Then two changes occurred almost simultaneously: the Beysib arrived and Ranke's Stormgod had either died or retreated into oblivion.

As Sanctuary's fortunes literally rose through the influx of Beysib wealth, the Empire's prestige and power had begun to wane-and the very nature of the city altered. Instead of small, vicious fights for survival, the town sank into selfish power squabbles which were proving more deadly and disruptive than anything the citizens had known before. Instead of desperation and poverty, the stench of greed hung over the town and Hakiem found it stifling.

Perhaps he should leave... soon, before the current disorder wiped out what few pleasant memories remained. If the new path of the town was fixed, he had no idea to ...

"You are very quiet. Wise One, for someone who earns his living with his nimble tongue."

Jolted from his reverie, Hakiem turned to find Shupansea, living avatar of Mother Bey and hereditary, if exiled, ruler of the Beysib Empire, regarding him with the delighted smile of a child who has caught his teacher in a spelling error.

"Your pardon, 0 Beysa. I did not hear you approach."

"There are no others about, Hakiem. Formalities between us are necessary only before unfriendly eyes. Besides, I doubt you would have heard an entire army approaching. Where is the habitual wariness you've tried so hard to instill in me?"

"I... I was thinking."

The smile disappeared from the Beysa's face to be replaced with an expression of concern as she laid a soft hand on her advisor's arm. "I know. You seem unhappy of late. Wise One. I've missed the talks we used to have. In fact, I've set aside time today specifically to seek you out and learn your mind. You've helped me so often in the past that gold alone cannot repay it. Tell me, what troubles you? Is there anything I can do to ease your concerns?"

Despite his depression, Hakiem was touched by the sincere concern of this young woman who had been raised to rule an empire and found herself in Sanctuary instead. While a part of him instinctively wanted to hide his feelings, he felt compelled to respond honestly.

"I fear for my town," he said, turning to gaze out the window once more. "The people have changed since the Beysib arrived.

"Not that I blame you," he amended hastily. "You had to go somewhere, and certainly your people have done everything possible to adapt to what I know is a very strange and often hostile environment to you.

"No. What has happened to my town was done by those who have lived here the longest. Oh, true enough, many of the changes were forced on them by the Rankan Empire and its gods-and I know that all things must change. Still, I fear the townspeople have lost the will and certainly the wisdom to survive the changes which must follow as surely as a storm follows lightning. Even now the new Rankan Emperor gathers troops to-"

He stopped abruptly as he realized the Beysa was laughing silently.

"I had not intended to be amusing," he said stiffly, anger flashing just below the surface. "While I know the problems of a mere storyteller pale to insignificance before-"

"Forgive me. Wise One. I meant no disrespect. It's just that you.... Please, let me be the teacher for once."

To Hakiem's surprise, she joined him at the window, leaning far over the sill until only the tips of her bare toes touched the cool floor.

"I fear you are too close to the problem," she said solemnly. "You know so much about Sanctuary and watch so many of its citizens that you have become overwhelmed by surface changes and are blind to the currents moving beneath. Let me tell you what I see as someone new to Sanctuary.

"You underestimate your town. Wise One. You love it so much that you think that no one else does-but that is incorrect. In the two years since my people arrived here, I have yet to meet a man, woman, or child of Sanctuary who did not, despite their very loud protests to the contrary, care as deeply for Sanctuary as you do, though they may show it differently. And I find, to my surprise, that their feelings are quite contagious."

She caught his surprised glance and laughed again. "Yes, I find that even with the blood of forty generations of Beysas and our island empire running in my veins, neither I nor my goddess has been immune to the lure of your town. At first it seemed to me to be vicious and barbaric, and it is, but there is a zest and vigor here that is invigorating and quite lacking in my own very civilized people. While you may fear that it has changed or lost, as one watching through new eyes, I can tell you that it is still there, and if anything it's stronger than when we arrived. Oh, they may squabble over their new wealth and power, but this is still Sanctuary. If threatened, the people here will fight or do whatever is necessary to keep that feeling of independence and freedom they have toiled so long for. The Beysib will be at their side, for my people and I are a part of it, just as you and yours are."

After that, she lapsed into silence and, side by side, they studied the town, living symbols of the old and the new Sanctuary. In their own thoughts, they each hoped desperately that she was right.

A peach tree grew in the courtyard below Lalo's stairs. It was only a little tree, but Gilla had covered its roots with straw to protect it from cold and dribbled precious water around it when the sun burned in the sky, caring for it as she cared for her children, and through war and wizard weather it had survived. But in the bitter spring of the Emperor's visit to Sanctuary the tree stood barren, with scarcely a leaflet on its twisted branches, and no blooms.

Lalo paused beside it on his way to the palace, wishing that he could breathe life into the tree as he had once breathed life into the work of his hands. But with the destruction of the Nisibisi Globes of Power everyone's magic seemed to have become as strengthless as Master Ahdio's cheap ale; Lalo dared not test his own. And even at his most powerful, he had only transformed symbols, not already living things.

He did not know if he could create anything anymore.

The building behind him was as silent as it had been in the dreadful days when Gilla was Roxane's captive. Latilla and Alfi were with Vanda at the palace. Wedemir was enviously watching the Stepsons maneuver themselves back into shape for campaign, and Gilla herself was at the Aphrodisia House, watching over Illyra's slow recovery from the wound she had taken in the riots when her daughter died.

If Illyra's body had been all that needed healing it would not have been so bad, Lalo thought. But it seemed to him that both women were nursing grief like a child. A pang twisted in his own belly at the memory-his middle son, Ganner, had been struck down, outside the goldsmith's shop where he was apprenticed, in that same climax of disorder that had killed Illyra's girl.

The town was quiet now, but it was the peace of exhaustion-more like a coma than the sleep of healing, and who could tell whether Sanctuary, or any of its people, would awaken to life again?

Lalo shivered and squinted at the sky. Even if it was useless, he ought to get up to the palace before the morning light was gone. As part of a sequence of political and religious negotiations which Lalo did not even try to understand, Molin Torchholder had commissioned him to paint an allegorical mural of the Wedding of the Storm God and Mother Bey. The work was as lifeless as everything else he did these days, but he was getting paid for it. And he did not know what else he could do.