They got their instruments and began to play. Without waiting for the sharpreport of the clatter-sticks, Seylalha began to dance, letting the unhemmed endsof the silk swirl out to accompany her as she moved through the hundreds ofposes - each painfully inured in her muscles. She flowed with the atonal music,throwing her soul into each leap and turn, keenly aware that this meaninglesscollection of movements would become her only, exquisite plea for freedom.

When she settled into the final frantic moments of the dance the sea-green silkwas caught in her flying hair and lifted away from her body until it wasrestrained only by the brooches at her neck and waist. As she fell into theprostrate bow, the silk floated down, hiding the rhythmic heaving of herexhausted lungs. The clatter-sticks were silent, without nagging corrections.

Seylalha separated her hair and stood up in one graceful movement. Her teacherswere motionless as well as speechless. Never again would she be the bulliedstudent. Clapping her own hands at the quiet women, Seylalha waited until thenearest one crept forward to unpin the twisted silk and accompany her to herbath.

5

It was inky night and even the light of two dozen torches was insufficient toguide the procession along the treacherous, rutted streets of Sanctuary insafety. Molin Torchholder and five other ranking members of the hierarchy hadexcused themselves from the procession and waited in the relative comfort of thestone-porch of the still incomplete Temple of Vashanka. Behind the priests agreat circular tent had been erected. The mute women could be heard tuning andconversing with their instruments. As the bobbing torches rounded into the plazathe women were silenced and Molin, ever-careful with his elaborate headdress,mounted a small dais on the porch.

The girl, Seylalha, shrouded in a cloak of feathers and spun gold, clutched theside-rail of the open platform as six bearers recruited from the garrisonstruggled with the rough-hewn steps. She lurched violently to one side, spillingthe luxuriant cloth almost to the ground, but her dancer's reflexes saved herfrom an ill-omened tumble. Ten felons from the city dungeons, drugged into astupor, clambered past - oblivious to the past and present as well as thelimited future. Their white robes were already soiled by numerous falls in themuddy streets but none had seriously injured himself.

At the rear of the procession, wearing another mask of hammered gold andobsidian, Prince KLadakithis groped his way to the tent. He glanced at Molinas he passed though their masks made subtle communication impossible. It wasenough, for Molin's purposes, that the Prince himself was entering the tent.He tied the cloth-door of the tent closed and braced three crossed spearsagainst the lintel.

The Hell Hounds formed an outer perimeter - the Hell Hounds save for Tempus whomMolin, with self-congratulations, had had assigned to other duties in thepalace; the man might not do as he was told, but he wouldn't be near thisritual. The Hounds held their drawn swords before them; they would administerthe coup de grace should anyone leave or enter the tent before sunrise. Molinreminded them of their obligations in a voice that carried well beyond theunfinished walls.

'Those Ten whom Vashanka destroyed have been disgraced and remain unworshippedto this day; their very names have been unlearned. But the wraith of a god isfar stronger than the spirit of a mortal man. They will feel their deaths againand converge upon this site seeking an unwitting or feeble mortal whom they canusurp and use against their brother. It is your duty to see that this does notoccur!'

Zaibar, captain of the Hell Hounds, bellowed his comprehension of Molin's order.

6

The women, and they were all dressed as women though Seylalha knew some of themwere the eunuchs who routinely guarded her, crept forward to remove the heavycloak from her shoulders. She shook the cramped silk and knotted her fingers inanticipation. A partition of fine netting separated the musicians from the otherparticipants in this drama, but their sounds were familiar and oddly soothing.The carpet on which she had always danced lay slightly to one side of the centreof the tent and behind the carpet was a mound of pillows to which the burly'women' directed her. The white-robed men were invited to partake of a banquetlaid out on a low table and fell over each other rushing to the sumptuousfood. The masked figure who stood apart from the rest and seemed distinctlyuncomfortable under his splendid robe was led to a separate table where onlystale bread and water had been laid and an ugly, heavy short-sword awaited him.

So, that was the god, Seylalha thought, as the mask was lifted from his face. Hewas weak-chinned - but what civilized man did not show the stains of his richfoods and soft bed? He was, at least, a whole man. The man-god would not look ather, preferring to watch the darkest, least penetrable recesses of the tent.Seylalha knew fear for his curiously absent passions. Sliding off thecushions she struck the first position of her dance, expecting the musiciansto lift their instruments.

But the musicians reached for their clatter-sticks and the eunuchs guided herrudely back to the cushions. She shook their hands away, aware that theydared not hurt her, but then her attention, and the attention of everyone in thetent, was riveted to a newcomer, a more appropriate man-god who had eased outof the darkness and held an unsheathed dagger in his left hand.

He was tall, massive, etched with the harsh lines of a rough and feral man. Theone whom she had mistaken for the man-god embraced the newcomer with heartyfamiliarity. 'I was afraid you wouldn't show up, Tempus.'

'Both you and He had my word. Torchholder is a canny man; he distrusts mealready -T could not walk in right behind you, my Prince.'

'She is beautiful...' the Prince mused, glancing to Seylalha for the firsttime. 'You've reconsidered? It would be for the best if you did ... even now.Her beauty means nothing to me. None of this means anything to me exceptthat it must be done and I must do it.'

'Yes, you're the one to do it... though she is more tempting than I would havethought possible.'

The chiefmost of the gowned eunuchs moved to separate the men, giving theinterloper a stiff punch on the shoulder. Seylalha, who could read the languageof movement, froze in terror as the feral stranger turned, hesitated andplunged the dagger deep into the eunuch's chest all within the space of a fewheartbeats. The other 'women' who saw little more than a blur of movement,wailed and groaned in terror as the dead eunuch collapsed to the roughground. Even the white-robed feasters ceased their eating and became afrightened knot of sheep-like men.

'It will be as I warned you, my Prince - not merely the Ten but all the others.If you've no taste for bloodshed it would be best if you depart now. My menawait you. I will do my father's work.'

'What of Zaibar? I knew nothing about that until Molin addressed them.'

'They did not see me; it is unlikely they will see you.'

The one who had been called the Prince slunk into the darkness. The otherretrieved his dagger from the corpse.

'Our Imperial Prince is not one for rituals of bloodshed and violence,' he saidto everyone in the tent. 'He has asked me to take the role of my father in hisstead. Would any here gainsay my right to act for Vashanka and my Prince?'