The first hedge involved the group of hunters he'd sent after Timura, who were hand-picked for their loyalty. He'd given them secret orders to kill Safar on sight. They were also told if Timura managed to elude them for any length of time they were to give up the chase and return home. By no means was he to be captured and returned to the city as King Didima had demanded.

The incident in the arena prompted Kalasariz to take one other major precaution. Umurhan had unintentionally revealed that as a wizard he was all bluff. Otherwise he would've used his magic to destroy Safaror least block his spell. It was plain to Kalasariz that if Walaria were ever attacked there'd be little help from the High Priest. This was a huge hole in the city's defenses, a gap that couldn't be filled.

So the spy master penned a careful message to Iraj Protarus. In it, he deplored the actions of Didima and Umurhan. He also subtly hinted if the day ever came when Protarus might wish his assistance, Kalasariz was his humble servant and would be pleased to comply. With the message he included the documents he had hidden away: Safar's death warrant and Kalasariz letter of protest.

The message was sent the day his hunters returned with the sad news that Safar Timura was nowhere to be found.

Nerisa crouched in the corner of her cell, a blood-crusted bandage wrapped around her forehead. She was weak from hunger and loss of blood. She had no idea how long she'd been in the cell or how long she'd remain before they came to take her.

Despite her weakness, she remained stubbornly unafraid. She held firm to a prisoner's ultimate defiancethey can kill you, but they can't eat you.

She'd rescued Safar. This was satisfaction enough. No one could take that back. If she were to be sacrificed for her love, so be it. Safar would go on living and he'd have the magical idol and Asper's bookwhich she'd given to Gundarato remember her by. She was certain he would make a great future for himself and no matter what happened to Nerisa, she would always be a major part of that future.

Nerisa had one real hope. When she'd been captured her unconscious body had been dumped in a holding cell with others caught up in the arena riots. When she'd regained consciousness she'd had the presence of mind to swallow the gold coins Safar had given her. If she ever had the opportunity she intended to use those coins to win her freedom. At the very worst she could bribe the executioner to make her death swift and painless.

It was a slender hope but it was hope just the same.

A rattle of keys and heavy footsteps brought her up. She saw the warder unlocking her cell door. There was another man behind him.

"Oh, it's you, Zeman, she rasped. What are you doing here? Run out of flies to torture?"

Zeman stretched his lips into a nasty grin. You should be more polite to me, he said, waving an official looking document at her. I'm your new owner."

Nerisa spit. No one owns me, she said.

Zeman stepped into the cell. They do now, he said. You have no idea how far-thinking and kind the law is in Walaria when an underage child is involved. I've just paid out a small sum to rescue you from this cell.

"In return for my generosity you have been given to me as a slave."

Nerisa was shocked. The fear she'd fought against since her capture rose up to grip her heart in icy fingers.

She clutched at hope Your grandfather will never allow it, she said. Katal doesn't believe in slavery."

Zeman snickered. Don't look to my grandfather for help, he said. Then he made a mournful face. Poor old dear. He's dead you know. Something he ate didn't agree with him."

Nerisa became numb. She had no doubt Zeman had poisoned the old man. Tears welled. She shook her injured head violently, using pain to quell the tears. She'd be damned if she'd give Zeman the satisfaction.

"You are looking at the sole proprietor of the Foolsmire, he said. And the sole owner of you, as well."

"What do you want with me? Nerisa snarled. You know I'll run the first chance I get. Either that, or kill you in your sleep."

"Oh, I don't intend to own you very long, Zeman replied. I've already approached a buyer who's willing to take you off my hands. I'm making a handsome profit, if you must know. Although not as much as your buyer is going to make. Apparently there are certain menrich men, I'm toldwho have an appetite for little whores like yourself."

Zeman pasted on another of his ugly smiles. And after you've grown breasts and are no longer any good to your new owner, I'm sure he'll make other arrangements for your future."

Zeman snickered. He gave me his word on that."

Nerisa screamed in fury and launched herself at Zemannails coming out like a cat's to rake his eyes from his head.

The warder stepped in and clubbed her down. She fell to the floor, unconscious.

The warder raised his heavy stick to strike again.

Zeman stopped him, saying, Let's not damage the merchandise."

Safar huddled in the slender shade of a desert succulent. His robe was hitched up over his head to protect himself from the merciless sun. A hot wind blew over the desolate landscape, intent on wringing every drop of moisture from his body. His tongue was a thick raw muscle, his lips cracked and drawn back over his teeth. He scraped at the hard ground with a jagged piece of rock, trying to dig a deep enough hole to expose the moisture held by the succulent's roots. He'd been working at it for hours but was so weak he'd barely managed a slight depression.

The sun had only just reached its zenith. The hottest and longest hours were still ahead. It was unlikely that he'd last until nightfall. But he kept at it, knowing neither hope or despair. He was like an animal with no thought in its head except survival.

A few days before he'd had life enough left to know joy when he saw his pursuers turn back. The hunters from Walaria had tracked him doggedly for a week, forcing him to flee deeper into the desert. With Gundara's help he'd cast spells of confusion to shake them off. Although he'd managed to elude them several times, the hunters kept reappearing on his trail. Gundara said it could only mean they had magic of their own to assist them.

The hunters gave up when they ran out of water. Safar, who didn't have that luxury, had run out long before. Divining spells proved to be uselesshe never had a chance to stop and resupply himself. Finally he was even denied Gundara's company and help, the intense desert causing the little Favorite to grow weak and retreat into the stone idol. After that, Safar had paused when he could to kill a lizard or snake and suck out its moisture. It was a losing battle, with the sun and wind draining his life as quickly as he'd drained those poor creatures.

Safar made one more swipe at the dry depression. Then all his strength fled and the rock fell from his grasp. He sagged back on the ground, gasping for breath.

Then even breathing seemed to require too much effort and he thought, Well, I'll just stop. But to his disgust his chest insisted on heaving in and out, drawing in air filled with sharp bits of grit. Then he thought, it has to end sooner or later. I'll lie here until it does. He sighed and shut his eyes.

Then Safar heard musicdistant pipes and bells. He thought, this must be what it's like to die.

The sound grew louder and he was overcome with a vague curiosity to look this strange, music-playing Death in the face.

He opened his eyes and wasn't disappointed. A huge low-flying creature swept across the desert towards him. It looked like an immense head, swirling with all sorts of marvelous colors. There were no wings or body attached to the head, but in Safar's daze this seemed quite natural. The creature flew closer and now he could make out its face.