Wedemir cleared his throat. "They may not be safe at home."

Vanda frowned. "Well, we already have some other children in quarters in the basement-that child of the Temple they call Gyskouras, and Illyra's boy-it's a regular nursery. Maybe I can work something out ... oh, of course I'll take them!" She scooped Alfi into her arms. "Just find Mother!" She stared at Lalo over Alfi's dark head, her grey eyes so much like Gilla's that something twisted in Lalo's chest.

"I will ..."he managed, and could say no more.

Vanda nodded, shifted Alfi onto her hip and reached out for Latilla's hand. "Come on, levies, and I'll show you some pretty things."

"Toys?" asked Alfi.

"Toys, and other children, and everything ..." Van-da's voice faded as she went under the archway. Then she turned a corner and was gone. --

"At least it was convenient to drop them here," said Wedemir dryly. "Exactly where in the Palace did that mage tell,you to go?"

"I'll have to ask at the wicket. It's like the Maze inside...." Lalo sighed and splashed across the courtyard.

Behind the wicket at the Gate was a little room where litigants had waited to be called to the Hall of Justice in the days when the Prince still pretended to govern Sanctuary. Lalo settled onto one of its inadequately padded benches and closed his eyes. Instinctively he reached out for that current of awareness that linked him to Gilla, but there was nothing there. He had never realized how essential her presence was to him.

Gilla-Gilla! his heart cried, and he did not realize that he had moaned aloud until he felt Wedemir patting his arm.

"You have decided to come to us after all! What is wrong?"

Lalo's eyes flew open. Randal the Mage with his clothes on was an altogether more impressive sight than the man who had borrowed his cloak in the tavern. In this setting, even his freckles seemed less visible.

"Something tried to get him and took my mother by mistake," said Wedemir accusingly. "A black globular sort of thing-it just materialized in the kitchen, and she was gone!"

"A kind of bubble shot with flashes of blue light?" asked Randal, and Wedemir nodded. The mage chewed his lip for a moment, then grimaced. "It sounds like Roxane. She has a habit of kidnaping people, and right now she's hellbent on revenge against anyone connected with Molin Torchholder or Niko...."

Randal's voice had softened as he spoke the mercenary's name, and Lalo sensed the complex of frustrated love, longing, and loyalty that explained why the mage had handled Niko's portrait so reverently. But Lalo could hardly worry about Randal's feelings now. He had heard too many tales about Roxane....

"But why take my mother if she wanted Lalo?" asked Wedemir.

Randal looked at the limner sympathetically. "The witch didn't expect you to give any trouble or she would have come herself. The Sphere was a Carrier, set to react to your identity. And your wife spoke your name-"

"But she must realize her mistake by now. Why hasn't she let Gilla go?"

"Roxane plays for points," said Randal gently. "As long as the woman's no trouble, she'll keep her, maybe use her as a hostage to compel you ..."

No one needed to detail what could happen if Roxane got tired of her captive. Lalo jerked to his feet and Randal pulled him back with surprising strength.

"No, Lalo-Roxane has no honor. You could not be sure of saving your wife even if you offered yourself in her place. To strike against the sorceress is the only way!"

Lalo sank back onto the bench and covered his eyes.

"Are you with us then. Limner?" asked Randal softly.

"I'm with you," interrupted Wedemir, "if you'll teach me how to fight!"

"That can be arranged," said Randal. He waited for Lalo's answer.

"Help me free Gilla and show me how to protect those who depend on me," the words were dragged from Lalo's lips, "and yes, I'll do what I can to help you."

Gilla sneezed, heaved herself upright, and sneezed again. Something round and hard was digging into her side. She looked down, saw a skull, and jerked away. So much for the comfortable conclusion that she had been having a nightmare. She still gripped her broom, but she was not at home; no one had cleaned this place for quite a while.

"Ah-fat lady wake now? Fat lady sleep hard; Snapper Jo was lonely!"

Gilla stared. The voice which had uttered these words of welcome was very deep, with a kind of curdled quality that made her think of the bottom of a vegetable bin that had been left alone too long. For a moment her eyes struggled to sort through a confusion of piled boxes and dusty hangings, then she focused on a shape that was tall, and gaunt, and gray. It made a gurgling sound that could have meant anything, and lit a lamp.

Gilla blinked. The creature's general grayness was more than compensated for by a pair of purple pantaloons and a shock of orange hair. He treated her to a sharp, snaggle-toothed smile.

"Fat lady talk to Snapper Jo now?"

Gilla cleared her throat. "Does this place belong to you?"

"Oh, noooo-" The warts on his gray skin seemed to crawl as Snapper Jo glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "Great Mistress rules here! Great Lady, very beautiful, very strong ..." He ducked his head with a kind of fearful reverence.

Gilla thought he was overdoing it, but it was obvious that whoever had brought her here did have plenty of power. Beneath the dust she caught the unmistakable dank perfume of the White Foal River, so she knew she must still be in Sanctuary, and there were only two sorceresses here with that kind of power. Her skin chilled as she thought about it. It was the kind of riddle children asked in play: Would you rather be eaten by a she-panther or a tigress? By Ischade or by Roxane?

Suddenly the dust and clutter around her seemed stifling. Gilla got to her feet and picked her way, between a dusty carved table and a tall vase of dull brass inlaid with tarnished silver, toward the door. The vase toppled as Snapper Jo leaped with awkward efficiency to block her.

"Fat lady not to go-" the gray fiend said reproachfully. "Orders-Mistress says to keep you here." He favored her with a walleyed leer. "And talk to Snapper Jo!"

Gilla talked to him. She could not tell if it was for hours, really, or only seemed that way. The fiend's conversation was remarkably repetitive, and only long practice in answering the questions of small children while doing something else got her through it still sane. But the light behind the curtains was definitely fading when something moved in the doorway and Snapper Jo's patter abruptly failed.

The room seemed to brighten, or perhaps it was only that this woman left a glamor in the air around her. Local legend had said that Roxane was terrible, but had no words to say how beautiful she was. And surely it was Roxane, for everyone knew that the witch Ischade was pale as a night-born flower, but Roxane's skin bloomed like a rose.

"So, you are enjoying your conversation?" Roxane's little cat smile did not reach her eyes.

You bitch, how dare you ... thought Gilla. Then she met that gaze, and felt her skin grow cold. She bit back the retort that ached in her throat.

"My Carrier was not prepared for such as you." Roxane looked Gilla up and down. "Count yourself fortunate that your weight did not burst it and leave you floating mindless between the planes!" The Nisibisi sorceress laughed, and Gilla's chill drove deeper. This woman reeked of evil like some deadly perfume.

Gilla found herself retreating within the fortress of her flesh; she had never understood until now how her bulk had protected her. Physically her sheer mass had made her formidable. And it had shielded her psychically from all but the most powerful personalities. But Roxane was pure power, and Gilla was afraid.