Crope looked at his boots—yet another thing he owed to Quillan Moxley. The thief had deemed his original diamond boots "lacking in mediocrity" and had purchased a superior, more forgettable pair.

"Lord has nothing. Crope has nothing," Crope said, feeling deeply wretched. "Can break rocks and fix things" He struggled for more. "Once acted in a mummers' show as a bear."

Quill appeared genuinely puzzled at this and paused for a moment to consider it. With a shake of his head he continued. "His lordship must have friends in high places. Stashes? Influences? Favors waiting to be cashed? You don't end up with a surlord as your personal jailer unless you're valuable, or dangerous. Or both." A thoughtful look charged Quill's features. "You're going to have to leave this house tonight, my friend An not your protector. I'm a thief, and I don't want to hang."

Suddenly things had become deadly serious. It was almost dark in the room now. Oil lanterns burning in the street lit the ceiling with a flickering orange glow. The north face of Mount Slain was breathing, moving banks of mist across the city. Crope felt their chill, and his instinct was to light the little brass stove in the corner. That had just become an impossibility though. You couldn't fault Quill for looking out for himself. If it wasn't for his lord, Crope imagined he would have done the same. Still, it was hard to know what to do. Why was there never enough thinking room in his head?

Quill let the silence be, his long thief's fingers twitching.

Suddenly the sound of horse hoofs rang out in the street below. The Rive Watch. Few in the Rat's Nest owned horses—nags to pull barrows, donkeys for hauling soft goods and drunks. It had to be the red cloaks.

Crope's gaze jumped from the blacked-out window to Quill. A delicate adjustment of neck muscle was all it took for the thief to send his face into shadow.

Here it was then. Quill had called in his marker, and Crope had no means to pay. Nodding softly, Crope said, "Go now. Take lord out back" Who knew where they would go? Not north, that was the only thing he was sure of. No good had ever come to anyone from heading north.

Quill bowed his head gravely. "May your nights always be long and moonless."

Crope tried to respond with matching dignity, but the panic was building. His lord was too sick to travel. What would they do? Leave the city? Stay? Quill said everyone in Spire Vanis was searching for them. How could they even walk to the nearest gate without being seen? Crope tried, but he imagined the plea "Help me!" was writ clear upon his face.

If it was the thief didn't acknowledge it. With a swift movement Quill crossed to the door. The bolts were pulled with expert skill. Even the one that needed oiling made no sound. Light from the hall poured into the room. 'Til send the dog up," Quill said in parting. "Best be quick."

Just as the thief's shadow slid across the threshold a word sounded.

"Wait"

It was a command, issued quietly but filled with force, and it halted the thief in his tracks. Baralis had spoken.

Quill reacted so quickly, spinning around and stepping back across the threshold, that for a moment Crope wondered if he hadn't anticipated such a response all along. Pushing the door closed behind him, the thief fixed his gaze on the bed. "I'm listening."

All the time Quill had been in the room, Baralis had not moved. He moved now though, using his elbows to pull himself up a fraction on the bed. dope's instinct was to rush forward to aid him, but his lord sent a look from the distant past. I will deal with this.

Thwak Thwak Thwak. The sound of a spear butt thumping a door sounded from the street below. Crope couldn't tell if it was Quill's door or the one before it. Incomprehensibly, neither Baralis or Quill seemed to care. Each was looking at the other in a manner that reminded Crope of the way free miners appraised newfound diamonds for flaws.

After a moment Baralis spoke, and to Crope's ears his lord's voice sounded more beautiful than it had eighteen years earlier. It broke on some of the words and sometimes faded, but its power was still there. All that had been lost could be heard, yet that only added to the richness. Crope's heart ached with love and sadness. The essence of his lord had always lived in his voice.

"Deliver us safely from the watch and you will be rewarded." "How so? Your friend here says you have nothing." Baralis's reply came quickly, but to C rope's ears it was not as fast at it would have been eighteen years earlier. "My servant speaks the truth as he knows it. I know where the Surlord's secret stash lies."

Quill's eyes widened, yet he forced them back down to two little strips. "Secret stashes? Do you think I was born yesterday?"

"You were born thirty-one years ago in a town so small it didn't have a name. You lived in a lean-to built by your grandfather, who beat you with a fire iron. You left home when you were nine. No one came after you, but you never stopped hoping."

"Enough." Quill was shaking. "Where is this stash?" Shouting sounded from down below as Baralis rocked his mangled body forward on the bed. Sheets fell from him like shed skin. "I will not reveal the whereabouts of Iss' stash, but know this: I have moved beyond deception. I want nothing but shelter for my servant and myself. Hell knows me, and you cannot understand what that knowing brings. Every hour that passes I become less. The things that I want are beyond your power to hoard or steal. Help me and you will receive what I no longer desire."

A moment passed where if Crope was asked he would have said he felt as if the earth beneath his feet was turning, and then the thief nodded slowly, without eagerness. "The deal is done. God help us all."

Crope gathered his lord's possessions together as Quill went ahead to fetch the dogs.

ELEVEN A Raven's Call

Raif opened his eyes. All was still and dark. The Want had thickened while he slept, there was no other way to describe it. Sometimes it felt loose and full of space, a vapor that might blow in the wind. Now it felt like sediment sinking to the bottom of a glass.

Without thinking, he raised his hand to his chest. He had been sleeping on his back, yet something had pushed the raven lore deep into the V of his throat. As his fingers pried the hard piece of bird ivory from his skin, his mind became aware of something his body already knew. Danger. His muscles were already charged, his sweat glands open and excreting oil. Even before he opened his eyes his night vision had been engaged.

Unknown territory, that was what his life had become. Yet what choice did he have but to embrace it?

Rising, he made swift decisions on what he would need. The dimness of the tent did not slow him, and he located clothes, boots and weapons, readied himself, and then stepped outside.

A piercing frost had cracked down on the Want while he'd slept No wind could live in such cold and the air was paralyzed. The cookfire in the center of the tent circle had shrunk to a dim, red glow. Frozen smoke accumulating around the base was slowly suffocating the last of the flames. The lamb brother on night watch was away from his post. Raif tracked his footsteps to the corral and spotted him calming the milk ewe. The animals knew.

Raif crossed to the fire, closed his fist around the lamb brother's bone-and-copper spear and tugged it from the earth. "Here," he said, as the man approached him. "Take it."

He was the youngest brother, the novice. A single black dot was centered over the bridge of his nose. The discipline of his brothers was something he had not yet mastered, and in the unobserved darkness of his watch he had tied a horse blanket over his dark brown robes to keep out the cold. He shed this now as he took the spear. Whatever he read on Raif's face was enough to sober him. In the seven days he'd stayed in the lamb brothers' camp, Raif had never heard him speak. Raif couldn't even be sure if he understood Common, but he spoke to htm anyway. Probably to calm himself. "With me."