The foursome walked through the streets of Messemprar, their boss following behind. The only sound audible over the street noise was the wheezing of the thug on the right, who apparently had a bad lung.

Kehrsyn's mind was awhirl as she let herself be led along. The man clearly lived or worked at Wing's Reach. Who else but the one who'd snatched her skirt from her neck would think to return it there? He'd caught her, then, thwarting the guild's plans. Yet why had he been watching her perform if he wasn't with the guild? But if he was with the guild, why didn't he just steal the staff himself? And if he wasn't, how had he known she was at the Thayan enclave?

"Where are you taking me?" demanded Kehrsyn, hoping it might shed some light.

None of them answered, and a variety of scenarios ran through her mind, none of which seemed even plausible, let alone likely.

What are they going to do with me?

It all became clear. He was a member of the thieves' guild, and had infiltrated Wing's Reach. He had drawn the map of the house. The thieves' guild recruited her, branded her, and used her for its dirty work, then their infiltrator "catches" her after she'd already made the drop to Eileph. Since she's branded, the guild can sell her to someone else as a slave, to be carried off to a distant land on a trade ship. Conveniently, they turn a profit, remove the need to pay her for her services, and excise the chance that their part in the theft might be revealed.

Kehrsyn's jaw dropped in horror and surprise.

No wonder the sorceress never told me her name, she thought. She figured she'd never deal with me again.

Her heart began to beat faster. She knew she had to find a way out of her situation. She walked along placidly for a short distance then pulled hard at her captors' grips, trying to escape. She accomplished nothing save perhaps bruising her muscles. Their grips were as iron bands.

"I'm not a slave!" she growled as she continued her futile struggle.

Kehrsyn felt the hand of the leader clamp firmly across her neck at the base of her skull, fingers pressing into the soft spots behind her ears.

"Quiet," he said.

Kehrsyn relented in her struggles but still kept an eye peeled for an opportunity.

Partway across town, she saw a familiar group of faces, three in number. She had just enough time for a desperate gambit before they passed by.

"You!" she called out, straining against her captors.

"Tell these men to unhand me! I have the protection of Tiglath!"

The outburst brought both groups to an immediate halt.

One of the Tiamatans, a man with a bulbous nose and a high forehead topped with pale brown hair, stepped over to Kehrsyn, his eyes narrowed. Kehrsyn couldn't tell if it was distaste for her bluff or a posture of anger to cow those who held her prisoner.

"Morning," said the man from Wing's Reach, his tone indicating that he was not cowed in the least.

"Olare," replied the Tiamatan. "I am Horat of Tiamat. What is going on here?"

"Justice," said the leader. "She's a thief."

The Tiamatan studied Kehrsyn's face for a moment then asked, "A thief?"

"Almost pinched her red-handed," came the immediate reply, which, Kehrsyn noted, made no mention of her having leveled him with a kick. "Tracked her to the Thayans. Got her just now."

"Do you have others who will stand witness, mister…?"

"Demok of Wing's Reach. Yes, I do."

The Tiamatan's eyebrows went up and he said, "Wing's Reach, you say? Very well. Now we know… where to inquire after her welfare." He started to turn away but paused for one last moment. "Tell me, if you would," he asked, without turning back to face Demok, "what was it that she stands accused of stealing?"

"That's private," said the other.

"Really?" said the Tiamatan, with evident interest. "I see. Olare, thief," he said as he glided away to rejoin his compatriots.

"Make them let me go!" implored Kehrsyn. "Tiglath gave me her protection! Are you going to let them handle me this way?"

The Tiamatan stopped and turned back around slowly. He held up two fingers, as if giving absolution.

"No," he said, waving them side to side, "Tiglath gave you her sufferance in a moment of weak whimsy. Having once received mercy, one is unwise to test the bounds of one's fortune again so soon." Kehrsyn started to interrupt, but he cut her off. "However, I shall be certain to communicate your grievance to Tiglath when I return from my errands this evening… if she's still awake, of course. I see no need to disturb her rest."

He turned and left, his companions sniggering at Kehrsyn's plight.

Kehrsyn hung her head and walked the rest of the way docilely.

Despite Kehrsyn's apprehensions, they did not bring her to the slave market, nor did they take her to the Halls of Justice, where, with the tacit approval of the Northern Wizards, judges installed by the god-king Gilgeam still dispensed punishments in accordance with tradition. She breathed a sigh of relief, for she knew that it was a buyer's market for slaves and a seller's market for punishment.

Instead, they brought her back to Wing's Reach, to the center of the third floor, where, she recalled from her map, the master had his rooms. They brought her to a small reception hall paneled in light wood, a fine room of the sort used for an intimate dinner with close friends. A series of pedestals ran along both side walls, each pedestal bearing a single piece of art, be it a sculpture, or a piece of pottery, or an ancient bronze helmet. She had been led in through one side door at the foot of the hall. Another door stood opposite her, and double doors stood in the other two walls, one pair the main guest entrance for the hall, and the other pair leading to the master's study. A very ornate table and chair sat in front of those doors. That, then, would be the location of her interview.

They removed her bag and slung it aside, then took off her cloak and the skirt-turned-cowl, bundled them up beside the bag, and placed her rapier atop the pile. They positioned her in the center of the room facing the far door. A guard opened a small trapdoor at her feet that concealed a set of stout bronze manacles anchored to a ring sunk deep into the flooring.

As her escorts fastened the manacles to her slender wrists, Kehrsyn heard their gruff leader say, "Careful. She's tricky."

They clamped her in well and drew back to stand along the walls. She expected that she would be left there to sweat and dread for a while, but instead the far door creaked open almost at once and a man of average height and trim build entered the room. He took no notice of her as he entered but nodded to the various servants at either side and took his seat. The bald man, Ahegi-apparently a key advisor-followed him in and stood against the wall to one side, his arms folded across his chest.

Once he'd made himself comfortable, the seated man laced his fingers together, rested his weight on his forearms, and regarded Kehrsyn frankly. He sat like that for some time, studying her, and thereby giving Kehrsyn time to study him in turn.

He had curly black hair flecked with gray throughout, short except for a longer lock in the center of his forehead. A thin, closely trimmed beard stretched from ear to ear, though it did not extend far enough down his neck to conceal his pronounced larynx. He had thin hands that had clearly never done much, if any, hard work, though Kehrsyn did see the permanent stain of ink on the fingers of his right hand that indicated he was a man of letters. Piercing blue eyes beneath his high brows likewise gave evidence of his sharp intellect. He had a straight nose, severe without being truly hawkish, and his lips were squared, almost exactly the same thickness from one end to the other.