laughed at. You heard 'em, laughing. Well, no more. The two of you can just take yerselves outa my way."

"I believe you," Gyhard insisted through clenched teeth.

"Sod off." Shoving her helm down on her head, she started to push by.

Gyhard nodded toward the dark crease of an alley. "Vree." A moment later, he

picked up the fallen helm and followed.

Her eyes wide shadows in the pale oval of her face, the guard stared at the woman kneeling over her. "I ain't never seen anyone move so fast," she panted, terror chasing the alcohol from her voice. "Yer hurtin' me."

Vree moved the blade a fraction of an inch. "I know. Remember it."

He'd been uncertain of what would happen when he'd given the silent order, uncertain whether she'd even follow it, but years of army training had apparently made some responses instinctive. He stepped over the sprawl of legs and squatted by the guard's right shoulder where he could see her face. Vree shifted her own position slightly to give him room, and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps it had nothing to do with army training. An argument could be raised that they were working as a team.

A team. He didn't have time for that now, not now, so he pushed it away. "Tell me what you saw," he said softly.

"What I saw..."

"You said, you saw the dead up and walking."

Her gaze locked on Vree's face, she swallowed and told him everything.

When she Finished, making allowances for darker skin, Gyhard was the paler of the two. "How old was the old man?"

"Real old."

"You're certain that you heard singing?"

"Yeah, but not with words." For the first time she dared to turn her head enough

to look at him. "Slaughter it. You do believe me.""I said I did.""Well, you'll excuse me fer not believin' you.""What a load of c.r.a.p.""Are you sure?""Dead men don't walk, sister-mine.""Two lives don't live in one body.""It's not the same thing."Vree stood as Gyhard did, daggers disappearing as she moved. "Are you sure?"

she asked again. "Because I'm not." She could feel Gyhard trembling even though she couldn't see it. "What now?"

"I think we'd best go talk to that foreign singer."

"We don't know where she is."

"If she was knocked unconscious late last night, she's still at the Healers' Hall."

He started out of the alley. "You may have to get us past a guard."

"Oh no! One whole guard! Can we possibly do it?"

"Shut up, Bannon." She fell into step at Gyhard's side. "We'll manage."

Lying where she'd been thrown, one finger lightly resting on the bead of blood marking her throat, the guard thanked any G.o.ds who might be listening that she'd been forgotten and watched, without moving, until the two strangers disappeared into the night.

Chapter Nine.

The two dead men who stood at the foot of her bed implored her with their eyes and pleaded with writhing arms and hands that clutched at nothing she could see. Their need engulfed her and Karlene fought for breath under its desperate weight.

"I don't know what you want," she gasped.

She could hear them screaming although their mouths were closed. The screams became a Song and just for an instant she thought she understood. Then the instant pa.s.sed.

Flesh began to decay and fall from the ivory bone beneath. Bits of fingers dropped onto the blanket covering her legs. Even while they rotted, both men continued to beg for her aid. Bone followed flesh, crumbling to dust as she watched until only the eyes remained, burning in a pair of shadows.

Terror closing her throat, she struggled to answer them. "I don't know what you want..."

"We want to talk."

Not the voice of nightmare but the voice of a living man. Sleep fled and the shadows at the foot of the bed gained substance. Head throbbing, Karlene lifted herself up onto her elbows, squinting in the mix of moon and starlight that poured through the small, arched window high above her. "Who... ?"

The shadow on the left stepped forward into definition, becoming a young woman; sleekly muscled, not very tall. Her delicate, almost waiflike features were at odds with both her expression and the deadly, liquid way she moved. She was beautiful the way poisonous snakes were beautiful-the certain knowledge that they could kill without a second thought, without regret, adding to their glamour. As she came around the corner of the bed, Karlene realized that something was very, very wrong.

Every instinct told her two people were approaching where she could only see one.

She'd been told by the healer that under no circ.u.mstances should she use her bardic abilities, that the blow she'd taken could have easily killed her, but when the young woman lifted her head, moonlight reflecting for an instant in her eyes, Karlene caught her gaze and held it. "Stop right there!"

"Bannon! I can't move!"

"Try harder!"

"I am trying harder!" Vree struggled against the compulsion, but her feet had rooted to the floor. She felt Bannon's consciousness race through her body, then surge to the front of her mind.

"Let me take it, sister-mine..."

They had learned to trust each other in a hundred, in a thousand situations where to hesitate meant death. Vree sucked in a deep breath and, as she released it, gave Bannon control.

She felt herself dive toward the bed, the familiar weight of a leather-wrapped hilt in one hand. She saw the blonde woman jerk away and discovered she could move again. But it was Bannon who held the blade to an ivory column of throat and Bannon's cry of freedom that echoed inside her skull.

The kiss of the dagger's point having successfully banished all other emotions save fear, Karlene pressed back against the pillow, oblivious to the red heat pounding at her temples. I hope I'm still dreaming...

You are a fool, Gyhard i 'Stevana. A fool! How could he not have realized that the foreign singer was a bard? I've spent too many years in the Empire. Since his first body had died, he'd been near only one other bard and, although untrained and emotionally crippled, Kars had known what he was, had sensed the reforged connection between his life and the physical sh.e.l.l he wore. He could only a.s.sume that this bard would know him as well and the thought of that recognition paralyzed him.

He'd done nothing to prevent Vree's capture by the bard's Command and, a heartbeat later when Vree shook the Command off and dove for the bed, he continued to do nothing.

He'd watched Vree closely for the last thirteen days. He watched her now and tried to understand the small changes in her bearing, in the way her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, in the curve of her spine.

"Vree, please..."

"No."

He held on. She thrust herself past him. He pushed her back.

"I won't. I won't go. I can't go."

"This is my body, Bannon! Mine!"

Facial muscles twisted, teeth snapped together, a shudder ran from neck to ankles but the hand holding the knife never moved.

Karlene, sensing the battle, rolled her eyes toward the second shadow. A male copy of the woman who had her pinned to the braided straw mattress; his features fey instead of gamine, the danger he exuded was more subtle than a sudden death. The woman held two lives. The man held his at arm's length. A day ago-or perhaps more accurately a night ago-she would have cried abomination and run. But she'd seen the dead up and walking and knowing they were dead, and all reactions had to be measured against that.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

Fighting free of the memories that held him, Gyhard stepped forward. "Exactly what I said we wanted. To talk."

"I'm to talk with a knife at my throat?"

"You'll have to excuse my companion." His tone managed to hold both threat and amus.e.m.e.nt. "She's an a.s.sa.s.sin and has only one response to perceived obstacles."

An a.s.sa.s.sin. Enclosed as they were within the city walls, the First Army had no a.s.sa.s.sins-they made the citizens of the Capital far too nervous. While Karlene had never met one, she'd certainly heard of them; dark songs called them Jiir's blades and insisted they were safely sheathed by the army. The a.s.sa.s.sin bending over her looked neither sheathed nor safe.

Following the bard's train of thought with little difficulty, Gyhard smiled slightly. "I wouldn't twitch so much if I were you."

"I'm not twitching." Shallow breathing kept her skin from pressing against the blade. "It's just that I've never heard they were able to overcome Command."

"Usually, they aren't." Gyhard saw no reason to tell the bard what he suspected must have happened and surrender a potentially useful advantage. She's not one a.s.sa.s.sin, she's two. "Give me your word you won't... Sing out, and I'll have her release you."

"My word?"

"That's right."

As she had little choice, Karlene gave it, fully aware that even if she called for help she'd be dead before it arrived. It was a strange feeling; in Shkoder bards were honored, in the Empire they were protected by an Imperial decree, but neither honor nor the Emperor would-could-save her now. She was staring death in the face-and she'd never imagined death would be beautiful. And this is not the time to start writing love songs ...

"Vree."

Vree straightened. Bannon returned the knife to its sheath.

"Vree? Are you all right?"

Bannon pivoted to face him. Vree spoke. "Don't you mean, am I still sane?"

"Are you?"

Bit by bit, Vree pried up Bannon's will and thrust him to the edges of her consciousness. He was her brother, and if honor demanded she sacrifice him, she would die as well, but she would give him no more of her life than he already had. Her strength surprised them both. Regaining control, she saw Gyhard studying her, a worried frown creasing the bridge of his nose, and realized she hadn't answered his question.

"Vree, please, don't..."

Was she sane? "Yes." But the word came out sounding like she intended to say, For now.

Karlene glanced from one side of the bed to the other, wishing that the light was a bit better or that pain hadn't painted quite so many starbursts across her vision. While the physical similarities of her unexpected visitors suggested brother and sister, the tension stretching between them did not. Curiosity aroused in spite of common sense, she shoved the pillow up behind her and slowly, carefully pulled herself into a sitting position. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked, as though having an a.s.sa.s.sin hold a knife to her throat was a common occurrence.

"I want to know everything you remember about the old man who took the prince last night." His eyes locked on the bard's face, Gyhard sat down on the stone bench built into the wall of the narrow room. Resting his forearms on his thighs, he leaned forward and repeated, "Everything."

On the other side of the room, Vree stepped back from the bed. If anything happened, she wanted s.p.a.ce to react. Without looking directly at either of the other two people in the room, she watched them both. The woman in the bed was in pain and no physical threat, but Vree would not be caught by her voice again. Gyhard had lost both his amused detachment and his earlier anger. He didn't want to know everything the foreign singer could tell him, he needed to know; she could almost see that need rolling off him like smoke.

"There were three men," Karlene reminded him.

"I'm only interested in one of them."

"The other two were dead."

"I don't care."

To her astonishment, Karlene heard the truth in his voice. Unlike the others, who didn't believe her-even Gabris had blamed the blow to the head-this mysterious intruder believed but honestly didn't care. Why not? Worrying at it, she slipped into a light trance and triggered a full recall.

Gyhard had forgotten about Bardic Memory. Detail after inarguable detail dragged him toward only one possible conclusion. As the bard's low voice described the way the years had destroyed beauty, he closed his eyes and saw the incredulous smile of a young man who'd always believed that no one could love him and had just discovered he was wrong.

It had been ninety years since he rode down out of those mountains. Kars was dead. Had to be dead.

"Gyhard?"

He had no idea how long ago the bard had stopped talking. Opening his eyes, he stared across the room at Vree.

She took a step toward him, drawn by the misery and confusion on her brother's, on Gyhard's face. Then she stopped as he buried it. Had she not known the features so well, she might have missed seeing the shadow that remained. "You know that man."

"Yes."

Pain forgotten, Karlene jerked forward, crushing a double handful of knitted, cotton blanket. "What does he want with Prince Otavas?"

Gyhard shrugged, the motion too deliberately nonchalant. "I don't know. He's

insane.""Is His Highness in danger?""... kill you so that you'll never leave me. " Gyhard brushed aside the voice of memory. "His Highness is probably already dead."

"Dead." She turned the word over for a moment as though trying to recognize it.