Drinks on me! Drinks on me all around!"

The middle-aged Rand woman behind the bar swiveled her head like a catapult on a turntable, arrowing in on the sheen of precious metal. A hush had fallen, or enough of one that the clanging strike of a gong from behind the bar could be heard above the buzz of customers asking their seatmates what had been said. At the second clang, true quiet fell, enough for the proprietor's voice to be heard: "One beer ever'body, all same red-hair lady pays! No come bar! We bring!" The half-Lakan's friends looked about themselves, at each other, shrugged, and bent to carry the bleeding gambler out.

A great cheer lifted from the tables, hoots of laughter, beatingof fists and cups and boots on wood and stone and sometimes unconscious neighbours. Shkai'ra dumped a double handful of the winnings on a waiter's tray, accepted salutes and backslaps with a grin, dislocated the thumb of a hand that groped up her thigh and flick-kicked the wrist of another that was edging toward the scattering of wealth where the table had stood.

"Francosz!" she called. "Get that cloak out from under your ass and get to work."

The boy started out from a dream of soft breasts under his hands and rose. Floating, he thought, as he spread the wool of his cloak. I'm so light I could just float away. Wouldn't that be funny. Shkai'ra knelt beside him and helped scoop stray coins and bits of silver wire onto the cloth. Their eyes met, and they laughed, laughed until the wet was streaming down their cheeks.

"Ahi-a, Francosz-boy, you bring me Glitch's own luck; plenty of it, good and bad," she wheezed, wiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "Tell you what, boy. Wha'd you say to getting laid, hmmmm?"

He blinked at her, then suddenly recoiled. She laughed afresh, howling and hammering the flat of one hand on the floor. "No, no, Jaiwun bless, boy, not me. Wouldn' be proper. Your little charmer with the stein. I'll fix it up. Wha' say?" Her finger poked him in the ribs. "Get's moldy if y don't use it, saa?"

The Thane boy could feel the smoke-calm leave him; his throat throbbed, then his temples. "You-" His voice broke in a squeak; some distant portion of his mind was surprised that that did not bother him. "You will?" He was nodding, frantically, before the words could force themselves out. "Ah, yes, khyd-hird, yes, ja, deedly, thank you, yes. "

"Right." She folded the cloak, drew herself up and helped him to his feet before handing it to him. The bulge of the winnings was small, but surprisingly heavy. "You hold on't'this. Look fierce, now, apprentice. Back soon."

Shkai'ra shook back her shoulders and walked out into the crowd in a careful straight line; it parted for her with friendlyhails. Oh, Gothumml, Francosz thought, amid rising glory. It's happening, it's really happening.

Minutes passed, like hours, like seconds. The tall, red-blonde figure returned with the barmaid and a young man similar enough to be her close kin. A wide grin split Shkai'ra's face; Francosz suspected his was silly-looking, but it mattered very little. The girl slid close to him, warm and soft; he swayed, and her arm went around him.

"Francosz," Shkai'ra said, "this is Tsu-Choi an' her brother Tsu-Li. Tsu-Choi would like to... what was it you said?"

"Open the Gates of Paradise for you, young sir," Tsu-Choi said, but the words were spoken to Francosz. Their stomachs touched, and her pelvis brushed his with a slow, light side-to-side that brought an involuntary jerk and a moan that was half pain from the boy. "My brother and I have a room, this way, young sir. You and your patron are most welcome."

"Hmmm?" Francosz forced himself back from a gathering focus that demanded he exclude all things but one. Shkai'ra was standing with her arm around the young man's waist, smiling with a warmth he had seldom seen on that cruel eagle face. "One room?" he said, embarrassment fighting a losing battle with sensation. His arm was around Tsu-Choi; she took his hand and moved it up to cup her breast, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Certainly, apprentice." She nodded judiciously. "These seem like ver' nice peoples... people? All the' same, I'm not having you rolled; another rule, never drop your pants alone an' drunk in a place you're jus' passing through. Bad habit an' gets you deaded.

I mean morted. I mean killed. Not here, sometime. Gotta teach you."

Tsu-Choi swayed against him. "But, uh, khyd-hird, I thought you and the Captain-"

Shkai'ra nodded again, sidestepped and caught herself with a graceful sway and dip. "So we are, boy, but I gotta remind myself what it looks like in action sometimes... Anyways, you wan' stand here and talk all night or fuck that nice girl, or what?"The barmaid stopped his lips with a kiss and began to walk backward. He followed, stumbling, utterly unwilling to break the soft contact. Her tongue probed between his teeth; he started, caught at her. Gothumml, now what am I supposed to do, he thought. Nobody told me she'd put her tongue in my mouth, oh, Gothumml...

She broke the contact, laughing, seized him by the hand and led him through the room to the screen of beads amid ironic cheers from those at the tables; he could taste her on his lips, mint and garlic and wine. Up a winding staircase through the coarse pumice rock. Into a cubicle, narrow, utter darkness, stuffy-a collision behind him in the doorway, giggles. The scritch of a sulfur match, and a smoking taper flared redly. He looked about: two low narrow bedsteads, with cotton ticks and thin pillows, a stand with jug and basin and a few changes of clothing folded underneath it.

Tsu-Choi turned from lighting the candle and smiled at him, slowly undoing the lacings of her tunic and drawing it over her head. His hands seemed to reach out of their own wishing, trembling, closed on the soft roundedness of her breasts and kneaded. The Rand girl hissed and closed her eyes, back arching, hands urging his head down to her; he took the hard smoothness of a nipple between his lips, oblivious to her fingers releasing the fastenings of his clothes. Oblivious until suddenly he was naked and the small work-hardened hand closed around the shaft of his penis. He cried out again, and tears flowed from under his closed lids.

"Oh, young sir, you're in pain," she whispered. He blinked through lashes starred with tears to see her dropping breeches and loincloth to the floor, lying back on the pallet, opening arms and knees. "Here," she said.

"Come on, boy," Shkai'ra was saying, with a grunt as she pulled on her boot. "It must be thirdwatch at least."

Francosz stayed kneeling beside the pallet for a moment longer; he was fully dressed, except for the undone lacings of his shirt. The second candle had guttered down to a stub, and the tiny room smelled of tallow and late night and musky sex. Hecould see the Rand girl smiling at him through a tangled mist of black hair; he felt... empty, he decided. A little sore. Sad. Happy.

As though the whole world is different.

Francosz picked up her hand and patted it awkwardly.

"Thank you, Tsu-Choi," he said. "That was... thank you very much."

Tsu-Choi stretched and raised herself up on one elbow to kiss him a final lingering time, without heat. "Your very first; you remember Tsu-Choi always, eh, young gentleman?" He nodded.

"So. You remember Tsu-Choi, be nice to all your girls like tonight." She lay back and sighed, stretched again.

Shkai'ra's arm was around his shoulders as they ducked out of the tavern door; the snow had stopped, fallen a handspan deep, but the cold struck through his clothes to dry the sweat on his skin with shivering. The Kommanza drew her cloak about them both; his was still bundled about her winnings; looked up at a night dense with stars.

"Life's full of good things, nia, youngling?"

He nodded wordlessly, too full of the evening to speak.

She yawned hugely. "Like hangovers... Pint of water and then to bed."

Shkai'ra closed the door of the cabin behind her after Francosz settled in next to Sova; the look of stunned revelation was still on his face as he pulled the tick over his shoulder and dropped instantly unconscious. She stood a moment looking down on them, shook her head and bent to tuck a corner of the quilt about Sova's hand. The girl had been already fast asleep, huddled under the feathers, her hand clutched around the coin she'd bored a hole through and strung on a thong.

The Kommanza heard a raspy snore in the dark as she entered the cabin and swung the door quietly to, struck a match.

The lamp had burned out, empty, and the glass chimney was thick black with soot. She sighed, wobbled out to grab a candle from the cupboard.In the wispy yellow light she saw Megan sitting on the floor, head tilted back on the bed, mouth open, snoring.

The tray stood on the table, all the food congealed, cold. The Saekrberk bottle stood next to her and two glasses, one broken off its base. Ten-Knife lay on the bed, curled up on the long black fan of Megan's hair.

She sighed, dumped the contents of the plates out the sterncastle windows and stacked them on the tray, undressed and lifted Megan to the bed. The Zak stirred and muttered as her lover pulled off her clothes and tucked her under the covers, arranged the pot and the pitcher of water within easy reach, blew out the candle and climbed over her by starlight to slide beneath the blankets on the outboard side.

Ah, Megan, my heart's delight, she thought drowsily, as the Captain of the Zingas Vetri nuzzled closer in her sleep, her breath carrying the strong green smell of Saekrberk. Her hand stroked the other's cheek; she smiled in the darkness, ready for sleep but not quite to relinquish the contentment of the moment. How I wish to make all things well for you. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft breathing beside her cheek and the lapping of the harbor beneath.

"It's a cage," Uen said.

Habiku's expression stayed one of polite interest, but the Arkan pen bore down on the linen paper of the ledger on a growing blot. He looked down at it with a brow-arch of polite interest and turned to Lixa.

"Blot this," he said. "Then finish the totals. Not here, you brainless cunt, take it out." To himself, wonderingly, "It was a coincidence. Those prophecies, they're mind-sickness and hysterics. Nothing!"

"Prophecy?" the Zak noble said, reaching for a candied fig. He bit into it, worked sugared syrup off his teeth with his tongue. "I wonder what these are like fresh?" he said idly.

Habiku cleared his throat and looked up, up the three storiesto the alabaster roof and the stars beyond. "I hope Lixa was satisfactory?" he asked.

"Oh, most," Uen said. "Thank you again. A little too passive and docile at first, but with the right stimulus..."He watched the red flush creep up the naZak's neck with satisfaction; a humiliation to him, and the punishments would be just recompense to the cold-loined bitch of a bondservant as well.

"And this cage?"

"Oh, a conceit of Megan Whitlock's; very... very Zak, if I may say so. Perhaps a little old-fashioned, rather Middle Quarter.

The homing bird report waxed quite detailed, considering the cost-it must have impressed the audience no end. The cage is of steel bars, set in a mesh; just the size to confine a man . . "He looked at the tall form of the naZak in the lounger. "...a tall man, so that he could neither sit nor stand. A lock that can only be fastened once."

He lifted a finger to the arch above them. "And a steel ring to hang it by: the report says she stood on the deck of her ship, Zingas Vetri, and called the Cold Curse on you, sir ClawPrince: and that you would dwell in the cage, hung from this very roof, until you died." He laughed. "A pleasant conceit, is it not?"

Habiku looked up; his eyes narrowed.

Uen was standing, and Habiku was suddenly conscious of having no recollection of how he had come to be so, or of the passing time.

"Well, the DragonLord awaits." The usual formalities passed more emptily than usual.

Chapter Fourteen.

THREE DAYS NORTH OF RAND.

FOUR DAYS SOUTH OF AENIR'SFORD.

ELEVENTH IRON CYCLE, SECOND DAY.

Megan rested a hand on the wheel to judge the current's pullon the hull, and called forward, "Ilge, Mateus, stand by!" The sail came down with a rattle and she called again, "Pull! Rudder full starboard."

The helm crew spun the wheel, while the hortator relayed commands to the rowing deck.

"Hard starboard pull!" The oarsmen on the right leaned into the stroke, the port chopped their oars down into the current and braced, and the Zingas Vetri swung smoothly into the shelter of the bluff, the last sun of the day reddening the black-flecked, grey rock outcropping.

Megan nodded. "Away anchor!" The two deckhands in the bow swung their mallets against the wedges holding the anchor.

The spokeless capstan whirled, blurring, with a hint of frying oil, as the greased wooden bearings squealed. A splash, and the hum of cable paying out of the ropewell; the eddy in the still pool turned the ship's stern downstream.

"Well done," Megan said. "Francosz, you can take the first watch with Stanver and Alexa and the others."

The boy looked about, shivering, then saw his sister watching.

He drew himself up with a casual air. "Aye, Captain," he called. Sova stuck out her tongue at him and fled giggling up the ratlines to the crows-nest as he jumped down from the foc'sle and pursued, whirling a rope's end in mock ferocity. Shkai'ra looked after them, then up at Megan; she raised an eyebrow as she strolled nearer.

"Aye, Captain," she murmured. "Splice the mizzenmast; look hearty now... I can see why I've never been enthusiastic about being a parent before: their energy ages you."

"Of course, as teacher," Megan replied sotto voice as the chase came around to them again, "you have to stay ahead of them, old baba." Francosz lunged after Sova; his sister retreated squealing, then dashed around Megan and Shkai'ra to wack his backside before he could catch up or turn around."Right. Look here." Megan's voice rose as the two children spun around them, almost grabbing, dodging back and forth.

"Since you have so much energy, Sova, you can take the second watch. The girl slowed. Francosz ran into her, and both of them piled into Shkai'ra, who stood with arms crossed, looking severe.

They stopped, aghast.

"You're not ready to braid warrior's locks yet," she growled.

"Go bother Piatr, he said something about needing help with that sweet-biscuit batter. Fast, or you'll do it standing!" The Kommanza watched them dash forward, one corner of her mouth quirking upward. Sighing, she pivoted on one heel and examined their surroundings.

"You know," she said, "once we settle things in F'talezon, I might adopt them. Of course, I'd have to be married, you need a couple of parents at least. Like to have a couple more of my own, too."

Megan turned toward her, eyes lighting with the almost-smile that rarely touched her lips. "Why, akribhan,' she said gently, reaching out to touch her on the arm. "Is that a proposal? Shall we consult a bayishha to settle the portions?"

"Something to think about, at least," Shkai'ra said, returning the touch and glancing up at the overhang.

"Indeed it is," Megan said. Her tone grew somber. "My son...

Samgeld sold him away, before I killed the Arkan filth. That remains to be done, once the House of the Sleeping Dragon is cleansed."

"Right," Shkai'ra said. "We'll find a way... Gloomy damn place to stop, nia?

Astern, upstream, the Hanged Man's Rock was darkening.

The west bank of the river downstream was bluffs, fifty meters high and jagged, scrub oak shaggy with mistletoe, thickets of holly drooping branches into the still water. Beyond, the bank curved still more sharply; she could hear the racing current upstream, where the river narrowed. Eastward were marshes, rank odors drifting from a maze of channels and islands andmudflats; abruptly a heavy, coughing grunt came over the air, deepening into a roar.

"I can see why you'd stop here before making the run up the narrows, though. Good spot to rest the rowers; I'd have expected a settlement."

Megan lashed the wheel back to its chocks, cocking a critical eye at the deck below, where tarpaulins were being lashed down and night-lanterns set.

"There was. A settlement here, I mean: over there, where the swamp is now, eight-nine hundred years or so ago. Ilge, " she called, interrupting herself. "Second anchor tonight."

"Aye!"

"Anticipating the foul weather, then," Shkai'ra said, looking up at the feathery clouds called mare's-tails.

"Yes." Megan closed the lid of the navigation box set just before the wheel, and sealed it, continuing, "It was called Ore-Yinsk, but nobody remembers who the people were; the Thanes burned it, when they first came to the Brezhan."

Task finished, she moved closer to Shkai'ra and leaned against her, pointing up to the pinnacle on the left bank. "Then they took their captives up there-the opposite slope's more walkable-and forced them to jump. The legend goes that the last one turned and cursed the Thane leader, him and his descendants."

Megan turned, gestured, right hand then left. The familiar shiver/tingle of the ship-wards sprang up, the orangey-red flicker that faded to a dusty feeling on the back of the teeth; she turned back to the Kommanza.

Shkai'ra shivered and made the sign against ill luck with her sword hand. "Did it stick?"

"For him, at least. There weren't many of the Thanes then, those were the first, a trickle before the torrent. The other townsupstream and down made an end of them; attacked their new settlement in the night. The Thanes made their last stand on Hanged Man's Rock.

"The Zaki took the leader and hung him there at dawn, along with the others who surrendered, though his son and daughter weren't found. Their bodies were thought to have been lost in the river. Since then, this spot's been considered unlucky: people have tried to found a town now and then, but something always happens: nosferatu, or werewolves; monsters, if you believe the stories. There are even tales that sailors jump ship here, although a more unlikely spot to desert couldn't be found."

Shkai'ra looked up; the moon was nearer full now, bright, but occasionally veiled by ragged ends of hard-driven cloud. The wind was rising.

"You know how to make a person comfortable, don't you, kh'eeredo?"

"You asked," Megan said. "By now you should know better than to ask a storyteller's daughter. That one's usually kept for scaring children." There was a quiet smile hidden in the words.

"Children, hunh." The tall woman shook her shoulders, looking down at the top of Megan's head. "Let's go eat. If we don't hurry, I suspect Piatr's sweet biscuits will all be roped and branded."

Francosz had spent most of his watch pacing about the deck, fighting the effects of fresh air, hard exercise, two bowls of fish stew, barley bread, ale and a biscuit-eating competition with his sister. Hand of the Hunter, he thought, rubbing his stomach with a belch, the little wench has hollow legs! She was good company lately, better than she had ever been before. He pulled the collar of his sheepskin jacket up and sank down against the mainmast, hugging his knees, yawning and watching his breath puff before the chill breeze swept it away. The stars that you could still see between clouds were very bright in a night that crackled crisp with frost; it would be good to squirm into his pallet, pulling the feather tick up to his chin, its warm weight comforting. Tomorrow, Shkai'ra would start him on the bow; she'd said he was late for it anyway, but he might show well enough to use a wheelbow of his own. Barbarian, he thoughtfrom habit, and yawned again. But she knows some good tricks.

The five sailors were all at their posts; he wouldn't sleep, just lay his head on his knees for a moment...

Alexa leaned over the rear rail. There was little reason for so many on the watch. What could happen, here? Still, you never knew. This place was cursed, you could almost smell it-then she checked herself. A sound-like oars, but there was enough light from the moon to see that no hull disturbed the waters. When the three-meter turtleback shape broached beneath the stern she paused for a moment, eyes giving information that mind could not understand. A beast? she thought. The top of the shape folded back, moonlight glinting off the oiled leather of the covering. It was the smell that snapped her attention back; old corruption, excrement and rotting flesh and bodies that had never washed; the smell of a prison, a slaughterhouse, a slave barracks. She opened her mouth to shout; there was a moments pain, the sensation of falling, then nothing.

The Karibal caught the unconscious body, a dozen hands reaching up from the pikeboat to help him. Quickly he unwrapped the leather cord of his bola from the Prettie's neck, slapping away the taloned fingers of his sibs. "For the cave, for the cave!" he hissed, despite the grumbling protest of his stomach. "More, fresh, Now-Meat-go up."

Vilelem was one of the Wise Ones; he knew what must be done, and remembered words. "Quiet. Quick," then the series of tongue clicks for emphasis that they understood better. With a whining slobber, they followed him over the rail.