Movement in the darkness at the edge of the firelight caught her eye, Movement and black shining eyes.

Something had been drawn to the scent of blood and meat.

The old woman flung the broken rib bone she was sucking on at the eyes. They disappeared with a scuffling sound

and something else ran, too. Something had been foraging in a newly dug pit over there. Getting reluctantly to her feet, the old woman went to investigate.

She discovered that one of the hunting party had been digging up the swollen roots of a black-fingered plant. No wonder this was a favoured halting place on their journey home. Working more by feel than sight, she quickly cut a string of the bulbous tubers loose and carried them back to her little fire. Head back and mouth open, she held up the roots and sliced into them, gulping down the woody-tasting water they were hoarding. Thirst finally quenched, she tossed the fibrous hollow tubers onto the fire where they hissed and burned as she returned to the scurrier carcass.

By the time she was contemplating how best she might break open the scurrier's hips to get at the marrow in there, the spiny yellow leaf was soft and charred. Using the shoulder-blade bone to save her fingers, she hauled it onto the cooler earth and sliced it open with her new stone shard. Peeling back the slimy skin, she blew on the bland, pale pulp to cool it a little and pulled out as many of the harsh fibres as she could. Then she began eating, sucking at her fingers when the heat threatened to scald them.

When had she last eaten her fill like this? Not since the old man had been able to leave his hut. And there would be more meat to salvage when the daylight came. She could cut more yellow spiny leaves and lay them on the fire. She could pack the pulp into one of her gourds and fill the other with water from the black finger plants' roots. Finally scraping the last of the pulp from the inner corners of the fat spiny leaf, she sat back and gazed sleepily at the flickering fire.

Something moved behind her in the darkness and hissed. A surge of fear restored her to full wakefulness and she scrambled to her feet, the shoulder-blade bone

held out defiantly before her. Whatever it was lurked just beyond the meagre light cast by the fire. Something else hissed and the first creature replied. Whatever it was, it wasn't alone.

The old woman gathered up her belongings with one hand, still clutching the bone. Not that she had much hope of fighting off anything that attacked. And if she fell asleep down here, she'd wake up to find a lizard chewing off her foot or her hand. If she woke up at all.

But where could she go in the middle of the night, with no light to guide her, in this unknown land? The chittering of some night flyer drew her eyes upwards. She looked reluctantly at the dark edge of the cave mouth just visible above the out-thrust ledge in the rock.

She could sleep in the painted cave. She'd set foot in there, albeit by accident, and had not died of it - not yet, anyway. She'd even fallen asleep in there. Was she going to die of it? If so, what more did she have to fear? If not, well, that would be something to think about. And if she didn't die in her sleep, she'd be hungry when she woke

up.

Defiance lending her strength as well as courage, she ignored the menacing noises lurking in the shadows and swiftly cut two more of the yellow spiny leaves. She wedged the fat slabs into the dying fire. Perhaps the lizards and ants would leave her some of the softened pulp to salvage in the morning.

The hisses in the darkness were growing louder, with something growling deep in its throat. She had to be alive to see the morning. The old woman drew a deep breath and snatched up her bundle, trying not to run. The old man had always said that if you ran, you'd be chased. Not that she could have run in the darkness that engulfed her as soon as she left the firelight.

She picked her way painstakingly back along the path

to the fork and retraced her steps to the painted cave. Steeling herself, she went inside, deliberately this time. No beast appeared to immolate her. No painted man peeled himself off the walls to strike her down. She lay down, using her bundle for a pillow once again, and cradled her full belly. Trying not to listen to the snarling quarrels between whatever creatures had come to scavenge the rest of the scurrier, she went back to sleep. If a painted man did appear to wreak his revenge on her, she'd be dead before she woke.

CHAPTER SEVEN

You'll be fit for nothing if you don't get some sleep tonight.' Itrac tilted her head quizzically as she joined Kheda beneath a cluster of nut palms between his pavilion and the observatory. 'Beyau said you've been out here since before dawn.' A silver-ornamented band of turtleshell pushed her unbound black locks off her face. Close-cut trousers of soft pink flattered her long legs beneath a loose scarlet tunic and a gauzy mantle embroidered with trumpet flowers.

Kheda smiled briefly at her. 'I wanted to see Ulla Safar's galley safely out of the lagoon.'

'Was there any portent?' A faint crease appeared between Itrac's precisely plucked brows.

'No,' Kheda said slowly. 'And we could come to no firm conclusions as to the meaning of the new-year stars.'

So I have no lies ready to persuade you that I must leave here, just for a little while. Will I have to stay? What will Velindre say to that? What will happen to Risala if I don't go with her? Would she go off with these wizards alone, without me? I wouldn 't put it past Velindre to come up with barefaced lies to convince her that's what I want her to do.

'Did Olkai and Sekni sleep well?' he asked briskly.

'Yes, thankfully.' Itrac gestured towards an open-sided silken tent erected on an islet across the sparkling lagoon. Blush coloured hangings fluttered in the breeze that Carried laughter across the water. 'Are you going to join us for breakfast?'

'Naturally, my lady.' Kheda smoothed his white silk

tunic, bright with coppery embroidery mimicking red-lance fronds.

'It would be more fitting if you had a body slave at your heels.' Itrac began walking. 'Jevin says you've sent those hopefuls to join the swordsmen in their morning drills again. How do you propose to choose between them if you don't let them attend you?'

'Their practice yesterday was marred by possible ill omen.' Kheda looked sternly over his shoulder at the hapless slave. 'I want Ridu to get their measure without distraction, now that Ulla Safar has gone. As soon as we see some clearer portent, I'll make my choice.'

A truth that hides a lie and a still deeper truth. I won't see an omen telling me which new slave to take because I no longer fall for such foolish self-deception.

'Very well, my lord.' Jevin's self-possession faltered a little.

Itrac looked out across the lagoon. 'Then let's join our remaining guests for breakfast.'

'As you wish, my lady.' Kheda cordially offered her his arm. As they walked on together, Kheda noted the discreetly approving glances of residence slaves and servants.

These islanders of Chazen adore Itrac, and not just for standing by them after disaster overtook Chazen Saril's rule. She could have refuted her marriage after such ill omens and lost herself in some obscurity where no one could have found her, even if her birth domain refused her sanctuary out of ignorant fear of the taint of magic.

The people of Chazen even approve of me, though I wasn 't born to their domain and took power under such dubious circumstances. What else could they do, after I rescued them from such evils? And now I have supposedly secured their peace and prosperity with my astute rule guided by earthly portents and readings of the heavens.