubal argued. 'You know at least some of the Stepsons onsight. Have you seen any familiar faces in those uniforms lately? Perhaps theone who made the alliance with us? It explains so much, like why the so-calledStepsons suddenly don't know which end of a sword to grasp. And to think Iexpected to take advantage of a naive second-in-command.'

'So what are we going to do now?'

'That I decided as soon as I learned of the deception.'

All signs of laughter faded from Jubal's eyes, to be replaced by a dangerousglitter.

'I make alliances with men, not uniforms. Now it just so happens that the men,the Stepsons, whom our alliance is with are now somewhere to the north, puttingtheir lives and reputations on the line for the dear old Empire. In theirefforts to be in two places at once, though, they've left themselves vulnerable.They've turned their name over to a batch of total incompetents, hoping theirreputation will suffice to bluff their replacements' way through any crisis.

'While we have an alliance with the Stepsons, we have no obligation at all tothe fools they left behind in their stead. What's more, we know from our owndifficulties in rebuilding exactly how fragile a reputation can be.'

The eyes were narrow slits now.

'Therefore, here are my orders to all under my command. All support for those intown who currently call themselves Stepsons is to be withdrawn immediately. Infact, any opportunity to harass, embarrass, or destroy those individuals is totake priority over any assignment save those directly involving the Beysib. Inthe shortest possible time, I want to see the name of the Stepsons held insomewhat less regard by the citizens of Sanctuary than that shown to theDownwinders.'

'But what will happen when word of this reaches the real Stepsons?' Salimanasked.

'They will be faced with a choice. They can either stay where they are and havetheir name slandered in the worst hell-hole in the Rankan Empire, or they canreturn at all speed, risking the label of deserter from the forces atWizardwall. With any luck, both will happen. They'll desert their post and findthey are unable to reestablish their reputation here.'

He locked gazes with his aide, then winked slowly. 'And that, Saliman oldfriend, is why I'm laughing.'

1

A door that had been obscured by shadows opened to admit a hunched-over figurein dark, voluminous robes. The laboured wheezing of the intruder filled thelittle room as, with quick, bird-like movements, the winding sheet was openedand the naked corpse revealed. Light entered the austere room from a singlebarred window high on one wall, illuminating the face of a young woman who layon a narrow, wooden table, masking her waxen pallor so that it seemed she restedin the gentle sleep of youth, rather than the deeper sleep of eternity.

Ulcerous fingers uncurled from the depths of the shapeless robe sleeves, fingersmore morbid and repellent than the corpse they probed. From within the cowl camea sound like a laugh - or a sob - and the grotesque hands brushed the youngwoman's hair away from her neck. His dark robes concealed her as the crippledcreature sighed, sniffed, and bent to her throat. He stepped back, examining aslim phial of blood in the faint light.

Still silent, except for his strained breathing, the robed figure lurched backinto the shadows, where he conjured an intense blue light and, drop by drop,emptied the blood into it. He inhaled the vapours, extinguished the light with agesture, and returned his attention to the corpse. His fingers re-examined everypart of her without finding any mark other than the small bruise on her neckfrom which he had removed the blood.

Sighing, he drew the edges of the shroud together again and carefully rearrangedthe folds of coarse linen. He smoothed her ash-brown hair over the bruise on herneck and, reluctantly, folded the cloth over her face. There was no doubt, thistime, that a sob escaped from the shadowed depths of his cowl. There had beenmany women when he had been young and handsome. They had pursued him and he hadsquandered his love on them. Now he could remember no face more clearly than theone he had just covered with the linen.

The mage, Enas Yorl, shuffled back into the shadows, lit an ordinary candle, andsat at a rough-plank desk, his face cradled in his unspeakable hands. She hadbeen a woman from the Street of Red Lanterns; from the Aphrodisia House, whereblue-starred Lythande was a frequent guest. Yet they'd brought her to Enas forthe postmortem. And now he understood why.

Dipping the stylus in the inkwell, he began his report in a script that had beenantique in his own youth. ' Your suspicions are confirmed. She was poisoned bythe concentrated venom of the beynit serpent.'

Lythande had most likely suspected as much, but the Order of the Blue Starneither knew nor taught everything. It fell to such as himself, more shunnedthan feared, to research the arcane minutiae of the eon; to recognize the poisonfor what it was or was not. Enas Yorl continued:

The mark on her neck concealed two punctures - like those of the beynit serpent, though, my colleague, I am not at all certain that a serpent slithered up her arm to strike her. Our new ruler, the Beysa Shupansea, has the venom within her - as she has shown at the executions. It is said that the Blood of Bey, the envenomed blood, flows only in the veins of the true rulers of the Beysib, but you and I, who know magic and gods, know that this is most likely untrue. Perhaps not even Shupansea knows how far the gift is spread, but surely she knows she is not the only one ...

A weeping ulcer on Yorl's hand burst with a foul odour, and a vile ichor seepedon to the parchment. The ancient, cursed magician groaned as he swept the fluidaway. A ragged hole remained on the parchment; grey-green bone poked through theruined flesh of his hand. The movement, and the pain, had loosened his cowl. Itfell back to reveal thick, chestnut-coloured hair, which glittered crimson andgold in the candlelight - his own hair - if the truth were known or anyone stilllived who remembered him from before the curse.