The Zak rolled his eyes. "That's the first time I've had occasion to say anything good about how that bitch of a wo-ah, your mother raised you. Kept you so Goddess-hating ignorant that you couldn't even pick up the stranger Thane prejudices." He sighed again.

"Where was I? Oh, well, you see, I think-it was obvious to everybody with half an eye, except maybe the Captain-that Shyll wanted to be the Captain's lover.

For always; he stayed with her for years, helped build up the House, never settled with anyone else even though those teRyadn are a pairing kind.""The Captain didn't like him that way?" Sova said.

This was better than a story, but kind of sad as well.

Shyll was so pretty; it was really, really sad to imagine him wanting to be close to the Captain all that time.

"Child, she didn't like anyone that way. When she was very young, younger than you, she was raped-you know about that too?"

Sova made a face. "Like that man in the storeroom the other day?" One of the Aenir volunteers had come in while she was looking for some tackle; he had tried to touch her under the tunic, and refused to stop. She had yelled and kicked him in the kneecap the way Shkai'ra had told her, the others had come running, and of course Piatr and Tze had believed her... they had taken him away, hitting him as they went; she hoped they had hurt him, he deserved it.

"Worse, Sova, much worse." His face crinkled. "I was there."

"And you didn't help her?" He winced at the indignation in her voice, and at memories of his own.

"I couldn't. Neither of us could; the Arkan, Sarngeld we called him, was master, the worst sort of bad master, he was the Captain, he had the law behind him... Never mind," he said, watching her confusion. "It happens. It's bad, but it does. She had a baby, and it was too big and she too young and the healers had to cut; that's why she can't have more. There, there, child; it's an old grief, long avenged. But that's why she didn't want a lover then, she was hurt in her soul."

Sova put her chin on her knees again, brooded.

"Shyll is sad because the Captain picked somebody else while she was away." She shook her head. "That's sad, it really is. Like a song." Another long silence. "Piatr..."

she looked down.

"Yes, Sova?" Tze touched her foot in reassurance."My... my father, he was Mother's only husband." She used the Thanish words; the trade-Zak that every rivertown or wealthy child learned had no equivalents with meanings even roughly similar. "And she was his wife. But I heard her say something once, she didn't know I was listening, about him making babies with a, she said 'doxy!'." She frowned. "I don't know what that word means, but is this mating thing something you can only do with one person at a time? Because it's going to be very bad for Shyll, isn't it? I know it would make me really, truly unhappy if somebody else were to be the khyd-hirds apprentice, if I couldn't be as well. Of course," she added thoughtfully, "I don't know enough about this lovers stuff yet, really. Maybe that's silly."

He hugged her close. "No, Sova; it's just more sensible than adults can sometimes be." A sigh. "I don't know... your people mate by pairs, or so their laws say they should. Zak usually do, but not always. TeRyadn? I don't know, really; and this isn't the steppe, anyway. I hope something can be done, because otherwise Shyll may leave the House once the fighting's done, and that would be a bad thing, because he's a good man, brave and skilled and he's served the House and all of us well.

He's a good friend." Sternly, "And you must not talk about this to anybody. Understand?"

She nodded. "Nobody except you and Tze?" They nodded vigorously. "All right," she sighed, and shook her head again. "It's all really sad, like I said." She made a face. "Numbers practice next. Goodbye until dinner!"

In the steamy heat of the bathing room, alone, Shyll buried his face in his hands and wept, clenching the fingertips into his skin until the nails stood white with rage and frustration.

It was late afternoon when the cage rose our of the wetwell, streaming crystals of water and steaming inthe cold air. Mud was caked all along the solid bottom and the bars of one side where its own weight had pushed it into the harbor muck. The other bars still gleamed like damp teeth in the grey afternoon. Megan's lips tightened as she gazed at it, slowly turning on the end of the cable, but the expression on her face could hardly be called a smile. "Leave it at the Slaf Hikarme dock," she said. "We'll look after it from there." Rather have a loose Ri thrashing around my warehouse than this crew, she thought. Tze and Piatr will be able to polish up my Cage. Then she checked herself. No. His Cage. His Cage.

The oxcart bore the Cage slowly through the winter streets. They were less crowded, now. Most sailors had dispersed to their cold-season jobs for the interval between ice float and freezeup. Woodcutting in the forests, or crafts, at their families' farmsteads or even in idleness if they could afford it, and the outcity merchants were gone. Aenir'sford had room enough within its walls now, with only the core population of full-time artisans, laborers and traders; even so there were enough for a crowd to gather and watch the Cage go by. It had acquired a mythic aura, already. Murmurs followed it; children were lifted for a better view.

Damnation if I'm going to leave it sitting out for every apprentice bard to moon over for inspiration, she thought. There were a particularly irritating note to the cheers that followed her, and she had to force herself to nod in curt politeness.

Dark Lord curse that harp-smacker who thought up 'Long she brooded on her wrong/In those black eyes Death's own song.' Fta! So I don't have a smile for everyone who passes ... It was her revenge, but every living human in creation seemed determined to push into it, invited or no.

There were five guards at the warehouse courtyard gate; two of her own Zak crewfolk, with twofangs anddart throwers, Moshulu leaning on his hammer, and a Rand with the long curved sword of her folk. The Rand saluted snappily, bringing the blade up before her face and down again; the others repeated the gesture more clumsily. They were in no sort of uniform, but wearing green and black headbands with the Sleeping Dragon embroidered; Shkai'ra had suggested it, and Megan had authorized an order with the sewing guild. Now it seemed pretentious, somehow.

She's playing general again, Megan thought. If they ask for a password, I'm going to scream. Koru bless and Dark Lord curse, I'm a merchant skipper, not the leader of a warband!

Instead, a group turned out to bring in the Cage. By the simple expedient of a dozen strong backs and pairs of hands they carried it in through the courtyard gate and into the barn door portals of the warehouse. The great structure echoed to the cheers of her followers as the emblem of the Slaf Hikarme's rebirth was carried the full circuit of the half-timbered building, then reverently placed on a low frame of logs. Piatr and Tze came up, hand in hand with Sova. They looked at each other over the girl's head, and smiled; it was not a pleasant expression. They brought out a bag of sand, oil and rags, brushes and buffing-leather and set to work.

Megan started as Sova cleared her throat. The Thane girl set down her stool, sat and held out the Y-shaped heel-grip; despite herself, the Zak felt a shiver of relief as the wet leather of her boots came off, to be replaced by felt slippers. She ran her eyes over the rest of the crew there in the warehouse. They had been split into squads of eight, with leaders and under-leaders, the size of the groups that could sleep comfortably in a single medium-sized tent. They had brought a good ten of the large sleds, fifteen-foot models; overhead she could hear and smell the work of reconditioning, glue and varnish and a grating sound as bone runners were sharpened. Harness was laid out on the lower floor,being oiled back into suppleness; a group was gathered around a sandtable map of F'talezon, and another was going over the frame of a knock-down iceboat that Rilla would use to reach F'talezon first, with the letters that would damn Habiku in court.

The cheerful bustle grated on her nerves; even the off-duty crews felt like sandpaper on the prickly-itchy surface of her skin: some were asleep, some eating, or dicing, or making love. There were gaps, like missing teeth. Rowing Boryis was sitting next to one of his friends, staring at his hands. Megan felt a burst of anger at the sight of him, shame at the anger, then anger that she felt the shame... Obligation. She went over and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, tears on his face.

There were no more words to say to him, she could only squeeze his shoulder and go on. Mateus would have been there, probably sorting his kit, keeping a eye on the sparring to yell if it got too heated. He was solid, like a tree, she thought. I return, and he was there to support. The missing left holes that could not be filled, like an alteration in the familiar landscape that took years to seem natural.

I never lost this many I cared for, before, she thought. Not since Mother and Father, so long ago, back in the River Quarter. Then: I never knew there were so many I did care for.

She stopped, stared up into the dimness of the high, barn-like ceiling.

Outside again. The makeshift kitchen-corner had been enlarged, curtained off with canvas and board; she could hear the sound of the first shift cleaning cutlery and pots, talking and splashing in the hot water. Smoke rose, and cooking smells of hot oil and meat and frying onions. Somebody shouted behind the curtain, and there was answering laughter.

In a month you may be dead, she thought, and wasglad she did not know their names.

She had set up an outline target of a man six feet tall in one corner. The pine boards were already chewed; her hands automatically checked her knives and she toed the farthest mark.

THUNK. The first knife quivered in the soft wood.

Left eye. THUNK. THUNK. Shoulders. THUNK. Throat.

The puff of her breathing was inaudible to any except the kitchen staff, but the sound of the knives hitting the target carried to the sparring circle. THUNK. THUNK.

THUNK. Like the hammering stroke of the Dark Lord's wings, or his laughter. Inu stuck his nose around the corner of the kitchen wall and whined.

Shyll ducked under his muzzle. "Megan!"

He smiled at her, and she felt the same unwilling lightening of her mood his smile had always brought.

She scowled at him, and he smiled again, as if to say: No, I'm not going to be polite and let you enjoy being miserable. Irritation warred with her sense of the ridiculous, and lost for the moment. Her eyes returned the smile, if not her lips.

"I've talked Rilla into a game of cniffta, if you will,"

Shyll went on.

She started as if coming out of a dream, hand still raised from the last cast. "I'm out of practice, Shyll."

Then she blinked and shrugged. "All right."

He grinned at her. "You two were among the best in the River Quarter."

She snorted. "Among the best? The best, then!" They ducked back into the warehouse, climbing to the second story, empty now but for the sleds stacked against the walls. It would be tempting fate to play in the open, with passers-by within knifecast.Cniflfta... She shucked down to just her breeks; you needed full agility for catching thrown knives. That was the whole point, and the reason it was the Zak sport above the others, the advantage of speed in a world of giants. The chill air of the warehouse raising gooseflesh all along her arms, making her nipples stand up. "I need to warm up first." His eyes flickered but his expression didn't change.

"Megan!" Rilla called from the main part of the hall.

"Come on! We've got to show these slackers what real knife-work is!" Rilla winked at Shyll and opened the case of knives.

Megan looked at the rows of horn-hilted daggers in blue velvet, then at Rilla's grin. "You didn't have these commissioned, I hope."

"Honestly stolen, coz! Honestly stolen from Habiku Rat's Ass." Rilla swept Megan a bow. Maybe, she thought. Maybe with Megan having an akribhan, Shyll will look at me for a change. "All ten?"

Megan put a mock-fearful hand to her brow. "True steel? Oh, dear. A whole matched set of knives? How difficult!" It was the old joke between them. They'd learned and played with all different weights and balance of blades, when they were children. A matched set of knives would be easy.

They took up stance in the sparring circle, in the open, Zemelya and Danake preparing to toss them the knives as necessary, rather than driving them into end walls, close at hand. Four knives began the pattern, thrown and caught between the cousins in a smooth arc. "Toss!" Megan called and the seconds both added in one knife. "Toss!" Rilla yelled a second later and they kept eight knives in the air. Megan laughed. "Trying...

to... throw me... off, fatrahm?" using the affectionate term meaning father's sisters child. She twisted in place a full circle and never missed a knife."Ha! Watch... this!" Rilla caught four and dropped them one after the other, somersaulted in the air, keeping the other four going, then, stooping and throwing, brought them back up to eight blades. Megan snorted and changed the pattern of her throwing until a glittering waterfall of all eight spun over her. "Toss!"

she called and caught the two thrown in, one from near, one from far, then spread the arc back out between the two of them. The patterns between them grew more and more complex, each of them trying harder and harder tumbling moves between the spinning steel, until with a skittering clatter Megan dropped a blade and the pattern fell apart.

She was smiling though, and breathing hard. "I told you I was rusty. "

" 'Bout as rusty as Inu's fangs." Over the heads of the crew, Shyll could see Shkai'ra's head, the orange flitterkitten sitting on it.

Shkai'ra reached up, pulled the kitten loose. It promptly coiled its tail around her wrist. "Sheepshit, cat, you've got claws on you like..." She paused. "I know what to name you!" She grinned. "Megan, what do you think of...

ahm... Poivrkin? Fishhook?" By that time she was through the crowd. She scratched the newly named Fishhook behind the ears. The flitterkitten started to purr. "You know, you've been doing all the stretching and so forth on board but your wind is suffering. A long run might do you good." She looked at Shyll over her head and grinned. "We could ask Shyll to get Inu to chase you."

He only hesitated a second, then he grinned back.

"Sure! I'll tell him to lick your face!"

"I've had a good workout, courtesy of the doglord there," Shkai'ra nodded at Shyll. "And he as good as beat me; showed me my wind needs more work. So,come on. This warehouse has enough stairs and halls to run around, as well as outside."

Megan stood looking at them all, Rilla's flushed face, Shyll's slightly pale one, Shkai'ra's smile. There's more going on here than just trying to cheer me up. That's what Shkai'ra's trying to do. I do love her. Why am I so upset that Shyll doesn't seem to like her?

"Right then, baba," she said, more lightly than she felt. "Let's see you keep up with me."

Rilla looked at Shyll as Megan and Shkai'ra started their run. "You're jealous, aren't you?" He started and turned to her.

"Is it that obvious?" He walked over to Inu and sat down, throwing his arm over the dog's neck, burying his face in the shaggy fur. Inu muttered, half whine, half growl and nudged Shyll in the side with his nose.

Behind them she could hear quiet preparations for a feast. Shkai'ra had thought it would help Megan to get her tired, bathed and massaged and drunk. Everyone else thought a party, a wake, was a wonderful idea.

"How much can I bear?" he said almost to himself.

"They're a pair." She went over and sat down next to him, put her hand on his shoulder.

He put his arm around her, comfortably. He doesn't even realize, Rilla thought. It's a comradely arm, not a lover's.

"Yah. They're a pair."

Well, Rilla thought. Womanizer or not, he's never looked at me, even while Megan was busy shying away. I might as well try to be the sensible one. "By Zak law, if you can stand the Kommanza-is that the name?-and if Megan agrees, you could marry in a three.""Marry?" His voice cracked and he stood up. "Marry that-" He broke off as the sound of a pair of running feet boomed on the boards overhead.

"Or," Rilla said, "you could try to make Megan jealous of you." He looked down at her, sat down abruptly.

"Jealous? She's never been jealous of me being with anyone before." He looked down thoughtfully. "Who could she be jealous of?"

"Me," Rilla said quietly. Inu licked her ear.

"Rilla!" He looked at her, shocked.

"Never mind. Forget I mentioned it." She got up and stalked away to where the rest of the crew were quietly setting up trestle tables. Rilla, he thought. Rilla.

Chapter Eighteen.

AENIR'SFORD.

SLAF HIKARME WAREHOUSE.

ELEVENTH IRON CYCLE, TWELFTH DAY.

They lay in the bath, steam still rising though it had cooled somewhat. Megan leaned her head back on Shkai'ra's arm, laid her hands delicately on her breasts, let herself float, trusting the Kommanza to hold her.

"It's so nice to be able to lie in a hot bath. Especially since you were crazy enough to go out in the snow."

Shkai'ra snorted, then nibbled gently along the Zak's neck. "You paid me back, going over the roof."

"For the first time in days, I feel relaxed." Megan quivered as Shkai'ra's lips found one of her nipples.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Relaxed enough not to-ahhh... go through the roof when you did that."

Shkai'ra smiled and raised her head, looking down ather lover, running her free hand down in the water, around the Zak's navel, brushing lightly over the scar on her lower abdomen and the inky curls between her legs. Megan moaned, arched her hips as Shkai'ra gently slipped a finger past her outer labia and stopped.

"Shkai'ra!" It was almost a shriek of need. The Kommanza smiled again, kissed Megan on the lips, as she moved her hand.

Nothing to feel but her lips, her fingers... ahh. A timeless time. Megan writhed and gave herself to her lover, her hands tensing open as color flared behind her eyes; violet and red and the one unseen. As the wave of orgasm faded she opened her eyes, looking up into the others grey gaze. Shkai'ra paused a long second, then moved again, bringing the second and third waves of sensation rushing through her.

She floated, held only by Shkai'ra's arm under her neck, boneless and light. For the first time in days, light, the weight of all the things she'd carried washed away. She dozed, then opened her eyes.

"You'll have to get on the edge of the tub, Shkai'ra, for me to do you," she whispered. "If there's one thing I can't do with these claws, it's that." The red-haired woman hugged her close.

"Not tonight, kh'eeredo, tonight's just for you." She crinkled her face in a warm smile. "I'm going to dry you off, rub some oil into your back, and we can get something from the kitchen before bed." Megan's stomach rumbled and she buried her face in Shkai'ra's neck, feeling pampered and cherished.

"That sounds wonderful. You're so good to me."

"Only the best, kh'eeredo-mi, only the best."

"Remember how we met?" Shkai'ra said. Megan was facedown on the bench, bonelessly relaxed as thestrong fingers kneaded warmed oil into the muscles along her spine. Her laugh was muffled by the long spread of her hair, spilling over her face and pooling on the floor.

"How could I forget? Still raw from the slaver and that damned swamp, I plump into the Weary Wayfarer's bath and there you were..." she sighed.

"Next thing I know, we're eating together; I wake up in a nightmare during a thunderstorm, and you've broken in to see what was making me scream... Did you do that whenever you heard someone scream, back then?"