Smolen-RDebauchResort DebauchRoxanne SmolenSynergEbooksCopyright © 2001 by Roxanne SmolenScience Fiction. 74277 words long. First published by Word Wrangler, 2000 enNoveltext/xml

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Resort Debauch
by Roxanne Smolen
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Science Fiction

SynergEbooks
www.synergebooks.com

Copyright ©2001 by Roxanne Smolen

First published by Word Wrangler, 2000

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CHAPTER 1

Anneliese blinked against the brilliance of the rifle blast. Metal screamed as the shot careened off the side of a ship. Instantly, Cade pressed back, shielding her with his body.

Footsteps echoed through the spaceport. A voice barked a guttural command. Anneliese peered about her husband's back, torn between fright and fascination.

Suddenly, a native-born man ran into view, his tattered robe twisting behind him. He glanced about, chest heaving.

A criminal on the run.

Anneliese shivered. She hid her face in Cade's soft shirt, breathing deeply of his now familiar scent. She didn't want to be here, she thought, didn't want to learn more of this dangerous, decadent world. Clutching her husband's arm, she turned her gaze from the scene.

And caught sight of another face outlined in darkness.

Anneliese straightened, tugging at Cade's sleeve. A cry died in her throat. A man stood nearby, half-hidden by the fore-pit of a ship. His eyes shone like gold against his amber skin, and as he lifted them to meet hers, the hood of his garment fell away, exposing a face cut of angles and planes. The man stared beyond her as if haunted by loss. Then a scream echoed through the spaceport, and he backed away.

Anneliese turned. Uniformed guards closed about the criminal, striking him with the butts of their rifles. A huge man strode toward them, robes billowing from the force of his step. He pushed through the group, knocking the guards aside, snatching up the prisoner as if he were a child.

The criminal cried out in his alien tongue, his voice rising and falling in answer to questions. Then the giant drew a knife from his voluminous robes, opening the man's throat.

Anneliese stiffened, unable to look away. She saw blood spurt like a dark fountain, heard the wet plop of the man dropping to the pavement.

The giant walked away, leaving the guards murmuring. One of them nudged the body with his foot.

Her husband stepped forward. “You there!” he bellowed. “Explain this outrage! I'll not have my wife placed in jeopardy."

A guard said, “My apology to you both. Allow me to escort you to Customs."

Then another voice, farther away, called, “Cade, you limmer. What brings you back so soon?"

Anneliese stared at the pooling blood. It couldn't be real, she thought. How could this man be dying before her?

How could she have watched?

Suddenly, a knot of revulsion rose up her throat. She wanted to run, to dive back into the Rimer's Cope and fly far away from this horrid place.

Cade slid his arm about her shoulders, brushing back her mane of hip-length hair. “I'm sorry Lisa. Please don't allow this spectacle to affect you."

Anneliese looked up at her husband's pale eyes, forcing herself to smile. She knotted her fingers into his shirt. Cade drew her down the dark rows of docked ships toward a pair of doors. Anneliese walked as if her feet were numb, stumbling and struggling against him. She kept hearing the sound of the man striking the pavement....

A slap of cool air sharpened her senses. Still clinging to her husband's side, Anneliese looked about. They stood in a large waiting area. Benches formed a diamond shape in the center of the room. Communication cubicles lined the far wall, and several security guards loitered about the booths.

A tinny voice drew her attention. “Good afternoon, and welcome to the Resort Debauch. May I see your traveling permits?"

Anneliese turned toward a Customs officer. He had the dark amber skin of a native-born, and his golden eyes reflected the light.

“Your traveling papers, please?” he said again, his smile showing crooked, brown teeth.

He uses a translation device, Anneliese realized—his words didn't match his lips. Cade handed him a pair of triangular chips, which the man snapped into a computer console. The workstation flashed with the rapidly changing screen, and the man blinked like an owl.

“Anneliese Thielman?” he asked. “Any relation to Mortar Thielman?"

“Her father,” Cade told him.

“Is that so?” The officer leaned back in his chair.

Anneliese swallowed several times, finding her voice. “The man outside,” she said, “what was his crime?"

The officer spread his hands. “Sabotage. Thievery. Who can say? Locals are not allowed in port.” He withdrew the chips from the console, recording their codes on the docking pass.

Anneliese pressed forward. “But they killed him."

“The punishment for any infraction is death, but you shouldn't be concerned—the rules don't apply to patrons. May you both enjoy your visit."

Taking her arm, Cade guided Anneliese through the security door and down a long hallway. Crimson light shone from every direction, as if meaning to bake them.

“His blood was like ink.” Anneliese felt ill with the heat.

Suddenly, she remembered the second man, the sad one hiding in the shadows. She hoped he escaped the docking station.

Her husband chuckled. “You certainly aren't your father's daughter."

Anneliese looked at him sharply. She pulled herself to her full fifty-seven inch height, stamping her foot. “My father would never abide such a brutal display. He is a gentle and sensitive man."

“Of course he is."

Cade ran the docking pass along the OCR at the door, keying in the code from his chip. The heavy door clicked, sliding to the side.

Anneliese stepped hesitantly into the hotel. The room rang with voices. Humans from all reaches of the galaxy milled about as if the lobby were a meeting place. Some wore flowing caftans. Others were dressed in less than Anneliese wore to bed at night, flaunting their nakedness.

“Astounding,” she whispered.

Cade smiled. “Didn't I say you'd love it here? I'm going to register. Why don't you look around?"

“No!” Anneliese tucked her fingers beneath his arm. “I would rather stay with you."

As they stepped to the desk, a woman approached. She wore only a silver loincloth.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Welcome to the Resort Debauch, where all your fantasies are real. May I see your docking pass, please?"

The hostess stretched out her hand, causing her breast to jiggle. Anneliese felt heat rush to her face. She averted her eyes.

“We've been expecting you,” the hostess told them. “Your suites are ready. Do you have luggage at your ship, anything you would like to bring along?"

“My satchel!” Anneliese cried. “I forgot it."

Cade lifted her hand, kissing her fingertips. “Darling, I've told you. Everything we need is here."

“But, I want my diary."

His pale eyes hardened. “I said, no."

“We can retrieve it for you later if you change your mind,” the hostess said. “In the meantime, may I arrange a complementary tour of our facilities?"

Cade took the keys from the countertop. “I've been here before."

“Then I bid you pleasant fantasies. Mr. Ahzgott will lead you to your rooms."

A native man with a weathered face rounded the desk. He bowed briefly. “The Resort was founded 212 Standard years ago by Burke Noyade of the Gamma Coalition. He chose this planet because of its distance from normal trading routes, and because of its unlimited volcanic energy."

He led them across the vast lobby, past cliques of laughing, boisterous people. Anneliese tried to concentrate upon her guide's recital, but her eyes kept flicking to the side.

Couches created a maze around her. Potted trees drooped with fragrant blooms. She turned a corner, entering a room with a waterfall. Spotlights above the gushing stream filled the air with glittering motes.

“How wonderful!” Anneliese raised her voice over the forceful roar. She hurried to the edge of the pool.

Just then, a naked man stepped from the cascading water. He ran his fingers through his streaming hair, oblivious to them. Anneliese covered her face with both hands.

“Yes,” Ahzgott said, “we have several pools and hot tubs available, the most popular of which is on the second level—it is fashioned after a desert geyser on the Seretine flats.” He led them around the fall. Lowering his voice, he said, “Water is our planet's most precious resource, and must be carefully reclaimed."

Anneliese walked with her head down, hoping to hide her burning cheeks. Her mind replayed the emergence of the naked man.

They entered a wide corridor.

“What's in there?” she asked, motioning toward a pair of ornate doors.

Ahzgott halted. “This is our main banquet hall. Similar halls are at the end of each wing. Banquets begin promptly at dusk and continue throughout the night."

Anneliese stepped inside, her footsteps echoing. Swathes of gold velvet draped the walls, and archaic lanterns hung from the ceiling.In the center of the room, she saw a long table.

“A magnificent piece,” she said, admiring its shimmering grain, “although, I doubt one table is up to the task. Where are the chairs?"

“Housekeepers,” Ahzgott said, “have been polishing the floor."

Anneliese looked down. Her image reflected as if she stood upon a black mirror. “I've never seen flooring like this,” she said.

“It is made of blood."

“I beg your pardon?"

“When the Resort came to this planet, the local inhabitants pledged their fealty with blood. The architects poured the substance over a foundation—a symbolic gesture."

Anneliese felt her face drain. She stared as if mired in gore.

Cade laughed, sweeping her into his arms. “Excuse my wife. She's a bit faint of spirit."

Anneliese gulped the air. “Did you know?"

Laughing, Cade swung her about in a dance.

“You knew!” she cried. “And you let me walk."

“No. Of course not.” He looked down at her in his arms, his pale eyes holding her own, showing the crooked smile that had so captured her heart. “But, you'd best reconcile this in your mind,” he said quietly, “for here is where we dine tonight."

He carried her to the corridor, setting her sharply onto her feet. Without a word, their guide continued walking. Anneliese glanced at the silent room, hurrying away.

The corridor ended at a featureless wall. A panel opened, and Ahzgott ushered them into a cubicle.

“The lifts utilize a computer-relay system,” he said, “but they are operator controlled. The operator can be reached at any time.” He pressed a button on the wall.

“Destination?” a voice asked.

Ahzgott said, “Twenty-seven South."

Immediately, the cubicle moved, rising straight up then turning to travel sideways. Anneliese smiled with the sensation. When the doors opened, she stepped out into a sunny courtyard beneath a transparent dome. Urns of flowers lined the walkway—like a sculpted garden, she thought.

“Here we have the penthouse suites,” Ahzgott told them, “eight in all. Yours will be in that direction."

“Thank you,” Cade said. “We can find our way from here."

“Pleasant fantasies.” Ahzgott accepted the coin tossed to him and, head inclined, stepped backward into the lift.

Cade wrapped his arms about his wife, gently kissing the top of her head. “Well, what do you think? Is it everything I told you it would be?"

Anneliese paused, reveling in his embrace; she felt protected and warm. “It's beautiful,” she told him, then realized it was true.

Sunlight streamed from the overhead dome, painting iridescent auras about the blossoms. A couple strolled hand in hand along the colorful array, and farther, a woman sat upon a bench, reading a book.

Cade drew Anneliese across the courtyard, stopping before a door. He pressed the keychip into the lock.

Anneliese felt suddenly nervous, and laughed to cover it. “No voice recognition, no handprints?"

“The people who frequent the Resort Debauch don't appreciate having their prints recorded.” He kissed her cheek. “If you have any problems, I'll be right across the hall."

“Separate rooms?” Anneliese blurted.

Cade cupped her chin in his palm. “We have the rest of our lives to be together. I don't want to rush you."

“But, I thought...."

“Enough. I want you to go inside and rest. I'll buy a gown for you to wear to dinner.” He gave her his crooked smile.

Anneliese searched his face. Tears welled in her eyes. Why did you bring me here? she wanted to ask. Why here, when we had the whole galaxy for our honeymoon?

Her husband guided her into the suite. The door clicked shut. Anneliese wrapped her arms about an empty sensation in her chest, turning to face the room.

The suite was large and sunny; the vaulted ceiling slanted into a window box that ran along the outer wall. A sunken pit dominated the great room, with a theatre-style vid-screen opposite it.

Anneliese moved to the doorway of the master bedroom. Here, the entire ceiling was transparent, part of the penthouse dome. A blush touched the sky as the afternoon waned.

She peered around the corner at an enormous bed. Heavy, intaglio posts anchored its corners. The wall above held an antique oil painting—a woman depicted with wings.

Sudden tears filled her. Anneliese leapt onto the bed. Burying her face in a mound of fragrant, satiny sheets, she wept until she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 2

Anneliese hesitated before the banquet hall. Laughter belched from the open door. She tugged again at the neckline of her gown, wondering what Cade could have been thinking to buy such a monstrosity. Tufts of filmy lace surrounded her like a cloud, slit too high behind and too low....

Cade placed his hand on her back, urging her forward, and Anneliese stepped onto the barbarous floor. She held her breath, certain that she could detect a foul odor.

The room brimmed with color; all manner of dress, all caste of people filled the hall. They circled about like snapping dogs, awaiting their food.

Anneliese took her husband's arm, drawing strength from his presence. He glanced at her and she felt suddenly warm.

Over the din, a voice hailed them. A tall man moved their way, grinning and shoving people aside. “Cade. I heard you were back."

Cade stretched out his hand. “I couldn't stay away. I'd like you to meet Anneliese Thielman, my wife."

The man's dark eyes ran over her gown. Anneliese restrained the urge to fold her arms over her breasts.

“Mortar Thielman's only daughter?” The man cocked his brow. “Quite a find."

Cade draped his arm about his wife's slight form. “I would have loved her anyway, even if she hadn't been rich."

Both men laughed. Anneliese clasped her hands tightly before her, searching for something clever to say.

Then a voice called, “Cade! Will you be at the games tonight?"

“I might stand in,” her husband called back.

“Well, bring a voucher. I feel lucky."

The man with the dark eyes shook his head. “That Prin. Always feeling lucky."

“Fortunately for us, he isn't.” Cade laughed.

Anneliese looked between them, smiling. She enjoyed games; she'd often played sticks-and-runners with her nanny as a child. Perhaps she knew of the game to which they referred.

The man lifted a mug, swallowing its contents. “I'm empty,” he said. “Come with me and I'll buy you an ale."

Cade said, “Thanks, but I think we'll find a seat before they're all taken. I don't want her to miss the excitement."

“Join you later, then."

Anneliese spoke up. “It was nice to have met you, Mister.... “She paused, realizing that Cade hadn't introduced the man.

Cade chuckled. He guided her toward the massive table. With a bewitching smile, he held her chair.

Anneliese sat at the table. She drew her fingers through her hair, allowing it to fall behind her.

“Mane of moonlight.” Her husband kissed her neck. “You drive me wild."

Shrugging, she said, “Why didn't you want me to know the name of your friend?"

“Did it seem that way? How rude of me. Here, let me make amends.” Cade raised his voice. “Harmadeur! Join us!"

Anneliese smiled, looking about. Words of greeting died in her throat as the huge man she had seen at the spaceport strode toward them.

“Darling, this is Harmadeur-Fezzan-Gendarme, the Security Master here at the Resort. Harmadeur, this is my wife,” Cade said.

Anneliese could only stare. Harmadeur leaned toward her across the table. He wore a flowing robe and had the same reflective eyes as the Customs officer. His face hid behind a jutting, black beard.

Harmadeur took her hand, pressing her fingers against his lips. “Young wife,” he said, “you are a beautiful woman. Perhaps you will consent to spend an hour with me? Cade is welcome to watch, of course."

Anneliese recoiled in horror.

Cade laughed. “Lisa, it's a joke. He's only complementing you."

Harmadeur showed a row of stained teeth, sitting opposite them at the table. Instantly, a server filled his water glass. Anneliese hid her hands in a fold of her gown, wiping the moist kiss from her fingers.

Leaning on his forearms, Cade asked, “Where is Rachet these days?"

“Murdered in the night,” his friend told him, lighting a cigarette the color of tar. “He was skimming."

Anneliese closed her ears to their patter. The room roared, sound crashing and holding her separate, as if she were an island amid an immense sea.

It's good that Cade knows him, she told herself. An officer of security would be a fine friend to have. But in her mind, she saw Harmadeur shaking the captured man like a doll, slicing his throat even as he pleaded....

Suddenly, people converged upon the table. Every seat filled. Those without chairs sat upon the floor, lounging on cushions.

Did they know they sat upon dried blood? Anneliese wondered. She shuddered, drawing her feet up the rungs of the chair.

A group of boys emerged, struggling with oversized trays. They passed among the patrons.

“You must try our tea, little naifa,” Harmadeur told her. He removed their cups from a server's tray. “It is brewed from a moss found only in this region."

Anneliese stared at the muddy-looking liquid; bits of material floated on top.

“Let it settle a moment,” Cade said, “and drink it slowly. It is rather bracing—keep you awake all night."

Harmadeur laughed, blowing great puffs of foul smelling smoke. “Legends tell of feeding the tea to our armies. They would fight for days and never notice they were dead."

Anneliese sipped from her steaming cup. The tea had a nutty-sweet flavor, surprisingly pleasant. She waited a moment but didn't feel any of the effects.

“Very nice,” she proclaimed, taking another sip.

Drawing deeply upon his cigarette, Harmadeur watched her. Anneliese leaned toward her husband, running her fingers over his arm, and he regaled her with his crooked smile.

Her heart soared. She would endure anything, she thought, if only to see him smile.

The young servers returned, bearing black vats of soup. They ladled the thin liquid into bowls. Anneliese turned toward the boy who attended her.

“What kind of soup is this?” she asked.

The boy bowed his head. He would not meet her eyes.

“Lisa, don't confuse him. He's only a local,” Cade said.

“But, I just...."

“Take the soup."

Anneliese felt flames leap to her cheeks. She accepted the bowl, glancing to see if anyone had noticed the reprimand. Harmadeur continued to stare, and she wanted to scream at him to stop. Avoiding his eyes, she wiped away a bit of soup that had dripped onto the tabletop.

She blinked in surprise. Warmth emanated from the surface, as if the table absorbed the lamplight. A dark grain swirled in deepening layers. Looking closer, she imagined she could see shifting patterns, like a brewing storm.

“Master Gendarme,” she said, “this table is exquisite. I've never seen anything like it."

“Does it please you, little naifa? It is malpais, from the center of our world. This table is of the largest piece known to exist."

Cade nodded. “Their artisans carve the stone into trinkets. It was their only source of commerce before the Resort arrived. Malpais has value, but the quality has diminished."

Harmadeur leaned forward, his strange eyes shining. “If you were my woman, I would build you a house of malpais. You would be the richest woman in the galaxy."

Anneliese met his gaze squarely. I am the richest woman, she thought.

Cade picked up his bowl. “Try the soup,” he told her.

Looking down, she realized there were no utensils.

A roar escaped the crowd. Two men ran into the room, dressed only in flowing trousers. Goaded by the revelers, they danced about the table, parading a dead animal on a litter.

“The animal is a stegort,” Cade told her. “It tunnels in the hills. Quite ferocious, I understand."

Anneliese saw blue muscle, strings of yellow fat. She cried, “They can't expect us to eat that! It hasn't been cooked!"

Harmadeur threw back his head, laughing. Anneliese glared at him.

Cade said, “They cure the meat with spices then leave it in the sun. The heat out there would cook anything."

The two men lowered the litter onto a dais before the table. With curved blades, they carved the beast, cutting thin strips from snout to rump. Brown liquid oozed from the slices.

Anneliese gulped her cooling tea, washing back the nausea that threatened her. Looking up, she caught a glint of amusement in the huge man's eyes. She set her cup down noisily.

“I saw you kill a man in the spaceport today,” she said. “You seemed to enjoy it."

“It is my job to protect the patrons. I enjoy my work."

“The other guards carry rifles. Why don't you?"

Harmadeur dropped his cigarette into his water glass. “Sluice rifles are, shall I say, too impersonal. Your questions are quite direct, little naifa. I would enjoy discussing this further, but as you have reminded me, I have duties to attend. May you both enjoy your meals."

He bowed then strode away, robes billowing behind him. Anneliese took a shuddering breath, torn between relief and fear of repercussion. She glanced at Cade, but he merely drank his tea.

After a moment, she asked, “Why does he call me that?"

“Naifa? The nearest translation would be pet.” Her husband leaned close, stroking her hair. “I believe you've made an impression."

Suddenly, the room swarmed with servant boys, each brandishing a different food. They served the uncooked meat from a barrow.

“Try some,” Cade said, lips glistening with grease.

Anneliese chose from the vegetables she recognized. Her head buzzed and her tongue felt numb. She requested more tea, and a servant filled her cup immediately.

The lanterns dimmed. Three women appeared upon the dais. Long strands of silver hung from bands about their necks. Catcalls and a smattering of applause rounded the room. Anneliese clapped, glancing about.

The women raised their arms, their faces blank as if in a trance. Almost imperceptibly, they began to sway.

“The dance is called moiru,” Cade said in her ear. “It is a test of endurance and timing."

“But there is no music."

Cade shook his head. “Listen."

The women cupped their hands as if beseeching an angry god. Shifting their weight, they set their costumes in motion.

Anneliese reached for her tea. Her ears rang, her head pulsing as if with the tolling of a crystal bell.

“Their dresses,” she whispered, looking up. “They are wearing the music."

The dancers swayed, rolling their hips. Their costumes poured over them like liquid metal. Lifting and sweeping, the long strands parted, allowing glimpses of naked flesh.

Anneliese gasped. She looked to either side of the table. The diners watched avidly, noise diminishing as if they held their breaths.

The ringing streamers switched the air, shimmering in the faded light, and the performers teased them higher with their movements, exposing the length of their thighs, the roundness of their buttocks.

Anneliese slid her fingers along her throat, holding them to her breast. Her heart pounded erratically. She watched the undulating woman nearest her, watched as her thrusting movements set her costume ablaze. The dancer's amber skin glistened with sweat, running down the muscles of her stomach. Moisture shone upon a curly patch of pubes.

Anneliese's head swam. The air vibrated with the ching-ching of music. Heat rose in waves, heavy with the smell of musk.

Faster the women danced. Their costumes switched and flailed, sparks flying as the strands whipped their lithe forms. One woman cried out, sending the crowd into frenzied jeers and laughter. Anneliese felt those behind her press against her back.

Then the woman in front started to spin, streamers standing straight from her body. The crowd called out, counting the seconds.

Anneliese echoed their chant. Her body pounded with the rhythm of the dance. She pressed her thighs tightly together. With sidelong glances, she watched the men at the table, their wide hands drumming and their fervor unrestrained.

The woman staggered, losing her balance to fatigue. A shrill whistle rose from the onlookers.

Cade said, “It takes skill and concentration to dance the moiru."

The dancer slowed, allowing the streamers to shed their momentum until they again draped her body. Anneliese watched the heaving of the woman's breasts, felt the rising of her own.

“Enjoy the dance?” asked Cade.

Anneliese clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes! I feel exhilarated!"

“I think that's the tea.” Her husband smiled.

Anneliese leaned against his chest, and he wrapped his arms about her. She could stay this way forever, she thought.

A woman's voice interrupted their embrace. Anneliese looked up to see the dancer who had been spinning.

“Master Cade,” the woman said. “I did not know you would be here."

She spoke in stilted Standard, still breathing hard from the dance. Wet hair plastered her forehead, and a scar creased her cheek.

Cade said, “You know I couldn't miss your performance. Lisa, I would like you to meet Farin. Farin, this is my wife."

The dancer's shoulders stiffened, her eyes narrowing.

Anneliese smiled. “I'm happy to meet you, Farin. Your dance was thrilling. And such a lovely costume.” She ran her fingers along the silver strands, drawing back sharply. “They're like razors!"

Cade laughed. “Skill and concentration. And a little blood."

Sound crashed over Anneliese's head. She stared at Farin. Self-mutilation? Passed off as a dance? “Do they pay you?” she asked.

Again, Cade laughed, slapping the table. “Spoken like the daughter of a shipping czar."

Farin looked between them, eyes large with tears. “Gentle fantasies to you both,” she murmured, hurrying away.

Cade got to his feet. “Enough excitement. I'd best get you to your room."

“But, it's early.” Anneliese took her husband's arm. “I wanted to see their reproduction of a geyser."

“I don't think you're ready for that."

Cade guided her through the throng of people. Many of the diners were leaving, many more still coming into the hall. Jostled and crushed, Anneliese held fast to the neckline of her gown.

They stepped into the lift, ascending to their penthouse suites. As the doors opened upon the courtyard, Anneliese sucked in her breath. Stars filled the dome above, brighter than any she had ever seen. A copper-streaked moon hung low in the sky.

Cade sat upon a stone bench. “The moon is called Sikar, the Hunter. His sister will be along in a moment."

“How do you know so much about this world?” she asked.

Smiling, Cade said, “The first time I came here, I took the complementary tour. I had a good guide."

Anneliese leaned into her husband's embrace. She felt the pounding of his heart, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His arm was warm about her shoulders.

“Cade,” she said, “how do things like that happen? About Farin, I mean."

“It starts in the streets. A city surrounds the Resort. Locals call it Enceinte, the Enclosed. The people there will do anything.” He sat back, looking at her. “I want to take you. I want you to see how they live."

“Is this the only city?"

“There is one other. It's a distance away. Then there are the Llaird, warring tribes of underground dwellers. They take to storming the cities every once in a while, hence the walls about Enceinte.” He kissed her forehead, pulling her into his arms, nestling his face in her hair.

Her hair was what had attracted him, Anneliese thought. She knew she would never be a dazzling woman—she was too petite, her figure too childlike. Only her hair, her mass of silver tresses, set her apart from the others.

Cade swept his lips across her bare shoulder. His fingers explored her gown. Anneliese closed her eyes, lifting her chin. She felt the rising throb of her heartbeat, felt his breath hot in her ear. Clutching his back, she drew him closer. Cade whispered her name. Moving his hands to cup her face, he kissed her.

Anneliese's head swam. She opened her mouth to his seeking tongue. Her breasts tingled, and the insides of her thighs felt swollen and wet.

He pulled away. She saw his face clearly in the moonlight, the intensity in his eyes. His fingers brushed her lips, caressing the cleft of her chin, the hollow of her neck, stopping at the curve of her plunging neckline.

“I think we should say goodnight,” he whispered.

“But, Cade...."

Her husband laughed, the fire gone. “Come on, I want to get an early start tomorrow.” Taking her hand, he led her from the starry garden.

Anneliese moved woodenly. She felt as if, with each step, she were shrinking. What had happened here? Had she done something wrong?

“I had clothing sent to your room,” Cade told her. “Be sure to wear the hat tomorrow. It's hot outdoors.” He kissed her forehead, turning away.

Anneliese called after him. “Cade, are you going to the games tonight, the ones your friends mentioned?"

“No.” Cade smiled his crooked smile. “Of course not."

CHAPTER 3

Anneliese arose with swollen eyes and a headache. She'd had trouble falling asleep that night, and what rest she did obtain was fraught with dreams. Looking in the mirror, she wondered how she'd get through the day.

She tossed her nightgown onto the floor, and then stepped into the hot tub in a corner of the lavatory, allowing the swirling water to rise to her chin. Pale yellow flowers surrounded the tub, filling the air with sweetness.

Their scent reminded her of home: languid pools and crystal streams, lilies clinging to the rocks. She'd been foolish to think she could be happy anywhere else.

Of course, if one were to believe her father, everything she thought was foolish and trivial.

Did he miss her? she wondered, then pushed the wish away. Stretching her legs, she allowed the coursing liquid to untie her knotted muscles. A skylight showed the colors of early morning, and she watched the light dance in spectrums upon the walls.

Where did Cade call home? She knew so little about him. When they finally settled, would he take her to a place held dear in his memory?

She pictured Cade, remembering the intensity of his moonlit eyes, his hands touching her. She ran wet fingers over her lips. He had never kissed her that way before. There was something primitive, almost barbarous in the way that he'd touched her.

Was that the way these barbarians treated their mates? Anneliese thought of the man she'd seen hiding in the spaceport, imagined him pulling her into his arms. Would he be gentle with her, or would he take what he wanted?

Blushing with the suggestion, she got to her feet. Water crested the tub, splashing the flowers. She wrapped herself in a towel, stepping from her bath. The air chilled her damp skin.

In a wardrobe, she found a red day suit and a wide-brimmed hat. She dressed quickly, standing before a mirror. The suit's puffy sleeves and fitted bodice accented the flatness of her bosom. She looked like a child at a masquerade.

At least, he knew her size, if not her tastes. Sighing, she drew her fingers through her hair, allowing it to fall like a silver cape.

What was she doing here?

Then she heard a rap at her door, and her heart flew. Grabbing the hat, she hurried into the great room. The door opened before she could reach it.

Cade leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, his hair spilling over his forehead. Anneliese dropped her gaze, remembering her wanton thoughts a moment ago. What would he think of her?

“There you are,” Cade said. “You look rested."

“Actually, I feel dreadful.” Anneliese laughed too loudly, avoiding his eyes.

“You need a cup of coffee,” he said. “We'll get some in the marketplace."

“There is a market? But, I thought you said the local people had no commerce."

“That was before the Resort Debauch."

Leaving the door open, Cade stepped into the room, urging her toward the window. Anneliese looked out upon flat roofs and narrow, winding roads. A bicycle traced a forlorn path.

“It's so ... white,” she said.

Cade laughed. “Everything is made of stone, their most abundant natural resource. Over there, you can see part of the wall I was telling you about."

Anneliese looked where her husband pointed, feeling the heat of his presence behind her. She leaned against him, a glow enveloping her.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asked.

She smiled. Taking his arm, Anneliese rode the elevator to the lobby. People filled the room, and she wondered if morning had meaning at the Resort Debauch. Cade pressed his key against a door, escorting her into a brightly lit corridor. The crimson lights caused her head to throb, and she pulled her hat over her eyes.

“Stay close to me,” Cade said as they approached a huge door. “Enceinte is dangerous."

Anneliese looked up. The door towered above her, forged of burnished metals and edged with hammered designs. The center bowed slightly, as if rammed from outside. She said, “They should have guards."

“This is the only entrance from the city,” Cade said, “and it's under constant surveillance. If a local should get inside, they'd simply turn the lights up to roast."

He slid his docking pass along a slot, entering his code. A dramatic clank sounded through the metal. Cade leaned, opening the heavy door.

Anneliese gasped at a blast of heat, blinking at the light, cringing against a sudden clamor.

Cade stepped out, waving his arms. “Get back, you dumb bastards! Nich! Nich!"

A group of native-born men surrounded them. Goggles shielded their eyes. They hopped from foot to foot, calling loudly in their gibbering tongue, sweat streaming down their naked chests.

Anneliese wriggled her nose against the stench. She folded her arms tightly, trying not to touch, to be touched. Behind the men, she saw a row of wicker carriages—jinrikishas drawn by bicycles—and her stomach sank with the thought of riding in such a primitive fashion.

The men danced and shouted. One shook a tambourine. Cade nodded at him, then led Anneliese to his cart. Anneliese stared at the worn, mud encrusted wicker, wiping her hands as if already soiled. Cade boosted her up, then sat next to her, causing the entire contraption to sway.

The man chortled. Placing his tambourine atop his head, he mounted the bicycle, leaning upon the pedals. Slowly, the cart pulled away. Gravel crunched beneath the wheels. Anneliese balanced upon the open seat, keeping her hands upon her lap.

The street narrowed and curved, drawing them deeper into the city. Anneliese stared at the crowded buildings. Hovels, she told herself—crude dwellings hewn of rock, the windows and doors mere holes in the walls, drawn over with cloth.

Women looked up as they passed. Men darted across their path. They carried blankets and baskets, or long poles with buckets at each end. As the carriage turned a corner, Anneliese watched several women roll up the sides of a tent. They ducked inside, raking the ground around a skeleton of poles.

“What are they doing?” Anneliese asked.

“There are no toilets in the city,” Cade told her. “Everyone uses communal tents. In the morning, the women clean them out."

Anneliese's eyes widened. She heard the chuckle hiding in her husband's voice, awaiting her reaction, laughing at her expense. She sniffed. “Fortunately, I went before I left."

Cade laughed. The cart jostled, hissing over the gravel. Looking behind, Anneliese watched the women lower the sides of the tent, finishing their chore.

The carriage slowed, pulling to the side. A growing racket filled the street. Anneliese saw more men on bicycles, other hotel patrons wearing wide-brimmed hats. Between the buildings, she caught snatches of bright color.

“The marketplace is open only a few hours each morning,” Cade told her. “No one ventures into the heat of day."

As the cart came to rest, Cade stepped to the street, tossing a small coin to the bicyclist. Grinning, the man turned the coin over in his hands. Then he put it into his mouth and swallowed it.

“Did you see what he did?” cried Anneliese.

“Where else is he going to carry it?” Reaching up, Cade lifted her from the cart.

She stared as the man sped away. “But, it's a health hazard."

“Actually, the biggest hazard is in letting the stomach become distended,” Cade said. “Better than an invitation. Once, I saw two local men mug a cabber. One man held him while the other slit his gut, and all these coins came spilling out...."

Anneliese spun toward him, stamping her foot. “Stop it! Why do you torment me with such stories?"

Cade laughed. “I wish you could see your face. Come on. Let's get that coffee.” He crossed the street without her.

Anneliese pressed her fingers against her temples. She didn't want to be here, she thought. It was the headache, too much moss tea the night before. Perhaps some coffee would do her good.

She followed her husband down a path between the buildings. The scent of food and garbage carried on the breeze. Laughter mixed with music. Anneliese peered ahead, intrigued in spite of her misgivings. She shunted the image of the bicyclist aside.

The path opened onto a Square. Anneliese paused, staring. The market blazed with brightly robed vendors and food stands with garish awnings. Noise rose in a strident cacophony.

Cade took her hand. “Stay close,” he said.

Anneliese gazed about. She saw a boy juggling handfuls of silver rings, a man balancing knives upon his feet. Most of the people wore goggles; others used dark cowls to shade their eyes.

Vendors called to them as they passed, leaning from their stands and waving their wares: metalwork, jewelry, and cloth.

“Look!” cried Anneliese. “It's malpais."

The merchant grinned, beckoning, climbing onto the counter in his excitement.

Anneliese urged Cade to the stand. She picked up a figurine. The stone's rich color was nearly black, and the delicate grain shimmered.

“It's a lizard,” she said, “I think...."

Cade turned the figure right side up in her hand. It had six legs and a ridge along its back. In place of eyes, two holes had been bored through the head.

“It's called a teioid,” Cade said. “A good representation, too.” He placed the figurine on the counter. “Dur scalar."

“Piska.” The merchant shook his head, motioning toward the teioid.

Cade slammed his hand down, rocking the vendor's stand. “Dur,” he bellowed.

The man's face fell. He snatched up the stone pendant.

Anneliese glanced between them, the back of her scalp prickling. She'd never seen Cade act this way. Was he going to strike the man?

Then the vendor looked away. He threaded a leather thong through the lizard's eyes. Cade took the necklace, lowering it over Anneliese's head.

Anneliese beamed at him, touching the smooth pendant, feeling the tug of its weight about her neck. His anger had been a bargaining ploy, she realized; the danger hadn't been real. Cade slapped two coins upon the merchant's counter, and Anneliese walked off before she could see if the man ate them.

They came to a stand surrounded by tables. Cade held a chair and Anneliese sat down. She smiled shyly, wrapping her fingers about the stone teioid. She would always wear it, she thought, always cherish this unexpected gift; but she was unable to banish the look on her husband's face, the threat in his voice as he'd bargained for the necklace.

After a moment, a woman bustled toward them, her robe dragging on the rocks. She set a coffee pot and a loaf of bread on the table. Anneliese accepted a cup, and the woman bowed, her hood slipping to the side. Her eyes caught the light, shining like the coins they coveted.

Cade poured the coffee, and then broke the bread in half. Steam leached into the dry air.

Looking out upon the Square, Anneliese said, “This place is fascinating. It's more a carnival than a marketplace."

“Flavor to the atmosphere,” Cade said.

“With all the trade that goes on here, it's a wonder these people still live in poverty."

Cade shrugged. “A good portion of their earnings goes to the Resort."

“Taxes?"

“That would imply a benevolent government. No, the Resort is more lord than law here, and they expect their cut. This is a carefully maintained society."

“They're deliberately kept in squalor,” she said, realization washing over her. “The Resort uses the city as its tourist attraction, then charges the populace for the privilege."

“You look surprised. But I'm sure your father knows the virtues of versatile profit."

Anneliese frowned, trying to think of an answer, then jumped at an unexpected touch. An old woman crowded her elbow.

“Babesh!” the woman cried, her fetid breath spraying over Anneliese's face.

Pulling back, Anneliese snatched her sleeve from the clawing fingers. She gaped at the bent and wizened crone. The woman hopped about, brandishing a handful of pointed objects.

“What does she want?” cried Anneliese.

“Soothsayer,” Cade said. “Part of their religion. Nich! Nich!” He raised his hand as if to strike her.

“No,” Anneliese said, “it's all right. It might be fun."

Cade settled back in his chair. The soothsayer drew a child toward the table. The boy was tall, eight or nine years old. His head was large and misshapen, and a string of drool hung from his lips. Anneliese looked away, her face burning with embarrassment.

The woman sat upon the gravel, pulling the child beside her. Cupping her hands, she raised the objects then let them fall.

They were common stones, Anneliese realized, each carved into a geometric shape. As they fell, one of them pointed toward Anneliese. The woman placed it aside, and then dropped the stones again.

“Babesh,” she murmured.

Beside her, the boy snuffled. His oversized goggles made him look like an insect.

Anneliese shuddered with a sudden sense of panic, and she laughed loudly to cover her fear. “And, this will tell my future?” she said, motioning toward the growing line of shapes pointing her way.

Suddenly, the child picked up one of the stones, putting it into his mouth. The old woman jabbered excitedly. Rummaging through her robes, she produced a pack of cards, laying them out beside the carved stones, finally finding the card that had no mate.

Silence grasped the woman, and for a moment, Anneliese thought she might have fallen asleep. At last, throwing back her cowl, the soothsayer lifted her gaze.

Her large, reflective eyes caught the light, turning into golden pools. She watched Anneliese for several moments. Climbing to her feet, she placed the card upon the table.

“What's this?” asked Anneliese.

The soothsayer said, “Your future."

Anneliese gasped, astounded that the old woman spoke Standard.

“Enough, hag. Be on your way.” Cade tossed his payment.

The woman caught the coin; then, with her eyes trained upon Anneliese, opened her hand and allowed it to fall. Even in the surrounding din, Anneliese could hear the coin drop.

Anneliese blinked as if released from a spell. Her senses reeled. The old woman encased the child with her robes, hobbling away.

Picking up the fallen coin, Cade said, “That's the first time I saw one of them do that."

Anneliese looked at the card. In its center, a woman with two faces held a sword overhead, one foot poised over a chasm.

“Jefe-Naik,” she read. “What does it mean?"

Cade held the card to the sunlight. “From this point, you may go in either direction."

“I suppose that's true of anyone.” Anneliese wrapped her hands about her cup, suddenly chilled.

“I'm sorry she upset you,” Cade said.

“It wasn't her, it was that ... vacant child."

“Yes. A certain amount of inbreeding goes on here,” he told her. “Luckily, the tourist trade provides enough new blood to prevent a total genetic breakdown."

Anneliese said, “I can't imagine anyone wanting to have sex with these repulsive people."

Standing, Cade said, “If I remember correctly, I promised you a tour of the city."

“Cade, no. I'm not well. The heat."

“Please.” Cade held out his hand. “There are so many things I wish to show you."

Anneliese looked into her husband's pale eyes, feeling her reluctance melt. “Of course,” she said.

But, as he drew her away, she glanced over her shoulder at the card on the table.

CHAPTER 4

Anneliese held her husband's arm as he led through the marketplace. Coffee roiled in her stomach, and her head felt light. She watched the frenetic activity around her, trying to sound interested and amused as her husband pointed out the sights, but the heat slowed her thoughts as well as her step. Slipping off her hat, she dabbed her forehead with the back of her hand.

Her eyes fell upon a man standing next to a building. His hood was askew, and his long hair lay plaited upon his shoulder.

A thrill of recognition swept through Anneliese—it was the man she had seen hiding in the spaceport. He had a regal quality to him, she thought, unlike the primitives around her—a king surveying his subjects and profoundly saddened by what he saw. Then his eyes fell upon Anneliese, and his expression hardened.

Anneliese looked away, cheeks blazing. What did she care that he was safe? When she glanced back, he was gone.

Suddenly, a voice cried out. The crowd swarmed and scattered. In the rush, a vendor's stand toppled, the bright awning flaring.

Cade pulled Anneliese close, whispering in her ear. “That's what a stegort looks like before it becomes dinner. It must've broken through its pen."

Anneliese gasped, stepping back. The rampaging creature ran through the crowd, bucking and tossing its head, brandishing its tusks.

“It's coming this way!” Anneliese cried.

But Cade held her fast. “The keepers won't let it get this far."

He rested his hands upon her shoulders, turning her to face the beast. A brightly garbed vendor somersaulted into the crowd, caught by a thrust of the mighty snout. Tourists pointed and laughed. Anneliese pressed her fingers against her lips.

Behind her, Cade said, “This one's a female. You can tell by the spotted hide. I hope they also caught her mate—stegorts can be fiercely monogamous."

Anneliese stared. The beast was terrified, she realized. It reminded her of a mountain boar, the animal her father often hunted. Once, he had taken her on one of his hunting trips—what a fiasco that had been.

The stegort barreled ahead, foam on its sides, its heavy, splayed hooves kicking up the gravel. The crowd parted, keeping out of its reach.

A local man darted across the creature's path. He paused then ran the other way, weaving back and forth. The beast slowed as if confused. From behind, another man threw a cloth over its head.

The stegort wheeled about, bucking and bellowing, then growing suddenly docile. The first man walked up to it, holding its hooded head.

Finally, thought Anneliese. Now, they can lead it back to its pen.

But the second man dropped onto the creature's back, raising a curved blade into the air. Anneliese turned rigid. She tried to look away. The stegort screamed as the knife plunged downward, the man hacking at its back, blood spraying the air.

“No!” Anneliese cried, shoving her knuckles into her mouth. Female, she thought, the mate pining away. She closed her eyes, hearing the waning cry of the beast, the chatter of the crowd. “Please. I want to go home."

Cade wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “It's just an animal.” He tugged at her, forcing her to walk.

Anneliese took several shuddering breaths. Her feet were numb.

Quietly, Cade said, “If you faint, I will leave you here."

His words struck like frigid water. Anneliese blinked, suddenly aware of her surroundings. She glanced at her husband. His eyes narrowed, his jaw squirming with knots.

Like her father's face after the hunting trip, she thought. Anneliese looked away.

Cade led her from the marketplace toward the outskirts of the city. The streets were narrow and twisted, blinding white with the sun-washed stone.

“I wanted to show you the wall,” Cade told her. “You might enjoy it."

Glancing behind them, Anneliese said, “Are you sure we're safe?"

“Don't you trust me?"

“Well, yes. I mean...."

Cade laughed, hugging her shoulders. “We'll be safe enough if we stay on the main way. After all, we're guests of the Resort."

Anneliese looked up at his crooked smile, warmth infusing her. He loved her. She was forgiven. Of course, she trusted him. She wrapped her fingers tightly about the malpais pendant.

Deeper, they moved into the city. Heat shimmered from rooftops. Between the buildings, Anneliese glimpsed a large gate, burnished gold in color and scalloped with decorative arches.

A group of men passed, jabbering in their alien language, splitting up and entering the stone hovels along the way. Anneliese stepped aside, tucking her pendant into the neckline of her day suit.

“Market must be closing,” Cade said, glancing toward the sky.

Anneliese saw only the sun above the rooftops. She said, “The Resort should be made aware of their abbreviated work hours."

“They're nocturnal. Sleep during the day. The whole city shuts down."

Then why are we still here? she wanted to ask. Anneliese blotted her forehead with her voluminous sleeve. Perspiration ran between her shoulder blades, and even her hat felt limp.

Finally, the wall came into view, gleaming white against the clear sky. The gate towered over the buildings and, as she watched, it began to swing shut. At the last instant, a group of children rushed through, frantically pushing a wicker-covered wagon.

Cade laughed. “They almost didn't make it in time. The gate closes automatically, magnetically sealed."

The children ranged in ages from six to twelve. Several were crying. As the coach came to rest, a man, bearded and robed, hopped out the back.

“Who are they?” asked Anneliese.

“Scavengers. They search for malpais.” Cade hooked his arm about her shoulders, propelling her forward. “And this is the Wall of Enceinte. You can see the patch marks where it's been breached."

Anneliese rested her fingers upon the rough stone. The wall consisted of fist-sized rocks cemented together. Handprints showed in the mortar—hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, reaching halfway up the wall's height.

“The prints symbolize the city's fidelity,” Cade said. “When a boy reaches the age of nine, he pledges his life to protect the Resort, sealing the oath by forging his handprint."

“Their armies induct nine-year-old children?” she asked.

“It's only a ritual."

“Do they include girls in this ritual?"

Cade smiled. “Girls are pressed into an alternate service. I'll show you.” Humming quietly, he walked away.

Anneliese looked at the scavengers—the bearded man stood beside the wagon, and the children lined up before him, their heads bowed. Contemptible slaver, Anneliese thought, exploiting young children. She followed her husband along the wall.

Ahead, she heard voices and laughter. A line of cages came into view. Onlookers milled about their bases, hooting and shoving one another.

“This culture has an interesting method of absolving debt,” Cade said.

Anneliese narrowed her eyes. Thick bars cut the light into shafts, effectively shrouding the cage, but a feminine hand stretched from the shadows.

Anneliese scoffed. “What could be interesting about a common prison?"

“There's nothing common about this. You see, when a man owes money, a business deal gone bad or gambling debts, it falls to the women of his family to pay. The chosen ones remain here until they've earned enough to clear their loved ones’ names.” Cade urged her forward.

The cages were large, draped with tattered cloth, their floors strewn with a substance much like straw. An acrid stench wafted through the bars: excrement and spoiled meat.

Anneliese stopped walking. She watched a man climb onto the platform, following the gaoler toward a cell. Inside, a woman pulled the curtain closed.

Animals, Anneliese thought, wallowing in their own filth. She said, “I don't understand how their imprisonment can absolve someone else's debt."

Cade smiled at her.

Anneliese gasped. “Forced prostitution?"

“Indentured servitude. Virgins command a higher price, of course—but only once.” A chuckle rumbled in Cade's throat.

Anneliese blinked, stumbling away from Cade's side. The jeers of the onlookers crashed over her like a wave. She looked toward a cage just as a face peered out. Anneliese froze in revulsion. The harlot regarded her dully, eyes hollow, lips slack. A hand snaked through the bars, beckoning.

Suddenly Anneliese whirled upon her husband, hands curled into fists, pummeling his chest.

“Damn you!” she screamed. “How dare you torment me like this?"

“Lisa!” Cade laughed, snatching her wrists.

She struggled against his grasp, tears filling her eyes. “You're supposed to love me. Protect me.” The words struck like a secret she'd been keeping from herself. Her lips quivered. “This is our honeymoon."

Cade held her chin with one hand, fingers digging into her cheek. He smiled, but his eyes were hard. “I only wanted to show you what other people call life. You've been hiding in your father's fortress."

Anneliese twisted away, turning her back. “When my father hears of how you've treated me...."

“What are you talking about? Your father worships me. He always wanted a son to take over the business."

Anneliese winced. Don't listen, she told herself. “I can't help being born a woman."

“No, but you can help being the kind of woman you are."

Anneliese moved to slap him, but Cade pinned her arms, spinning her around to face the cage.

“But none of that matters here,” he said in her ear. “On this planet, all women are highly valued, and do you know why? Because the men don't have anything else to trade."

He released her with a slight shove. Anneliese covered her face, sobbing; then, with an upsurge of panic, she realized he was walking away. Women called to him, reaching through the bars with filth-streaked hands.

“Cade,” cried Anneliese, but her voice was barely a whisper.

CHAPTER 5

Anneliese stared at her husband's back. What should she do? He was leaving her.

Cade spun about, arms swinging to encompass the city. “Trade is power! Never forget that! Your father's rule!” His face twisted.

Anneliese felt detached and distant, her body unreal. Darkness tinged the edges of her vision. She took a step forward, then another. Her legs wobbled as if unused to her weight. Cade lowered his arms, his expression unreadable. She saw him as if at the end of a long tunnel.

Why did he hate her? Her thoughts roiled. Why was she unlovable?

“Lisa,” Cade said, suddenly near.

His fingers lifted her chin. Anneliese looked up into the eyes of the man she loved. Her throat constricted.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I never meant to hurt you. It's just that ... well, I find the Resort fascinating. Special. I was hoping you would feel the same."

Anneliese felt her mouth drop. This was his special place—the home he wanted to share with her? A whirlwind of thought caused her head to spin: How could she be so insensitive? How could he be so crude?

“I guess you could call this our first spat.” Cade ran his thumbs across her tear-streaked cheeks. “I promise you will never see me act that way again."

He smiled crookedly, and Anneliese felt her heart swell. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to believe, wanted to hold him so tightly she'd be unable to tell where his body left off and hers began.

Instead, she said, “Can we go back, now?"

Cade glanced about. “I'm afraid we're too late for a cab, and we're a long way from the Resort entrance. But I know of a place where we can get out of this heat."

He led her toward a building, squat and primitive like so many others she had seen. Heavy fabric hung across the door. Cade pulled the cloth aside, taking her hand as she entered. Anneliese blinked against the sudden gloaming.

The room was small and sparse. It smelled of dust. In the corner, a native-born man reclined upon a bench, snoring.

“This way,” Cade said, pulling aside a second curtain, revealing a stairwell.

Anneliese caught a burst of cool air. She heard a strain of music. Peering beneath the cloth, she made out a line of roughly hewn steps leading down.

Cade held fast to his wife's arm, urging her into darkness. The air grew cooler as they descended. Voices became discernible. They reached a landing, and Cade opened another drape.

Anneliese stepped onto a balcony overlooking a large room. Smoke drifted in hazy streaks. A fat musician playing a bulbous instrument strolled about the tables. In the center of the room, a group of women danced the moiru.

Brushing her hair behind her shoulders, Anneliese took a deep breath. The air felt cool, the dimness a relief after the glare of the sun.

Cade smiled, glancing about. “Welcome to the Gatesmouth Saloon."

A voice called his name. Anneliese turned to see a buxom woman bounding up a set of stairs. She wore a white blouse, opened at the collar, and a skirt of flowing colors. Her graying hair strayed in wisps from a heavy braid.

“Cade, you limmer, it's about time you came to see me!"

Cade laughed, throwing his arms wide. “Surah, I swear, you get younger every year.” He hugged the woman, swinging her around. “How have you been?"

“Good! How about you? Getting into trouble?” She looked at Anneliese.

“Lisa, meet Surah Rudnitsky, proprietor of this establishment. This is my wife, Anneliese Thielman."

“Thielman?” Surah shot Cade a glance that crossed from shock to warning. Then the expression melted, and she smiled at Anneliese. “Glad to meet you. Come along, I'll get you some refreshments."

She ushered them down the stairway that led from the balcony.

Cade said, “When did you get new tables?"

Surah gave a husky laugh. “Well, after the last raid by the Llaird...."

“The Llaird got down here?"

“Wasn't sure I'd ever get the place running again. The murdering wretches."

Cade took Anneliese's arm, his eyes suddenly solemn. Anneliese recalled what he'd told her about the Llaird: underground dwellers, warring tribes. She thought of the large dent in the middle of the door barring the entrance to the Resort.

Surah said, “Sit here and relax. I'll bring something to cool your gullet. Honey, we have a bona fide washroom right over there, if you're interested."

Anneliese smiled. “Thank you. I am."

Moving in the indicated direction, Anneliese entered a darkened passage. Sound cut off as if absorbed by the walls. She stopped at a wicker-faced door and found it locked. Was she in the wrong place? Glancing back, she saw Cade still sitting at the table.

If she went back now, Cade would laugh at her incompetence, unable to find a washroom on her own. She stared ahead into the darkness of the passage.

A shuffling sound caught her attention. A man spoke in Standard. Workers, she thought. Perhaps they could direct her.

She followed the sounds to two men loading garbage upon a dumb-waiter. Anneliese stepped toward them, and then froze. Even with their backs to her, she could see that one of the men was hideously deformed, his shoulders twisted, one arm hanging low.

“And don't forget to come back down,” the other man told him. “I won't have you sneaking off to sleep while there's still work to be done."

The deformed man grunted, mounting the lift. His golden eyes fell upon Anneliese. She looked away, blushing as if she had been caught looking at something dirty.

“Washroom is right over there.” The other man pointed.

Anneliese stammered. “Yes. Thank you."

She entered the small room, locking the door, then listened for a moment through the wicker. The deformed man had not pursued her. She felt cold inside, as she had when she saw the boy with the fortuneteller.

Such a decadent culture, she thought, allowing that sort among decent folk.

Turning, she swept her gaze about the room: a single stall, a ceramic basin. Where were the sonic cleansing units, the pneumatic fresheners? She stood before a spotted mirror, slowly pulling off her hat.

She would enjoy this place, she told herself, even if it made her ill.

The washbasin was cracked. She twisted the tap and a gush of water splashed into the sink. The water was remarkably clear, refreshing in spite of its warmth. She washed her face, her hands up to the elbows, then ran wet fingers through her hair.

She had to look her best, had to win back her husband's approval. Things were different between them since they'd landed upon this planet. She thought back to the horrid scene outside the prostitution cages. Cade had said such hurtful things. Her fault. She would not disappoint him again.

Anneliese turned off the water, and then blotted her face with a dry corner of the towel. It was odd that Cade thought her father accepted him, especially after he'd refused to attend their wedding. Just another phase, her father had said.

Her heart sank, remembering. What if her father were right? What if she didn't know how to love? Who would take care of her then?

A shudder uncoiled in the pit of her stomach, a snake devouring her dreams—No! She shook her head. Cade wouldn't always act this way; they just needed to get to know each other.

Anneliese opened the door a crack to see if the men were gone, then hurried back to her husband. Cade smiled at her approach, getting to his feet and holding her chair.

“Surah brought over our drinks,” he told her, “and I took the liberty of ordering lunch."

“How long have you and Surah known each other?” she asked.

“All my life, off and on. She taught me to pilot my first skip-chaser. Took me under her wing, so to speak."

“She must be very kind.” Anneliese smiled, gratified by this glimmer into his past.

Cade gulped his tall, frothy drink. “I could always trust her, if that's what you mean."

Anneliese sipped from her glass. The liquid was sweet and cold. “This is good."

“Mostly milk,” Cade told her. “The city keeps a herd of yllib in the northern hills. Rather like goats. They graze on moss growing on the underside of rocks."

“I would love to see them. Could we visit the hills sometime?"

“Not much to see. Besides, it isn't safe.” He reached across the table, squeezing her hand.

Concerned for her safety. Anneliese smiled. Of course, she trusted him.

She took a long swallow of her drink, gazing across the large room. The lounge was busy but not crowded. The only local people she saw were the dancers.

Anneliese nodded toward the stage. “Is this where Farin started?"

“Possibly. You know, dancing the moiru is an honored profession. Don't be so judgmental."

Forcing a smile, Anneliese said, “I was surprised at first, but now I understand."

She turned her attention to the three women. Their costumes did not shimmer as Farin's had; the bands were wider, and smeared with dark grime.

Cade said, “Sometimes they dance for hours until they collapse with exhaustion."

Anneliese clasped her hands about her drink. She gazed past the stage. On the other side of the room, she made out a familiar face.

Harmadeur-Fezzan-Gendarme. Master of security.

Her breath caught in her throat. Was he watching her?

Suddenly, the music became louder—the fat musician was attending their table. Cade smiled and leaned back, tossing a coin in the man's basket.

Anneliese flicked a glance across the room. Harmadeur was still there—same massive robes, same reflective eyes. She shivered, remembering the way he had stared at her in the banquet hall, as if he were assessing her, and amused by what he saw.

The musician played lustily, blowing upon the mouthpiece and stroking the bulb at the instrument's end. He created a sound much like water dripping into a deep pool.

Anneliese wanted to cover her ears. She watched the dancers upon the stage. A woman cried out and the crowd jeered excitedly. A trickle of blood ran down the woman's leg.

Blood like ink.

Anneliese felt sick. She wanted to push the table over, run screaming from the room.

“I hope you're hungry,” Surah announced.

The proprietor set a bowl upon the table. Reaching inside, Anneliese lifted a fork. A thin length of meat wrapped the tines, dripping with brown juices.

Anneliese drew back her hand. She stared, riveted, as if an electric current were coursing through her. “You ordered stegort for me to eat?"

“I thought you might give it another try."

“But, you know I'm vegetarian!"

Cade laughed then leaned forward, teeth bared in a sneer. “Look around you, Lisa. You're on a planet of stone! Vegetables grow only on the black market."

Surah poured two tankards of ale. The musician strolled to the next table. Anneliese felt a scream bubbling in her throat. She glanced across the room. Harmadeur was gone.

Just then, one of the dancers collapsed. A man bounded onto the stage. The crowd stood, blocking her view.

“Is he a doctor?” she asked.

Cade threw back his head, laughing. The sound echoed in Anneliese's ears. The crowd took up a chant, pumping their fists into the air. Anneliese turned away, eyes wide with dawning horror.

A man sat at the table. “Hello, Cade."

“This is a private conversation, Prin."

“Don't let me interrupt. I just thought you'd like to know, there's a game going on in back. Some of your old buddies...."

Cade hesitated, eyes locked upon Prin's face. He turned toward Anneliese. “I want you to wait here. I shouldn't be long.” He got to his feet.

“But, I want to come with you,” she said.

Prin smiled. “Relax, little beauty. Enjoy your lunch."

Anneliese wanted to slap him. She pushed back her chair, voice strident with alarm. “I do not eat the flesh of animals!"

In a flash, Cade was beside her, fingers digging into her arm. “I suggest you learn. You might be on this planet a long time."

CHAPTER 6

Anneliese sat upon the hard chair. She flicked her eyes to the side. She didn't remember watching Cade walk away, didn't know how long it had been since he'd left her.

A man passed the table, two more walked along the wall. Anneliese held perfectly still, wishing she were invisible. Dear God, she prayed, don't let them notice me. Don't let them wonder what sort of woman would sit alone in such a place.

Odor drifted from the bowl of meat. Anneliese winced. If only she had tried the stegort, just one bite. Tears stung her eyes. How often she'd imagined her honeymoon, replayed the scene in her mind: flowers and soft music, a glass of wine—and Cade, solicitous and gentle, unbuttoning her robe, allowing it to fall from her shoulders, then lifting her in his strong arms, his body warm against hers....

She pushed the bowl to the other side of the table. A voice made her jump.

“Left you already?” Surah laughed.

Anneliese gasped with relief. Surah. A friend. She wanted to hug her. “Please join me. Cade will be right back."

“Will he, now? It seems to me he's been gone quite a while."

Yes, thought Anneliese. Her shoulders ached with waiting. Suddenly, the tears came, bursting as if through a dam. “He hates me,” she sobbed, “because I wouldn't eat the stegort."

“That seems a bit extreme."

Anneliese jammed her fists into her eyes. She felt Surah sit beside her, felt the woman press a cool cloth into her hand.

Anneliese forced a quivering smile. “I'm being silly."

“Maybe. But Cade was right about one thing—vegetable shipments go to the Resort. Wipe your face. I've brought a gift. Over here, Erit!"

A man approached the table—the worker who had been with the deformed man at the dumb waiter. He nodded to Anneliese, and then slid a tray onto the table.

Surah waved her hand over the tray as if she were performing magic. “Here we have lichen, toadstools, and my personal favorite, voorseeds.” She picked up a spiny gray ball, breaking away the thick skin to reveal a nut. “The best this planet has to offer."

Anneliese stared at the feast. She considered her host—how kind she was. How generous.

Surah motioned toward the untouched tankards of ale. “Bring us a couple of fresh ones, would you, Erit? And take the stegort away."

“I'd much rather have tea,” said Anneliese.

“You don't want to drink that stuff.” Surah wriggled the nut from its casing, then bit it in half. “So, how do you like the Resort Debauch so far?"

Anneliese reached for a toadstool, ate it slowly before answering. “Parts of it are lovely, parts a bit frightening."

Surah nodded, eating the nut. “Nice pendant."

“It's malpais.” Anneliese beamed, holding the stone teioid out for inspection.

The elder woman laughed—a barking sound deep in her throat. “I suppose it is, after a fashion. You've never seen true malpais. Indescribable beauty. I'd give my left eye for a nugget that size."

“Has Cade ever seen true malpais?"

“More than likely."

Anneliese paused, chewing thoughtfully. “Cade said you've known each other for a long time."

“All his life, off and on. How did you two meet?"

“My father works with him upon occasion."

“Ah, the infamous Mortar Thielman."

“Do you know my father?"

“We may have met once or twice.” Surah picked up another nut-ball, staring at it. “I was a trader myself in those days, planning to build an empire. But it's a tricky business—one bad decision and I wind up here."

“Cade and I have known each other only a few weeks. He was so attentive and charming—I couldn't help but marry him."

“How did your father react to that?"

Anneliese blushed, glancing up guiltily. “He said I was too young."

“And your mother?"

“My mother died when I was five. My father never remarried."

Erit approached, setting two heavy mugs and a pitcher on the table. He poured the ale into the mugs. “Pol says to tell you he's having trouble with the condenser packs again."

Surah lifted her drink. “Well, you tell Pol I'm having my dinner."

Nodding, Erit walked away.

Anneliese sipped the bitter brew, then set the mug down. “I can't imagine what is keeping Cade."

“Don't worry. It's just business."

Anneliese blinked. What sort of business entailed the playing of games? She picked up a spiny ball, peeling the flesh the way Surah had shown her. The nut was sweet, a good contrast to the ale.

“What's he like?” she asked. “Cade, I mean."

Surah smiled, sitting back. “Inventive, single-minded, has a bit of a temper."

Laughing, Anneliese drank down half the ale then reached for another nut. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been—the tray was almost empty.

“I'd best be getting back,” Surah said. “Pol becomes surly when he feels he's being ignored."

A flare of panic straightened Anneliese's back. “Wait,” she cried, “you haven't finished your drink."

Surah refilled Anneliese's mug and set the empty pitcher upon the tray. “Don't worry about the tab."

Anneliese stared at the older woman. She hadn't considered that there might be a charge. “Can you at least tell me where Cade is? I need to speak with him."

Amusement crossed Surah's face. She got to her feet. “Well, usually the games are closed to non-players, but I'm sure they'll make an exception for you. Below the balcony, just to the left of that staircase, there's a tunnel leading back. Go ahead and take your drink."

Then, tray in hand, Surah walked away.

Anneliese narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the passage Surah had indicated. Darkness showed beneath the staircase. Behind her, another roar came from the stage. Barbarians! She picked up the heavy mug, leaving the table.

The tunnel was narrow, the wall rough. Like a cave, she realized suddenly—the lounge was nothing more than a renovated cavern. She wiped her hand against her bodice, stepping into the passage. Noise cut off as if she'd slammed a door.

“Cade?” she called, her voice wavering.

Ale sloshed onto her hand. Ahead, a faint glow marked the tunnel's end. Anneliese hesitated. Words echoed through her thoughts: Cade telling her to wait at the table, Surah saying that non-players weren't allowed. She took a large gulp of the ale. Shaking back the weight of her hair, she continued down the corridor.

A cheer rose as Anneliese stepped into the gaming room. She froze, heart pounding, and then realized the excitement was directed elsewhere. Pressing against the wall, she edged away from the entrance. A man turned, looking at her. Anneliese took a quick swallow from her glass.

Dimness held the room—the only light came from multi-colored bars rimming the edges of the tables. Faces hovered over them, appearing ghostly and rapt. The players held luminescent cards. They slapped the cards onto the tabletops, cheering when their colors changed to match that of the light bars.

“You appear a bit out of place.” The man moved closer.

Anneliese looked away. Where was her husband?

The man motioned with his drink. “Rantobi is a game of skill. Body heat and the force of the drop influence the colors of the cards. Of course, one never knows when the table will turn. I can show you how it's done."

Anneliese inched along the wall. His breath tickled her face. “I'm with someone,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“Pity.” He stroked her hair.

Revulsion rose like bile in her throat. Her eyes darted about the room. Then, at a back table, she glimpsed her husband.

“Excuse me,” she said, hurrying into the crowd.

Another shout circled the room then dropped back into a pervading murmur. Anneliese clutched her drink with both hands, trying not to spill it. Cade would take care of her, she told herself. He'd simply lost track of time. As soon as he saw how miserable she was, he'd rush to make amends.

Cade stood with his back to her, slapping his cards one by one onto the table. He was obviously engrossed in the game, oblivious to the entourage of people gathered about him, unaware of her.

A pang of jealousy robbed her of thought. She stared at him in silence, memorizing his stance against the table, the caress of his fingers upon each card, his eyes half-opened in an ecstasy of concentration. Was this why he had come to this planet?

Then, Prin looked up. “Hello, beauty."

Cade's shoulders stiffened. He turned. “What are you doing here?"

Retorts filled Anneliese's head—I was worried, I was lonely, I was about to ask you the same question—but something Surah had said stuck in her mind, and she told him, “I become surly when I feel I'm being ignored."

Cade's eyes flashed a warning. He set down his cards, then drew her a step away. “Lisa, you can't stay here. This room is only for players."

“Do you have any idea how long you've been away?” she asked.

“I know. I've had a bad run, but I'm sure I can break even."

Anneliese felt her resolve soften beneath his gaze. “But I want to be with you. Let's go back to the Resort."

“Just a little more time."

His final word echoed in her ears. She lifted her chin. “No. This is our honeymoon. You will attend to me."

Cade's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. “And will there be anything else, your highness?"

“Don't call me that!"

“Enough! Go back to the lounge. I'll be there when I'm through.” Turning his back, Cade returned to the table.

Anneliese blinked in utter amazement. Sound rose and ebbed around her. Cade's friends chuckled as if at a joke.

Sudden rage swelled Anneliese's body. She shoved her way to Cade's side, raising the mug of ale overhead.

“I will not be dismissed!” she cried, bringing the glass down upon the table.

The heavy mug shattered the transparent tabletop. Light bars flickered and went out. Cade took a step away, mouth gaping.

Anneliese felt her arms shake. She raised the broken mug again. “How dare you leave me in such a place? How dare you order stegort?"

Fury constricted her throat, making her voice high and shrill. A hand grabbed her from behind. She pulled roughly away, swinging the jagged mug at Cade, catching him on the arm. A bright red line appeared upon his shirt.

Blood! She'd drawn blood! Part of her shied away, even as part swung the glass again.

“Damn it!” Cade said. “What do you think you're doing?"

A feral scream escaped her throat. “I'm getting your attention! Do you hear me, yet?"

Arms enfolded her from behind. Someone wrenched the mug from her grasp. Anneliese felt tears coming, but she would not cry. Would not! Cade inspected his ravaged sleeve.

Then, amazingly, he smiled. “You know, now I'll have to pay for that table, too."

Anneliese met his gaze, standing tall against the arms pinning her. She felt eyes upon her, everyone in the room stopping what they were doing.

Cade rummaged through his pocket. “Prin, do me a favor and take her back to the Resort. Lock her in her room.” He tossed the key into the air.

The arms holding Anneliese shifted—Prin catching the chip. Anneliese lowered her head. Her ears rang and her body trembled with spent rage.

“This way,” said Prin.

“Cade,” said Anneliese.

Cade kicked debris beneath the ruined table, turning his back.

* * * *

Starlight poured through the domed bedroom. Anneliese paced, swishing her nightgown behind her. Images from the gaming room played over her mind. Why did she attack him? Cade would never forgive her. She rubbed a tear roughly from her cheek.

Crossing to the bureau, she again brushed her hair, allowing the silvery strands to spill over her shoulders to her waist. Facing her image, she fluffed her ruffled neckline. Cade will return, she told herself. He'd bought such a lovely nightdress; he would want to see her in it.

She turned down the side of the bed, smoothing the fragrant sheets. Glancing up, she noticed the antique oil painting—a naked woman with moonlit wings soaring through a bank of clouds. How would it feel, Anneliese wondered, to be so free?

Cade, please come back.

She sat upon the bed. She could call service, she supposed, order a nice cup of tea.

You don't want to drink that, Surah had warned. Such a gracious lady. The next time Cade took her to the lounge, she would pay the woman for the meal.

If there was a next time.

Anneliese covered her face. She had always believed that if she loved someone the way they wanted to be loved, they would love her, too. But the secret eluded her. That was why her father spent so much time away—she'd never learned to be what he wanted.

A sound came at the door. Anneliese jumped up. Wiping her cheeks, she hurried into the great room. The door opened slowly, casting a widening slice of light. Mr. Ahzgott stepped into the suite.

Anneliese gasped, slipping behind a chair. Ahzgott's dark face merged with the room's dimness. He held up a string of keychips. Behind him, several men entered the room. They carried sluice rifles.

Twinges of fear traveled Anneliese's spine. “What is this? How dare you?” Then she leaned forward, eyes wide. “Has something happened to my husband?"

Ahzgott bowed. “Madam Thielman, I must inform you that your husband has exceeded his stake playing rantobi."

“That's ridiculous. I am a very wealthy woman."

“There has been no mistake, Madam. His account is depleted, and as per our custom, repayment of his debt falls to you."

Anneliese's head spun. Depleted? How could that be? Then, the import of his words struck her—their custom! Images crowded her vision: a woman's face with hollow eyes, a hand reaching through the bars. Marginally, she was aware of the armed guards spreading through the room.

“Where is my husband?” she demanded.

“He is, no doubt, still in security."

Dear God! “I want to speak with him!"

“I'm sure he is aware of your wishes. You will come with us, now."

“I will do no such thing!"

Anneliese gripped the back of the chair, sinking her fingers into the tufted headrest. She glanced toward the bedroom door. If she could reach the safety of her bedroom, barricade herself inside....

Ahzgott nodded as if giving a signal. Anneliese ran. A guard caught her by the hair, yanking her backward. She screamed, raking her fingernails across his face.

The guards closed in. She heard the rumble of their laughter. Anger penetrated her fear and she struck out, using the heel of her hand as she had seen on the vid-screen.

For a moment, she thought she might break free; then pain bloomed in the back of her head. Her legs crumpled. Sound grew around her then faded away as she fell into darkness.

CHAPTER 7

Anneliese awoke to the taste of blood. The back of her head hurt. She rolled onto her side, blinking into the darkness. Where was she?

Voices buzzed like insipid insects. She got to her feet then walked, arms outstretched, straight ahead. Her fingers encountered bars. She pulled back, gasping as if they were hot.

Dear God! She was in a cage!

Memories flooded back to her: Ahzgott, the guards. A scream gurgled at the back of her throat, and she crammed her fingers into her mouth to silence it. What madness was this? Where was Cade?

Shapes coalesced from the darkness, figures passing the platform. Someone spoke in Standard, and she threw herself against the bars.

“Help me!” she cried. “There's been a terrible mistake!"

Laughter met her pleas. Something struck the side of the cage. Anneliese jumped back, and then froze. What if they thought she was trying to entice them?

Someone approached the cage. Anneliese stood in rigid terror, staring. Her heart pounded and she willed it to stop, as if the sound would betray her.

Go away. Please go away.

A new shadow moved. She sensed their eyes, their lurid expectations. Her vision wavered and she thought that she might faint.

“You say you need some help?"

Anneliese jumped, startled by the voice. “Yes,” she said. “I wish to speak with Harmadeur-Fezzan-Gendarme, Master of Security for the Resort."

Laughter rang outside the cage.

“If we should cross his path, we'll let him know,” the voice said.

The laughter moved away. Anneliese strained her ears, afraid to breathe, afraid to move. How could this be happening?

What if they returned?

Suddenly, she dropped to her knees and vomited. Her throat burned with bitter bile. She crawled from the stench, then curled into a ball, sobbing. She imagined strange men touching her, rough hands upon her breasts, forcing their lips upon her own....

Cade, where are you? Her body heaved, convulsing with tears.

Just then, an explosion lit the sky. A thunderous concussion shook the stone beneath her. Anneliese covered her ears. Standing unsteadily, she pressed her face against the metal bars. A large brazier burned a distance away, and in its light, people ran in all directions. Voices cried in confusion.

“What is happening?” she called. “Can anybody hear me?"

Panic eroded her caution. She moved along the edge of the pen, shaking the cage, searching for a door. In the darkness, she tripped over a bowl on the floor, and then stumbled through a tray of straw. A curtain billowed outward like a blood-bat seeking to enfold her, and she tore at the fabric, trying to rip it down.

“Let me out! You can't keep me!” she cried.

Dry sobs racked her body. She buried her face in the dusty folds.

A sound caught her attention—the whir of a lock.

Anneliese spun about. “Cade?"

But it was not Cade. A hulking figure entered the cage.

Anneliese gasped, moving deeper into the curtain. “There's been a mistake,” she said. “I'm not supposed to be here."

The figure shifted, breathing heavily. Watching her. Waiting.

“I'm a married woman.” Anneliese lifted her chin. “My husband's a personal friend of the Master of Security.... “Her voice cracked and she fought to steady it. “We are patrons of the Resort."

The man removed his robe, unbuckling a belt from across his chest and dropping it to the floor.

Tears filled Anneliese's eyes. “Please. Please don't do this. I can pay you. My father is rich."

She held out her hands, pleading. Her arms trembled. This man, she thought, would take all from her, even that which she longed to give Cade. She lowered her arms to her sides.

“Get out,” she said.

Silence stood in answer. Brazened by her boldness, Anneliese stepped forward. The stone bowl rattled against her foot. Suddenly, she picked up the bowl, hurling it at the darkened figure.

“Get out of here!” she screamed. “I don't want you!” She launched herself at the man, striking him with her fists.

A crashing blow threw her against the side of the cage. Anneliese held her head, shaking it, looked up in time to see the shadow looming over her.

“No!” she cried, swiping the air with clawed fingers.

Another slap sent her sprawling. Run! her mind screamed. Dazed, she got to her feet. Heavy fingers caught the back of her nightdress, ripping it. Anneliese twisted away, bouncing off the cell door.

A low chuckle emanated from the lumbering shadow. He swung again. At the last instant, Anneliese saw the movement, dodged out of the path of the blow. Grasping her assailant's arm with both hands, she sank her teeth into the muscled forearm.

Sudden movement rammed her against the bars. Anneliese tasted blood, felt a slow trickle down her chin. The man pressed his arm deeper into her mouth, widening her jaws. She wrenched her teeth away, gagging, and then slammed her elbow into his ribs.

“Help me!” she screamed. “Somebody help me!"

She ducked beneath his grasp, breaking free. He grabbed her hair and pulled, snapping her head back. With one hand twisted into the nape of her neck, he forced her lips to meet his own.

Anneliese reeled. She held her breath. His mouth pressed viciously, smearing her with saliva. His beard rasped against her face.

He shoved her against the bars, locking her in place by jamming his knee into her groin. With both hands, he ripped the front of her nightgown, exposing her breasts.

Anneliese trembled. “Please,” she sobbed. “I'll give you anything."

He ran his rough hands over her bosom, kneading the soft mounds, squeezing her nipples. She whimpered, looking away, and again he kissed her, mashing her lips against her teeth, bruising her. Working his knee between her legs, he began a rhythmic assault, thrusting his pelvis against her hip.

Anneliese's body went limp. She felt detached, as if a part of her was rising, watching the scene from a distance. The shadowed man embraced her, crushing her face against his chest. He lifted the back of her gown.

“No!” she cried, striking out.

He chuckled, struggling with his hold on her, sinking his fingers into the flesh of her buttocks, then suddenly lifting her, spreading her thighs wide. Anneliese screamed, raking her fingers across the man's face. Turning, he threw her into the center of the cage.

Anneliese backed away, panting. One hand skidded upon the puddle of vomit. The shadow fell upon her, slamming her head against the stone floor. Stars of pain filled the darkness. She kicked and twisted, flailing her arms. Her assailant reared back, striking her across the face. He pulled her nightgown above her knees.

Anneliese winced against hot tears. She pummeled his chest with her fists. He caught her wrists, pinning them with one massive hand. Her gown ripped further as the other hand explored her breasts.

Dear God, don't let this be happening.

She willed herself to faint, begged herself to wake from this nightmare.

His weight shifted, crushing the breath from her body as he forced her legs apart. Then, with a single thrust, he rammed himself inside her.

Anneliese screamed. Searing pain engulfed her, arching her back and turning her limbs rigid. He thrust again, tearing. Blood gushed onto her thighs.

She wrenched her hands from his grasp, pushing against him, trying to lessen the blows. Again and again, he drove into her, until she thought she would go mad with agony.

Then he stiffened and shuddered. Anneliese's stomach turned, and as she drifted into unconsciousness, she heard his words....

“My little naifa."

CHAPTER 8

A swath of sunlight cut into the cage. Groggily, Anneliese shaded her eyes. Her lips felt caked and swollen, her tongue thick and dry. Lifting her head, she looked at her rent clothing.

Dried blood smeared her thighs.

She sat quickly, wiping the crusted stain with the heel of her hand. A wrenching cry tore from her throat. Her shoulders heaved. She would never be the same, never reclaim that which had been stolen from her. How could she live?

She cradled her stomach, rocking back and forth, wanting to bathe in a fast running stream, wanting to purify herself. How could she face Cade, knowing how she'd been used?

The thought brought a new wave of anguish. She clawed at her chest, leaning her head back, baring her teeth in a keening wail. Where was her husband? Why had he forsaken her?

Her mind skirted the question as if she had uttered blasphemy. Guards held him in Security, she thought—no help from his friend, the Security Master.

It struck her, then. Little naifa—the words her attacker had whispered. Only one man had called her that.

Harmadeur.

The realization shocked her from her fugue. She remembered the way he'd looked at her in the banquet hall, remembered seeing him at Surah's lounge. Her mind conjured up the fervor on his face as he slit the man's throat at the spaceport. Had he worn the same expression standing over her?

Anneliese swallowed an upsurge of nausea. Then another thought seized her: How could she hope for release, now? She groaned aloud. Harmadeur must have planned this abduction, hoping to enslave her. He was a madman, capable of anything.

Yet, Ahzgott said Cade had squandered her account. How much had her husband lost?

Pulling her nightgown over her knees, Anneliese glanced about her cell. Filth streaked the floor, and she imagined she sat upon layers of sweat left behind by previous occupants.

Heavy drapes covered the bars on three sides. Shards of a bowl lay about the floor. In the corner, she saw a tray containing sticks and bits of straw. Could that be her toilet?

Just then, a man's face peered into the cage. Goggles covered his eyes. Anneliese drew back, clutching her shredded gown to her breast. The gaoler, she remembered. Contemptible slaver.

He motioned to her with a pitcher. Anneliese licked her lips, torn between caution and thirst. When she didn't respond, he spat out the stub of a dark cigarette and unlocked the door.

Fear shot through Anneliese. She couldn't move. What if he wanted to touch her? she thought. What should she do?

The small man entered the cage. His robe dragged behind him. He kicked the shattered bowl through the bars, and then grabbed hold of the dusty curtain, tugging it closed.

Anneliese gasped in the murky darkness. She covered her head with her hands. Not again, she pleaded silently. How could she bear this?

But the gaoler did not touch her. Moving to the opposite side of the cage, he opened the curtain wide. Cooler air burst into the cell.

Tears rushed to Anneliese's eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice raw from a night of screaming.

The man smiled, showing teeth that were crooked and stained. His breath whistled through pinched nostrils. He left the cell, leaning against the door until it clicked.

Anneliese gazed out the open curtain. Across a narrow street, she saw another row of cages, and beyond them, the wall. A woman paced in one of the cells: five strides, turn, and then five strides back. Anneliese wondered how long the woman had been imprisoned.

The door rattled. Anneliese watched the gaoler slide a bowl between the bars, then reach through with the spout of his pitcher, filling it. He dropped a six-inch slice of stegort onto the floor.

Anneliese's stomach churned. Creeping cautiously, she dragged the bowl from the edge of the cell. It was filled with tea.

You don't want to drink that stuff—Surah's words came back to her.

Cupping her hand into the bowl, Anneliese took a mouthful of the brew. The warm liquid soothed her bruised lips. She drank again, and then ran moistened fingers across her face. Tearing a square of fabric from her hem, she gently bathed her thighs, washing away the streaks of blood.

Her nightdress was ruined. Holding the scraps of fabric together, she tied the bodice closed; and as she did so, she felt a tug about her neck.

The malpais pendant! She still wore the necklace Cade bought.

Her vision blurred, and she brushed the tears away brusquely. Then, huddled in a corner facing the door, she fell into a light sleep.

* * * *

The air was stifling. Her head hurt. Anneliese gazed through the bars at the sunset. Where was Cade? she wondered. Why hadn't he come for her?

Her stomach ached with hunger. She stirred the drying moss at the bottom of the bowl, the remnants of her tea, and then stared at the stegort upon the floor. Moving gingerly, she flicked the strip of meat through the bars.

It would be dark soon. She pushed the thought from her mind. Standing, she peered about the front curtain. Another row of pens stretched before her, many of them empty—evidently, she was not along the main concourse. In the distance, she saw the braziers, an occasional sightseer.

Where was Cade?

Voices rose behind her. She saw a man enter the cage belonging to the pacing woman. They argued heatedly. Anneliese drew back behind a fold in the curtain, watching. Her heart pounded in a flurry of anticipation. Would he beat her? Rape her?

But the man did neither. Spent of words, he drew the woman into his embrace, tenderly kissing the top of her head.

Anneliese sucked in her breath. How often Cade had kissed her in just that way. Could it be that these barbarians were also man and wife? She hadn't thought the local people capable of affection, hadn't thought of them as people at all.

The man left the cage. His wife pressed her face against the bars, lost and forlorn, waving to him. Anneliese winced with a pang of compassion. Would that be her a month from now? A year?

No! She would not suffer to enrich the bawdy image of the Resort. When she got out of here, she would report this horrid place to her father, watch him dismantle their enterprise credit by credit.

Suddenly, the door of the cage rattled. Harmadeur stepped inside.

Anneliese stared, unable to move. Waves of horror broke over her. She remembered the taste of his blood, the crush of his weight.

Harmadeur placed his hands upon his hips, watching her.

As if he were gloating, she thought. A bolt of anger straightened her back. She lifted her chin.

“Where is my husband?” she demanded. “What have you done with him?"

Harmadeur grinned, splitting his beard in two. “Is that all you think of me? Ah, little naifa."

The name stung like a slap. Anneliese's legs trembled. She stepped forward, amazed at her boldness. “You have betrayed his friendship."

“Perhaps."

“And, why are you here, now? To torment me? To admire the bruises you left behind? Did you expect to find me cowering?"

Harmadeur chuckled. “Not quite yet. You have a forceful nature, Anneliese. A willful child. I will delight in breaking you."

Dear God! Anneliese thought, but a part of her kept babbling. “Then have your pleasure and get out! You cannot take more from me than you already have. Or do you wait for the cover of night—like your accomplice, Mr. Ahzgott?"

Harmadeur waved his hand. “Ahzgott was a traitor, a sympathizer with the Llaird. I've just come from his beheading."

Alarm stilled Anneliese's tongue. He beheaded him?

“As for my pleasure,” he said, stripping off his robe, “I found the affair nearly as exciting as I find you."

Anneliese stared as if entranced, watching the huge man undress. He wore a belt across his chest, a sheath for his knife, and he took it off carefully and laid it upon the floor. Muscles played along his forearms. She saw the dark half-moon where she had bitten him.

Nausea gripped her. She met his eyes. “You cannot keep my abduction quiet. When my father hears of this."

Harmadeur laughed loudly. “Your father has been known to visit the cages. Perhaps someday you can tell him yourself."

“Liar!” Anneliese screamed.

She leapt, catching him off-balanced and knocking him into the bars. Swinging her fist with all of her strength, she struck the large man in the face.

Harmadeur threw her to the floor. He wiped his mouth, staring at the streak of blood darkening his fingers. Slowly, his smile spread.

Anneliese got to her feet, backing away. Adrenaline surged through her. She glanced about the cell—nowhere to run, no way to defend herself. Harmadeur's fist caught the side of her head.

She flew across the cage, slamming into the bars, clinging to them as if they were her salvation. Wrenching her away, Harmadeur shook her like a doll. His fist grazed her chin.

Anneliese's vision flashed. She felt her hands hit the floor, felt something warm run into her mouth. Vaguely, she was aware of lifting into the air, of spinning about, the floor rising again.

Have to get away, she thought dully, crawling. A boot caught her ribs, throwing her into the bars.

Then she felt the drag of the floor against her back, and his weight was upon her.

* * * *

Anneliese struggled for awareness, her mind drifting as if through a sea of wet batting. Far away, she heard someone groan. Her eyes opened to slits, blurring the darkness. She fought for focus. Two golden orbs glared down at her.

Harmadeur's eyes! Her heart leapt. She imagined his face, imagined a hand reaching....

But, no, it was only Sikar and his sister, the twin moons. She groaned again, licking her lips.

Sikar, the Hunter. Her husband whispered in her ear. She was in a garden, loved and protected, his arms warm about her, his face solemn as a king surveying his subjects. Then, it wasn't her husband, and she wondered where she'd seen that face....

* * * *

Pain laced her rib cage. Anneliese fought for breath, curling onto her side. Her face felt tight, her body aching, throbbing. Moisture rolled down her back. She was so hot. If only there was water. If only the night would end....

* * * *

Sound awakened her. Movement in the dark. Anneliese held perfectly still. She heard the curtain being pulled closed, heard footsteps approach. Someone touched her shoulder.

Anneliese whimpered, trying to move. Dear God, she couldn't even fight. Then she became aware of the sound of breathing, as if through pinched nostrils.

It was the gaoler.

Gently, the man turned her onto her back. Water splashed nearby, then a cool cloth pressed against her forehead.

Anneliese squeezed her eyes tight against a rush of tears. Thank you, her mind whispered. The gaoler bathed her face, and her tongue worked thickly, trying to coax the moisture into her mouth. The water was bitter, stinging her lips, and she thought of it as a tonic.

Then the door clicked, and she realized she hadn't heard him leave.

* * * *

Her leg was on fire. Anneliese opened her eyes, moaning with the effort. Pain thudded dully at her temples.

A beam of light fell from the curtain, knifing through rotting fibers, burning a hole into the top of her thigh.

Anneliese groaned. A compress covered her forehead and its weight was unbearable. Sweat poured from her body. She imagined rivulets forming upon the stone, imagined her limbs shriveling. Her chest heaved, taking in the stagnant air.

Sunlight scorched her thigh.

With impossible ease, Anneliese rolled onto her side. The compress slipped from her face. Groping blindly, she pressed the cloth to her lips, sucking moisture from the crease....

* * * *

Anneliese choked upon the thick liquid. She drew her knees up. A strong hand held her head, lifting her neck. Again, the bowl pressed against her mouth.

The gruel was warm and bland. Anneliese gulped it greedily, allowing it to spill over her chin. She had never been so hungry, never eaten anything so satisfying. At last, she settled back against the floor.

A rough cloth dragged across her neck. She struggled to see. Her eyes were swollen, she realized, peering from beneath hooded lids. Her face felt like it was made of wax.

The gaoler dipped the cloth into water, wringing it dry. He leaned close, wiping her lips. Anneliese looked up at his narrow face, his golden owl-like eyes. He was so generous, so kind. How could she repay him?

Carefully, he untied the rent bodice of her nightdress, removing a compress along her side. His breath hissed. What did he see? she wondered. How badly had she been hurt? Her body felt numb, with an underlying sense of wrongness.

Harmadeur had beaten her. She prodded the thought like a broken tooth, rolling it over in her mind—how could it be? She, who had grown up in her father's stronghold, tittering as she spied upon the guard's palaestra. She, who had vomited during her father's hunting trip when he'd shown her the animal's wound.

How could she survive?

The gaoler tied her bodice closed then reached for his stone bowls. Anneliese rolled onto her side. She felt pleasantly warm, her stomach full, drifting as if upon an ocean.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and then wondered if the gaoler was there to hear her.

* * * *

Anneliese rose to consciousness as if climbing from a well. What had awakened her? She listened to the darkness.

Distant laughter filled the night, the chirping of insects. The door clicked, latching shut.

Someone was in the cell.

Alarm prickled the back of her neck. It was probably the gaoler, her mind insisted. Or perhaps her husband.

The thought tightened her throat and she swallowed convulsively. She pictured him: Cade, with his pale eyes and crooked smile, hair spilling over his forehead.

“Forgive me,” he would say, and take her into his arms.

But it was not Cade, she knew.

A footstep scuffed against the floor. Sweat broke along her brow. No more. Go away. She feigned sleep, scarcely breathing, then jumped at his voice.

“I know you are awake, little naifa. I hear the fear coursing through your heart."

Another footstep, then a hand buried into her hair, dragging her. Anneliese screamed.

CHAPTER 9

Anneliese awoke to the sound of wind. Pebbles struck the drape. She sat slowly, holding her head, squinting into diffused light.

The curtain rippled. Outside, the sky was the color of bleached stone, as if a pall of dust hung over the city. The wind howled high above.

Anneliese rubbed her neck. Her shoulders were bare. The necklace settled between her breasts. She ran her fingers down the pendant's leather thong, and then realized she was naked.

Moving stiffly, she picked up a remnant of her nightgown; the fabric was shredded as if a beast had mauled her. She held the gown to her cheek, remembering how lovely she'd looked, how eagerly she had anticipated her husband's arrival.

But Cade had not returned.

She buried her face. This was her life now, she thought—the way she would spend her days. Battered and brutalized. Alone.

The sound of a cart cut into her thoughts. Voices rose over the wind. Clutching the gown, Anneliese peered about the rear curtain.

The gaoler stood outside, bouncing impatiently from foot to foot. Gusts of dust swirled about. A bicyclist came into view, his cart rattling upon the pavement. The two men entered the cage belonging to the woman who had been pacing.

Anneliese held her fingers to her lips. She strained her ears for sound. Then the curtain opened, and a gasp twisted in her throat. She pressed her face against the bars.

The pacing woman was dead. She had made a rope from the hem of her robe and hung herself from the crossbeams. Her body swayed in the wind. Anneliese swallowed convulsively.

The men cut the woman down, keeping her head from striking the floor. They carried the body from the cage and laid it upon the bicyclist's cart.

The woman's arms hung over the sides. Her tongue was black. Anneliese's fingers clenched the bars, eyes locked upon the dead woman.

“I did not know you,” Anneliese whispered, “but I know your despair."

Her throat closed. She should speak to the woman in her own language, Anneliese thought, but the only words she knew was a proverb printed upon a fortune card: Jefe-Naik. From this point, you may go in either direction.

The cart pulled away, the woman's head lolling. Anneliese pressed her lips tightly together. She understood what the woman had done.

But that would not be her.

Suddenly frenzied, Anneliese tore at her nightdress, ripping the fabric into strips, swaddling herself. Holding onto the bars, she got to her feet.

Cade was not coming. The realization stabbed like a knife. She struck her fist against the bars as if the pain would strengthen her.

A gust of wind flipped the edge of the curtain, tipping the bowl and spilling her tea. Quickly, Anneliese righted the bowl. Beside it, she found a piece of stegort.

She prodded the meat, and then with shaking fingers, lifted it to her lips. The flesh was rubbery and heavily spiced. She bit off a corner, swallowing without chewing. Her stomach roiled. Closing her eyes, she shoved the rest of the stegort into her mouth, gagging upon the texture, swallowing as if it were a rock. She wiped her hands against the floor.

Much of the tea had spilled. Anneliese squeezed the moss at the bottom of the bowl, wringing the fibers as she drank. Her lips burned and her stomach felt bloated.

The malpais pendant swayed from her neck. She loosened the leather thong, removed the necklace, and, looking at the teioid, wrapped the laces about her hand. Tears formed and she grimaced against them.

Cade was not coming. Very well. She would find a way out by herself.

She moved to the door, shaking it and running her fingers along its edge. Reaching outside, she felt the key slot. It used a standard chip—no way to force the lock.

The wind rose, whipping the heavy drape. Anneliese closed the curtain. She could overpower the gaoler, she thought, and steal the keychip from him. Then she remembered his kindness toward her, could almost taste his nameless gruel. She drew her fingers through her hair ... and found it matted with blood.

Anneliese cringed, wrapping her arms about her chest. Her beautiful hair. Even that had been defiled.

Just then, the cage door opened.

“Again, you've surprised me,” Harmadeur said. “What a joy you are."

Anneliese lifted her chin. She grit her teeth. Harmadeur's eyes glowed in the shadows. He removed his robe, laid his scabbard carefully upon the floor.

“I trust you have not been waiting long.” He chuckled deep in his throat.

Anneliese looked at the knife, then forced her eyes away. She turned slightly, hiding the stone teioid in her hand.

“When next I see your husband, I will regale him with our story.” Harmadeur laughed loudly, hands on his hips.

Suddenly, he lunged.

Anneliese swung the pendant, striking him above the brow. A spray of blood spattered against her. The large man staggered backward, and she swung the stone again.

Harmadeur caught her arm, throwing her. She slammed against the side of the cage. The curtain ripped, admitting a shaft of light.

Anneliese backed away, holding her ribs. The pendant dangled from her hand. Harmadeur turned slowly, his face moving in and out of the light. Blood streamed from the bridge of his nose. He stepped forward and she struck him again, reveling in the sound of stone against skull. Harmadeur reared back, holding his eye.

“Kill you,” Anneliese whispered.

With a feral snarl, Harmadeur leapt for her, missed and crashed into the bars. Anneliese dove for the knife, skidding upon the robe. A blow to the back of her head flattened her.

Harmadeur tore at her swaddling cloths, exposing her buttocks. He chuckled insanely. Anneliese struggled, reaching. At last, her fingers closed about the hilt of the blade. With a burst of strength, she twisted about, plunging the knife into his belly.

A strangled sound escaped his throat. Anneliese's heart raced. She forced the knife further, using it to push him off her.

The shaft of light fell across Harmadeur's face. His eyes were open. His bottom lip sucked in and out with his breath. Anneliese skittered away, pressed her back against the bars. She raised her hands to her mouth then realized they were covered with blood.

She imagined she could hear his heartbeat, imagined the pulse slowing as his life puddled darkly beneath him. Then his expression went slack and she thought he must be dead.

A moment of relief passed through her. Her eyes widened. She had killed a man.

Anneliese stared at Harmadeur's body. She had to get away, had to find Cade. Still she sat there, rigid with terror, watching for movement.

At last, she struggled to her feet. Reaching through the bars, she examined the door. The chip was in the lock! She pressed the key and the door clicked open.

Anneliese sagged forward, suddenly weak. A montage of prayer ran through her head—half remembered rhymes recited from her childhood.

She dressed in Harmadeur's robe, folds encompassing her small form, dragging behind her. The fabric was heavy and rough. Suddenly she realized the robe had no hood.

A moment of panic gripped her. Without a hood to hide her face, she would never pass for a local. Her eyes darted then rested upon the knife in Harmadeur's stomach.

She had to get that knife, had to touch his bloodied body—but what if he wasn't dead?

Creeping forward, Anneliese reached for the hilt, plucking at it with her fingertips. A dark trail of blood oozed from the corner of the wound. The blade would not come free.

She backed away, breathing noisily through her teeth. Suddenly, she grasped the hilt with both hands. The blade loosened with a wet sucking sound. Blood gushed as if she were removing a plug.

Her legs crumpled beneath her. “Don't faint,” she whispered.

Holding the knife toward the light, she examined the edge. Blood streaked the surface like tar. She wiped the blade on Harmadeur's boot. Then, taking a handful of hair, she sawed at her silver locks.

Her hair, her beautiful hair! Tears rolled down her cheeks. Silvery strands fluttered about her shoulders.

Mane of moonlight.

She buried her fingers into the cropped tresses. She needed to darken her hair, needed to pass for a local—at least at a distance.

Picking up the bowl of tea, Anneliese scrubbed a lock of fallen hair with the moss. Her hair did not pick up the color, but as she rubbed, Anneliese noticed her fingers turning darker. She held her hands into the light; her skin glowed deep amber, similar to that of the native-born.

A grim smile tightened her lips. Anneliese rubbed the moss over her face, drawing the fibers over her neck and across her chest. She colored her hands and arms, then used the remains to stain her feet.

Holding the knife before her, she again approached Harmadeur's body, searching his tunic for pockets. She removed the goggles hanging from his neck. Blood congealed on the stone about him.

Blood like ink.

Anneliese gnawed her lip. Her pulse quickened and her breath hissed. With a trembling hand, she touched the dark puddle.

The blood was still warm—thick and sticky. It flowed in strings through her fingers. Holding her breath, she raised her hand to her head, slicking back her hair.

Waves of nausea swept over her. Gagging, Anneliese scooped up more of the clotted fluid, coating her silver hair. Liquid dripped down the back of her neck. At last, she got to her feet.

Anneliese pulled the goggles over her eyes. Concealing the knife within a voluminous sleeve, she left the cage.

CHAPTER 10

Windblown dust pelted the back of the robe. Anneliese glanced to either side. Her heart hammered and her breath caught in her throat. She had to get away before the gaoler discovered what she had done.

Hoisting the robe, she walked along the row of cages. Drapes flapped and thrummed against the bars. The goggles slid down her nose. Through the haze, she saw people in the street, their bodies bent with the wind, robes flying.

Keeping her head down, Anneliese stepped into the open, hunching forward, matching the gait of those ahead. Her ears rang, and her body felt numb with fear. After a distance, she ducked behind a building.

Free! She'd escaped! She leaned against the wall. Her hands shook and she wrung them together. She had to get to the Resort, had to find her husband. Something terrible must have happened to him.

Peering about the corner, Anneliese noticed an older couple in bright clothing. The man wrapped his arm about the woman as they bucked the wind. Guests of the hotel, Anneliese thought. If she followed them, they would lead her to the Resort. She stepped away from the wall.

A hand fell upon her shoulder. Anneliese spun about. A local man squinted at her, jabbering and tugging. Did he recognize the robe? Anneliese shuffled sideways, and the man stepped to block her escape.

Anneliese bared her teeth. With unaccustomed strength, she pushed the man down, crouching over him, waving Harmadeur's knife. The man's head bounced against the ground. He stared, spreading his hands.

Anneliese heard the growl in her throat. She thought that she had split in two, her rational side watching, clucking its tongue. It was the tea, she realized; the moss was a drug, numbing her wounds and stimulating her body. She remembered Harmadeur's story about an army out of control.

Turning her back, Anneliese ran. Stones bit the bottoms of her feet. She dodged the few people left to the streets—a woman wrapped in a shawl, a man leaning into his step. Panting heavily, she pulled between the buildings, her heart twisting in her chest, thoughts twisting in her mind.

The tea was a drug! And Cade had not warned her!

Would she have harmed that man?

A sound turned her head: a young child sat in a window. Anneliese glanced at the knife in her hand and, suddenly embarrassed, tucked the blade into her sleeve. She offered a smile, but the youngster was gone.

Anneliese continued along the street. In an alley, she glimpsed the couple she planned to follow and trotted after them. The woman's bright caftan was a beacon in the dust.

The buildings sheltered her from the brunt of the wind. Pebbles rained from the rooftops. Above, the sky took on a pink cast. Sunset, she thought. Soon it would be dark. She glanced about uneasily.

The couple paused at a stand of baskets. Lowering her head, Anneliese pulled around them and then stepped behind a bundle of reeds, pretending to brush a stone from her foot.

A ruckus caught her attention. Anneliese looked up. A dozen security guards marched toward her up the street. Their dark boots thudded against the gravel pavement. Pedestrians hurried out of their way.

Anneliese froze. They must have found Harmadeur's body, she thought. She imagined squadrons of guards fanning out through the city, searching for her.

The guards passed, marching in pairs, their goggles gray with dust. Onlookers pointed and stared. Then the two tourists moved on, and Anneliese followed the bright caftan.

The narrow streets wound through the waning light. The houses were surprisingly distinctive—some with baskets or stacked wheel hubs at their doors, others with designs etched into the stone.

Anneliese dodged a passerby, wincing. Her feet hurt. A gust of wind swirled between the buildings, bits of rock stinging her face. Where were these people leading? She seemed to be edging deeper into the city.

A bicyclist shouted and she leapt to the side, stumbling against a wall. Cooking aromas wafted through the air, and her stomach growled. She thought of the gaoler's nameless gruel.

The streets filled as the sunlight failed. Anneliese hunkered down within the robe. Eyes darting behind the goggles, she watched the people around her. She saw a child weaving cloth on a handloom, a woman dragging a cart filled with straw. Anneliese gave them wide berth, and then walked backward, staring.

Fingers snagged her robe. Anneliese spun about, bumping into a woman sitting upon a rock. The woman's eyes were dull and rheumy, and her front teeth were as black as her cigarette. She tugged at Anneliese.

“Let go!” Anneliese cried.

The woman twisted on her perch, reaching for Anneliese's face, her movement revealing a missing leg. “Babesh,” she said.

Anneliese snatched her robe away and ran. Turning a corner, she saw the two tourists board a bicyclist's cart.

“No!” she cried, bursting into the open. She would never keep up with them now. She gnawed her lip as the cart pulled away.

Then, through the gathering dusk, Anneliese saw the Resort Debauch. It rose above the city like a fortress, lights winking in the haze. Anneliese sucked in her breath.

She was going to make it!

The street was wider than most, the stone scarred by trafficking bicycles. Huge braziers stood along its length, flames leaping and roaring. Anneliese circled the light, keeping to the shadows. Gravel cut her feet. Fatigue sapped her spirit—the waning affect of the tea. She wondered if she would be able to scrub the stain from her skin. The first thing she would do when she got back to her room would be to take a long bath.

Wind swirled down the street, strafing the buildings with small stones. Anneliese hunched forward, protecting her face. The Resort was farther than she'd thought. A dull ache inched across her side. Panting, she turned down a narrow alley, head buzzing with the sudden absence of wind. She sat heavily, sliding down the pitted wall, drawing her knees to her chest.

Her feet were bleeding. No matter, she thought. Soon enough, all her wounds would be dressed. She imagined herself stretched out upon fragrant, silken sheets.

Two men entered the darkened alleyway, voices raised in argument. Anneliese fingered the knife in her sleeve. Go away, she pleaded silently.

But the men took no notice of her. One shoved the other, who in turn swung a fist. They scuffled, slamming against the buildings, the sound of their breath loud in the enclosed space. The flash of a blade appeared between them.

Anneliese covered her mouth with her hands. She saw the knife slash down, saw the stricken man fall. A scream crawled up her throat. Struggling with her robe, she ran into the street, colliding with a jinrikisha.

A flash of pain lit the night. Dazedly, she brushed at her hands. The cabber leaned over her, shouting and shaking his fist. Behind him, a man's shadow stood in the alley.

Anneliese ran. Darkness hindered her vision, but she dared not remove the goggles, dared not reveal her face.

A group of tourists laughed, calling, “Run, thief! They're right behind you!"

But no one was in pursuit. After a while, she slowed, favoring her left leg, her skin clammy and tingling with exertion. Above, the wind growled, the sky lowering with night.

Then the Resort was before her. Anneliese gazed at the imposing door. Reaching tentatively, she ran her hands over the day-warmed metal.

A sudden realization shot through her—she had no docking pass. How would she get inside?

“Ahkee noij’ glecknal!” A man rushed out of the darkness, swatting at her.

A guard! Anneliese retreated to the shadows. She held her arms tightly to stop them from shaking.

The man stepped from the entrance, sitting in the street beside a bicycle. Just a cabber hoping for a fare, she realized.

Carefully, Anneliese crept closer. She would wait for someone to leave the Resort, and then push past before the door closed. If she moved quickly, they'd be unable to stop her.

But even as the plan formed, her husband's words came back to her—the corridor was under constant surveillance. If a local should get inside, they'd turn the lights up to roast.

Anneliese pulled at her ruined hair. She couldn't think, couldn't imagine what to do. Lifting her goggles, she wiped her eyes. She needed to rest.

Suddenly, she thought of the man in the alley, imagined him finding her, slitting her throat while she slept.

Anneliese got to her feet, edging between the buildings. Sounds surrounded her—the cries of an infant, a mother's answering song. Farther, she heard the laughter of Resort patrons. She followed the path to a winding street, limping upon the gravel, finally coming to a tent.

The communal toilet.

Anneliese held her breath with the wind. The sides of the tent moved in and out as if it were alive.

Only a crazed person would spend the night in such a place, she thought. No one would search for her there. She ducked through the entrance, blinking in the dark.

Oddly, the stench was less inside. Anneliese moved forward carefully. A straw-like material covered the ground, and it snapped and rustled beneath her feet.

At the base of a support pole, she swept an area clean then sat upon her haunches. She wouldn't sleep, she told herself, only rest until she could work out a plan. She listened to the sound of the wind.

* * * *

Blazing sunlight awakened her. Anneliese jumped up then staggered backward. Two women stared at her, one holding a rake like a weapon, the other tittering behind her hand. The sides of the tent were up and the stone beyond was blinding.

Anneliese ducked beneath the tent's skeleton, hurrying into the street. Pain seeped through her confusion. Damn! The stone was hot!

She hobbled into a shadowed alcove, sitting quickly, inspecting her scorched feet. Her heels were ragged with crescent-shaped wounds. Filth caked her toes. She covered them with the robe.

Looking out from her meager shelter, she watched the women in the tent. They bent over their rakes, attending their chore. The woman who had laughed still stared at Anneliese, and the other jostled her roughly to set her to work.

Anneliese leaned against the warm wall. The wind had died and the air was stifling. She looked up at the cloudless sky, the glaring sun; then her gaze fell upon the Resort Debauch.

She couldn't get inside.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she slid the goggles off. Covering her face with her hands, Anneliese wept. Her body ached and she was hungry. She wanted to go home.

The sound of marching boots gave her pause. Anneliese kept her head down and the guards continued on, unnoticing.

She had to get off the street, she thought. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she pulled the goggles roughly in place. Where could she go? She had no friends. Suddenly, she thought of Surah Rudnitsky.

A smile eased her face. Of course! Cade once said he trusted Surah. Anneliese remembered the woman's kindness.

But the lounge was on the other side of the city. Anneliese stared at the scorching street. Sliding the knife from her sleeve, she slashed her robe, ripping the cloth into long strips. She padded her feet with scraps of fabric then bound them securely.

Anneliese stood, muscles protesting, and lurched forward. Vendors passed, dragging their wares to the market. Children chased in circles. Landmarks came easily. She remembered the patterned awning over one door, wind chimes in another window. How odd that she thought the buildings were alike when Cade first brought her to the city.

Cade. His name felt like a weight. Would they ever have the life she envisioned? She remembered the day they'd met: she'd blundered unannounced into her father's study where Cade awaited an interview. He stood quickly, regaling her with his startling smile.

“What's this? Yet another work of art? I can see why you were not included on the tour.” He cocked his head, his hair spilling over one brow. “Do you have a name, or is that a secret as well?"

And Anneliese had stuttered and blushed, mispronouncing her name as if it were not her own. Cade stepped close, taking her hands, lifting them to his lips.

“I know of a world where the people spin silver so fine it rivals moonlight. They would envy you your beautiful hair."

Anneliese blinked from her reverie, tears stinging her eyes. She raised a hand to her hair, feeling crusted blood. Cade! Dear God! How could she live through this nightmare?

She fell to her knees in the middle of the street, pounding her fists upon the gravel. Voices rose as the traffic parted. She covered her ears. Damn you all, her mind cried. Look what I've become. I hate this city. Hate this world. I want to go home.

Gradually, she became aware of a clattering sound. Anneliese looked up. An old man walked toward her, shimmering like a mirage, balancing two stone ewers upon a pole. He looked at her for a moment, and then moved to the side of the street, lowering his load, sitting with a grunt across from Anneliese. Traffic funneled between them.

The old man smiled. He pulled a wide-mouthed jug into his lap and, twisting the lid, lifted a dipper of water.

Anneliese's jaw dropped. Her tongue darted across her roughened lips. The man drank, and she saw a drop of water roll from the ladle, down his fingers and onto his sleeve. Then his gaze met hers. Anneliese felt her cheeks redden, caught staring, but she could not look away. Again, he reached into his jug, holding the dipper toward her.

No! she thought. Don't trust him.

Water streamed from the ladle like a string of jewels. The man nodded, his smile blending into the creases of his face.

As if in a dream, Anneliese crossed the street and took the dipper. The liquid rolled, cool, down her throat. She tilted her head until the last drop crossed her lips. Finally, she handed back the ladle and watched him reseal the jug.

The old man grinned. He patted Anneliese's shoulder. Leaning heavily upon her, he got to his feet. Anneliese scrambled to hook the jugs to the pole. She glanced guiltily from his face. She'd accepted his water. What would he want in return?

But the man hefted his burden and, without looking back, resumed his pace. Anneliese watched until the crowd obscured his presence and she could no longer hear his clattering jugs. Had the old man stopped simply to offer her a sip of water, a pat on the shoulder? Kindness did not fit her view of this world.

She thought of the gaoler then, remembering his careful ministration as she lay half-conscious in her cage. Not the act of a barbarian—and yet he enslaved women.

Forcing her feet to move, Anneliese continued down the street. The heavy robe clung to her body, rivulets of sweat rolling down her back. Shadows withdrew from the force of the sun. Fewer people traveled the streets, and she realized the market was closing. She listened to the sound of her footsteps against the gravel, walking woodenly. Abruptly, she stopped.

She stood before a squat building. Cocking her head, she compared the stone front to the image in her mind. Across the door, a curtain swayed—the same pattern. She was certain. She had found Surah's lounge.

A smile cracked her blistered lips. Straightening her shoulders, Anneliese pulled the curtain aside. The vestibule was dark and cool. Anneliese blinked rapidly, arms outstretched.

Immediately, a shadow jumped up, rushing toward her—and she remembered there had been a man sleeping in the corner.

The man grabbed her arms. Anneliese struggled.

“Stop! You don't understand!” she cried.

Lifting her bodily, the man threw her out the door. She scrabbled in the street, and then launched herself at him.

“Let me in! You must let me in!” She pummeled his chest.

He brushed her away then stood in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.

Anneliese stood slowly. Gritting her teeth, ears ringing with pulse beat, she drew the knife from her sleeve. The man's expression shifted. He lowered his arms. Anneliese's fingers shook. Crouching over the knife, she ran straight at him.

The man plucked the knife away as if she were a child. He sent Anneliese sprawling then grinned, examining his prize. Turning pointedly, he disappeared behind the curtain.

Anneliese drew her knees to her chin, covering her head with her arms; but she would not cry. She had to find another way inside.

Following the wall, she moved to the rear of the building. The air thickened with the stench of refuse. Peering around the corner, she watched a deformed man wheel a garbage can from a concrete shed. Anneliese narrowed her eyes.

The dumbwaiter.

The man pushed his barrow over a well-worn path then strained to lift the can. Two women sifted through the dump, filling a soup kettle, and he paused to speak with them.

Keeping her eyes upon his back, Anneliese crept toward the waiting lift, stepping onto the stained platform. The man turned just as she released the pulley.

Darkness enfolded her. Anneliese pressed her hands against the sides of the falling dumbwaiter, holding her breath against the stink. At last, the cubicle halted.

She stepped into a dimly lit hallway, shivering with a draft of cold air. Ahead, she heard laughter, a strain of faint music, and she followed the sound, tiptoeing past closed doors and shadowed shelves.

“You, there! What are you doing?” a voice called.

Anneliese jumped, spinning about. “Please,” she said. “I must speak with Surah Rudnitsky."

The man seized her wrist, glancing toward the dumbwaiter shaft. The platform was gone. “How'd you get in here, anyway?"

“Your name is Erit, right? Well, Erit, it's important that I see your employer.” Anneliese wrenched her arm free.

Suddenly, arms encased her from behind, lifting her into the air.

“Let go of me!” she shouted, kicking her feet, toppling a shelf.

“What the hell's going on here?” a new voice cried.

The arms released, dropping Anneliese to the floor. She glanced back at the deformed man.

Then she looked up at Surah Rudnitsky. “Oh, Surah, please remember me. My name is Anneliese. I was here with my husband, Cade."

“Anneliese Thielman?” Surah stepped forward, shaking her head. She pulled down Anneliese's goggles. Then her lips parted and one side crinkled into a smile. “They told me you were dead."

CHAPTER 11

Anneliese clasped her hands before her. She was safe. Nothing would happen to her now. Tears blurred her vision and she shut her eyes against them.

“I thought I'd never find you,” she whispered.

“Take her to my apartment,” Surah said, “and not a word to anyone."

The deformed man lifted Anneliese to her feet, and then led her through a stone maze. With a clubbed hand, he keyed a code into a security lock, opening a door.

The room beyond was shadowed and stale. Crates interspersed the furniture. Anneliese stepped along a narrow aisle, wondering if she were in a warehouse.

Behind her, Surah said, “You look like hell.” The woman pressed her palm against a touch pad and the lights brightened. Clucking her tongue, she cupped Anneliese's chin, tilting her face toward the light. “What happened to your hair?” she asked, crossing the room.

Anneliese opened her mouth to reply, then stopped. Surah held out a glass. Water! Anneliese dove forward, trembling, drinking too fast, feeling coolness spill over her chin. The room swayed, and she sank to a nearby couch.

Surah took the glass away. “So. Where's Cade?"

“I don't know,” Anneliese said. “Hasn't he been in touch with you?"

“That limmer.” Surah laughed huskily. “He skipped out of here owing me a lot of money. I haven't seen him since the explosion."

“The what?"

“The explosion.” Surah pulled up a chair. “The one that took out half the penthouse suites. The one that supposedly ended your life."

Anneliese's eyes glazed, looking back through time. Yes. She remembered hearing an explosion. That night. That horrible night. “What ... how did it happen?"

“Bomb. Damn Llaird terrorists. They executed the conspirator, a man named Ahzgott. He worked as a host in the Resort. Funny, I knew he was outspoken, but I never pictured him as part of the Movement."

Anneliese felt herself receding, as if reality had stopped and she was falling away. “My father,” she whispered. “Was he told that I was...."

“You made the sub-space news, if that's what you mean."

Anneliese closed her eyes. She imagined her father sitting before the screen, reading the sub-space as he did every morning. Vaguely, she was aware of Surah rising, speaking in hushed tones at the door.

“Are you hungry?” Surah asked her, carrying a plate toward a table. “Wake up, honey. I'm not talking to myself."

Anneliese gathered her thoughts, climbing to her feet. Surah was such a kind woman. No wonder Cade trusted her.

“How long has it been since you've eaten?” Surah asked.

“I had a piece of stegort yesterday,” Anneliese said.

“Is that a fact? Hunger must have broadened your tastes. Sit down. You can tell me how you escaped annihilation."

Anneliese stared at the plate of mushrooms. Food. Real food. Taking a breath, she bit into the fist-sized morel, moaning in appreciation.

“Thank you,” she said, slumping forward.

Surah refilled her glass from a pitcher. Anneliese forced herself to sip the water slowly. Drawing her chair closer, she struck her knee upon a box beneath the table.

“Do you live here?” Anneliese asked.

“Yes. It's not much, and so on. I try to keep my store of trinkets to a minimum, but sometimes they come in faster than I can sell them."

In the back of her mind, Anneliese heard Cade say: Trade is power.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Surah asked.

“I hardly know where to begin.” Anneliese looked away. How could she tell her, how could she verbalize her shame?

Surah leaned back, watching. “Why don't you start with something simple? Like after you smashed my rantobi table."

Anneliese kneaded her fingers. “Cade became angry and sent me back to the Resort. I waited for hours. Then, Mr. Ahzgott came. He said that Cade had lost a great deal of money and, according to local custom, I was expected to pay the debt."

“Wait a minute. Are you saying they put a hotel guest into the cage?"

“I didn't want to go. I fought the guards, but there were too many. When I awoke, it was dark. There were bars all around. And then...” She balled her fists into her eyes. Tears burst forth in spasms. “A man came into the cage. It was Harmadeur. I couldn't get away."

“Harmadeur? The Security Master?"

“He ... hurt me."

“Anneliese, look at me. Did anyone else call upon you, did you have other ... visitors?"

Anneliese hiccupped, shaking her head.

“I see.” Surah folded her arms. “How did you escape?"

And in a voice so small she could barely hear it, Anneliese said, “I killed him."

“You killed Harmadeur Gendarme?” Surah gave a gravely laugh.

Anneliese's head snapped up. She bared her teeth. “Yes! I killed him! I struck him down with his own knife. He was an obscenity, an abomination."

“Where's the knife, now?"

“The man at your door stole it from me.” Anneliese ran a hand through her hair then flinched.

“Banhazl,” Surah said. “He's probably already sold it. Do you have anything else, anything to connect you to a murder?"

“I used his blood to darken my hair."

Surah lifted her lip in a crooked smile. “Ingenious. And how did you stain your skin?"

“Moss from my tea."

“It's a wonder you didn't die of heart failure. Our tea is addictive. We'd better get it off you."

“Surah, you don't understand. I have to find Cade. They must be holding him somewhere."

“Don't worry. Cade has always been able to take care of himself. But, if what you say is true...."

“Of course, it's true!” Anneliese cried. “Do you think I would make up a story like that? You must have heard something about Harmadeur's death."

Surah shrugged. “Perhaps the Resort is playing it down. Are you certain Ahzgott was the one who came for you? Interesting. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Surah led Anneliese into a lavatory that seemed spacious in contrast to the cluttered room. Anneliese stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was dark with sunburn, her lips cracked and rough. Bruises marred both eyes, and the bridge of her nose looked puffy and raw.

“Water is at a premium here,” Surah told her. “The best I can offer is a sonic shower."

“That sounds wonderful.” Anneliese sat upon a wrought iron bench, untying the bindings about her feet. The fabric, stiff with dried blood, stuck to her wounds, and she winced as she pulled it away. “Surah, thank you for helping me. I don't know what I would have done."

“Didn't think I'd turn you away, did you? Now, give me that robe so I can dispose of it."

Hesitating, Anneliese slid the robe from her shoulders. She crossed her arms over her breasts.

Surah clucked her tongue. “You've got more lumps than a gilly-whack frog. You'd best not need a doctor."

Anneliese glanced at her reflection. An angry splotch spread over her side. Perhaps she should see a physician, she thought, but before she could reply, Surah picked up the robe and left the room.

Anneliese approached the sink. She twisted the spigot, running a trickle of water into the basin. The water was warm. She cupped some into her mouth then splashed her face.

Leaning forward, she dunked her head into the basin, rubbing at the blood coating her hair. The crystal water turned to ink. Releasing the stopper, Anneliese let the water run out then filled the sink again, rinsing her hair until it felt soft.

With soiled water streaming down her back, she activated the sonic shower. The cubicle glowed, and the air inside appeared to tremble. Taking a bottle of cleansing gel from a shelf, Anneliese lathered her body then stepped into the inaudible waves.

A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. She lifted her chin, closing her eyes to mere slits, and allowed the electric tingle to consume her slight form. She imagined the filth washing away, new skin emerging: skin that had never been sullied nor used, bruised by abusive hands.

Lathering again, she remained in the shower until her flesh shone bright pink and her shoulders sagged with weariness. Stepping from the cubicle, she buried her fingers in her diminished hair.

Surah had not returned. Anneliese wandered into a sparsely furnished bedroom. By the light of the open door, she dressed in a tunic she found upon the bed. Then, stretched out upon sheets that smelled faintly of smoke, Anneliese fell asleep.

* * * *

“Rise and shine,” Surah said. “I've brought your breakfast."

Anneliese stretched languidly. “Surah? What time is it?"

“You've been asleep for nearly twenty-four hours."

“But ... a whole day?"

“I guess you must've needed the rest. Here. Try a sip of this."

Sitting up, Anneliese accepted the frothy glass; it contained the milk concoction she'd tasted when she'd visited the lounge with Cade. The memory drew a pang of sorrow. “Have you contacted my husband?"

“Not yet. It's been more difficult than I expected—leads have been blocked, information too sketchy to be believed.” Surah tore a corner from a slice of bread, taking a bite. “You say you had no other visitors, you saw no one else?"

Anneliese frowned. She thought of the gaoler bringing a bowl of tea, thought of the woman arguing with her husband. Suddenly, she remembered the group of ruffians who had approached her pen the first night she was there, remembered them taunting her, laughing as she begged for help. But that wasn't the type of visitor to which Surah referred.

“No,” Anneliese said. “Only Harmadeur."

Surah smiled. “Here. Take these with the milk.” She held out two white pills.

Anneliese swallowed them obediently. “What are they?"

“Melen-tabs. I sell them to tourists who want to stay outdoors all day without the sun cooking them. Of course, I don't mention that it darkens the skin."

“But, I'm already sunburned."

“Yes. You certainly are."

Behind Surah, a man cleared his throat. Anneliese looked up to see a tall, native-born man.

Surah leaned against him possessively. “Anneliese, I'd like you to meet Pol-Agher-Estab, my partner."

The tall man nodded. “Miss Thielman."

“Pol will take you somewhere to hide."

Anneliese's scalp prickled. “You're sending me away?"

“It's for the best."

No. Dear God! “Surah, please. I've been through so much."

“I know, and I'm sorry."

“But I want to stay with you."

“Damn it, Thielman, wake up! You knew this would be the first place they'd look. Already, there've been strangers...."

Anneliese crawled to the far side of the bed, spilling milk upon the sheets. “No! You can't make me leave!"

“Anneliese, be reasonable,” Surah said.

“You don't believe anything I told you!"

“And what would you have me believe? That you were caged to pay a debt to the local commonwealth, yet you entertained only one man? I'd think they'd have you working day and night."

“It was Harmadeur,” Anneliese said. “He coveted me. He must have paid the gaoler to keep me apart from the others."

“That's absurd! Why would he give Cade something to hold over him? Cade owes him too much money."

Anneliese gaped, taken aback.

Surah waved her arm. “And now you say Harmadeur is dead. And the man who took you to the cage is dead. Probably every guard involved in your abduction was lost in the blast. Some fantasy."

“You're twisting my words. Why won't you listen to me? You're a vicious and spiteful woman."

Surah slapped Anneliese hard enough to split her lip.

Anneliese raised her fingers to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. “You are supposed to be Cade's friend."

“You've no idea,” Surah muttered.

Anneliese felt the room close about her. She felt someone tug the tunic over her head. Don't believe it, she told herself; it won't happen if you don't believe.

“Bring her in here,” Surah said.

Her feet turned cold upon the rough floor. Anneliese walked docilely, wincing into the brightness of the lavatory.

Behind her, Pol said, “She certainly acts the part."

“I tell you, it will work,” Surah answered.

Anneliese retreated to that part of her mind where she would go when her father ignored her. She watched herself as if from a distance, saw Surah pull a dye-rod through her hair, turning the silver tufts to ebony. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her flat, smooth breasts. She stared at her image in the mirror, surprised at the deepening color of her skin.

I'm a boy, she thought dully. What have they done to me?

They dressed her in an undergarment similar to bloomers, draped a threadbare robe over her shoulders, then an outer robe.

Surah clucked her tongue. “What could he have been thinking?"

“He told you all along,” Pol said.

Anneliese blinked, glancing between them.

Surah flashed her partner a warning look. “Lace up her boots. We're running out of time."

Anneliese closed her eyes, balling her fists at her sides. I'm sorry, Father, she thought. Please let me come home.

A shove propelled her into the darkness of the hallway.

Surah said, “Take her through the front, bold as you please. No one will notice."

Anneliese's head whirled. They were going to do it—they were going to send her away! Words crept up her constricted throat. “Please.” Dear God! “I won't yell anymore."

“You'd best not speak at all. And whatever you do, don't take off those boots. They'll kill you for a pair of boots.” Surah gave a lop-sided smile.

A chill ran through Anneliese. Led by a firm grip upon her elbow, she stumbled along the maze-like corridor.

“Surah!” she cried, looking back at the woman's shadowed figure.

“Do not speak,” Pol whispered.

Anneliese felt sick with panic. She followed blindly, taking deep breaths.

Don't faint. Be strong.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

Pol's fingers sank into her arm. “Silence."

Anneliese struggled against him, then burst into tears. “I thought I could trust her. I thought she was Cade's friend."

“She's much more than that,” Pol said. “She is his mother."

His words struck her dumb. Cade's mother? Why hadn't Cade told her? Why was Surah sending her away?

Music cut into her thoughts. She heard a round of bawdy laughter. The lounge, she thought, cringing. But, if Surah was Cade's mother, perhaps she was telling the truth—perhaps Pol was taking her where she would be safe.

Pol slowed his step as they entered the room, but he kept his grip upon her arm. The lounge was noisy, the tables filled.

Anneliese wanted to run. She ducked her head, hiding behind the obscurity of her goggles. The cumbersome boots tripped and hindered her, making her feel she was wading in ooze. Twice, she leaned against the large man for support.

“Naughty Pol,” a female voice called. “Been playing with your half-wits again?"

Pol laughed loudly, tightening his grasp.

He's afraid, Anneliese realized, and swallowed in a dry throat.

At last, they reached the entrance to the lounge. Pol urged her up the steps to the landing, and then pushed her behind the heavy drape. Anneliese gazed up the length of the stairwell leading to the room above. Resting one hand against the rough wall, she climbed.

The muscles of her legs screamed in protest. She bit the inside of her lip. Pol pressed impatiently, climbing behind her.

Anneliese panted with fatigue. Heat grew steadily—she'd almost forgotten it. She fancied that Surah was teasing her, and that Cade waited above.

But no one greeted her as she reached the main entry hall. Sunlight streamed through an open window. A loaf of bread lay half-eaten upon a table—as if the room had been hastily abandoned, the guard called away.

Pol released her arm. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with words; then he picked up the bread, tucking it into her sash.

“Keep it hidden,” he said, stepping into the street.

Anneliese swayed with a rush of relief. He cared about her. Everything would be all right. She held her arms about her middle as if she carried a child.

Of course, she trusted him.

The stifling air stole her breath as she peered about the heavy drape. Heat rose in waves from the blinding stone. She saw no one on the street.

Pol tugged her arm, pulling her from the chiseled doorway, walking in silence. Gravel crunched beneath their feet. Anneliese glanced to either side, trying to memorize their path. Then, between the buildings, she glimpsed an ornate arch: the gate of Enceinte.

Anneliese remembered first seeing the gate with Cade, remembered the handprints upon the wall, and the bleak vista beyond. She wondered where Pol was taking her.

The street opened upon a courtyard. The gate rose to one side. Anneliese hesitated, eyes wide. She saw a carriage in the center of the courtyard, a large man with a turban. In the shadow of a building, a group of children huddled together.

Malpais scavengers. Anneliese shuddered.

Pol dragged her toward them, forcing her into their midst then fixing her with a glare. Turning his back, he approached the man who stood beside the carriage.

Anneliese felt an upsurge of panic. A burgeoning scream rose in her throat. No! Don't leave me! she pleaded silently.

The turbaned man looked directly at her. He was huge, perhaps as large as Harmadeur, heavy robes flowing around him. His eyes glinted like gold in his dark face. Anneliese stepped back from the light.

Pol held out his hand, and the man counted three coins into his palm. Without looking back, Pol strode away. Anneliese watched in disbelief.

She had been sold.

The children stirred. A young boy continued to sleep, curled upon the stone, and a taller one kicked him in the ribs. The boy wept, and a girl knelt to comfort him.

With a resounding clank, the gate opened. Magnetically sealed, Anneliese remembered. She felt giddy with fear, weak with tension. Going mad, she thought, shoving her hands into her hair.

The children left the shadows to gather about the carriage. Anneliese's heart fluttered, her eyes darting. Run! she dared herself. Then, her gaze met that of the turbaned man, and her feet moved forward.

The carriage rattled, drowning the whimpers of the youngest boy. Anneliese stared upward at the arch. Dwarfed and helpless, she passed through the gate, each step taking her farther from home.

CHAPTER 12

Mortar Thielman stared unseeing through the window of his study. His chest closed painfully, constricting his heart, and he panted against the pressure.

“There must be some mistake,” he said, surprised at the sound of his voice.

The man behind him shifted in his seat. “The report has been verified. Resort officials classify the blast as a terrorist attack, some militants rebelling against commercialism. I doubt they even knew Anneliese was there."

“I want to see her body."

“Mortar, there is no body."

Mortar turned, facing the man: Gordon Rathbone, for many years his advisor and closest friend. At that moment, he wanted to kill him. “What are you talking about?"

“Half the penthouse suites were demolished,” Gordon said. “There is nothing left to identify. I'm sorry, but your daughter is dead."

Dead? The room heaved around him. Mortar turned his back, clutching his chest. “I should never have let her go."

“You couldn't keep her locked here forever."

“Yes, I could!” He slammed his fist into his palm. “It was my role to protect her. She was fragile, so much like her mother."

My God, Mari. What have I done? I've lost you both.

A wave of pain washed over him. He blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate upon the vista outside the huge window. Beyond the perimeter wall, a glint of water showed through the trees.

“My daughter loved to swim. Did you know that? She wanted to perform professionally, but I'd never allow her to brook with that sort. When she was a child, I promised to take her to that water park world. You know the one—Neptune's Palace. But, birthdays passed. There was never enough time. And now, my child is dead."

Dead, he thought. How could he bear it, to learn about it from a newscast, two days of agony, waiting, hoping.

I never meant to make her a prisoner.

“Everything I see,” he said, “belongs to me. The gardens, the forests. Hell, I even own the skies. But, I would trade it all.” His words shook. “I would trade it all.” He grimaced, acutely aware of the silence behind him. Someone will pay, he promised himself. Someone will be held accountable. He looked toward his friend, his voice flat. “Where is he?"

“Cade? I know only that he was taken into custody on an unrelated issue.” The older man got to his feet, crossing the room. “The authorities confiscated everything from the Rimer's Cope. They've sent a courier with Anneliese's possessions.” He opened the door. “You may come in."

A man carrying a wicker case entered the room. He bowed stiffly, and then stood as if at attention. Mortar felt the blood drain from his face. He stared at the case.

Anneliese's possessions. His daughter.

He moved forward heavily, limbs made of lead, took the case from the courier's arms and set it upon the desk. Pressing his hands against the hinged lid, he closed his eyes.

“Get out,” he said.

Hurriedly, the two men left the room. Mortar waited for the door to latch, and then drew a ragged breath.

It couldn't be true. Anneliese wasn't dead—she was too young, too full of life. There were still things he'd wanted to teach her, birthdays left to celebrate. His throat tightened and he shook his head. It was a mistake—the box belonged to someone else.

But as he opened the case, he recognized his daughter's favorite sweater, the scarf she'd worn the last time he saw her.

“No,” he sobbed. “Dear God, no."

He scooped up the garments. Dead! She was dead! His beautiful little girl. Rage built deep inside, a raving anguish he was helpless to control.

“Damn them! Look what they've done to you."

The last time he'd seen her, they'd argued.

He held the clothing against his chest. Emptiness replaced his wrath, gutting him. Woodenly, he carried his daughter's possessions toward the couch. A disk fell to the floor, clattering against the silence, and he knelt to retrieve the data chit.

It was Anneliese's diary.

CHAPTER 13

Flat. Desolate. Anneliese plodded over the featureless stone, watching the back of the carriage. Sweat burned her eyes and rolled down the sides of her face. Her bare feet rubbed inside her boots.

What was she doing? she railed at herself. She should be looking for Cade. Damn that faithless Pol. May his soul rot in the Seventh Region. And Surah ... Anneliese bit her lip.

She would never trust again, certainly never ask anyone for help. Then, glancing toward the white-hot sun, she decided that might be a difficult vow to keep.

Children ranged to either side of the rattling cart. Anneliese kept apart from them, lest she be discovered; there was no telling what their reaction would be to an impostor within their midst.

The tall boy appeared to be the eldest, perhaps fourteen years old. He moved with the confidence of a leader, and indeed two boys walked behind him, imitating his smallest move.

Nearer the carriage, a girl strode in silence. Her long hair stood in peaks, matted beneath her goggles. A second girl trailed several paces behind, and the youngest child, the boy who had been kicked, walked back and forth between them.

Anneliese felt her lip curl, watching him. The boy was obviously demented—his head overly large, his gait shambling. She understood the tall boy's distaste for the child.

Still, there was no need to harm him.

The buggy itself seemed pieced together from cast-off parts. Shaped much like a landau, the top was of coarse and poorly maintained wicker, while the axletree shone of polished metal.

The turbaned man was its only source of locomotion, walking stolidly with a padded yoke across his shoulders. Anneliese remembered the look on the man's face as he counted three coins into Pol's hand.

Slaver. Exploiter. What held these children to him? What invisible tether kept them from stealing away?

The demented boy sidled up to Anneliese. He snuffled and gasped, walking first on one side and then the other. She rolled her eyes skyward.

An airborne craft caught her attention. A skip-chaser, she thought, fresh from its hangar at the Resort, probably carrying tourists on their way to the hills. If only it flew nearer, she could wave it down and plead for help. But the craft was already out of sight.

The man called a halt. He climbed into the buggy, making it creak and shake. The demented boy left Anneliese, circling the conveyance. Then a hatch opened and the man leaned out, banging a metal ladle against the sill.

Water! Anneliese licked her lips, standing behind the children. The man spoke softly, doling out a dipper of water and handing each a square of stegort. The demented boy shoved the entire piece into his mouth before stepping from line.

Anneliese drank thankfully and accepted the offered food. The meat was dry and hard. She moved to the side of the carriage, turning the square over in her hands.

Suddenly, one of the boys snatched it away. He evaded her grasp, popping the meat into his mouth. Anneliese swallowed thickly, a retort dying upon her lips.

Don't speak! her mind warned. Don't reveal yourself.

The boy looked at her, grinning, his dark bulging goggles reflecting the barren stone. Anneliese turned toward the man in the carriage, but he merely closed the hatch.

Clenching her fists, Anneliese moved away. The boy who had stolen her meal joined his friends, the three of them snickering, jabbering in their incomprehensible language.

How pathetic she was, Anneliese thought. Bullied by a child.

She reached beneath her robes into the sash. The hidden bread was soggy with perspiration. She tore off a piece and ate it.

Long shadows fell from the band of children. Late afternoon. Anneliese looked back across the plain of stone. The Resort rose just to the left of the sun's path.

Perhaps Pol was right, she thought—perhaps she was safer outside the city. By the time she returned, Surah would have found Cade. She thought of Surah then, tried to picture her as benevolent and caring, the way she'd imagined her own mother would be. She couldn't believe—didn't want to believe that the woman would wish her ill.

Why hadn't Cade told her that Surah was his mother?

Someone kicked her boot. Anneliese blinked, drawing her feet in. The shadow of the tall boy fell over her. The other two boys stood close behind.

Anneliese felt a rush of adrenaline. She glared defiantly. Their leader spoke as if issuing an order. He kicked her boot again. Anneliese moved to get to her feet, and he struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her down. The younger boys laughed.

Then the tall boy pulled out a knife. His lip raised in a sneer as he spat out a stream of hateful sounds. He motioned toward her boots.

Anneliese looked down at his sandaled feet, at all their sandaled feet. They'll kill you for a pair of boots, Surah had warned.

Then why dress me in boots? Anneliese cried silently. Did you intend that I should die?

Tears clouded the inside of her goggles. Her hands shook. She unlaced her boots, kicking them off.

The boys chortled. The tall one snatched up his prize. Anneliese wrapped her arms about her legs, cradling her chin upon her knees. Heat radiated from the rock.

She should have fought him, she thought. He'd held a child's blade—she should have wrested it away. What kind of person was she? A victim. Her father's bane.

The impact of the situation struck her then—Surah had tried to have her killed. Why would she do such a thing? Anneliese imagined herself beaten, her throat slashed. A chill moved up her back.

The murderous bitch. She hadn't expected Anneliese to return. She would show her, Anneliese thought; she would show them all. Somehow, she would survive this nightmare. She would live, if only to avenge.

The boy stripped off his sandals, tossing them over his shoulder. Putting on the boots, he paraded about his cohorts, posing for their approval.

Anneliese watched, unseeing. She had to run away. She would fall behind the others, and then disappear before they noticed she was gone.

But how could she walk without boots?

The wagon rattled, gaining the boys’ attention. The man appeared. He had removed his turban, and his hair was long and wavy. With scarcely a glance in their direction, he picked up the harness, continuing his trek.

Anneliese covered her head. What was she going to do? She wouldn't get far with bare feet.

A snuffling sound came beside her. The demented boy. He touched her arm and Anneliese shied away. Then, from beneath his robe, he pulled out the sandals her assailant had discarded.

For a moment, Anneliese couldn't respond. Why hadn't she thought of that? Why did she always wait for someone to do things for her?

The boy avoided her eyes. He hunched his shoulders as if expecting her to strike him. She reached for the sandals, careful not to touch his fingers—as if his aberration were a disease, she chided herself—and he made a peculiar sound, his bottom lip sucking in.

Someone approached them. Startled, Anneliese looked up. It was the girl who had comforted the boy. She wore her hood back about her shoulders, and her unshielded eyes shone with the light.

“Nosida egdib beht,” the girl said.

Anneliese looked away. She busied herself with the sandals.

The girl sat cross-legged before her. “I said he seems to like you."

Anneliese froze. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Don't respond. Don't speak at all.

“You're from the Resort, aren't you?” the girl asked.

Anneliese closed her eyes, dreading the response. “Yes,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 14

“You dare to refuse me?” Mortar Thielman glared at the viewscreen. “Do you think I am feeble, bedridden after the death of my daughter?"

On the module, the bluish face of the mercenary blanched. “No need for words between us. We have had dealings for many years."

“Then perhaps you fail to understand my request,” he said evenly. “Anneliese has been murdered. I wish to find the parties responsible."

The mercenary turned to draw a breath from the methane pipe rising over his shoulder. Vapor trailed from his nostrils. “There is no evidence to sustain that allegation."

“But it's all there,” Mortar said, “everything in the data I transmitted."

“Anneliese's diary. Yes, I've read it."

“Then you know someone was placing demands upon her, having her check into financial records—trust funds, stock holdings...."

“An inquisitive girl."

“No!” Mortar grit his teeth. “Obviously, she was being coerced, perhaps even blackmailed."

The mercenary inhaled deeply of his respirator pipe. “And you have no idea who would do such?"

“You're the investigator,” Mortar said.

He smiled, showing needle-like teeth. “As you wish."

Mortar snapped off the viewscreen. “Damn him! They should all be spaced, the lot of them!"

At the door, Gordon Rathbone said, “Which ones—the Blue Gills or the police?” He walked into the room. “You can't hope to find too much support for your theory, Mortar. Look at you: a poor grieving father struck down by a failing heart."

“That's not my reputation.” Mortar scowled.

“No, I don't suppose it is. People see what they expect to see, after all."

“And no one expects the Resort would be bombed to silence one small girl.” Mortar threw back the covers of his bed, sitting unsteadily. On the opposite wall, a hologram of Anneliese smiled at him, larger than life, frozen in beauty. “A brilliant child, my Anneliese."

“She was headstrong and difficult.” Gordon circled the foot of the bed.

Mortar accepted the offered robe. “Did I tell you about our hunting trip?"

“I remember she took to her bed screaming after you made your first kill."

“No, before that, as we trudged through the forest together. She knew instinctively which way to go—how to get back to the Lodge, the direction of the spaceport. Just eight years old, and with more sense than most adults. That's why I don't understand. If someone was asking unusual questions, why didn't she realize something was wrong?"

“She wasn't a good judge of character,” Gordon said.

“You're referring to Cade.” Mortar made his way across the room to a chair beside a window. His breath came in hitches and gasps. After a moment, he looked up. “I want to run another check on him."

Gordon laughed. “What do you hope to find? He's a rogue, a two-bit gambler, not first choice for a son-in-law, but...."

“Gambling debts.” Mortar leaned forward. “I want to see his financial records."

“I have them right here.” Gordon picked up the computer module from the bed, tapped a command, and then handed the screen to his employer. “He works as a trader when he has to, frequents the best casinos when he can. All in all, his debts are not too extensive—on the surface, at least."

“What about beneath the surface?"

Gordon shrugged. “He covers his trail."

“I want him uncovered. And get me Chief Ehrlic again. I want to speak with him."

“Mortar, listen to me. The police aren't going to help you. You've been on the wrong side too many times."

Mortar felt anger and frustration erupt within him, felt his face redden. “Of course they will help. They wouldn't dare defy me. My daughter's been murdered, for God's sake.” But they hadn't helped him. Oh, they'd been polite enough, but he knew they hadn't taken him seriously. He shoved his fingers into his hair—thick and white, the only attribute of his that his daughter shared. She so favored her mother.... His voice cracked. “What else can I do?"

“Take your medication and get some rest,” Gordon said. “Doctor Brenen is threatening to send you to a MedCenter."

Mortar waved his hand. “A minor health problem."

“No such thing as a minor heart attack.” Gordon crossed the room, opening the door. “I'll send Darly up with your breakfast."

Mortar gazed out the shaded window. Even Gordon refused to listen. No one would believe him—except the murderer, whoever set that blast. They were probably sitting right now behind a nice mug of ale, thinking they'd gotten away with it.

He looked up at his daughter's likeness, stared at it for several moments. Then he activated the computer module. The face of his pilot appeared upon the viewscreen.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Eryngo, ready the ship for an extended voyage,” he said. “I'm taking a little vacation."

“Right away, sir. What course shall I plot?"

“We're going to the Resort Debauch."

CHAPTER 15

Anneliese closed her eyes, waiting. Any moment now, she thought, she would hear the scavenger girl's scream, rising like a siren, calling the other children. Probably they would stone her, leave her broken body to cook in the sun....

A silent moment passed, then the girl reached over Anneliese's fingers to fasten the sandals. She stood, dusting the back of her robe.

“Our mother worked in the Resort,” the girl said. “She used to bring home the most delicious scraps. She always wished that I would work there. Dance until their eyes popped.” The girl spun, arms outstretched, laughing.

Anneliese blinked, struggling to her feet. “How is it that you speak Standard?"

“Mother taught me before she died. I practice every day, so I will be ready if a tourist should ask directions. Impress them,” she giggled, “and let them whisk me away. A stupid dream. If I left, who would care for Pilar?"

Anneliese massaged her temples, trying to focus her thoughts. Who was Pilar? A cat? A rodent?

The girl smiled, motioning toward the idiot child. “This is my brother, Pilar-Shay. My name is Syoney-Maj. Who are you?"

“Anneliese. Anneliese Thielman."

Syoney's eyes widened. “You must be important, to be thrice named. Tell me, why have you joined the forage? Are you hiding from someone?"

Anneliese looked away. “If I was, I would not confess the fact to a guttersnipe."

She watched the wagon—already it was a fair distance away, shimmering like a mirage in the heat. She should be running in the opposite direction. She'd never have a better chance to escape. If it weren't for this girl and her witless brother....

Syoney shrugged against the growing silence. “Do not concern yourself, Anneliese-Anneliese. No one hears the tales of a child. And even if asked, I would not answer. I have my own scars."

Gathering her robes, the girl strode away. Pilar moved close to Anneliese, making soft noises in his throat and shifting his weight. Sliding back his goggles, he peered at her, blinking like an owl.

As if he knew her plan and was determined to stop her, Anneliese thought. She glanced back at the Resort, the rapidly setting sun. Very well. She would wait until the child tired of her and turned his attention elsewhere. Then she would return to the city, and nothing would keep her from finding Cade.

Syoney walked briskly and did not acknowledge their presence as Anneliese and Pilar caught up to her. Anneliese felt uncomfortable, aware that she had offended the girl, and cast sidelong glances in her direction.

At last, Anneliese said, “You speak well. I can hear how much you've practiced."

Syoney snorted. “And you speak with the voice of a girl. You, with your shorn hair and common robes. Perhaps you sought to avoid attention, and if so, you are your own folly. Lirtsban prefers boys."

Anneliese frowned. Lirtsban? “The man in the wagon!” she cried with a flash of insight.

Shock crossed Syoney's face. “He is Lirtsban-Teralgo-Pas, a most skillful mehtar. Once he brought back a piece of malpais longer than my arm. You do not know of this?"

“All I know is he preys on young children. Odious slaver."

“No, Anneliese-Anneliese. We are not the Llaird. Lirtsban is my employer. Among the mehtar, he pays his followers the most."

Anneliese paused. A businessman? She traced the shadowed wagon with her eyes. Of all the subtleties of this culture, here was something she could understand. “I see why you admire him."

Syoney looked away, and when she spoke again, her voice was distant. “I hate him. Would that I could cut out his heart. He treats us like ... naplaugh, the non-person. And I see how he notices my brother."

The girl grew silent. Anneliese considered her profile through the gathering dusk. She was a handsome child, in spite of her eyes. Nearly the same height as Anneliese. How old was she? Perhaps thirteen? Too young to have a dependent in her charge.

“Syoney, you said your mother was dead,” Anneliese said. “To whom did you speak Standard after she passed?"

“To Pilar, of course."

And in perfect, unaccented Standard, Pilar said, “Good evening, Miss Thielman. Glorious weather, don't you agree?"

Anneliese stared, mouth agape, then burst into laughter. What a pair they are, she thought: a child who speaks like an adult, and an idiot who speaks like a genius.

Syoney smiled tentatively, and on impulse, Anneliese hugged her thin shoulders. Arm in arm, they followed the shrinking wagon.

Streaks of indigo split the darkening sky. Shadow shrouded the rock. Anneliese walked gingerly over patches of loose shale, the heavy goggles accenting the encroaching night.

Long slopes grew from the once level land. Ahead, the wagon slowed, a shapeless mass in the twilight, and the children rallied behind it, pushing the wheeled contrivance up the hill. Anneliese heard Lirtsban shouting encouragement. Then, she heard what sounded remarkably like thunder.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“The fire plains,” Syoney said. “There we will harvest the finest malpais."

“Wonderful.” Anneliese squinted through the dark glass, searching the horizon.

“Perhaps you should remove your eyewear."

“I can't. I am not like you. I don't want the others to realize."

Syoney laughed lightly. “I am certain the others already know. Tell me, what is it like in the Resort? Is it as beautiful as my mother said?"

Anneliese hesitated, sifting through words. “It's filled with waterfalls and flowers."

“Waterfalls?"

“Ribbons of water that crash into pools."

Syoney's eyes took on a far away cast. “So wondrous a place. Why is it that you wanted to leave?"

“What makes you think I did?” Anneliese said.

“Always, there have been stories about those like you, rich and unhappy, wanting ... Once, much time ago, a woman of the Resort paid to be placed in the debtors’ pen. I worked there then, raking boxes. I've always wished I'd had the courage to speak with her."

Anneliese felt a twinge of resentment. Is that what these people thought of her—yet another outsider, hiding out, looking for thrills? She thought of the gaoler bathing her bruised face with his tonic. Had he also thought she was there on a lark?

They caught up to the wagon just as Lirtsban called a halt. Anneliese pushed past the boys in the food line. When handed her share of stegort, she shoved the entire piece in her mouth, stifling a gag. The tall boy glared, and she stared at him until he looked away.

Night settled, parched and sullen. Its silence was unnerving—no chirrup of insects, no wind. Anneliese moved away from the group, chewing the dried meat, arms wrapped tightly about her chest. The stars shone more brilliantly than she'd imagined possible. A large crescent rose over the horizon: Sikar, the hunter moon, her husband's spectral voice teased.

She ached with the memory. How she longed to be with Cade, to wrap herself in his arms and listen to his stories. Somehow, she would find her way back to him.

Self-doubt dogged her resolve.

“I think your Akh must be riddled with wounds, that you should worry them so.” Syoney sat beside her.

Anneliese pulled the goggles down around her neck. “It's nothing. I was just...."

“Pilar!” Syoney called. “Pilar, ahkee noij’ glecknal! What do you mean by wandering away? You know my thoughts."

Pilar appeared from darkness. His large head bobbed and his chin lay against his chest. Syoney grabbed his robe, pulling him roughly to the ground.

“I am sorry, my friend,” the girl said. “You were speaking?"

Anneliese squirmed at the word friend. “Forget it. Tell me about our companions."

Syoney motioned toward the boy who had stolen Anneliese's boots. “That one is Aloca-Coc. He covets Lirtsban's attentions and, indeed, when he was younger, he held the mehtar's eye. But even Aloca must someday grow old.” She shrugged then nodded again. “The other two are brothers. One is never without his sib. They have made no finds their last two outings, and I am sure they fret for their jobs. Of the girl, I know nothing, although I have worked with her many times before. She never speaks. Perhaps her Akh is as scarred as yours.” Syoney showed a sidelong smile, drawing a chuckle from Anneliese.

Starlight outlined the rocks in stark relief. Anneliese stretched her stone-weary legs, felt the bulge of bread still tucked into her sash. Guilt swept over her, accusing her of selfishness, keeping secrets from the girl who called her friend. But she would need all her resources if she were to get back to the city. She pulled her robe tight.

“It's quiet here,” said Anneliese. “Peaceful in a way. I would think we would see other expeditions coming and going, each beating a path to the finest malpais."

“Not many brave the threat of the Llaird,” said Syoney. “They'd slit our throats if they found us in the open. And the plains are a danger unto themselves. However, we are a hardy crew...."

“Foolhardy,” Pilar put in.

Syoney jostled him with her foot. She turned toward Anneliese, her eyes catching the starlight, mimicking the twin moons. “But you need not fear, Anneliese-Anneliese. I will help you. Stay close to me."

Anneliese shuddered with the girl's tone. With any luck, she would escape before they reached the plains. She ran her gaze over the silvered vista.

Lirtsban motioned Aloca to the harness, then ranged ahead as if he expected pitfalls to open before him. The children rose obediently, positioning themselves around the wagon, rocking the wheels to set them moving. Anneliese took up post at the rear of the contrivance, head bowed to the task of pushing the unwieldy cart. After a time, another volley of thunder met her ears. Anneliese sucked in her breath, staring.

The horizon glowed with blood red light, pulsing as if with a heartbeat. Anneliese felt at once thrilled and aghast.

Syoney moved close. “The plains are in constant motion,” she whispered, “the rock splitting open, healing once again. Accustom yourself to the sound before the thunder."

A lava field, thought Anneliese. She looked toward Lirtsban. The large man guided the group onward. What sort of fool took a pack of children....

Suddenly, the ground shifted beneath her feet. Anneliese gasped, rising on tiptoe to escape the sensation. She heard a high-pitched whine then another growl of thunder. Frowning, she replayed the sound in her mind.

Lirtsban shouted to them, goading them forward, his silhouette black against the red light. Aloca strained against the harness, slipping and falling upon the rough rock. Anneliese imagined blood welling along his stick-thin legs. All hatred of him melted away.

She closed her eyes. I don't want to be here, she prayed urgently. I wish I'd listened to Father, wish I'd never met Cade.

Then a comforting hand fell upon her shoulder. Syoney. In a rush, the girl's words came back to Anneliese—you need not fear, I will help you. Reaching across, Anneliese rested her fingers upon her friend's hand. Syoney smiled.

Sulfurous fumes permeated the air as they neared the fire plains. Jagged crevices crisscrossed the black rock, and light streamed upward as if trying to flee. Trepidation swelled within Anneliese. She slumped against the side of the wagon as it rolled to a stop. Beside her, Pilar hummed, rocking from foot to foot. Tucking his robe between his legs, the child strode onto the cooled lava.

“We must follow,” Syoney whispered. “Pilar knows the way."

Anneliese stared at her with growing horror. She looked back at Lirtsban. The mehtar sat upon the ground, his dark cigarette glowing like an ember. He held a stoneware jug between his knees. Ale, she thought, and imagined staying behind with a drunken man.

She followed Syoney onto the flats. Heat curled about the edges of her sandals. Smoke wove through the air. Ahead, the idiot child marched as if on parade. Anneliese took a stinging breath. Her eyes watered. She turned at the sound of voices: Aloca arguing with his followers. The tall boy stormed off in another direction.

Then Anneliese heard a trilling whine. A tremble ran through the ground. Syoney held up her hand, and as Anneliese leaned forward to question her, steam erupted from the rock before them. Magma leapt from the breech, hanging for a moment before collapsing.

Anneliese held her ears against crushing thunder. She felt as if fingers were closing about her throat. “How could you tell?” she stammered. “How did you know where the eruption would be?"

“I listen to the sound the rock makes before breaking,” Syoney said, “track the direction the quake takes beneath my feet. You must be ever vigilant, lest the ground open beneath you."

Anneliese nodded. Ahead, the stone sizzled and hissed, sealing itself. “Is that malpais?"

Syoney laughed. “No. Malpais comes from the heart of our planet. That was but a sneeze."

They continued in the direction Pilar had taken. Anneliese squinted in the red glare. The rock lay in eddies and currents, as if she walked upon an ancient river of once fluid stone, and she wondered how deeply she'd have to cut before she found that river again.

“Hurry,” Syoney whispered. “Pilar signals for us."

“You act as if he has a better chance than you of finding anything of value."

“Oddly, it is one of his gifts—he senses the land. And he remembers...."

They found the idiot boy leaping on all fours, oblivious to the heat. His sister crouched over a small outcropping of rock, brushing the silt away. The stone looked like a hand reaching upward, the fingers gnarled in defiance.

Syoney looked up, her face beatific. “It's a good find."

Anneliese's heart leapt in response. Malpais. She knelt beside the girl. Words crowded her memory: Cade saying the stone had value but the quality had diminished, Surah avowing that she would give her left eye.

“How can I help you?” Anneliese asked.

“Warn me if anyone approaches."

With rocks and bare fingers, Syoney dug at the stone, following the vein. Anneliese got to her feet, eyes tracing the surrounded area. Streamers of red outlined the night. Starlight formed a canopy. A short distance away, Syoney's brother lay flat on his back, chest heaving, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“Now we shall see the face of the thief,” Syoney muttered as she worked.

“Aloca?"

“No. Lirtsban. He would not give full credit for my last find, called it mongrel stock, and then sold it at a fine profit. He will not pass this off so neatly."

Anneliese heard the hatred behind the girl's words, distrust thinly disguised. Then, she heard a cracking sound. She looked down.

With bloodied hands, Syoney freed the lava stone from the rock, holding it up. The malpais was dull and commonplace, but where the base had snapped, it glowed like fire, feeding upon the light.

Anneliese took a quavering breath. “Now, what?"

“Now, we return to camp."

Syoney wrapped the find in her robe. She spoke to her brother in their native tongue. Pilar jumped as if prodded by a stat-wand, and Anneliese smiled at his antics in spite of herself.

Aloca eyed them belligerently as they approached the campsite. He sat in the light of a crimson-lined crevice, picking at a chunk of rock with the tip of his knife. Behind him, Lirtsban stepped out of the wagon.

Syoney strode toward her employer, accosting him in a demanding tone. The mehtar growled in answer. He reached for the bundle in Syoney's arms and she snatched it away, repeating her words. Lirtsban's face appeared to swell. He raised his hand.

Anneliese felt her stomach drop, but Syoney held her ground, setting her jaw as she stared up at the large man. For a moment, no one moved; then, shaking his head, Lirtsban walked to the back of the wagon and pulled out the jug of water. He produced the dipper with a flourish.

Syoney stepped forward, accepting the ladle; but instead of drinking, she offered it to Pilar. The witless child drank with enthusiasm, humming noisily. He skipped off to the other side of the wagon. The girl held the dipper toward Anneliese.

Anneliese approached warily, keeping one eye on the mehtar. The man reeked of ale. Her hands shook as she lifted the metal cup to her lips.

At last, Syoney drank. Then, she unwrapped the piece of malpais, holding it out for inspection. Even in the dim light, Anneliese could see the change in Lirtsban's expression. He accepted the stone almost reverently.

Without a word, Syoney walked away.

Anneliese rushed to catch up to her. “But what about your credit?"

“Let him think about it for a while,” Syoney said.

The girl crouched at the edge of the fire plains, her face twisting with unspoken emotion. Anneliese looked back at the wagon. Lirtsban wrapped the malpais in a strip of fabric and set it with similar bundles beside the wagon wheel.

Aloca glowered at them. He tossed down the knife, and then buffed his rock with a corner of his robe. From the darkness of the plains, the two brothers walked dejectedly. Empty-handed. Anneliese looked for the return of the silent girl. Then she heard the whine of riven rock, felt a shiver run beneath her feet. Another eruption, she thought, a distance away. She waited for a report of thunder.

Suddenly, a shriek sounded. Anneliese turned to see Lirtsban latch onto Pilar's arm, dragging him toward the wagon.

“Pilar!” Syoney screamed.

Snatching up Aloca's knife, the young girl flew at her brother's assailant. Lirtsban staggered back, releasing the boy's wrist. Pilar disappeared into darkness. A gravely laugh escaped the large man. He parried the blows of the child's knife as if he were a capeador.

Anneliese heard a pinging sound in the rock. Hair rose along the nape of her neck. “Syoney!"

But the girl was incensed, unheeding. The wagon lurched as a crevice widened beneath it. With incredible speed, a rift opened in the rock. Steam belched forth in geysers. Syoney screamed, arms flailing, then her frail form disappeared behind flaming gas.

CHAPTER 16

Mortar Thielman glanced about the Resort's bristling lobby. Hotel patrons lounged and cavorted amid a maze of couches. Their laughter and shrieks superseded the music he knew to be playing. It seemed business had not suffered under the threat of Llaird violence, he thought. On the contrary, people probably waited in line, hoping something else would happen so they could say they were there.

Bored rich folk. Thank God for them. A sneer raised his upper lip.

Heads turned as he approached the front desk. He knew it was more than inquisitive stares at a man with a bodyguard. His face was plastered across the media, the coverage on him rivaling the news of Anneliese's death. Such open acknowledgment made him feel vulnerable and edgy.

Behind the desk, a woman's smile faded as she reached for the panic button beneath the counter. A hotel manager rushed from an adjoining office. He blinked and looked again.

“Mortar Thielman,” the man said. “An unexpected pleasure."

“Hello, Falk. You're looking well. Where's Ahzgott?"

“He died. Suddenly. Most unfortunate."

Mortar raised a brow. “Did he?"

“Mr. Thielman, may I be first to express our deepest regret at the loss of your daughter. I had not occasioned to meet her myself, but I understand she was most lovely."

“Yes. She was."

Flustered, Falk broke eye contact, busying himself at the computer terminal. “If you had called ahead, sir, we would have readied your suites for you."

“Don't trouble yourself. My yacht is in orbit. I merely wish to speak to a few people ... and to tour Twenty-Seven South."

Now why did I say that? Mortar thought. What would I gain by seeing the place where she died?

The manager's face shone with perspiration. “The entire southern wing was damaged in the blast. It shook us to the foundation. However, the construction crews have rigged a series of lifts. We can use one of them."

He led Mortar through his office then down a curving hallway. Conversation was limited—to Mortar's relief. He felt short of both breath and temper, a throwback to his recent illness, and didn't want to advertise his feebleness.

Falk opened a door marked AUTHORIZED ONLY. Heat and noise belched out. The bodyguard stepped through first, his bulk filling the doorway. Mortar waited for his nod, then followed.

He moved into a converted storage hangar. Workmen hustled as if choreographed. One side opened onto a lighted landing field, showing the dark night beyond.

Falk said, “This is Bay One, smallest of our delivery ports. Twenty-Seven South is directly above.” He blew out his breath, dabbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don't know how anyone can live in this heat."

Glancing over the room, Mortar noticed that most of the crew were human—very few locals about. “Where are the lifts?” he asked.

“Just outside, this way."

“I prefer to go alone."

Falk's face reddened. “I can't allow that. It isn't safe. The structural damage is extensive."

Stepping closer, Mortar said, “You owe me. You and your exclusive Resort Debauch."

“Yes, but ... I must ask that you remain on the platform. Do not walk about the floor."

“Of course.” Mortar Thielman inclined his head then strode away.

The makeshift lift was crude but sturdy—a steel cage already battered with use. The controls were simple: up, down, stop, and hold. Mortar secured the gate, and then started his slow ascent.

A melancholic cloud settled over him. He couldn't believe he was doing this. What had possessed him? What did he hope to find?

Terrace after terrace, the lift carried him upward. He saw no damage until he reached what he estimated was the twenty-fifth floor: there he noticed missing windows, jagged walls. Work lights shone throughout the demolished wing. Welding torches flared in the shadows.

Mortar held his breath, bracing himself, staring as the destruction rolled past, but he was not prepared for the penthouse suites as the lift finally came to rest.

The entire dome was gone, and starlight lit the site cruelly. Only a few walls were standing, headstones marking the fallen rooms. Twisted stanchions buckled the floor.

“No one could survive this,” Mortar said, then realized that he had hoped all along to find a different scene, expected that, by some miracle, Anneliese had escaped.

The bodyguard opened the gate. Mortar stared blankly, startled for a moment at the biorg's presence, and then stepped down from the platform.

“Wait here,” he said.

He followed a trail of garden flagstones. The floor crunched beneath his feet. Rubble stood in peaks, drifted upon itself as if the winds had attempted to erase the carnage. He noted the angle of the stanchion beams, estimated the origin of the blast. He wished he'd asked in which room Anneliese had stayed.

The place where his daughter drew her last breath.

Then he noticed another platform along the side of the penthouse. In the starlight, he saw a man's silhouette perched upon a broken wall. Mortar felt a rush of indignation, his privacy invaded. But as he moved nearer, he realized that he'd rather not be alone after all.

The man turned, startled at his approach, golden eyes catching the light.

Mortar spoke in the native tongue. “Are you a scavenger?"

The man puffed in offense. He was young, Mortar realized, and wearing a hotel uniform.

“I am Nyrhtak-Ahknid,” the local man said. “I operate the lifts for the Resort. Are you overseer or patron?"

“Neither.” Mortar pulled himself onto the wall beside him. “A lift operator, eh? What are you doing here?"

The young man hesitated, gazing into darkness. “I hear their voices. In my dreams, I hear them. My Akh trembles.” He bowed his head. “I was one of the operators the night of the explosion. The people were screaming, crowding onto the lift. I tried to get them to safety. They were hurt, their faces bleeding."

“You saw them?"

Nyrhtak nodded. “A camera in the capsule. It isn't required, but I always watch those I am entrusted to transport."

“A peeper,” Mortar said in Standard.

The young man tilted his head. “Why are you here?"

“Saying goodbye to a ghost myself, I guess. My daughter died in the blast. Perhaps you saw her: a tiny girl with long white hair?"

“Hair that flowed like a cape?” Nyrhtak leapt down. “Excuse me, sir, but your woman-child was easy to look at: so lovely, so fair. I watched her carefully. But she was not in the penthouse at that time."

“What?"

“I saw this myself. Mr. Ahzgott escorted her from the building just before the bomb exploded."

CHAPTER 17

A blast of heat struck Anneliese as the fissure split their meager camp. She jammed her fingers into her mouth, staring at the plume of flame.

The wagon lurched, another wheel slipping into the crevice. Lirtsban roared. He dove toward the pile of malpais just as it toppled over the edge. The three boys rushed to the back of the wagon, trying to right it, to lift the wheels out of the ditch. The air reverberated with raging thunder.

Anneliese ran. Heartbeat hammered her ears. What was she doing? Syoney needed help!

She crested a rise in the rock, losing her balance and skidding down the other side. Blood oozed from the palms of her hands. In her mind, she saw Syoney's shadow as clearly as if the flames roared before her. She balled her fists into her eyes.

A muffled groan rounded the hills. Anneliese spun, searching the shadows. A pebble rolled toward her. She trembled with alarm. Someone had followed, she thought. They wanted to take her back.

Anneliese scrambled up the next slope. Gasping, she ran across the loose stone. Terror drenched her robe, causing it to cling to her body, obstructing her gait. She chased the darkness before her, away from the lava glow.

Syoney had been a fool to attack Lirtsban, she thought as she ran. She should have let the man have her brother. The boy was an idiot—he wouldn't have understood, anyway.

Then Anneliese remembered waking in the cage, knowing what was about to happen, pleading for help that never came. Pilar was right to expect his sister to watch over him, just as Syoney must have expected help from her.

Anneliese held her arm against the pain in her side. Tears ran, hot, down her face. Images came to mind, etched indelibly into her memory—Syoney writhing in flames, an unspeakable dance, the knife still clenched in her hand.

The girl should have taken her own advice, Anneliese's ire persisted—she should have listened to the sounds in the rock. But in the end, her anger turned upon herself.

What kind of person was she?

Anneliese fell sobbing upon the rocks. The girl was just another barbarous native-born, she told herself. Hundreds were there to take her place. But Anneliese knew she'd never feel that way again.

How could she have run away? She should have pulled the child from the fissure, beat away the flames. But even as the thought formed, she realized no one could have survived such a holocaust.

Syoney was dead.

Anneliese grimaced, looking up at the sky. Behind her, the light of the fire plains rose like an aurora. Drawing her knees to her chin, she buried her hands in her hair ... then became aware of a snuffling sound.

Anneliese froze, wide-eyed. Wrapping her fingers about a fist-sized rock, she tracked the sound. A shadow moved in the dark.

Anneliese gasped. “Pilar?"

The boy dropped to his knees. His voice rose and fell in a singsong manner, as if reciting rhymes.

“Pilar, what are you doing here?” Anneliese asked.

Pilar trembled. His mouth worked aimlessly, a string of drool winding toward his lap. He looked up at Anneliese.

“I saw...” he said and burst into tears.

Anneliese reached hesitantly toward his thin shoulder, running comforting clichés through her mind. She could not ease his grief, could not staunch her own guilt.

Pilar wiped his nose on his arm. “Miss Thielman, have you ever been alone?"

Anneliese wondered how she should answer. She moved a lock of hair from his eyes. He resembled his sister. “Stay close to me,” she said. “I will help you."

Stiff with weariness, she climbed to her feet, offering her hand to the boy; then, keeping her back to the fading red glow, she continued along the hills.

Pilar walked uncooperatively, one moment clinging to Anneliese, the next tugging at her arm. His mood shifted rapidly—he jabbered and grunted, but would not respond to questions. The only word Anneliese recognized was naplaugh.

The slopes lengthened as the ground slowly leveled. Anneliese concentrated upon placing one foot before the other. Her body ached, and her head reeled with thirst. She sucked her blistered lips.

Then a flash of light caught her attention. Lightning bolts skewered the sky. A storm, she thought. For a moment, she only stared.

“Pilar! We're saved!” She laughed, dancing in circles. “Rain! It's raining ahead. Come on! We must hurry."

Holding her aching chest, Anneliese loped across the rock. Lightning streaked the lowering clouds. The scent of dampness laced the air. She could almost feel the rain upon her body, could almost taste the wetness upon her tongue.

“Not far now,” she whispered, breathing sharply, her vision jarring with each step.

But when she reached the phantom storm, there was no water. Dry air leached the moisture away before it could reach the ground.

“No!” she cried, arms outstretched.

Lightning flashed, illuminating a layer of haze: rain, falling in torrents, fading in fingers trailing down.

“This isn't fair!” she railed, fists raised to darkness. She sagged to her knees as if beneath a crushing weight.

“Please,” said Pilar. “What is rain?"

She looked into his earnest face, wanting to shake him. Can't you see it? Can't you smell it? Why torture me any longer. Curling onto her side, Anneliese wept.

* * * *

She awoke to Pilar's face staring down at her. The sky was pink. Anneliese tried to swallow in a dry mouth.

“Are you ill?” Pilar asked.

She realized she lay with her head in his lap. Sitting abruptly, she smoothed her hair. “Of course not,” she stammered, “I was only tired."

“Then why do you sleep in the cool of night?"

Anneliese met the boy's questioning eyes. He could have left, she thought, instead of sitting in the open with her head cradled in his lap. Did he mean to protect her? The thought brought a smile. “That's a good question. You see, I'm not like you...."

“Our mother said we are all human."

Anneliese felt rebuked. “Well, we are. Basically. But because your forebears colonized this planet, you've ... changed. And because I grew up on a different world.... “Her voice trailed, her cheeks reddening.

Pilar regarded her with a penetrating stare.

“Are you hungry?” asked Anneliese, reaching into her sash and pulling out a lump of unrecognizable bread. “I'm starved. I only wish we had some water with our breakfast.” Stop blabbering! she scolded herself.

What must he think of her?

She tore the bread in half. Pilar turned his share over in his hands.

“It's good,” Anneliese coaxed, nibbling at the crust.

Pilar set the bread before him. He jumped up then moved a few steps away, head bowed, hair covering his eyes.

Angry with me, Anneliese thought. Why did she have to say he was the one who had changed? Why hadn't she just agreed they were all human?

Pilar walked in circles, scuffing his feet. Stones overturned with his step. He reached toward a stone that refused to move, wiggling it like a loose tooth.

Addle-brained. Anneliese shook her head. How Syoney must have suffered, taking care of him.

The boy lifted the stone, grunting and sniffing. Solemnly, he held it out to Anneliese. Moss covered the underside. She nodded, smiling. What did he expect her to tell him?

“It's good,” Pilar said, plopping down before her.

Ripping the moss as if peeling a husk, he removed the growth in strips, laying the pieces methodically in a line between them. Green juice ran down his arm, and he tried to lick his elbow.

Anneliese smiled. She lifted a piece of furry moss, taking a large bite. It was bitter, juicier than she'd expected. Moisture sprayed down her throat, throwing her into a coughing fit. She wheezed, eyes watering.

Pilar watched impassively. He alternated bites of moss with bits of bread. Anneliese picked up another strip, sucking the moisture from its end. The bread she had eaten expanded with the liquid, and she felt sated and content.

“You are very clever,” she said. “How did you get to be so smart?"

Pilar continued staring, chewing with his mouth open.

Anneliese looked up at the sky. “The sun is rising. I hope we can get back to Enceinte before the day becomes too hot."

The boy closed his eyes, making mewling noises in his throat. Anneliese wondered what he was thinking. Gathering her robes, she rose to her feet.

The land was flat and she could see a fair distance, but the city was not in sight. Had she run the wrong way in her panic? She pictured the Resort as she had seen it the evening before, rising just to the left of the sunset. Plotting the course of the morning sun, she started again across the featureless stone.

Pilar sang and skipped beside her—no hint as to the horror he had witnessed. Perhaps he no longer remembered his sister, nor the plans Lirtsban had for him. Anneliese glanced back the way they'd come. She hoped never to see the man again.

She turned her attention to her young companion. “Pilar, tell me about the Llaird."

The boy looked down, lowering his voice as if he were breaking a sacred ban. “The Llaird are demons who live in holes in the rock. They eat children."

“Have they always been your enemy?” she asked.

“They are not our enemy, they are our devils, our punishment for who we are."

Anneliese frowned, trying to make sense of his statement. “And what would you do if you saw one right now?"

Pilar smiled. “Run!” he said, and took off across the rock, holding his arms out as if he were a ship blasting away.

Wondering where he got his energy, Anneliese quickened her pace. Pink tufted clouds drifted overhead. The air was silent and still. She thought about Pilar's fear of the Llaird. Much of what the boy believed was obviously folklore—yet, she didn't doubt that the Llaird were dangerous. She remembered Cade's expression when Surah told him that the Llaird had nearly destroyed her lounge.

Anneliese walked, barely speaking, each step taking her deeper into despair. They should have found the city by now, she thought. She rubbed her neck, sweat rolling down her back.

Then, raising her goggles against the mid-morning sun, Anneliese spied a tower on the horizon. Elation swelled within her—the Resort Debauch. She laughed aloud.

“Do you know what I'm going to do when we get to the city?” she said. “First, I'm going to get a cool glass of water—no more rusted dippers. Then I'm going to find my husband. Have you ever been in love, Pilar?"

Pilar shrugged, swinging his arms. Anneliese increased her pace. She could see the arch clearly—the Walls of Enceinte—and she imagined herself strolling into the city, sitting in the shade beneath an awning.

But as they neared the gate, Pilar became agitated, tugging her robe and glancing at the sky. Anneliese pulled away, wanting to reprimand him.

Then the gates began to swing shut.

“Run!” cried Anneliese.

Pilar darted ahead. Anneliese moved as if in slow motion, her mind weighted with disbelief. She winced with a stray memory: a group of scavengers rushing through the arch, Cade saying the gates closed automatically.

With a resounding clank, the gates locked. Anneliese struck her fist against the metal. She closed her eyes.

Pilar started to cry.

“Be quiet!” snapped Anneliese, massaging her temples. She couldn't think, couldn't imagine what to do. She needed a cold shower and a hot meal.

The Rimer's Cope. Anneliese lifted her head. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Cade kept his ship well stocked—food, water, even her old clothes. She'd clean up, and then use the communication booths in Customs to contact her father.

Anneliese hugged Pilar to stop his whimpering. “Tell me the way to the spaceport. I know you've seen the ships."

Pilar appeared undecided for a moment, then led her along the wall.

The port was sprawling, crisscrossed with runways, most of which were not necessary anymore. As they watched, a small craft taxied out of the hangar, powered up then angled into the sky.

Narrowing her eyes, Anneliese hunkered down, searching the mouth of the building for movement. Perhaps the guards were already asleep with the noon heat. She remembered the Customs officer telling her that the punishment for any infraction was death.

The thought brought back images of Harmadeur, and she pushed them brusquely away.

“We need a diversion,” she whispered to Pilar.

Something moved behind them. Anneliese turned around.

It was a stegort.

Anneliese tensed with a rush of adrenaline. The stegort pawed the ground, head down, watching.

Pilar said, “See how his grief consumes him."

And, indeed, the animal appeared ill, its gait unsteady, eyes moist and running. This was the mate to the stegort in the marketplace, Anneliese realized. Pining away....

“Pilar, I have an idea. Do you think you can run in front of the beast?"

“I doubt there will be much choice in that,” he said.

Anneliese nodded, eyes upon the animal, one hand reaching to the hem of her garment. Pilar held his arms out—a ship powering up.

The stegort charged.

Pilar ran into the open, drawing the animal away from the wall. His head snapped about, glancing behind. Working quickly, Anneliese tore a large square from her robe. She held the fabric outstretched.

“This way, Pilar, run back and forth!"

The boy turned, heading straight in her direction. Anneliese froze in increasing terror. She stared as the beast hurtled toward her. Its nostrils flared as it brandished its tusks.

Pilar streaked past, the stegort on his heels. Anneliese threw the cloth across its face, turned and ran after Pilar. The beast reared back, disoriented. The blindfold fell from its eyes.

Anneliese latched onto Pilar's shoulder. His mouth gaped.

“Like this,” she cried, weaving her hand in the air.

The stegort bellowed, barreling ahead. Anneliese moved toward the fallen cloth, and then realized she had drawn the animal's attention. She backed away, stumbling. Run! she willed herself.

Suddenly, Pilar darted across the stegort's path. He pulled to a halt, and then ran in the other direction. The animal slowed as if confused.

Anneliese clenched the fabric in her fists—this time she would throw the cloth cleanly. The beast started toward Pilar, and she waved her arms. It turned mid-stride for her.

At that moment, Anneliese tossed the cloth over the creature's head. The blindfold held. Anneliese dodged to the side, but the stegort wheeled about, catching her leg with its hoof. With a yelp, Anneliese fell to the ground. A spray of gravel struck her face. Pilar appeared beside her, one hand raised as if to fend off the beast.

With a final spin, the sightless animal came to rest, chest heaving, and foam flecking its sides. Pilar took Anneliese's arm. He trembled, drenched in perspiration. Anneliese stared at the motionless beast. Sudden bouts of laughter edged up her throat.

“We did it!” she cried, jostling the boy's shoulders.

Pilar stared ahead as if in a trance. Anneliese leaned back, giggling, tears streaming down her face.

Don't lose control, her mind warned.

She rubbed a growing knot on her thigh—the imprint of a hoof was visible. “Come on, Pilar,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let's see about that diversion."

Moving in a wide circle, Anneliese studied the stegort. Finally, she moved in close, took hold of a tusk and tugged. The animal stepped forward passively. Pilar grabbed the other side.

They walked laboriously, the stegort between them, approaching the hangar's wide doors. Anneliese stepped into the cool shadows. Motioning Pilar behind her, she whisked the cloth from the animal's eyes then swatted it on the rump. The stegort reared up, racing inside.

Sound echoed as if it were a stampede.

“This way,” Anneliese whispered.

She took Pilar's hand and, crouching low, moved into the spaceport. The stench of fuel burned her eyes. Sweat ran down her neck. A voice called out and she jumped, heart pounding.

Locals weren't allowed in port.

She circled about a hulking shadow. There were more ships than she'd expected, but she knew exactly where Cade's ship would be. She remembered everything: the spot where the native man had been murdered, the place where the hidden man had watched....

Pilar whimpered, hanging back. Anneliese pressed her fingers against his lips.

Almost there. Trust me.

Voices called from the dark. She heard a single rifle shot. Scarcely breathing, Anneliese slid along a smooth ceramic hull.

Almost there.

The stegort screamed, making a trumpeting sound. Footsteps echoed. Laughter. Anneliese turned a corner then straightened in amazement.

The Rimer's Cope was gone. She spun about, stepping from cover. Perhaps she'd made a wrong turn—but, no, this was the place, this was where they'd stationed the ship.

Cade had left without her.

CHAPTER 18

Mortar leaned back into the communication booth's resilient chair. He stared at the split viewscreen—Grand Inspector Ehrlich on one side, Gordon Rathbone on the other—and he knew that at that moment if he were in a room with either man he would kill him with his bare hands.

“Then, neither of you believe my daughter could still be alive?” Mortar said evenly.

“It's not that we don't believe,” Gordon said, “but look at the source."

“And you.” Mortar turned his attention to the inspector. “I've tried all morning to reach you, to get you to return my calls. Are you telling me now that you won't even investigate this man's story?” He thudded his fist against the console, punctuating his words, voice escalating.

Ehrlich's image appeared nonplussed. “I apologize for your difficulty in reaching me. Had my secretary realized who you were, I'm sure he would have interrupted the meeting. As for the lift operator you've uncovered, of course we will investigate. It's our job."

Mortar pursed his lips, mouth tasting like dried weeds. “Thank you."

Ehrlich's half of the viewscreen blanked and Gordon's face grew to compensate.

Mortar slammed his hand against the privacy partition between the booths. “How dare you side with him?"

“Mortar, calm down,” Gordon said. “I'm not siding with anyone. You asked my opinion."

“I'm your employer!"

“That's right! So, consider the situation as you would a business proposition. It's a bad risk, Mortar."

The words echoed in his ears. He jammed his fingers in his hair. “But she's my daughter.” He sagged forward. “No one will listen."

“On the contrary. I'm beginning to think there was a conspiracy against Anneliese. New data has come back on Cade. It seems he has several aliases. He's not too welcome in some sectors."

“And this information never came forth before?"

“I take full responsibility. But I investigated him as a prospective business associate, not a son-in-law. You only wanted him to run a ship of dump down the gauntlet, for God's sake."

“Free dump. It seems so long ago.” Mortar rubbed his face.

“Have you talked to him yet?"

Mortar looked past the Customs desk toward ornate double doors. “I'm outside security now. Harmadeur's haven. I'm not looking forward to seeing the Master again, asking his permission to bail Cade out."

“Is Bano with you?"

“My second skin.” He motioned toward the bodyguard, and then turned at a sudden racket outside. “Weapon fire. Probably some local caught in port. Maybe I should check it out."

“I think you'll do anything to avoid speaking with Cade."

“All right I'm going,” Mortar said. “But when I call again, I expect you to have a complete rundown on him, every alias, every lie."

Gordon lowered his eyes. “Yes sir."

The screen turned blue and Mortar snapped it off. He should have fired that insolent bastard years ago. Wipe that smug look from his face. But no one could advise him as Gordon did, no one else had such insight. Mortar rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease a throb behind his eyes. Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe the lift operator was a risk.

But how could Anneliese be dead?

Voices echoed in the hangar. He heard running feet and what sounded like the slaughtering of a pig. Perhaps he should see what was going on—but, no, he knew he was procrastinating. Nothing outside had anything to do with him.

Leaning back, he stared at the mammoth gilded doors. The prospect of walking into the security office was onerous. Cade was in detention, he wasn't going anywhere, and Harmadeur ... well, that situation could wait.

“Come on, Bano, I need a drink,” he said.

Mortar crossed the room, and then slid his docking pass along a gray nondescript door. Infrared lights bathed the passage beyond, a disinfecting process he knew to be perfunctory, and he walked briskly down the hallway, shunning the heat, until he reached the entrance to the Resort.

The lobby was quiet, the hotel patrons adopting the local custom of napping during the day, and he was able to pass without attracting attention. Striding through a labyrinth of couches, he entered a small gaming room. The lounge was dark and soothing, conditioned to a dry frost. VR cubicles and chance machines cuckooed softly to one another. The bartender looked up at his approach.

Tapping a credit chip against the bar, Mortar said, “Bring me a mescal and kava."

Wordlessly, the woman slid a glass his way. Mortar took a gulp, grimacing.

When had he lost control? he wondered. Anneliese was but a child—how could he have let her run away? And what was her attraction to Cade?

A smuggler with aliases.

“Whew, boy! I could almost taste it!” A man exited one of the VR booths. Staggering, he banged a mug against the counter. “Give me another, darling."

Mortar leaned against a stool, watching the man. He was tall, very young and very drunk, a ruffian out to have a good time, and Mortar wondered if he himself had ever been so free.

The tender refilled the glass with ale and the man tilted it back, drinking hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Man, I love that program. Have you tried it?” He looked toward Mortar, his face bright with excitement.

Mortar hid a smile behind his drink. “Once or twice."

“When I started down that mountaintop and then the rudder came off the sled.... “He laughed, slamming his mug down and splashing the bar. “I tell you, this has been the best three weeks of my life. There's no better place for a vacation. You can do anything here. Anything at all!"

“Is that so?"

The man moved nearer, lowering his voice. “Have you been to the debtor's pens? Now, there's the place to be. I saw this girl there—I swear she was an angel. She had this long silver hair."

Mortar stiffened. “Silver?"

“Honest to God. And she was crying, too, like she was some kind of virgin."

Mortar grabbed him around the throat. “And what did you do with this virgin angel?"

“Nothing! Just talked. She begged me for help. I thought she was part of the show!"

“I don't believe you,” Mortar said, bending him backward over the bar.

The man wheezed for breath. “There were others with me. I can give you their names."

Mortar shoved the ruffian away, standing over him, chest heaving. His daughter, a prostitute. Alive.

Alive.

“Come on,” he said. “I want to speak to these friends of yours."

CHAPTER 19

Anneliese stared at the emptiness before her. How could her husband be gone? She stepped into the recessed station, following the perimeter of the bay as if the ship would suddenly reappear. Where would he go? He knew she needed him.

Wide-eyed, Pilar watched from the edge of the maintenance pit, dancing from foot to foot, fingers in his mouth. Anneliese buried her hands in her hair.

“There must be a hundred reasons why Cade would have left. A thousand,” she said aloud. “He may have gone for help. Or perhaps he sold the ship to raise credits."

Perhaps they killed him—the thought formed in her head. Anneliese winced as if slapped. She had to find out who took the ship from the hangar.

She scrambled from the docking bay. Pilar took hold of her hand, pulling.

Anneliese nodded, patting his cheek. “We're not leaving yet."

She led the boy deeper into the port, slipping between silent ships, aware of the stillness, the shuffling sounds of their feet, following the route she and Cade had taken from the site of the murdered man. She recalled two doors. One led to Customs. She thought the other might lead to an office.

A sudden roar hammered the spaceport. Anneliese grabbed Pilar, hunkering down, holding her hand over the boy's mouth. The noise died away and, after a moment, a streamlined ship slid into view, towed by the docking ring. Heat radiated from the vessel, its surface crackling and hissing.

Anneliese crept forward. Beyond the ship, she saw the two doors, saw a man burst out of one of them. The portsmith, she thought. He waved his arms angrily—the ship was coming in too hot. Extracting a hose from the top of a canister, he sprayed the underside of the craft. Anneliese smiled grimly—Cade hated it when they did that.

The man shook the canister then tossed it to the floor. He pulled a fresh container from a niche in the wall. A hatch opened in the ship and a woman stepped down. She wore thigh-high boots and had her hair twisted into spikes.

Anneliese fingered her own hair, felt the hacked remains of what had once been her most lovely feature. It will grow, she told herself. Only Cade mattered now.

The woman held out a triangular chip—galactic traveling papers—and the portsmith backed away, shaking his head to her questions. He gestured toward the ornate door leading to Customs, and then busily inspected the lock-down clamp.

The spiked woman gazed about the surrounding hangar. For a moment, she looked directly at Anneliese; then she shrugged and climbed shipboard. As the hatch sealed, the portsmith straightened. With a stream of curses, he stormed back into his office.

Anneliese shook her head. This man would not willingly help her, she thought. Her eyes fell upon the empty canister beneath the craft's sleek belly. She bit her lip.

A clang rang from the docking ring, preparing to tow the new arrival to its proper bay.

“Wait here,” Anneliese whispered to Pilar, then rushed from the shadows, using the ship as cover.

She reached the canister. It was heavy and cumbersome: dented metal with a plasticene strap. She was barely able to lift it, much less use it as a weapon. She glanced over her shoulder.

Pilar stood in the open, swaying, plucking at his robe, his expression dazed and lost. Dear God, was he going to run?

Another clank sounded. A shudder ran through the hull, and then the ship inched forward, landing gear creaking.

Get down! Anneliese motioned to Pilar. She turned back to the container, rolling it over, searching for loose parts, anything she could use. Beside her, the smooth hull pulled away, gaining speed. She lifted the hose at the top of the canister.

The nozzle!

Frantically, she twisted the spout free. It fit like a club in her hand. She dropped the canister then ran along the side of the ship, heading back for Pilar. He recited his singsong rhymes, oblivious to her. Towing him, Anneliese ran along the craft, circled about, and then sprinted toward the wall.

The office was windowless, the grime-streaked door barely transparent. Inside, she saw the portsmith sitting behind a computer console.

Anneliese took Pilar's arm, positioning him in full view of the door, and then stepped to the side. Pilar's expression fell as his whereabouts slowly registered.

The door kicked open. With a shout, the man snatched up Pilar, lifting him by his robe. Pilar gurgled, jaws slack.

Anneliese stepped behind the man. Moving her arm in a wide arc, she bashed his head with the nozzle. He turned, staggering, eyes widening as Anneliese swung the club again. The nozzle whistled, striking with a thud. The portsmith crumpled to the floor.

Grabbing Pilar's shoulder, Anneliese ran into the office. The glare of tube lighting dazzled her eyes. She leaned against the desktop then quickly drew away, wiping sticky dust from her fingers.

Circling the lone chair, she stood behind the console, trying to make sense of the keyboard. Beside her, Pilar sobbed into his hands, snorting and gasping, and she wanted to scream at him to stop. She accessed the docking log, keying in Rimer's Cope. The ship had arrived mid-morning and had departed....

The next night?

Anneliese felt suddenly cold. The ship must have been stolen, she thought. Cade wouldn't have left the planet knowing she was in a prostitute's cage. Touching the corner of the monitor, she scrolled to VIEW TRANSACTION. The bill for the bay had been paid with her own funds. Only Cade knew her credit codes.

“Miss Thielman, we must flee,” Pilar whispered.

But Anneliese could not move. A sinking sensation gripped her chest, squeezed with the might of a giant. She glanced through the smith's personal notes: a man answering Cade's description boarded the ship without incident—with a single female passenger.

Farin.

Anneliese closed her eyes. She was certain it was Farin. She remembered the look on the dancer's face the night Cade had introduced her. Surely, there was an explanation. Surely, he would return.

Did this mean he never loved her? Anneliese shook her head.

Pilar pulled at her robe, whimpering and fretting as if afraid to remain yet afraid to leave alone.

Anneliese shook her head, fists in her hair, and with all her strength, screamed, “No!"

She knocked Pilar down, aware of his stricken expression, slammed into the door and burst from the room. She had to run, had to get away from this horrid place. How could Cade leave her?

She wasn't a fool.

A rifle blast struck overhead. Anneliese flew through a shower of sparks. She wasn't a fool. How could this have happened?

Snatches of conversation twisted through her memory: the Customs officer saying the rules didn't apply to hotel patrons, Cade telling her that virgins commanded a higher price, that she might be on this world a long time. Harmadeur wasn't the one who'd put her in the cage. It had been Cade!

Cade!

Another rifle blast struck. Anneliese stumbled, part of her acknowledging an impact against her shoulder. She angled toward the hangar door, bolting into the open.

Sunlight struck like liquid fire, searing her face, her eyes. She threw her arms over her head, laughably, as if she could protect herself, as if there had ever been a time she'd been in control. Panting, head ringing, she crossed the patterned landing field, leaping over chiseled gullies and flat, cracked stone. In her mind, she heard Cade's laughter, conjured his crooked smile. The blinding vista shimmered. She had to get away.

Her teeth jarred with the force of her gait as her stride ate the distance before her. She ran, one arm hugging her chest. How clear it seemed now—Cade had married her for her money, wooing then leaving her for dead. How he must have loathed her, cringed at her every touch, listening to her dreams....

Something crumpled within her. Anneliese dropped to her knees, sobbing, rocking back and forth. How could she be so foolish? How could he be so cruel?

A gentle hand stroked her hair.

Pilar.

Anneliese looked up at the boy's eyes, expecting anger, accusations. She found neither. Tears rolled down his cheeks, washing trails through the dust, his golden eyes frightened and confused.

And in a voice she didn't recognize, Anneliese said, “My husband has betrayed me."

Pilar wrapped his arms about her neck, a child's embrace, and Anneliese wept against his shoulder. Have you ever been alone? his words echoed through her mind. Dear God, how could she bear it?

Rivulets of sweat traveled her spine. The sun beat mercilessly. Pulling away, Anneliese wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, felt an explosion of pain run from earlobe to fingertips.

The rifle blast.

Gingerly, she explored her wounded shoulder. Her flesh radiated heat. She shrugged from her robe, inspecting the material: scorched but intact. A near miss. Had the guards purposely overshot, seeing what they thought were two children?

Anneliese looked around. Far behind them, the mighty Resort danced in the rising heat. Her flight had carried her into the flats. There was no shelter.

Pilar sat, knees to his chin, head resting at an odd angle. Asleep, she realized. She looked toward the sun. They would cook if they stayed in the open.

“Pilar,” she said, shaking him, “I want you to find some rocks. This big. I need many of them."

He rubbed his eyes, crying, drool spilling from his lips.

Anneliese pulled him to his feet. “Go on now, Pilar. This big."

Stumbling, the boy ranged away. With each step, he wailed louder. Anneliese turned her attention to the ground, tossing small stones into a pile, breaking the larger ones free and rolling them together. At last, she had built two walls, closely set and long enough to conceal their bodies.

“Give me your robe,” Anneliese said.

Sniffling, Pilar slid off the garment, handing it to Anneliese. She laid the robe on the ground between the stone embankments, and then stretched her own robe over the top of the rocks, anchoring it securely.

The boy stopped crying, eyeing the tent. Anneliese crawled inside. The makeshift shade gave the semblance of coolness. After several moments, Pilar followed, grunting and jabbing in an effort to find comfort.

Their bodies stank, running with sweat. Anneliese turned onto her side, allowing a bit of air between them. Gradually, Pilar's breathing slowed. Asleep.

Anneliese brushed the hair from his forehead. She doubted his sister would have approved of what she'd put the boy through—her ignorance and shortsightedness had nearly killed them both. Pain throbbed in her shoulder. She hoped the wound wouldn't leave a scar, then chuckled at her vanity.

Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, but her mind refused to rest. Jagged bits of memory fell together like puzzle pieces: Cade asking about her share of her father's fortune, requesting inventories, trading routes. She'd been such a fool.

But, if all she'd been to him was an answer to a gambling debt, why hadn't he killed her outright? With her death, he would inherit all that she owned. Why had Cade abandoned her to the cage?

She dozed fitfully, dreaming that she was home, diving from a cliff, racing the waterfall. Wind whistled until she felt she could fly. She knifed into the water with barely a splash, and as she again broke the surface, she saw a man standing like a king surveying his kingdom, his golden gaze steady upon her, and when he smiled, she was filled with such joy....

Anneliese opened her eyes, trying to remember, but the dream ran like sand from her fingers. It meant nothing, she told herself. Yet, she couldn't rekindle the image of the man.

Moving carefully, she backed out of the tent. Probably she would never see home again. Her father thought she was dead—he wouldn't be looking for her. Very well, then, it would be up to her to find him.

Putting on the goggles, she ran her gaze over the horizon. She wished she had a pair of photopic viewers. She remembered Cade showing her how to use a pair, sitting on a knoll outside her bedroom window. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

Pilar groaned, sitting straight up, forming a peak in the tent and causing a small rockslide. Anneliese pulled the robe from his head, tousling his hair.

“I'm hungry,” Pilar said brightly.

“I know,” she said. “I'm sorry."

Anneliese glanced at the sun. It was still so damned hot! She picked up her robe. The hem was uneven, fraying along the square she had ripped out to capture the stegort, and she tore a wide swathe from the bottom.

“Pilar, have you ever been to the other city?” she asked.

“Yes. One time."

“Will you take me there now?"

“No!” Pilar shouted, leaping to his feet, gesturing and jabbering in his native tongue.

“Slow down.” She caught his hand, patting it, trying to soothe him. “Tell me."

Pilar took a deep breath. “Miss Thielman, we may not go to the Trader City."

Anneliese ran the name over in her mind; she wasn't sure if he'd said trader or traitor. She nodded, prodding him silently.

He snatched his hand away. “The city lies there, and it is there the Llaird raid the yllib, it is there they cut the tnerl. It would be difficult for us to walk to the city."

“But we must. Pilar, listen to me. I need to go there, and I need your help."

Pilar looked up, his agitation spent. Suddenly he showed a wet smile. “I know the way,” he said so quietly, Anneliese almost didn't hear him. With exaggerated movements, he marched away.

Anneliese eased the robe over her throbbing shoulder. She covered her head with the length of cloth she had torn from her hem.

Perhaps it would be a difficult walk to the city, she thought, but the people there must have a way to get a message off world. She would contact her father and let him know she was all right.

Then she would make Cade pay.

CHAPTER 20

Mortar Thielman erupted into the face of the Security Office desk clerk. “What do you mean Harmadeur Gendarme is not available? Do you know who I am?"

“No sir. I mean yes, I know who you are,” the clerk's mechanically enhanced voice whined, “but the Security Master is indisposed."

“I am Deputy Master Abbas,” a man said in Standard behind them. “May I be of assistance?"

Mortar glared at the intruder: a narrow man made smaller by traditional robes. He wore darkened glasses, and Mortar expected the eyes behind them were also dark, not reflective yellow. Jerking his thumb toward the box at the clerk's throat, Mortar said, “Your translators are malfunctioning."

“I'll have someone check into it.” Abbas smiled, sweeping his arm to one side. “Please come with me."

Scowling, Mortar made his way across the cramped room, dodging hustling guards and long-faced locals. He said, “The office is busier than I remember."

“Each year the crime rate seems to escalate. It is a wonder more families do not flee to the Trader City. But to get there, they must risk facing the Llaird."

“The Llaird are just terrorists,” Mortar growled.

“They are much more than that. In all my years of law enforcement, I have never dealt with a more vicious, inimical group of criminals."

Mortar bit back a retort. He didn't care to hear the man's horror stories—all he wanted was to see his daughter again. He stepped along the crowded aisle, passing a row of desks. Just then, a jowl-faced man jumped up, waving his arms and cursing. He had a bloodied rag tied about his head.

Abbas moved forward, addressing the man in the local language. “What is the problem here?"

“Children,” the man cried. “Children in port, right in front of your blessed security. I barely got away with my life!"

“Was anything stolen?"

“Everything was stolen! They were accessing my computer."

“Show me the child who could read a computer,” the attending guard said.

Abbas raised his voice. “A childish prank, nothing more. Officer Yadith-Se will take you inside and have your wounds tended. And I will add another guard to the mid-day shift. I won't have employees assaulted.” Solemnly, he grasped the man's shoulder, and then continued walking.

Mortar said, “You should hire a squad of off-worlders, strong-arms who can stay awake during the day."

“A worthy suggestion.” Abbas stepped aside, allowing Mortar to enter a small but richly furnished room. Veils hung from the ceiling, woven rugs covered the floor. Abbas sat behind a desk of polished wood, removing his dark glasses, revealing piercing black eyes. “Unfortunately, off-worlders do not command the respect of these people. That is why the news of my promotion is not yet public. You see,” he spread his hands, “Harmadeur Gendarme is dead."

Mortar blinked. “When?"

“Three days after the explosion. Murdered, of course, although we haven't concluded our investigation. Resort officials fear when word gets out, there will be pandemonium in the streets."

“Riot or celebration?"

“Both, I expect. Harmadeur may have governed by corruption, but when he clenched his fist...."

Mortar sank into a chair, running a hand over his face. “I'm not sure how this affects my position."

“I understand your daughter was killed in the blast."

“No. But that's what someone wants me to believe. A lift operator claims he saw her leave the hotel before the detonation. And just now I spoke with three men who saw her in the debtor's pen."

“She identified herself, did she, to these gentlemen?"

“Of course not,” Mortar said, “but the woman they described could only be her. When they went back a few days later, she was gone."

“I understand your pain, Mr. Thielman. I also have a daughter. But the Resort has officially closed this case. To reopen, I would need something more concrete."

“I can pay you."

Abbas shook his head. “You could have paid Harmadeur, but the results would be the same. I'm sorry."

Mortar scowled at the taste in his mouth. “Then, just let me speak with Cade and I'll leave."

Abbas raised a brow. “Cade?"

“I understood my daughter's husband was arrested."

The deputy turned toward the console on his desk. “He was brought in for questioning the night of the explosion—the Master ordered his ship searched. But we never kept him. He left the planet shortly thereafter."

“What?” Mortar shot to his feet. What was going on here? Where was Anneliese? “What flight plan did he register?"

“None that I'm aware of. Our clientele is such...."

Mortar chopped the air with his hand, pacing. “He's been traveling a week. Which way would he go?"

“His mother might be able to aid your search."

“His mother?"

“Yes. She runs a saloon out near the gate."

Mortar grimaced. Another bit of information Gordon failed to uncover.

Abbas leaned forward. “He is a bad one, this Cade of yours. I saw him kill a musician because she'd hit a sour note in a tune he'd requested. He stabbed her seven times. And I could do nothing. He was a patron of the Resort. That day, I wished to shoot him myself."

Mortar balled his hands into fists. “Perhaps you will yet have that chance."

CHAPTER 21

Anneliese wore her anger like an eschewing cloak, holding her separate, unreachable, and unable to reach out. The ache in her shoulder echoed the pain of her loneliness, and she nourished it until it consumed her senses, banished her past, her memories.

Vaguely, she was aware that the landscape had changed: the once fist-sized rocks had become flat and brittle, crumbling beneath her step. Boulders leaned together in groups, pooled in shadow and harboring dark recesses. She knew, also, that Pilar had quit his capering and walked beside her in stolid silence, as if expecting at any time to be besieged by devils. Little matter, she thought. She had demons enough of her own.

A breath of air stirred, a hint of a breeze, and she leaned into it hungrily, coveting the coolness. Her tongue worried the last bit of moss she had placed into her cheek. A person could die in this rock-strewn wilderness, boiled in sweat. But not her—not until she found her husband, and faced him with what she'd become.

She squeezed her eyes tight, awaiting the tears, but she couldn't cry. The pain would not release her. Cade's face surfaced—a siren to her thoughts, with his crooked smile and disheveled hair. How could she have loved this man?

How could she have not?

Suddenly, Pilar let out a whoop, scrambling down a hill. Anneliese blinked, startled from her reverie. She glanced about but found no threat, nothing to make the boy run. Cradling her wounded shoulder, she trotted woodenly down the hill after him.

The horizon dipped and swelled in gentle scallops. The sun blazed in the white-hot sky. Anneliese panted, almost frantic, trying to keep up, to see where Pilar had gone. She passed a barrel-shaped tree, barely noticing it, circled an outcropping of rock. Cresting the next hill, she drew to a halt.

A vast ravine opened before her. Squat trees dotted the stone, and among the meager growth, she saw a herd of goat-like animals. Yllib—she remembered Cade's name for them.

Relief washed over her, making her giddy, heart beating erratically within her breast. She thought of the frothy drink she'd tasted at Surah's lounge—milk of the yllib. She ran her tongue over cracked lips.

The young boy's laughter drifted on the breeze. He vaulted down the hill, waving his arms. Only a few of the creatures paid him heed—the rest stood, heads bowed as if grazing.

Anneliese picked her way down the rock face. The stones were smooth, almost polished. An old riverbed, she thought, imagining the land before the water steamed away.

As she neared the creatures, she realized how large they were—many able to meet her eye-to-eye. Thick wool cascaded from their backs, hanging in matted hanks. Pilar crouched beneath the belly of a beast, suckling. He looked up at her, smiling broadly, milk spilling over his chin.

A knot of revulsion crept up Anneliese's throat. She turned away, moving slowly so as not to startle the animals. Few offspring showed among the herd, but even so, many of the creatures appeared swollen with milk, their teats low between their legs.

Heady with hunger, Anneliese approached one of the yllib, gingerly patting its side. “There, now. Pretty girl. I'm just going to touch you."

She knelt beside the malodorous creature. Rock dust and pebbles mottled the wool. The udder had two nipples, white with black tips. Steeling herself, Anneliese poked the dangling breast, then took hold and squeezed. Nothing happened. She cupped her other hand beneath the teat, squeezing harder. The yllib bleated, stepping away.

Behind her, Pilar laughed. “You must take the mamma into your mouth."

Anneliese shuddered. “No. There must be another way. How do the herders do it, the ones who sell the milk to the city?"

Pilar pursed his lips, sitting upon his haunches. “Syoney knows. I watch her sometimes. She says when I am older she will teach me."

Anneliese tensed. She looked at her young friend, not sure how to respond. Did he realize his sister was dead? Did he know what death meant?

Pilar shrugged, cocking an eye at the yllib. Sidling up to the creature, he took the nipple into his hands, stroking the bloated flesh. The yllib rewarded him with a squirt of milk.

Pilar squealed, continuing the motion. Anneliese caught the milk in cupped hands. The liquid was hot and thick. She drank carefully, aware of the stench of the yllib, the filth upon her fingers. Hunger overtook her aversion. Smacking her lips, she reached for more.

Finally sated, Anneliese leaned back. A breeze lifted her makeshift scarf. Pilar spotted a teioid sunning itself upon a rock and hopped away, leaping on all fours, trying to catch the lizard.

Anneliese gazed down the length of the ravine—it ran beyond her vision in either direction. Perhaps fifty beasts milled about the slopes, digging at the rocks with splayed hooves and dining upon the hidden moss. A few nibbled the trees, stripping the shaggy bark.

Standing wearily, Anneliese moved to the nearest tree. The trunk was thick and woody. She thought of the wicker carriage she'd ridden to the marketplace, of Lirtsban's wagon. Reaching, she touched a crown of leaves sprouting from the treetop—and a tiny bird broke free, startling her with its whirring wings.

Anneliese smiled, watching it. “This valley holds more life than I've seen since I began this tour. Perhaps we should...."

As if on cue, the milk-giving creatures dropped to their knees. Pilar gave a strangled cry. Anneliese spun about. All the yllib, wherever they stood, folded laboriously to the ground, like dominoes upon a game board.

Pilar took hold of her robe. “Flee! Flee! We must escape!” He hopped on one foot, pointing.

With narrowed eyes, Anneliese looked down the ravine. The end appeared hazy, as if being erased.

A windstorm.

“Gather the rocks!” she cried. “We'll build a shelter."

Pilar trembled visibly. “No. The Llaird! They hide in the wind!” And he took off running as if his devils had finally found him.

Anneliese's neck prickled. She looked again toward the clouded ravine. She imagined what she saw was not the wind at all, but a hundred tribesmen galloping on mounted steeds. If the Llaird were a punishment as Pilar believed, how would they judge her?

Ahead, Pilar climbed the rocky slope. Anneliese raced after him. Fear beat her chest almost painfully. A distant wail met her ears: a terrible sound, as with the howl of a wolf. The cloudless sky grew distant and streaked, the sun deepening in color.

Anneliese struggled up the steep slope. Her arm dangled, and her wounded shoulder felt hot and stiff. The smooth stones slipped beneath her sandals. Wind lapped at her heels. Pulling herself over the lip of the ravine, she looked back.

The storm moved at an incredible pace, churning pebbles into the air. At the valley's farthest reaches, the yllib were mere shadows.

Panic churned the milk in her belly. She called Pilar's name. The boy was no longer in sight. She should not have allowed him to run off like that. He was addled, confused, a small frightened child....

...believing the Llaird ran with the wind.

Just then, she heard a scream.

Anneliese stiffened, a chill traveling her spine. “Pilar?” she called.

He was nowhere. Nowhere. She replayed the sound in her mind. It was the wind, she told herself, or one of the yllib. Slowly gathering speed, Anneliese ran.

The wind gusted and yanked—the fringes of the storm. Straining her voice, she called out. Boulders rose about her, misshapen monoliths half-eaten by time, and she clung to them for support, bounding and rebounding. Dust swirled in eddies, stinging her cheeks, her eyes. She wrapped the end of her scarf across her face.

And sensed movement beside her.

“Pilar?” she cried, turning. She saw only the rocks. The back of her neck grew cold. “Pilar, we don't have time for games."

The wind howled in answer. She stumbled forward.

There's no one there. Don't spook yourself. All this talk of the Llaird.

Motion caught the corner of her eye. She gasped, walking backward, pulse beat filling her ears.

No one there. Keep walking.

“Pilar, where are you?"

The storm struck with sudden ferocity. Anneliese staggered beneath the onslaught. The world darkened as if thrown into twilight. Wind raged as if at unbearable pain.

Anneliese leaned into the gale. Flying debris scoured the land, threatening to flail her flesh from her bones. Her scarf ripped away, disappearing instantly.

A shadow stirred beside her.

She spun about. Wind buffeted her slight form. Slanted dust obscured her sight. The shadow moved again.

They hide in the wind.

Anneliese held out her arms, protecting her face from airborne debris. Her robe whipped as if taking flight. Another shadow appeared. She sensed eyes upon her, silent figures watching from behind a curtain of wind. Pilar's demons.

Pilar!

The storm carried her bodily, slammed her into a wall of stone. Points of light invaded her vision. Then darkness moved toward her—a mummy's face wrapped in rags. She opened her mouth, screaming. A hand clamped over the sound, something sweet against her lips.

She struck out in slow motion, clawing the glowing eyes. Breath crushed from her body. The world closed around her, a cocoon of darkness holding her attackers at bay. The wind drifted....

CHAPTER 22

Mortar brushed dust from his jacket, glancing back at the darkened stairwell. Even twenty-five feet underground, he could hear the remnants of the windstorm. Damned nuisance. A whole day wasted.

Side-stepping his hulking bodyguard, he leaned on the rail of a narrow landing overlooking the Gatesmouth Saloon. It had been ten years or more since he'd been there last, but it looked the same. New tables, he thought. Business was poor, probably due to the weather. No one took notice of his presence. He would ask at the bar for the proprietor. Cade's mother.

But before he stepped down, a woman caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes. Her hair was gray rather than raven black, but he recognized the tilt of her head, the swagger in her step. She kept to the perimeter of the room, wiping tables, adjusting chairs, as if she worked there. An employee, for God's sake. The indomitable Surah Rudnitsky.

He approached slowly, unsure of her reaction: old friend, old lover, old wound. Foolishly, he ran a hand over his hair, pushing it back.

“Hello, Surah,” he said.

She straightened suddenly, knocking into a chair, causing it to fall. “Mortar. What are you doing here?"

“I've caught you at a bad time."

“I can't imagine a good one."

She glared, and for a moment, he thought she might strike him. Then her eyes softened.

“I've prepared speeches for this day,” she said, “all the points I would make if I saw you again. Somehow, I can't think of a single one."

“That's not your style. You've always managed to have the last word."

“Well, maybe I will yet. Sit down. I'll buy you a glass of milk.” She cocked a brow. “Or do you prefer something stronger?"

Mortar smiled. “Yllib milk will be fine."

She walked away, tucking a wisp of hair into her heavy braid. Mortar righted the toppled chair then sat at the table, his back to the wall, feeling edgy and vaguely embarrassed. Bano took up station a discreet distance away, and Mortar thought of how accustomed he'd become to having the bodyguard at his side.

“Should I have brought one for your friend?” Surah asked as she slid a tray onto the table.

Mortar said, “He doesn't drink."

“Automaton, eh? I thought so, although he looks natural enough."

Mortar watched her pour two glasses of the frothy concoction. She placed a loaf of nut bread on the table between them, and then put the tray upon the floor.

He said, “I can't believe I've run into you like this."

“Fate, I guess. Our lives intercrossed. Do you come to the Resort often?"

“No. I did for a few years after Mari was killed. Trying to lose myself, you know."

“Mari's dead?” Surah looked up.

“Almost thirteen years."

“I'm sorry."

He shook his head. “Don't lie to me."

She looked away, lifting her glass to her lips. “Why are you here now?"

“You haven't heard? They say my daughter was in that explosion."

Surah's hand flew to his forearm. “I knew there were deaths, of course, but...."

He scowled. “I'm told it was the work of Llaird terrorists."

“That doesn't surprise me. The Llaird are capable of anything. The atrocities I've seen—murder and enslavement.” Surah met his eyes. “But I truly am sorry, Mortar. I would not have had this happen to her."

She drew away, leaving warm trails on his arm. He watched her from beneath his lowered brow. It was good to see her again, good to be with someone he once called friend, even when the friendship ended so badly.

Surah took a knife from the cutting board and sliced the bread. “Try some. I baked it myself."

“It smells good.” He took a bite, nodding in appreciation. “So, how long have you worked for the Resort?"

“I don't. I pay my dues, just like anyone else."

“Then, the saloon's no longer under direct control? I'd like to meet the owner."

“You're looking at her."

Mortar wheezed as if punched in the stomach. He grasped the edges of the table. “You ... are Cade's mother?"

“Icadeum Rudnitsky. He hates that name."

Mortar narrowed his eyes. “Where is he, Surah?"

“I wouldn't know. He always was a difficult child. No father, you see."

“He married Anneliese."

“My son and your daughter ... in love?” Surah threw back her head, laughing. “How perfectly ironic."

Coldness seeped into Mortar—through his feet, his hands upon the table, twisting in his gut. Quietly, he asked, “What did you tell him about me?"

“Everything. How we were in business together, how I funded your first run, how you broke off our engagement to marry ... her."

“We were never engaged, Surah."

“I must say, I was shocked when Cade told me you'd taken him under your wing. I always thought he despised you. But he said business was business, and he wanted to learn from the best."

“And he never told you he was courting my daughter?” he asked.

“Oh, he was in here last week claiming to be in love again. I thought she was some moiru dancer."

Mortar slammed his hand down, rattling the glasses. “I swear, if you know where he's gone...."

“Mortar. Why would I lie?"

Why indeed? he raged inwardly. You've only vowed to ruin my life, to someday wreak vengeance!

He stared at her for a long moment, and then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Forget it. I guess I'm overwrought."

Surah got to her feet. “I'd best be back to work. Sorry for your troubles."

“Surah, I have to speak with him. If you hear anything...."

“Who, me? Tucked away on this go-nowhere planet? No, I know nothing about your daughter, even less about my wayward son.” She leaned close. “But, oddly enough, it was nice talking to you. Perhaps I'll see you again."

She gave a familiar gravely laugh, walking away through the labyrinth of tables.

Mortar clenched his empty glass. Another waste of time. She knew nothing. Nothing. He was no closer to an answer.

Yet, if Surah were as uninformed as she professed, how had she known Anneliese was the name of his daughter?

Stop it! he thought. Was he so distraught he saw conspiracy in everything? He looked up at the ceiling, his face hot, eyes stinging. Helpless. He'd always hated that in others.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the sounds growing around him: a murmur of voices as patrons straggled in, a clatter of jugs behind the bar, the ching-ching of dancers rising over the music. Then the music stopped. Mortar looked around.

A rotund man holding a bulbous musical instrument peered about Bano.

Mortar felt a jolt of recognition. He jumped up, holding out his hand. “Oxchord! My God, man. How have you been?"

“Fine, Mr. Thielman.” The fat musician beamed.

“What are you doing working here in the slums? Have you fallen from grace?"

“When you owe credits to the Security Master, it's best to keep out from underfoot.” He nodded solemnly. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your daughter. Everyone is talking about it."

“Even down here?"

“Especially here. Surah keeps a vid-screen in back just for newscasts."

Mortar winced. Why did she lie?

Oxchord said, “Anneliese was a beautiful girl."

“You met her?"

“I played for her. She came in with Surah's son."

Coldness. “When?"

“That day,” Oxchord said. “Before the explosion. I remember she left her hat behind."

Mortar stiffened as if his spine had turned to ice. Only his eyes would move. Slowly, he looked over to where Surah tended the bar.

Once before you sought to destroy me with your bastard son, he thought, but no more. Whatever you've done, I will find you out, and this time I will finish you.

CHAPTER 23

Anneliese opened her eyes upon an underground chamber. Voices swirled outside her hearing. Large, glowing urns angled light into her face. Beyond them, a shadow shifted.

She leapt to her feet. Instantly, hands closed from behind, imprisoning her, and she struggled feebly, squinting into the light. Figures surrounded her, watchers in the dark. The dank air bristled with hostility.

A cry died in her throat. Bits of her capture came back to her: clouds of dust, hidden faces. The Llaird, traveling with the wind. Fear tightened her stomach and lightened her head.

Anneliese jumped at a voice. A woman shared her spotlight. She was tall and cadaverous, unkempt and savage. She addressed a dais beyond the lighted circle, disgust punctuating her unpronounceable language. Stepping away, she exposed a figure kneeling upon the floor.

Pilar! The youngster trembled, head bowed, looking small and vulnerable. Anneliese strained against the hands that bound her. The savage woman continued her litany, motioning toward the boy.

He was on trial, Anneliese realized suddenly. How could they judge him? She had done many things of which she was ashamed, but Pilar was a child, an orphan.

A voice came from the dais. Anneliese recognized the word naplaugh, felt the weight of the man's tone, as if he had decreed that Pilar was bereft of worth.

Her stomach dropped. Time became dreamlike, a scene moving in slow motion. She saw the woman turn toward Pilar, saw light glint as she raised her knife.

“Pilar!” Anneliese cried. With all her might, she stamped upon the instep of the man holding her, at the same time twisting from his grasp. She threw herself between the boy and the approaching executioner. “He is not a non-person. He is a boy."

A hush fell over the cavern. Then someone asked, “Would you die in his place?"

Mocking her. Anneliese seethed with anger. They wouldn't dare cause her harm. She was Anneliese Thielman—her father could buy this world. She raised her chin until it nearly reached knifepoint.

Someone moved behind her. “I've seen you before, I think. In the hangar, and again in the marketplace. Where is the man to whose arm you once clung so desperately?"

Anneliese spun about. She recognized the man—the chiseled features, hair plated over his shoulder. He was the man she'd seen hiding in the spaceport. He watched her with a mixture of patience and amusement, golden eyes glinting, and then swung his arm in a grand gesture.

“I will take these two into my servitude,” he said boldly. “Your recompense for infractions incurred."

Voices raised in protest, swelling within the cavern.

The chiseled man viewed the crowd then lifted his face toward the hidden podium, his words low and even. “We are not enemies here. There is but one defacer. Let us not confuse these two with that which they represent."

A deep voice chuckled. “Take care, Sayer-Kihn. Even a chiliarch must abide by his barrow. I doubt your people will find merit in such a trade."

“The wishes of my people lay beyond your comprehension. See that these are given water."

Anneliese watched the man stride from the circle. Her heart pounded.

Had he just saved their lives?

The man upon the dais switched back to the local language, speaking quietly. The savage woman glared. Anneliese took Pilar into her arms, hugging him hard in spite of the pain from her wound. She glanced back toward the chiseled man, but he was gone.

The woman approached, inclining her head and ushering them from the light. Anneliese blinked, picking shapes from the darkness. The crowd parted as if loath to be near her.

The chamber became a corridor. Anneliese walked with an arm about Pilar, comforting him while supporting herself. She was nearing the limit of her strength. Even breathing was an effort.

Bowls of glowing rocks dotted the passageway, marking each fork of the branching path. Faces looked up as they passed. Many were children. The cave-like dwellings appeared comfortable, with tapestries covering the walls and pillows upon the floors. Anneliese imagined curling up upon the cushions.

Their guide called out, her voice sharp and impatient, startling Anneliese. A man appeared at an entranceway. He wore a metal band about his throat. He walked to the woman, and she gestured wildly, speaking in their guttural tongue.

Anneliese leaned against the wall, sliding until she sat upon the floor. Pilar moved close, his eyes averted.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Anneliese asked, “What are they saying?"

Pilar glanced to either side. “He wonders why she leads us the long way."

“She's just getting even.” Anneliese smiled ruefully. “She'd much rather have slit our throats."

Stepping forward, the man handed a stoneware jug to Anneliese. Water. She drank greedily, not even tasting it, feeling the liquid strike the emptiness of her stomach. A sudden cramp warned her to drink slower. She gave the jug to Pilar.

The wall at her back was cold, and she wondered how deep they were beneath the surface. How far had this detour taken them from the Trader City?

What did Sayer-Kihn mean when he said he would take them into servitude?

The woman spat an order in their direction, and their brief respite ended. Anneliese returned the jug to the man, nodding her thanks. The savage woman grabbed her shoulder, propelling her forward, and the resulting pain shot stars across her vision.

In silence, they followed the dimly lit maze. Ahead, three men turned to greet them. Anneliese recognized Sayer-Kihn. His robes were soiled and spotted but he wore them regally, and as his cohorts raised their lanterns behind him, his demeanor was that of a king.

The woman bowed respectfully, although her lip curled in a sneer, and stepped backward into shadows. The man to Sayer's left picked up a thong-wrapped bundle, approaching them. Pilar shrank back, clinging to Anneliese. Muttering incomprehensibly, the man pulled the boy aside, strapping the package to his back.

So that was it, she thought—they were to be pack animals. She lifted her chin, glaring at Sayer-Kihn. “I suppose you expect us to drop to our knees, praise you for saving our lives."

Sayer shook his head. “I did nothing. Even Sivlow-Rakin would not be so bold as to execute an off-worlder. That is why I was invited to your arraignment—he expected I would take the problem from his hands."

“And now we are your slaves."

“Ah, the bundles.” He shrugged. “Tokens of allegiance. I could not dissuade my rival."

“I will not carry your possessions,” she said.

“Yet, if you are a slave as you so profess, it would seem you have no choice. Unless, of course, you prefer that I execute you myself."

“I can be of better use.” She stepped forward. “Take me to the Trader City. You will be well rewarded."

Sayer burst into echoing laughter. “Forgive me, but those do not look to be the hands of a princess."

“You are unwise to mock me. My father is powerful."

“I see. And is there a reason we should let that live?” He motioned toward the boy.

Anneliese paused, taken aback by the scorn in his voice. She said, “Pilar can teach your children to speak Standard."

“Assuming I would wish him to do so."

“Trade is power,” she said. “But one cannot hope to trade without communication."

Sayer-Kihn's eyes flickered. He cocked his head for a moment, as if listening to an inner voice. At last, he nodded and his companion dropped a parcel at her feet.

“Please carry this.” Sayer's eyes brushed hers. Turning, he strode away.

CHAPTER 24

Mortar Thielman stood in a pool of shadow beneath the roaring brazier. The debtor's pens ahead were anathema to him now. To think that Anneliese, his own flesh and blood, had suffered such degradation. Caged prostitution.

He spat the bile from his throat and, clenching his fists, walked down the darkened rows. Female hands uncoiled like snakes through the bars, beckoning. He despised them, hated that which drove them to such depths. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to burn the place to the ground.

A tattered man hustled behind him. The gaoler, Mortar thought. He was not the man he'd seen here so many years ago. So much the better. Mortar pulled a coin from his pocket, holding it just out of the smaller man's reach.

“I am interested in the off-world girl you had here last week. Who bought her release?” Mortar spoke in the native language, although he expected the gaoler capable of understanding Standard. He wove the coin through his fingers, making sure the man saw it. “You know this girl. She had silver hair."

The gaoler's eyes darted between the coin and the bodyguard standing in the darkness. He gnawed his lip—and Mortar realized that he had no tongue. He brought the coin down until it nearly touched the man's nose.

“I know you keep records,” Mortar said.

The gaoler's breath quickened, whistling through pinched nostrils. He shook his head, stepping back.

Mortar laid a hand upon his shoulder, still brandishing the coin. “I can be very persuasive."

With a gargled squeal, the gaoler knocked Mortar's hand away, sending the coin flying. He turned, struggling, tripping on his own robe.

Mortar roared, lifting the man by the throat, slamming him against the bars of a cage. “Where is she? You feckless limmer!"

The gaoler's eyes bulged. He clawed at Mortar's fingers. Mortar threw him to the ground then rang the cage with his fist.

“What are you looking at?” he bellowed at the shadowed face within.

Turning abruptly, he stormed down the path, boot heels loud upon the gravel. The bastard knew something, Mortar thought. He should have shaken the truth from him. He should have forced him to comply. His hands twitched, still feeling his fingers about the man's throat.

But violence rarely afforded the truth. He needed reliable information. He prided himself in out-thinking his opponents. Had they beaten him this time?

No! The conspirators must have left a trail. Ahzgott was conveniently dead and the gaoler had no tongue—but they had not thought to silence the lift operator, or foreseen a young ruffian would visit the pens. And Surah ... how did she fit into this?

Suddenly he stopped walking, pressing his forehead against the bars of a cage.

Mari, if only you were here. I was always stronger with you at my side.

Straightening slowly, he looked down the path. Insects chirruped in the darkness. The cages were silent. Vacant. The authorities must be slipping, he thought, if they couldn't keep the debtor's pens filled.

Then he heard a rattling sound—a bicyclist and a cart. Mortar approached noisily so as not to startle the man.

“Hello,” he called in the local language.

The man hunkered down, nodding, almost groveling. “Are you lost, kind sir? May I help you on your way?"

“Lost? Not at all. I'm looking for a ride back to the Resort."

“Oh no, sir. You do not wish conveyance in my wagon. I use it to carry feces ... and the occasional body."

“Is that so?” Mortar grimaced then voiced the unspeakable. “Do women die here regularly?"

“Not just women.” The bicyclist grinned—a secret to tell. “Have you ever heard of Harmadeur-Fezzan-Gendarme?"

“The Security Master?"

“The same. He died in that very pen."

Mortar's ears perked. “You found him?"

“It was quite a thrill, I must tell you, to see him lying half unclothed, fouled in his own blood. His eyes were open, glazed with shock as if still gazing into the face of his murderess. And there were strands of hair like spider silk draped over his body."

“Say again?"

“Hair, as if he lay trapped by an insect's web. My friend and I bathed him and put him into my wagon before contacting the guards. So important a personage. It was quite a thrill."

“You say there was white hair covering the body?"

“Yes. I will show you."

From a pouch beneath the seat of the bicycle, the man drew out a braid of hair. In the moonlight, it shimmered like silver. Mortar felt his chest tighten.

“I keep it for luck,” the bicyclist said. “I think any woman who could kill such a man must be very courageous indeed."

Mortar took the braid from his hands. Blinking rapidly, he tilted his head back. Courageous? He wanted to shout to the stars.

CHAPTER 25

Anneliese stared at Sayer-Kihn's retreating form. He'd left her alone, no one to stop her from running away.

But which way should she run?

Holding her scorched arm tight to her body, she picked up the package at her feet. The bundle was heavy. She thought of the burden tied to Pilar's back. If she left now, she would be abandoning the child to a life of drudgery. Breathing deeply to summon her strength, she started after Sayer's entourage.

The tunnel was dark but for the glow of lamplight ahead. The rock was rough and dusty as if she'd passed beyond the outskirts of a city into a hinterland. Sayer-Kihn's voice drifted to her. He bantered with his men as if looking forward to home.

Home. She breathed the word into the darkness, trying to recall the sounds, the smells of her homeland. What was her father doing this moment? Would she ever feel safe again?

Abruptly, she realized she was falling behind. She shifted the unwieldy parcel, struggling to keep pace. The lanterns moved out of sight.

Wait! she wanted to cry. Don't leave me here.

Her step slowed as if she treaded mud. She sobbed, succumbing to despair. Hugging the bundle to her breast, she dropped to the ground. A shiver coursed through her body, her flesh alternately chilled and feverish. Turning onto her side, she blinked at the blackness crowding her vision.

A hand pulled away the robe at her shoulder. Someone spoke. Emotions raged behind Anneliese's closed eyes—anger that they'd disturbed her, relief that they'd come back. A voice rose in question and Pilar answered.

Anneliese tried to smile at the boy, tried to tell him she was all right. She just needed to rest, needed to contemplate the enveloping darkness. Fingers slipped behind her neck, raising her head. Water touched her lips. She felt herself lift into the air, cradled like a child. A voice spoke in her ear.

Sayer! Sayer-Kihn was carrying her. Wonder seeped through her pain-induced lethargy. Her head was upon his shoulder, face pressed against the side of his neck. She breathed deeply of his scent.

Suddenly she was falling, dropping through deepening layers of darkness, plummeting—no, diving, knifing headfirst into a pool of water, surfacing to find Sayer's smile. His expression hinted at acceptance, a belief in her, and she held the image gingerly, explored it like the tender emptiness of a newly lost tooth.

But as she watched, the golden eyes turned hard, the visage melting until Cade stood there: Cade, with his crooked smile and rugged beauty, laughing at her reaction, kissing the top of her head.

Oh, how she loved him, how she dreamt of their life together—a life that would never be. Did he know how much he'd stolen from her?

She cried out, writhing, tears hot upon her face. How could she continue living, unable to dream? She'd wanted to please him, to spend the rest of her life pleasing him. Where was Cade now?

* * * *

She awoke in a crib of pillows. Her mouth was dry. A dull ache pounded her temples. Stirring, she found that she lay naked beneath a finely textured blanket. Her skin felt clean and dry. A bandage covered her shoulder.

She lifted her head. The room was swathed in tapestries from floor to vaulted ceiling, creating a running mural of people. In the corner, a brazier threw streamers of light upward. Beside the steady glow sat a young woman.

Anneliese froze. The woman held a book in her lap, reading both with her eyes and with her fingers, playing the page as if it were a musical instrument. She wore her hair in braids like snakes coiled upon her head. About her neck was a burnished metal band.

Anneliese's fingers went to her own throat. She also wore a band. She was a slave, pressed into servitude. With a choking snarl, she sat up.

The woman dropped her book, her eyes blank with fear. Gibbering and gesturing, she fled the room. Anneliese wrapped the silky blanket about her breasts, sliding her legs over the edge of the crib. She felt stronger—and voraciously hungry.

Sayer-Kihn appeared in the doorway. He'd discarded his outer robes and now wore a soft leather jerkin, baring his arms. Dark brown hair spilled down his back, held from his face by a leather thong above his brow.

He said, “You've awakened. Good. How do you feel?"

“Where am I? How dare you undress me?” She struggled to stand.

“Spoken like a true princess. My name is Sayer-Kihn. May you feel welcome in our barrow."

“I want to speak to Pilar,” she said.

“Perhaps another time. Right now, I believe you should have something to eat."

“You've killed him, haven't you. Bastard!"

Sayer's face darkened. “Take care with your words. Our lineage is very important to us.” He tossed a tunic onto the crib. “Dress yourself."

Anneliese set her lips, thrusting out her chin. How dare he order her about? She would not be his slave—would not!

Carefully, she pulled the garment over her head. Her neck felt hot and swollen, her arm uncooperative.

“Had I known you were hurt, of course, I would not have asked you to carry the tribute,” he told her.

“Why not?” she asked. “Aren't you my master?"

“You don't understand. You are indentured to me. That means you are in my care. Out of respect for this, you are expected to do what I ask."

Respect—Anneliese scoffed inwardly. She stood before the tall man, close enough to smell the scent of his skin, the oil he smoothed into his hair. Plains and valleys sculpted his face, and as she looked up, she realized it truly had been chiseled—scarred by the rites of primitive passage.

Suddenly she felt small and disheveled, wishing she still had her beautiful hair, her expensive clothes. She straightened the tunic about her boyish form.

Sayer-Kihn led her to an antechamber, brightly lit by glowing urns. In the middle of the room, she saw an exquisite statue.

Malpais! Anneliese stepped toward it unbidden, instantly drawn to the stone. The piece was large, nearly two feet in height, and masterfully carved: a woman with two faces held a sword overhead, one foot poised as if over a chasm.

The figure shone in deepening layers of darkness, green-black with veins of gold, as if it were alive, as if it would move from its pedestal the moment she looked away.

“A gift,” Sayer told her. “I have no talent, myself."

“Jefe-Naik,” Anneliese whispered.

He cocked his brow. “How do you know this?"

“In the marketplace, I met an old woman...."

Babesh, the woman had cried, and Cade had raised his hand to strike her. Anneliese shuddered with the memory.

Sayer-Kihn watched in silence, his eyes strangely unfocused, as if she had just opened a door he'd thought was barred. After several moments, he turned away.

“Come with me,” he told her.

The antechamber led to a huge cavern. Voices rose and fell like a heartbeat.

Anneliese stared. “What wonder is this?"

Sayer made a sweeping motion. “This is our barrow."

The cave was so wide she could barely see the other side. Great urns lit the area, tinting the air with a coppery glow, a perpetual sunset. The perimeter held circular doorways so symmetrical they seemed scooped from bare rock. And the walls....

Anneliese held her breath, stepping deeper into the courtyard. The walls held a montage of flowing images: battles and beasts, the birth of a child carved indelibly into the rock. It must have taken years, she thought, to complete such a masterpiece.

“How many people live here?” she asked.

Sayer-Kihn gave a short laugh. “My people have no concept of numbers, no word for count."

Anneliese thought of the vendor arguing for more coins when Cade bought the stone teioid, of the woman whose eyes shone as she brought them coffee. “Some of you learn quickly enough."

She looked overhead. The ceiling was as black and impenetrable as a night sky. To the side, she saw the glow of another plateau, people upon a staircase of perhaps a hundred steps.

“Are you king to all of this?” she asked.

“I am chiliarch. The easiest translation would be protector."

He led her across the courtyard. People turned as she passed. They wore finely detailed jewelry: lizards upon their forearms, snakes about their waists. Their eyes glinted in the thin light.

A group of children approached. They giggled, goaded by each other's presence, seemingly in awe of the tall man. Sayer-Kihn addressed each in turn, laying his hand upon head or shoulder as they beamed up at him.

Anneliese stood back, feeling oddly embarrassed. Who were these Llaird, so feared by those in the city?

Sayer-Kihn knelt to hug the youngest child. Beyond him, Anneliese noticed a group of women staring at her with undisguised contempt. She shied away, drawing into herself, suddenly remembering Sivlow-Rakin's condemnation of her: I doubt your people will find merit in such a trade.

The children ran off and Sayer got to his feet.

Anneliese moved close. “It seems that not all would welcome me to your barrow."

“There has been dissension.” He nodded. “Even a chiliarch is not without detractors. But you wear my collar, you should be safe enough ... for now.” He threw a sidelong grin her way.

Anneliese pressed her lips tightly together, following him. They came to a cliff overlooking yet another plateau. The rock face was fraught with ropes and pulleys. As she watched, a man muscled up a basket of rocks, dumping them into a cart.

Sayer-Kihn raised his arm. “Look there."

Anneliese fought the dimness. Fifty feet below, she saw rows of tables, figures milling about. One had a familiar gait.

“Pilar!” she cried.

“He has a strong back, that one.” Sayer smiled.

“You have him working as a scullery slave!"

“I have him learning a trade! All must contribute, even a princess such as yourself.” His eyes bore into hers.

“I have said I will not serve you,” she said.

“If that is the case, you do yourself the disservice. Come. We go down."

Anneliese moved nearer the edge, balancing her hand upon the pulley housing, looking over. Lines of steps led away along either wall, listing unevenly and shrouded in shadow. She felt the blood drain from her face.

“I can't,” she stammered. “It's too far."

“Then, we shall take the ropes!"

In a single motion, Sayer swept her into his arms, plopping her into the empty pulley basket. Anneliese shrieked, clutching at the sides. The man with the cart laughed.

Grabbing the ropes, Sayer-Kihn launched them over the edge, straddling the wicker sides as the basket gained speed. The cliff became a blur. Anneliese felt her stomach rise, her heart race. Pain shot from her panicked grip.

Abruptly, the basket slowed, vibrating slightly, and jarring to a stop. Sayer leapt to the ground. Wrapping his broad hands about her waist, he lifted her from the basket.

Anneliese's knees trembled. She jabbed a finger into Sayer-Kihn's chest. “Don't ... you ... ever..."

He stopped her by resting his hands upon her arms. She looked up into his shadowed face, his golden alien eyes. He grinned, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

“You are safe with me,” he said.

CHAPTER 26

Deputy Master Abbas sat behind his polished desk. “Now, Mr. Thielman, what is this about?"

Mortar declined the offered chair. “Tell me, Deputy Abbas, am I correct in understanding that while my daughter's case is closed, the murder of the Security Master remains open?"

“Yes, and I've already expressed my regret...."

“Save your pity. I have some information for you. I've learned that Harmadeur was killed in the debtor's pens."

“That is classified. I can neither confirm nor deny."

“I know he was found in a cage,” Mortar continued, “lying bloodied on the floor with a knife wound to the gut. The gaoler may be happy to keep your secret. But did you think to question the dung hauler who helped load the body onto the wagon?"

The deputy's cheeks reddened, eyes shining like black points of light. “What has he to do...."

“He tidied the site before calling for you, wanting to do the Master one last service. And he found this draped all over the body.” Mortar dropped the braid of hair onto the desk. “My daughter killed Harmadeur-Fezzan-Gendarme."

“What?” The deputy stared, his voice falling. “She was in the pens, just as you said."

“Now tell me that my fears are ungrounded."

“Mr. Thielman, I offer you my sincerest apologies."

“Just find my daughter."

“I'll need a sample of the hair for DNA verification.” He lifted the braid. “What's this? Blood?"

“Possibly.” Mortar frowned at the ink-like smudge.

“Fantastic! An amazing turn of events! If this blood matches the Master's, it will prove both our cases."

“And if she is found guilty, what will happen to her?"

“Nothing, of course. She is a hotel patron. By their own law, she may murder whomever she pleases.” Abbas laughed aloud, activating his computer monitor. “I have your original report right here. We will interview your lift operator immediately."

“I'm more interested in how you will conduct your search."

“My men will scour the city. She shouldn't be hard to locate—a waif with short blond hair."

“True.” Mortar tugged his lip, leaning against the desk. “In fact, she should have been picked up by now. My daughter is not foolish. She would have approached someone for help."

“There are few friendly people in Enceinte."

“Then perhaps she left the city."

Abbas got to his feet, rounding the gleaming desk. “That would be most unfortunate for her. The Llaird rule the plains. We have more hope of finding her here."

“But if you extend your search...."

“And dilute our efforts? No, Mr. Thielman, we will concentrate on Enceinte. But first, I must gather formal testimony from each of your informants, then petition to reopen your daughter's case. I will keep you abreast of my progress."

For a moment, Mortar could only stare. “That's too slow. She's obviously in danger. You've said as much yourself."

“I will hasten as best I can.” Abbas opened the door.

Mortar scowled at the taste in his mouth. Pushing past Bano's bulk, he stormed out of the room.

Abbas stepped beside him, weaving between desks and bustling guards. “I must admit your investigative prowess is remarkable. Have you considered changing professions?"

Mortar snarled. “Understand me, Abbas. If my daughter dies because of your red tape...."

“If your daughter should die, it will not be my red tape which kills her.” Abbas looked up at a shackled prisoner. Sweeping his robe theatrically, he shifted into the local language. “Ah, Nemecek-Idej. You've led us quite a chase. Now you will see that casual murder will no longer be tolerated."

The man quailed. “It was self-defense. I have a witness! A boy-child in the alley."

“So you say."

“You find this boy! He will tell you."

Abbas waved his hand. “Take him away."

“You find this boy! An off-world child."

Mortar felt an icy grip upon his stomach. He stepped forward. “Off-world?"

The prisoner nodded emphatically. “He was dressed in a man's robe. I trailed him. The next day he went into the patron's saloon."

“The Gatesmouth,” Mortar whispered.

Deputy Abbas scoffed. “Walked right up to the door, did he?"

“No. He used the garbage lift,” the man said.

Mortar took hold of the deputy's arm. “I want his story verified."

“Mr. Thielman, this man is a murderer and an obvious liar."

“But the child he spoke of might be Anneliese,” Mortar said.

“If there were such a boy, he would have killed him by now.” Abbas turned. “Please, go back to your ship. I will contact you there."

Mortar flexed his fingers, watching Abbas walk away. The answer had been there all along: Anneliese couldn't speak the language—of course, she would go to the Gatesmouth, to the one person she knew spoke Standard. Surah.

CHAPTER 27

Speechless, head whirling, Anneliese followed Sayer-Kihn from the cliff. Hanging lanterns rimmed the plateau. Runes and cryptographs covered the walls, edging onto the floor. Long, stone tables surrounded a raised communal well.

Sayer said, “Give me your name so that I may present you."

Anneliese stumbled, glancing about. “Anneliese Thielman."

Nodding, Sayer-Kihn smiled as a young woman approached. She was stunning to look at, tall as any man. Red-black hair fell in waves to her waist. Anneliese fingered her own shorn tresses.

Sayer rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “Please meet Anneliese-Thielman, a stranger to our barrow. This is Myetrae-Ajiv, my daughter."

His daughter! Anneliese swayed beneath crushing disappointment. Sayer-Kihn was married. She looked at her feet, hiding her expression. What had she been thinking?

Musically, Myetrae said, “May you be welcome in our barrow."

Anneliese couldn't think how to answer, and turned thankfully toward a sudden ruckus.

“Miss Thielman! Miss Thielman!” Pilar ran toward her. Panting and grinning, he flung himself into her arms.

“I'm so glad to see you,” Anneliese told him. “I thought you might be hurt."

She smoothed his hair from his face. He wore the same metal band about his throat—Sayer's collar.

“I sleep well here,” Pilar said. “It is good to have a bed."

“Pilar-Shay,” Myetrae interrupted. “Have you finished stacking the tanza root? Then, that's where I think you should be."

Pilar leaned toward Anneliese conspiratorially. “When you want food, just tell me and I will bring some to you.” He scampered away between the rows of tables.

“He speaks fluently,” Sayer-Kihn said. “Perhaps he can teach the others."

“Not all would accept help from such as him,” Myetrae said.

Anneliese bristled. “What do you mean—such as him? He's a child. One of your own people. I can understand hating me—I'm an outsider. Why should you Llaird despise city dwellers?"

Solemnly, Sayer-Kihn faced her anger. He appeared saddened, as if this were an argument he'd lost many times before. “It is not who he is but what he represents—incest, debauchery, crimes not easy to forgive. His kind has chosen to align with the Resort, and the Resort mocks our morals, our beliefs. You spoke of us as slavers, but it is the Resort Debauch who is the true slave monger, keeping an entire population in bondage for the amusement of their tourist trade."

“Then the city dwellers are to be pitied,” Anneliese told him.

“So I have said. And so have others agreed. That is how this barrow has grown. But belief in principle is one thing, Anneliese-Thielman. For most, Pilar-Shay is the first mal-bred child they've seen."

A silence befell them. Anneliese glared at the chiliarch. How could she reconcile this man's words with his deeds?

“Now you've done it,” Myetrae said gently, “got him to speak on his favorite ire. He needs no goading in this respect."

Sayer-Kihn blinked as if a spell had been broken. He reached for his daughter's hand. “Wise one, I must attend an unfinished task. Will you see that our guest is fed?"

“And when we are through, should I return her to that hovel you call a home?” Myetrae asked.

“It only needs sweeping."

“Ente needs a good swat."

Chuckling, Sayer-Kihn cupped Myetrae's chin, kissing her cheek. Without a further glance at Anneliese, he strode off toward the stairway.

“My father is too tolerant.” Myetrae-Ajiv shook her head, watching him. “A servant is a servant, after all."

“How did he come to own Ente?"

“She was given to him by another barrow. Retribution for transgressions against us. Soon, I think, she will take a mate, and he will have lost the opportunity to teach her how to sweep."

Turning, Myetrae followed a wide aisle toward the center of the room. Tables stretched on either side, their tops even with the walkway as if they were part of the floor. Between them, chiseled trenches held seating cushions.

Myetrae chose a place and Anneliese slid in opposite her, sitting cross-legged. The tabletop was smooth, tinted golden by the lamplight, but the sides were rough and scored.

“Pilar-Shay,” the chiliarch's daughter called.

Pilar appeared almost instantly.

The young woman shook her head. “You must learn to keep one eye on the tables. You should not need to be called."

“I was stacking...."

“I know, but you can do two things at once. You are very smart."

Pilar beamed at his mistress.

“Please bring us mead and bread,” Myetrae-Ajiv ordered.

The boy nodded, hurrying away.

Anneliese smiled. “He seems to like it here."

“It is yet a game to him. He will tire of it soon enough. But, I like him—he is full of good humor and trust. Tell me, how is it you came to care for this boy?"

“A promise made to his sister. She gave her life for him."

Myetrae raised a brow. “I hadn't thought the city folk capable of noble deeds."

Anneliese turned at a gasping sound. Pilar struggled toward them between the rows of tables. He carried a large tray with a pitcher on top—the pitcher slid from side to side as he walked. Anneliese moved to help the child, but Myetrae held a restraining hand upon her arm. At last, Pilar placed the tray upon the table. Mead puddled about the pitcher, soaking the loaf of bread.

“You did that well this time,” Myetrae told him.

Pilar grinned then looked toward Anneliese for confirmation.

“Thank you, Pilar,” Anneliese said. “I am very hungry."

“I will watch if you need me.” The boy nodded solemnly and left.

Myetrae-Ajiv picked up the bread, shaking it free of the liquid, and broke it in half. Wisps of steam escaped the breach. The inside was laden with nuts.

Anneliese took several large bites before swallowing. “This is delicious."

“My mother's recipe,” Myetrae told her.

Anneliese washed the bread down with a gulp of mead, eyes downcast. “And does your mother work here with you?"

“My mother died when I was ten, killed during a raid upon Enceinte."

A widower! Anneliese concealed her reaction. “My mother also died when I was young."

Myetrae smiled. “Then, you know how exasperating fathers can be."

Anneliese laughed. She liked this woman, appreciated her frankness. “I am amazed at how well you speak Standard."

“Father once worked for a shipper who served the Resort. I think he's the only chiliarch who has ever been off world. He came back with stories of danger and friendship. Been speaking Standard to me since the day I was born.” She poured more mead from the stone vessel.

Anneliese ran her fingers over her ornate metal goblet. Who were these Llaird, she wondered, to make dinnerware of such beauty?

“I saw you when you came two days past,” Myetrae said. “You appear better rested."

“I am. I hope I have not stolen your bed."

“You sleep with Ente. I live with my husband."

Anneliese blurted, “You're married?"

“Almost a year.” Myetrae sipped from her goblet. “Most are married at thirteen. I was fourteen—not too bad. But I have a friend who is nearly sixteen and no prospects."

“I thought you were older...."

“Soon I will be with child,” Myetrae told her. “It is the custom of my people to not lie with their mates for the first year of marriage. My year is nearly done. It is a bit frightening...."

“Yes. It is,” Anneliese said.

“Are you married, Anneliese-Thielman?"

“Yes, but only for a short time."

“And, do you look forward to the day when you and your mate can lie as one?"

Anneliese gazed into the shadows. “I would rather murder him,” she said.

* * * *

Silence greeted her has she entered Sayer-Kihn's home. Anneliese stepped around the malpais statue as if she would wake it. In the great room, she found the book overturned where Ente had dropped it, and she picked it up carefully, running her fingers over the strange, indented letters. The pages were flexible but thick. Etchings lay beneath the text as if tattooed.

A shelf lined the wall before her, a meager library, and she returned the book to its place. Trinkets interspersed the volumes—the figure of a man fashioned out of metal wire, a bale of some fragrant twig. Then she saw an egg-shaped piece of malpais. She brought it down.

The stone glowed in her hand like compressed fire, its surface polished to a high sheen. Anneliese thought of the stone teioid she'd worn proudly about her neck, thought of Surah telling her she would give her left eye for a nugget of real malpais. How much would she pay for this fiery egg—or the statue in the antechamber?

She returned the keepsake to the shelf and, in doing so, brushed against the glowing urn. She jumped back, expecting it to be hot, but it was not—the coals gave off light but very little heat. Leaning over the container, she noticed a faint sulfurous odor. A chemical reaction, she thought. Then her eyes lifted to the wall hanging above the urn.

Golden threads underscored the tapestry, glinting like jewels within the darker weave. It depicted a man standing beneath a blazing sun, one hand empty, palm outstretched, and the other clenched about a bevy of lightning bolts. The workmanship was flawless, the quality of the weave rivaling any she'd seen—certainly not what she expected to find from a band of cave dwellers.

Circling about the pillowed crib, she noticed one of the tapestries hid the entrance to another room. She pulled the drape aside, allowing a shaft of light to fall upon a rumpled blanket, a wicker chest.

A bedroom, she realized, perhaps Sayer-Kihn's own. Turning back to the crib, she wrestled out a large cushion, using it to hold the tapestry open. Then, glancing once over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

The room was small and rather cramped. Bare rock formed the walls. In the corner, a footed clothes tree held several robes. She straightened one, and then smiled—they carried his scent. Who was this king who dressed as a beggar? Children appeared to be in awe of him. Was he a hero, some religious figure?

It was of no consequence to her, of course, for as soon as she found an opportunity, she would escape. Somehow, she had to get word off this planet. Sayer-Kihn meant nothing to her.

Anneliese crossed the room. A sandal lay upon the chest—no mate—and the leather thong Sayer used to tie back his hair. Beside the bed, a shelf held a line of delicate bottles. She cradled one, gently lifting the stopper. Yes, that was the oil he used. And those two stones—might they be to smooth away his beard? She thought of his angular, high-planed face.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat.

Anneliese spun about. “I wasn't...” she said, and then stilled her tongue.

Sayer-Kihn stood in the doorway. The light of the great room flared behind him. Shadow veiled his expression.

Anneliese bit her lip, quelling the impulse to stamp her foot to hide her embarrassment. She twisted the bottle in her hands. “Forgive me. I meant no harm."

“I see.” Amusement played in his voice. He cupped her fingers with his own, stilling them, returning the bottle to the shelf. “I suppose the blame is partially mine. After all, I knew you were female when I left you here alone."

“Perhaps. But you were right about one thing.” She held out her arm. “It needs sweeping."

The chiliarch laughed, a rich hardy sound. Relief washed Anneliese in a warm rush. At that moment, she wanted to learn all she could about Sayer-Kihn, to spend the rest of her life talking with him.

“I was about to take a walk about the pavilion,” he said. “If you were to come with me, you might keep out of trouble."

“Sadly, trouble always knows where to find me."

“I'll take that chance,” he said.

Anneliese smiled.

But Ente appeared in the doorway. She spoke in a clipped, agitated fashion, as if delivering news she found distasteful to speak. Sayer prodded her with questions. He shook his head.

Anneliese glanced back and forth between them, wishing she could understand their strange discourse. Kihn's shoulders straightened as if he were stepping into another persona. Moving to the clothes tree, he chose a robe, garbing himself.

Ente entered the bedroom. Shadows shifted from the lantern in her hand. Kneeling, she brushed the mate-less sandal from the top of the chest and unlatched the hinged lid. Anneliese leaned, peering inside. The trunk held neatly folded garments. Ente took out a sash and, holding it almost reverently, carried it to the waiting chiliarch.

She loves him, Anneliese realized, watching the servant's face as she draped the sacrament about Sayer-Kihn's neck. Sayer smiled gently, and Anneliese looked away in embarrassment.

Why should she care? she chided herself. Kihn was an abductor, a slaver, a Llaird. All that should matter was how she would escape.

Sayer-Kihn lifted the lantern. “I'm afraid our stroll will have to wait. My presence is needed elsewhere."

“No matter.” Anneliese brushed past him in the doorway.

His hand fell upon her arm. “Would you accompany me?"

Anneliese winced against the flutter of her heart. “I really don't think...."

“The fresh air might do you good. And you can tell me about these troubles which have befallen you."

Her ears perked. Was he going to the surface? “I'd love to come along."

CHAPTER 28

Mortar Thielman sank onto a richly upholstered chair in the den of his orbiting yacht. The holographic walls gave the appearance of a great library with cases of disks and windows of sunlight—but he changed the view to a water scene, thinking of Anneliese.

Duncan set a steaming cup beside him. “Would you like dinner now, sir?"

“Something light,” Mortar told him. “I don't have much of an appetite."

“A bowl of soup then.” Hurriedly, the manservant left the room.

Mortar smiled, shaking his head. Soup, he thought, Duncan's all-purpose cure. But there was no potion for sickness of the spirit. How could he go on?

Sitting up, he struggled with his thoughts. Surah was obviously behind the conspiracy—it was too coincidental that she was on the planet. Yet, harboring a grudge against him for twenty years seemed unlikely, even for her. It nagged at him, as if a puzzle piece were missing, some part of the mystery he'd failed to grasp.

And what had the Llaird to do with his daughter? Was their terrorist attack also a coincidence?

A blinking light on his computer caught his attention, and he touched the monitor in acknowledgment.

The ship captain's face appeared in the corner of the screen. “Transmission coming in for you, sir."

He sighed then turned heavily. “Thank you, Eryngo. Pipe it down here, please."

On the wall behind him, the water scene blanked. Call letters flashed, and then a face grew from a haze of light.

Mortar's stomach soured. “Hello, Gordon.” Advisor. Confidant. Had he betrayed him also?

Gordon Rathbone frowned. “You look tired."

Mortar groaned, rubbing his face.

Gordon said, “I can have the doctor there in...."

“Gordon, why are you calling?"

A smile creased the older man's face. “The Blue Gills have located Cade."

Mortar sat upright. “Is my daughter with him?"

“No. He'd had a companion, but apparently he tired of her, dumped her on Lantonian's moon."

Anneliese isn't with Cade. Mortar winced, surprised at the depth of his secret hope. He said, “Will this companion of his live?"

Gordon shrugged. “Frostbite, nothing more. She's not a good witness, Mortar, just a lead."

Damn you, Mortar thought, always knowing what I'm thinking. “All right, have him picked up. But don't let him know I'm behind it."

“I'm afraid it's too late for that. Cade caught wind of your interest in him and took off toward the Belt."

“Those blundering fools!” Mortar stood suddenly, knocking the cup to the floor. “They're paid to be discreet."

“I don't think it was the Gills who tipped him,” Gordon said. “You've been asking a lot of questions yourself. And people love to talk."

“None more so than a mother to her son.” Mortar narrowed his eyes at Gordon's blank expression. “I had occasion to meet Cade's mother. Did you know she lives here? Perhaps you've heard of her. Surah Rudnitsky."

Gordon's gaze flickered and he lowered his head. “Then you know."

“Quite frankly, I'm not sure what I know. Your competence is beyond reproach. I know you would not have overlooked so pertinent a fact. All that remains is that you deliberately withheld information."

“You doubt my loyalty?” Gordon's face drained of color. “My judgment may have waned, but never my friendship."

“Then you deny your involvement in this machination?"

“Yes I deny it! Better you should ask Harmadeur."

“Harmadeur's dead,” Mortar told him.

“That is most unfortunate.” Gordon blinked. “Disturbing, actually."

“What are you talking about?"

“Cade owed him money. A great deal of money. I theorized that Cade wanted Anneliese's wealth to...” Gordon's voice trailed.

Mortar glared at the viewscreen. “Well, he's paid in full now."

“Something doesn't fit. I don't believe in coincidence."

“Neither do I.” Mortar sat on the chair, burying his face in his hands. “Damn you, Gordon. Why didn't you tell me about Surah?"

“A series of mistakes, I'm afraid. I had no cause to investigate Cade until he started making unusual requests. By the time I cut through his aliases and traced his heritage, he had already left with Anneliese."

“And you decided not to mention this?"

“I convinced myself Surah had nothing to do with it. Then when the news came of Anneliese's death, I was convinced she had.” Gordon leaned forward, his image swimming. “I would have gone to you then, almost did once or twice. Then new information turned up."

Mortar looked up. “Yes?"

“A while ago, Surah was negotiating a contract in taconite ore. Cade stole the coordinates and sold the whole load out from under her. They've barely spoken in three years, certainly not often enough to conspire against you and Anneliese."

“A difficult child.” Mortar smiled to himself. Yet Surah was hiding something, he was certain of it. “And what were these unusual requests of his which so alarmed you?"

“Explosives. He wanted huge quantities of tetryl jelly. I put him in touch with our regular people."

Mortar leapt to his feet. “That's it! The piece I've been missing! There had been no terrorist attack. Cade set the explosion."

“But, why? To cover Anneliese's abduction?"

“He staged her death.” Mortar nodded. “I want you to get a statement from whomever sold him the tetryl. And make it legal—we want it to hold up under an investigation. Then put a tracer on Cade. Don't alarm him, just keep me informed of his movements. Maybe if he thinks I've lost track of him, he'll make another mistake."

“Are you going to the local authorities about the explosion?” Gordon asked.

Mortar scowled. “First I have a few questions to ask Surah."

CHAPTER 29

In her mind, Anneliese marked the tunnel. The light of the lantern danced upon the ceiling. Kihn's men walked with them, one ahead, one behind—but whether they were bodyguards or chaperons, she couldn't tell.

“What has happened on the surface which requires a chiliarch?” she asked Sayer-Kihn.

“There has been a dispute. The herd tender claims a man murdered one of his yllib for food."

Anneliese's heart leapt. “You mean we are still near the riverbed?” Perhaps she could rejoin her journey.

Sayer-Kihn glanced askance. “How do you know there was once a river?"

“I could see it, picture it somehow."

“You are a special woman, Anneliese-Thielman. When I saw you that day in the spaceport, I thought you were like a fragile bird, pale and delicate, struggling against her captors. There are very few birds left on my planet. Why did you cut your hair?"

“At the time, I had little choice,” she said.

“Ah. The trouble of which you spoke. The bird winging toward freedom."

Anneliese flicked her gaze to the side. Lamplight outlined Sayer's profile. His cheekbones accented the length of his face, the strength of his jaw.

She said, “In the city, anyone of importance has at least three names. Yet, you have only two."

Nodding, Sayer-Kihn took a breath. “The more one possesses, the more names they are given. Here in the barrows, possessions are debts because you are responsible for them. As chiliarch, I own very little.” He smiled. “If I had but one name, I would be truly rich."

“Such concepts are unheard of on my world,” she said.

“Where are you from?"

Anneliese looked away, wishing she hadn't spoken. How could she tell him she was raised on a moon that was owned by her father, a planetoid referred to as Mortar's Keep. “Light-years from here,” she murmured.

“Do you have birds and rivers on your world?"

“Oh, yes! It is high country, lush with forests, and rivers race themselves through the trees. They cascade from cliffs one hundred feet high. That is what I miss the most, I think—diving with the waterfalls."

Sayer grew silent, watching her, and Anneliese cleared her throat.

“Have you always wanted to be a chiliarch?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No one aspires to be such."

The floor sloped upward dramatically. The tunnel brightened, rumbling with voices. Anneliese raised her chin, stretching to see about the man before her. Ahead, people filled a cavern. They parted for their chiliarch. Two men stood on opposite sides of the cave, men holding them apart, the carcass of a young yllib between them.

Anneliese ran her eyes over the crowd, dark men and tall women, their voices checked as if caught in mid-cry. In this melee, she thought, she could slip from the cave and be halfway to the city before anyone missed her.

Then one of Sayer's men moved nearer her side. The other circled along the wall; after a moment, she saw him, a shadow against daylight at the entrance of the cave. As if they'd read her thoughts.

Sayer-Kihn stepped into the center of the crowd. He looked toward the restrained men, touching each as he greeted them, then turned his attention to the yllib. Slowly, his expression fell into one of such sadness, Anneliese thought it must be feigned.

One of the combatants spoke and the other responded angrily, struggling against those who bound him; but Sayer's voice rose over the scuffle. He commanded the two be set free and, as their arms dropped, they made no further attempt to reach each other.

Sayer looked up then, his eyes gathering his people. He spoke in low deliberate tones. Anneliese felt tension in the air, felt the crowd lean as one, reaching for each word, and again she wished she could understand their language.

For his voice was like a lapping wave, its rhythm lulling, belying its depth; and as it rose in intensity, she felt a shiver course through her. She could listen forever.

The men in dispute lowered their heads, Kihn's litany affecting them. Others in the crowd clasped hands or embraced. Tears fell unabashed. Sayer-Kihn's voice resonated within the cavern, swelling as if it would break down the walls, and when at last it stopped, the absence echoed.

For several moments, no one disturbed the silence; then the aggrieved men stepped together, speaking quietly. One of the men knelt beside the animal, stroking the shaggy wool and humming a mantra. Then he lifted the carcass to his shoulders, making his way toward the tunnel.

Anneliese stepped aside to allow him to pass. She kept her eyes upon Sayer-Kihn. People filed passed him, faces averted as if ashamed. The chiliarch himself appeared drained. His man stood at his back, watching the crowd.

Protecting him, she realized, and felt foolish that she'd thought they guarded against her escape. When the last of the Llaird had left, she stepped forward.

“So, you are a mediator,” she said.

“My people choose their own path. It is not for me to tell them what to do. I am chiliarch. I protect the old ways, preserve the wisdom of our forebears.” He smiled sidelong. “In short, I tell them stories."

Turning, he moved to the entrance of the cave. Anneliese followed him outside and felt instantly crushed. Nothing looked familiar.

The cave mouth opened ten feet from the ground. A narrow path led down the rock side. The landscape fell in cliffs and bluffs.

Sayer-Kihn breathed deeply. “The fresh air I promised you."

“But where is the Trader City?” Anneliese blurted.

He chuckled. “It lies in that direction, two night's walk along the path of the moons. Who waits for you there, that you should so desire the company of smugglers?"

“Is that what they are?"

“They sell to the Resort and, when it is not looking, they steal from it also. I am amazed that those in power should allow such a game to continue."

Anneliese shrugged. “It's good for business.” She looked toward the barely risen sun, imagining cityscapes upon the horizon.

Sayer sat upon a ledge, leaning back wearily. “Once I tried to recruit the smugglers to my cause against the Resort. I sought their help in disrupting the supply shipments. But I found them more afraid of repercussions from within than of all the laws the peace-givers could muster."

“I thought your kind knew only violence,” Anneliese said.

“My counterparts are short-sighted. They think freedom will be won with steel knives and stone clubs."

“You can't fight businessmen with warriors.” Anneliese sat beside him. “The only way to attack the Resort is through their profits."

“So I have expounded, and so I have despaired, for we have nothing to rival them.” He looked at her. “You did not answer before. Who waits for you in the city?"

“No one!” she snapped. “Do you long to hear me say it? No one—anywhere—waits for me!"

“Then why do you go there?"

“To find a way off this accursed planet."

“I see. Still, this accursed planet has given you something others have not—freedom from those who would oppress you."

Anneliese stiffened. Cade's face came to mind, replaced by that of her father. “What do you know of it? What do you know of anything?"

“Of you, I know very little. And yet, somehow, I think I do. Strange, this connection between us."

Anneliese's senses reeled. Did he know of her attraction to him? “There is no connection,” she whispered. “I am not what you think I am. I'm not your fragile bird."

“You are strong of will and gentle of spirit. Even Pilar-Shay trusts you."

“But, he doesn't know. I've done things. Horrible things.” She held out her hands as if they still dripped Harmadeur's blood.

“And would you not do so again?"

Unshed tears stung Anneliese's face.

Sayer smiled gently. “Perhaps it is time for one of my stories.” He closed his eyes a moment, as if tapping into an inner well, then continued speaking in a low, clear voice. “Once there was a young man who believed all the usual things about love and justice and war. He lived on a world where the most valued commodity was water, for it was very scarce and without it, none could live.

“Then, one day, this young man had occasion to leave his home and travel among the stars. He saw all manner of miracles, marvels his limited imagination could barely fathom; but what interested him most was a laser-sighted divining rod, for here was a device which could truly save his people."

Anneliese hugged her arms together, losing herself in his words. The vista before her faded, until she saw only what he pictured for her, knew only his story as it slowly unfolded.

“So the man gathered what earnings he could, and by the time his travels brought him home again, he had obtained a rod of his own. Look what I have brought! he cried to his people. No more will we be bridled by thirst and starvation.

“But his people had little knowledge of technology and would not believe what they couldn't understand. How does it work? they questioned, and the man, not truly understanding the device himself, told them that invisible light, like lightning bolts, would shoot from his hand.

“Then he took them to a cave on the outskirts of the barrow, pointed the device, and told them where to dig. That day, a mighty well sprang from the wall of the cave, and no one would believe it was the hand of technology, not his hand, which had made it possible."

Anneliese frowned, waking reluctantly. Yllib scaled the rocks before her. With a whir of wings, a small bird took to the air, rising through bands of sunlight.

“I don't understand the moral of your tale,” she said.

Sayer laughed. “Morals are for people, not stories. But if you were to assign meaning, it might be this: we all follow the paths laid out for us. Only the timid fail their destiny. And you, Anneliese-Thielman, are far from timid."

Anneliese looked toward the morning-shaded horizon. The land was beautiful, she thought. “What became of the man in your story?"

Sayer-Kihn got to his feet. “They made him chiliarch."

They walked in silence as they followed the tunnel back to the barrow. Anneliese thought of Sayer-Kihn's openness, his easy acceptance of her. She remembered her father's reaction when she told him she planned to marry Cade, then laughed to herself, imagining his response if she brought home a barbarous cave dweller.

The barrow's golden light met her eyes like a balm, the scents and aroma's somehow comforting: sweat and food, the odor of the glowing urns, all formed a mélange which spoke of a home. She paused at the mouth of the tunnel, overlooking the courtyard. People passed in groups, families moving toward the plateau below—mothers with babes upon their shoulders, fathers with children in tow.

Suppertime, Anneliese thought. She looked toward Myetrae's eatery. The aroma of food caused her stomach to rumble.

Smiling, the chiliarch spoke with his men, clasping each on the shoulder. A woman interrupted their leave-taking. Tall and angular, she stood with hands upon her hips, her words clipped and rising in pitch. She motioned toward a knot of people standing a short distance away.

Anneliese thought that two of the people were not of Sayer's barrow—too heavy of build, too light of color. She wondered if they were from the first barrow, coming to take her back.

But Sayer-Kihn's eyes met hers calmly. “Please wait. I'll be but a moment.” He approached the group, a guard at his side.

Anneliese glanced toward the man still standing beside her. She rocked back on her heels, and then wrapped her arms about her chest. She watched the people passing, watched their eyes dart away from hers as they herded their children.

But one little girl moved at her own pace, oblivious to the beckoning of her parents. She recited a singsong rhyme, bouncing a ball every third step, then spinning about before catching it.

Anneliese smiled. She remembered playing similar games, waiting outside the Great Hall while her father conducted his audiences; and she wondered if this girl felt as lonely as she'd felt then.

The ball flew and bounced, abruptly hopping from the girl's fingers, skittering away across the stone floor. Anneliese moved to retrieve it.

A hand clamped onto her arm. “Rafa-Ja, you will not defile us further.” The guard hissed in her ear.

Anneliese cried out in pain and alarm. “I only meant to help."

“Do not."

She looked up into the man's face. His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated like an animal about to attack. Anneliese's mouth opened, but she could not think of how to respond.

Sayer-Kihn's voice unlocked their gaze. “Thank you, Wathe-Taln, but you need not ward her. I am certain no one here wishes to harm our guest."

Taln released his grip. “Of course,” he said, and bowing slightly, walked away.

Anneliese rubbed her arm. She avoided looking at Sayer-Kihn, still seeing the guard's face. “He spoke Standard,” she said.

“He is my trusted companion,” Sayer said as if in answer. “He protects my interests as well as myself. Did he frighten you?"

“No. Not really.” She looked toward the dispersing visitors. “Another dispute?"

“The tourists find sport in scattering the yllib, flying at night in unlighted craft. We find them, sometimes, fallen among the rocks, their corpses drawn and dried."

“Mummified.” Anneliese pictured the effect the harsh weather would have upon a dead body.

“Yes. Well, another has been located several days from here. Sivlow-Rakin views this as an affront.” He motioned toward the steps leading to the upper plateau. “Can you climb?"

“Where are we going?"

“The healer asks to redress your wound. I promised to bring you."

Anneliese stared at the uneven stairs. “I'm fine. Really."

“Surely those who race waterfalls are not afraid of heights."

“It's the darkness. I can't see...."

“Then I shall assist you."

Sayer-Kihn held out his hand, and Anneliese took it in her own. His fingers were callused. His palm was dry and warm. The scent of his skin ensorcelled her.

Together, they crossed the underground plateau. Anneliese felt eyes upon her. She straightened her shoulders, keeping her gaze ahead.

Hewn from the sloping walls, the stairs listed haphazardly, denouncing the care and artistry of the runes overhead. Anneliese shuddered, noticing patch marks upon the steps.

Sayer-Kihn moved to the outside, positioning her along the wall as they climbed. “You are quite safe."

“Yes. I'm sure of it."

“Have you noticed the walls? They depict many aspects of our history and legend.” He motioned with his chin, keeping a tight hold on her hand. “That one shows Nekkar, the God of Reason, who threw down the stars to seed our world. And there is the birth of Shesula, our greatest prophet."

Traffic thickened, most going the other way. Shadows obscured the rock. Anneliese stumbled, and Sayer lifted his lantern. He did not make a show of it, merely held out his hand as if pointing at the walls.

Saving my pride. Anneliese smiled. She looked up at the walls. “I've noticed many animals among your pictographs."

“It is said our spirits are descended of the beasts. That explains the demise of such creatures on our world. But it does not account for our own dwindled numbers."

“You sound like you disagree with the teachings of your prophets."

“Such teachings can be colored by the storytellers, despite our best intentions. We are, after all, merely men."

“Are all chiliarchs male?"

“Yes, and our prophets are female. It is not intentional, only the way it is. Tell me, how did you recognize the statue in my parlor?"

“Jefe-Naik? I've seen the image before. Is she important to you?"

“She is either salvation or nemesis, lover or fiend. The prophecy claims she will return.” He released her hand. “There, you have safely reached the top."

Anneliese took the final steps on her own. Her muscles ached, her legs cramping as she straightened them. She looked back over the edge. “I can't imagine going down again."

“You must.” The chiliarch grinned. “There are no baskets on this level."

With long strides, he led across the barrow's upper tier. Anneliese thought the area looked older, the carved walls less distinct. People stood in groups—neighbors conversing. Their eyes followed Anneliese, but their expressions were not unkind.

Anneliese thought of Wathe-Taln's face, felt the bruise his grip left upon her arm. She cleared her throat. “What does Rafa-Ja mean?"

Kihn shot a glance her way. “It is an old word, a malediction referring to a woman who uses her wiles for personal gain."

“A prostitute?"

“More like a temptress. Where did you hear such?"

Anneliese frowned, looking inward. “Nowhere. I must have misunderstood."

Ahead, a man sat upon a mat before a chiseled doorway. Anneliese stared at his thinning hair, his weathered face, and realized he was the first elderly person she'd seen in the barrow.

Sayer said, “Anneliese-Thielman, this is Jayram-Makail, our healer. You were not awake when last you met."

Anneliese smiled. “Thank you for helping me."

The man nodded, looking her up and down. His mouth was creased and down turned, but his eyes glittered with mischief. He spoke in his guttural tongue.

Sayer-Kihn chuckled. “The healer wonders if you have any agonies."

“I'll let him know if I should feel any."

“You will have to disrobe if he is to examine your shoulder,” Sayer said. “If you wish, we shall wait here until you are ready."

She nodded. “That will be fine."

Ducking through the doorway, Anneliese entered the brightly lit room. She smiled at the apparent disarray. Narrow shelves covered the walls, stacked with books and crockery pots. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, and in the corner, a large urn glowed.

She moved nearer the urn. Again she felt no heat; the coals blazed without fire or smoke. In the center of the container, several knives were sunk to their hilts, and she marveled that they might be medical tools.

“You may wrap yourself in the sheet upon the table,” Sayer called.

She spun toward the empty doorway, and then laughed. “I thought you weren't going to peek."

“Then, don't dally."

Smiling to herself, she stepped toward the table. A flowing material draped it from top to bottom. She fingered the silky weave—the sheet felt warm.

Struggling, she pulled her tunic over her head. Her shoulder flared with pain, the dull ache fanned by her movements. She tugged at a corner of the sheet, wrapping it about her body. Her eyes widened as she saw the table. She gasped aloud.

Instantly, the chiliarch filled the doorway. “What is it? Are you ill?"

For a moment, she only stared at him. “The table. My God! It's made of malpais."

He stepped inside, his head cocked in confusion. “A common stone. The healer uses it because it holds the warmth of the room, comforts his patients as they lie upon it."

“It's exquisite. I've never seen...."

But she had seen a similar table—at the banquet room in the Resort. A barrage of images assaulted her—Cade's smile, the women dancing, Harmadeur's face, his eyes heavy upon her. Anneliese staggered, catching herself upon the edge of the tabletop.

Sayer-Kihn slipped his arm about her. “I am sorry. I should not have forced you to climb the steps."

“It isn't that. It's just...."

She leaned her cheek upon his chest. The heat of his flesh engulfed her. She heard the quickness of his breath, the pulse of his blood, and something within her stirred in answer.

“Just what?” he whispered near her ear. His fingers cupped her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his own.

And from a distance, she heard herself say, “Sayer, please help me. I need to go home."

His eyes flickered, as if her words had stung. Thoughts crossed his face like shadows. Without moving, he pulled himself away.

“When the healer has pronounced you well,” he said, “I will take you to the city myself."

CHAPTER 30

Mortar Thielman stood upon the landing of the Gatesmouth Saloon. The lounge was busy, he thought. Mainly gamblers—if one thing could be counted upon, it was a gambler's patronage. Surah did a smart business, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to dismantle it.

Crossing the room, he approached a young man standing behind the bar.

The man continued polishing the countertop and did not look up. “What can I get for you?"

Mortar settled upon a stool. “Is Surah around?"

“She's not available. Can I help you with something?"

“Maybe. I'm looking for her daughter-in-law. I understand she was here recently. A petite girl. Bad haircut."

The man glanced to either side. “I'm not sure I...."

“Perhaps this will jog your memory.” Mortar stacked five coins upon the counter.

The polishing cloth slowed. Mortar watched the young man's face, could almost see the thoughts warring in his mind. He placed another coin upon the bar.

Behind him, a warning voice called out, “Erit!” A heavy-set local man leaned against Mortar's arm. “What's the problem here?"

Mortar smiled. “I'm looking for Surah."

The intruder's eyes met his, the yellow gaze unwavering, and Mortar had the impression of being assessed. Bossman, Mortar thought, not used to being challenged.

Finally, the man looked away. “Come with me,” he said.

Mortar pocketed his coins, hurrying after the larger man. They entered an adjoining passage. Noise dampened immediately—a property peculiar to the rock, Mortar knew, and again wished he'd found some way to market it.

The passage twisted, forming a maze. The bossman took them deeper. A prickle of alarm danced along Mortar's neck. He glanced behind to make certain that Bano was still following.

At last, they halted before an alcove. The door opened and Surah peered out. Her face feigned pleasant surprise at seeing him, but her eyes were unchanged and Mortar realized he'd been expected.

“Come in,” Surah said. “We've got some catching up to do. Thank you, Pol, that will be all."

The man hesitated, and Mortar thought he might be more than just a boss. He entered the apartment, and Surah closed the door in Pol's face.

“Is this a business call?” she asked. “Or should I change into something more comfortable?"

“Don't trouble yourself. I won't be staying long."

“Sorry to hear it.” She sat at a small table.

Mortar glanced about the cramped room. Boxes and crates obscured most of the furniture. “Your base of operations?” he asked.

She spread her hands. “This is my empire. All I have left after...."

Mortar scowled. “You got your money back. I even offered to throw some business your way."

“I didn't want your cast-off dregs! I wanted to be with you!"

He glared at her a moment then shook his head. “We never could work together."

“True. There was always heat between us—of one sort or another. Sit down. I promise not to bite."

But Mortar remained standing. “I came to offer you a final chance to tell your side of the story."

Surah laughed. “And which story is that?"

He leaned toward her across the table. “I know you've been in contact with your son. You warned him. He has something to do with Anneliese's disappearance, doesn't he? And with Harmadeur."

“That's absurd. Why would he kill the Security Master?"

“An interesting reaction, Surah. Harmadeur's death isn't public knowledge yet. Tell me, exactly how much did Cade owe?"

She hesitated. “Too much. The kind of debt that went on long after the financial burden was disbursed."

“Of course.” Mortar turned away angrily, one hand jammed in his hair.

Surah got to her feet. “But don't you see? Cade wouldn't have solved anything by having Harmadeur killed—his operatives would have continued the blackmail."

“If that were true, then he'd likewise have nothing to gain by extortion. So what is the real reason he married my daughter?” Mortar moved around the table, eyes locked upon hers. “You poisoned him against me, didn't you. Raised him on a diet of self-pity and gall."

“You're mad. A grieving father."

“My daughter isn't dead."

Surah flinched visibly. Mortar could see the doubt in her face, questions she wanted to ask but was afraid of giving herself away.

“Surah, what have you done?” he asked.

“Me? I've done nothing."

“Sources tell me she came back here for help."

“Your sources are wrong!” She looked up defiantly. “What are you saying? Do you think I had something to do with this?"

“I think you are as you were then—a vicious and spiteful woman."

“Vicious am I?” Her eyes flared. “Because I dare speak out when I am wronged? Spiteful because I was never able to recoup from a loss? I put my life on hold to raise a son I never wanted! And all the while you lavished gifts upon your whore's daughter...."

Mortar backhanded her across the face. Surah fell against a cabinet behind her then clung to it for balance. She wiped her mouth, laughing at a streak of blood.

“Do you realize how much alike you are, even with Cade being raised apart?” she asked.

“He's not my son, Surah."

“No,” she said. “But he should have been."

Turning, Mortar fled the room. The woman was insane, obsessed with their brief affair! How could he gain information from her? He followed the twisting tunnels, his bodyguard close behind.

At least she knows now that Anneliese is alive. Let her feed her bastard son that tidbit.

He scowled at the shadows, his ire taking him deeper into the ill-lit labyrinth. Gradually, he realized he'd lost his way. A light shone ahead—he caught a faint smell of garbage. The kitchen, he thought.

But as he turned the corner, he saw a dumbwaiter. He remembered the accused murderer in the security office claiming to have tracked a boy to the saloon—his daughter, dressed in Harmadeur's robe. No doubt, the man would have killed her if he'd had the chance. Murderers don't look kindly upon witnesses. But, she'd escaped him through here.

Mortar gazed up the shadowed ceiling. The dumbwaiter was at the surface. He signaled for its return then rode the lift up the shaft. It stopped in a shed lit only by starlight.

The air reeked of garbage. Mortar stepped out onto a rocky path, glancing toward the dump. A man stood nearby, emptying a wheelbarrow.

Mortar called to him in the local language, “You! Wait there! I wish to speak with you."

The man spun about, his face hidden by night. Even in the darkness, Mortar could see he was deformed, his stance ungainly, one arm hanging low.

“Don't be alarmed,” Mortar said more forcibly than he'd intended. “I want to know about a child seen around here, an off-worlder who spoke only Standard. You know this child. She went down your dumbwaiter."

The deformed man appeared to stiffen. Mortar stepped closer, shoulders straight, eyes narrowed.

Incredibly, the man began to weep. “Don't ask me such. It means my life if I tell you."

“It will mean your life if you don't."

The man looked up at the stars, his face drawn in anguish. He said, “Salvation comes in many guises. So too, the curse of the blind. Have I grown so weary I do not recognize, do not see?"

And Mortar realized he did not need to prod—this man wanted to tell him.

Leaning against the edge of his wheelbarrow, the kitchen worker wiped his eyes. He sighed heavily, as if he'd carried a burden too long. “It is a woman-child you seek. So frightened and helpless. She came here looking for help. For help. Ah, but the city is cruel to such as us, and none more so than the mistress and her husband."

“Where's the child now?"

“Gone.” He sniffed loudly. “They sold her to a malpais scavenger."

Mortar gasped. She was no longer in the city!

“Which one?” He shook the man's shoulders. “Tell me which mehtar."

“I know not.” The man wept. “I learned of it too late."

Mortar could only stare. An icy rage crept up his stomach. Surah sold his daughter to scavengers. After all these years, she'd finally made good on her threats. He would kill her slowly, break her piece by piece, let her taste some of the suffering she'd fed to those he loved.

But that wouldn't save Anneliese.

He grimaced at the darkness. His daughter was out there. She might die in the desert, her body never found. Or be captured by the Llaird.

Panic seized him. How would he find her now? There were dozens of mehtars scattered about the city!

But only one gate, he thought. And eventually every scavenger passed beneath its arch.

CHAPTER 31

Anneliese lay upon her crib of cushions, listening to the sounds of the barrow awakening. Voices drifted to her: a child's laughter, an infant's cry, men in low conversation as they crossed the courtyard.

She wondered if Sayer-Kihn was among them. He'd acted so reticent these past days since she'd asked for help in getting home. Well, what had he expected—that she would beg to go to bed with him?

Moaning, she covered her face with a pillow, and then jumped at the touch of fingers upon her arm.

“Myetrae!” Anneliese cried.

“Forgive me. Are you ill?” the young woman asked.

Anneliese buried her hands in her hair. “Yes,” she said.

Myetrae-Ajiv sat upon the edge of the crib. “Crisis falls upon our barrow. Speakers have been called to the Chambers. All must attend."

“Even me?"

The young woman nodded solemnly. “I've planned a bath. Perhaps you'll come with me? I have fresh robes."

A bath! Anneliese brightened. “That sounds delightful."

She followed the chiliarch's daughter through a maze of tunnels. The air grew increasingly warm. There came a strange taint—moisture, she thought, licking her lips. She could taste the humidity.

From the darkness ahead came muffled voices, the steady drip of water.

Myetrae turned down her lantern until it was a mere gleam. “Take care with your footing. The rock is slick."

They were passing doorways, Anneliese realized. Were these the bathing places? She caught a glimpse of a naked woman and determined to keep her eyes focused ahead.

“Here,” said Myetrae, entering a niche. “This one is vacant."

Anneliese breathed deeply of the steamy air, her skin drinking in the moisture. Hesitantly, she stepped inside. Water flowed from a breach in the wall like a spigot left on full. It filled a large, shallow basin, spilling over the rim, draining into a cistern before it reached the floor.

Myetrae removed several bottles from a satchel. She unsheathed the knife from across her breasts. Draping her long hair over one shoulder, she tugged at the laces of her jerkin.

Anneliese cried, “You're getting undressed?"

Her companion shrugged. “It is the custom of my people to remove their clothing before bathing. But if you wish to remain in your tunic...."

Anneliese felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “I know, but...” she stammered, glancing about and motioning toward the door. Then she saw the glint of amusement in Myetrae's eyes.

“Our privacy is assured, Anneliese-Thielman. Come. Nothing repairs the spirit like a good scrubbing."

For a moment, Anneliese averted her gaze. Abruptly, she pulled the tunic over her head, tossing it onto the floor. Myetrae sat upon the edge of the basin, allowing the cascading water to pour around her legs. She coated a porous rock with a thick liquid then held the stone out. Anneliese thought it looked like a petrified sponge. She took it gingerly and then sat beside her friend.

The bath was hot. Anneliese yelped in surprise, then eased down into it again. Water gushed about her hips, between her legs, and her muscles uncoiled in response. Watching Myetrae, she drew the stone over her arm and across her breasts. The liquid lathered easily. It smelled like freshly turned soil. She scrubbed until her skin turned dark, layers sloughing away like burdens. Beneath the pumice, her skin felt new.

Myetrae stretched out within the basin. Her dark hair fanned in the water. “That's better,” she said.

Smiling, Anneliese leaned into the flowing current. The basin was barely four inches deep, not enough to immerse her lithe form, yet she couldn't remember a more refreshing bath. “Hot running water beneath a desert of stone. Your barrow must be very wealthy."

“Actually, this water isn't sweet enough to drink. The healer sometimes uses it for his ointments."

Anneliese pictured the wizened old man, the table of malpais. The people would be wealthy, she thought, if they marketed that table. “Myetrae, why are there so few aged people in the barrow?"

The chiliarch's daughter splashed water over her bosom, pausing before she answered. “The Llaird are at war, brutal and unending, against the cities, against each other. Against the Resort."

“And so your life expectancy is thirty years old?” Anneliese gasped. “Don't you see how wrong this is, how fruitless? You can't battle the Resort Debauch."

“Do you have grandparents?” Myetrae asked. “They are of wondrous love, brimming with laughter and patience and stories. I was very young when my grandfather died, but I still recall. He would weave magical tales of his own father as a boy, and of the Llaird before the Resort."

Myetrae sat abruptly, ducking her head beneath the stream of water as it spilled from the wall. For a moment, Anneliese thought that she wouldn't continue. Then she lay back against the rim, staring at the ceiling.

“Once, the Llaird lived in sprawling cities upon the ground,” Myetrae said. “They tended great herds of yllib in the hills. When the Resort came, it was at first a curiosity to my people, but day-to-day life soon brushed it from mind. Not so the Resort.

“Too soon, their airships gathered like clouds, swooping down from the sky, violating the hills. With high spirits and supplied weapons, they decimated herds, leaving thousands of yllib to waste in the sun. Outraged, my people met violence with violence.

“And, that was when the vacationers shifted their sights and began hunting Llaird for sport.” Myetrae's voice fell to a whisper.

Anneliese blinked with a slap of shock. The Resort hunted these people like animals? Suddenly, the sound of the water seemed very loud.

“Grandfather described those days clearly for me, grieved as if the memories were his own. He spoke of hunger and confusion, massacres in the schoolyards, funeral processions that stretched beyond sight. The cities fell, and the community split. Families turned their backs upon their brethren. Some sought clemency with the Resort itself, existing upon its refuse.

“Then a prophet arose. She hid the children in the burial crypts and led the people into the Fool's War. The children were left to raise themselves."

“Who was this prophet?” Anneliese asked.

“Jefe-Naik. The prophet of change."

From this point you may go in either direction. Anneliese shuddered. “She wasn't a very good prophet."

“Who's to say?” Myetrae roused herself from the bath, drawing her fingers through her hair, untangling it. “Anyway, Grandfather was of the first born to the barrows, but he never accepted life beneath the ground. He, and others like him, insisted upon rebuilding the herds. Always, the yllib were important to us, but soon they became sacred, a symbol of hope and triumph. So—herdsmen climb again among the hills of our ancestors, but they must be fleet. The airships have learned to glide without sound."

“You mean, the hunters still appear?” Anneliese thought of the skip-chaser she saw while traveling with Lirtsban's entourage. A queasy sensation clenched her throat.

Myetrae said, “We are still hunted. And we are still at war. That is what the meeting is about.” She looked at Anneliese. “Part of your hair has turned white."

Anneliese blinked with the shift in topics. She touched the hair at the back of her neck. “The color must be washing out. I had to change it to escape Enceinte."

“It's pretty. Come see."

Myetrae moved the lantern to a flat part of the wall. The polished rock shone like glass, and as Anneliese approached, her image reflected as deftly as from any mirror.

“It's awful,” Anneliese said, turning her head from side to side. Her hair looked streaked with gray.

“I like it.” The taller woman fluffed the damp locks. “But it needs shaping. We'll use my knife."

“You're not going to cut it shorter!"

“Just a bit. Hold still."

Wincing, Anneliese watched her reflection. Shorn hair fell onto her cheeks. Gradually, the unruly tufts tapered into points, hugging her head like a cap.

Or a crown of feathers, she thought. The bird taking flight. Then her eyes fell to the slave band about her neck. She would yet find her freedom.

“Now you look as if you'd planned it. Come, we'd best be dressed.” Myetrae-Ajiv handed her a pair of bloomers and a soft, sleeveless shirt. “I've brought a robe for you to wear. It was mine as a child."

Anneliese accepted the silky garment. Muted colors ran its length, swirling in waves along the hem. “It's beautiful."

“Don't look too closely.” Myetrae laughed. “I made it myself. My first attempt."

Anneliese dressed before her reflection, smiling at her vanity. The colorful robe flowed around her. At last, she was a lady.

She followed Myetrae from the bathing caves upward toward the main caverns. The air felt cool upon her damp skin, refreshing after the steam. She ran her fingers along the wall as she walked. The stone was sharp, as if chiseled by hand.

She said, “It's hard to believe all this was once a burial crypt."

Myetrae nodded. “The upper regions are very old, created when the land was lush with greenery. But the Chambers are barren. My ancestors never envisioned bathing pools, nor the life caves where we grow our roots and moss."

Abandoned children creating a culture beneath the ground. Anneliese's mind whirled with questions, but she said only, “Your grandfather was courageous."

A crush of people filled the corridor ahead. Myetrae tugged Anneliese's sleeve, then turned down a winding tunnel.

She said, “The entrance of the Chambers are deliberately narrow so those entering will do so with some decorum. But I know an easier way."

“Will your father be among the speakers?” Anneliese asked.

“He represents the cause of restraint."

The tunnel curved into a staircase. Again, Myetrae extinguished her lamp. Anneliese could barely see the girl's shadowed form before her.

“Put your hands upon my shoulders,” Myetrae said as if reading her thoughts. “We are nearly there."

Anneliese stumbled forward. “You said this meeting has to do with the Fool's War?"

She felt her friend nod. “Sivlow-Rakin seeks to unite the barrows in a final onslaught of Enceinte. He will destroy the spaceport—no ships will land, and none will ever leave."

“But that's insane! Hasn't he learned from your own history?"

“His foolishness may be borne of desperation, but not insanity."

Anneliese bit back a response. She doubted the Resort cared if the Llaird attacked Enceinte, but if they damaged the ships berthed at the spaceport, there would be reprisals.

Quietly, she asked, “In four generations, has no one from outside your world tried to stop the slaughter?"

“Defy the Resort?” Myetrae laughed. “Who would put themselves at such risk? Would you?"

Yes! her mind cried and knew, suddenly, it was true—she would give her fortune for the downfall of the Resort Debauch.

“No, Anneliese-Thielman,” Myetrae continued. “No one helps us. It is too easy to look away."

“This war will mean your death,” Anneliese said.

They reached a dimly lit landing. Incense laced the air.

Myetrae hesitated before an arched entryway. “What you see now comes unchanged through the ages, and it must be approached with respect. I ask that you accept our rites as you have accepted my friendship."

Anneliese felt suddenly apprehensive. She heard a familiar sound—ching, ching, ching.

Dancers, she thought. Surely, the Llaird did not take part in ritualistic orgies. Biting her lip, she forced her feet forward.

The Chamber formed a vast amphitheatre. Rows of seats led upward in tiers. In the center of the arena, the floor glowed with rock light; and there, upon box-like pedestals, three women performed the moiru.

Anneliese winced with the pain of her memories. She thought of the scars upon Farin's legs, of the woman being assaulted upon the stage at Surah's lounge. These women held the same rapt expressions, moved with the same sinuous grace as the dancers she'd previously seen.

But these were fully clothed. Cuffed sleeves capped their shoulders and skirts flowed across their sandaled feet. Gleaming girdles of golden links created the music by which they danced.

Myetrae drew near, whispering, “What troubles you, Anneliese-Thielman?"

“Your people practice the moiru?"

“They beseech the prophets for guidance. Sometimes they dance for days, awaiting their vision."

Anneliese's face twisted. “This is a religious ritual?"

“The roots of the moiru lie deep within our beliefs. How do you know of this? Have you seen our custom before?"

Perverted. Debased. She wanted to scream—Yes! It is taught to children on the streets! See how innocence can be twisted, how the Resort can defile the very core of your prayers.

“No,” said Anneliese. “What I saw was different."

She raised her chin in defiance of her emotions. Movement among the seats caught her attention: a figure waving.

Pilar, she realized. His smile widened as her eyes rested upon him, and she relaxed enough to smile in return. He appeared clean and well fed, so different from when they'd first met. He sat beside a younger boy, and she wondered if he'd made a friend.

Myetrae-Ajiv led away from the shadowed stairwell. The majesty of the coliseum towered above them. Anneliese felt dwarfed, and she walked on tiptoe to keep her footfalls from echoing. Her eyes climbed the concave sides. High above, the Llaird filed through the main entrance. Their numbers were pitifully small within the huge room.

Anneliese thought of Myetrae's grandfather, of his father's father, generations ago. She imagined a time before the Resort, when the people filled these hallowed Chambers.

Ahead, a solemn group emerged from yet another entryway. She recognized the bodyguard, Wathe-Taln, and Ente, the chiliarch's servant. Then she saw Sayer-Kihn.

He stood regally, resplendent in layers of crimson robes, his hair held back by a circlet of gold. A sovereign overlooking his subjects. Anneliese sensed the distance between them. Then his gaze met hers, and her heart lightened.

He took a step in their direction, but people stood in his way, demanding attention with hushed voices and sharp eyes, as if unwilling to concede a heated debate. Wathe-Taln held up a silencing hand, and Anneliese thought of that hand closing about her arm. She knew the man was dangerous.

Myetrae moved to meet her father. “You are unable to dissuade them?"

Sayer hugged her briefly. Behind his smile, his face appeared taut and distracted. “You know it is not my place to dissuade."

“But, when they will not learn, will not reason."

“Their logic leans in a different direction.” He turned toward Anneliese and his expression softened, leaving for a moment his persona of protocol. Taking her hand, he said, “Now, you are the princess you profess to be."

She smiled, glancing away, searching for a witty response. Behind him, Ente narrowed her eyes. Anneliese blinked, taken aback at the expression upon the woman's face. Then a gong sounded, reverberating throughout the Chambers, banishing all thought of the chiliarch's servant.

CHAPTER 32

Mortar rubbed the sweat from his eyes. Again he held out the computer enhanced HC of Anneliese in short hair.

“Have you seen this child?” he asked in the local language.

The burly man shook his head. Behind him, the iron gates clanged shut. Mortar cringed. He gazed at the blazing sun.

The mehtar turned away, gathering his children. Mortar caught the man by the arm, and then quickly produced a coin. He'd handed out enough coins to pave a reputation, he thought—someone would come forth. “Do you know of anyone else who might help me?” Mortar asked.

Grunting, the man pointed down a side road. Mortar slid the picture into his pocket. His jacket felt heavy, the shirt beneath it drenched. Straightening his shoulders, he moved in the proffered direction.

The street was unusually active so late in the morning: children bawling, people standing in alleys between the buildings. Homeless, he realized. Resigned to heat and shrinking shadows. He wondered how the city provided enough food.

Ahead, he saw a wicker carriage parked beneath an awning. Two boys sat beside it, polishing the metal axle. In the doorway of the building, a man lounged upon a hammock. An older boy attended him.

Mortar ran his sleeve over his upper lip then approached the group. “Excuse me, mehtar. I must speak with you."

The boy leapt to his feet, waving his arms, stamping his boots. Marginally, the man turned his head. The side of his face was dark with blisters, and one eye was swollen shut. The other eye appraised Mortar coolly.

Mortar held out the picture. “Have you seen this child? Do you know where I might find her?"

The boy yelped like a watchdog, tugging Mortar's sleeve. Suddenly, Bano moved between them, lifting the boy into the air and holding him by the scruff of his robe. Kicking and squirming, the boy wailed loudly.

Mortar glanced about for further opposition. The two younger boys huddled together, eyes wide. Nearer the building, a young girl watched in silence.

Mortar moved nearer the mehtar. “Look closely,” he said. “There is a reward."

The yellow eye was rimmed in black, the lips cracked and peeling. Mortar leaned forward, thinking the man was trying to speak.

The mehtar turned his face away. Slowly, Mortar clenched his fists. He wanted to throttle the man, wanted to bash his head into pulp. With effort, he took a step back.

“Let's go,” he told his bodyguard.

Bano tossed the child. The boy bounced against the wall and, holding his head, landed at the feet of the silent girl. She did not move to assist him.

Mortar followed the narrow road, boots loud with foreboding. He saw no other carriages along the route, no other scavengers. Looking upward, feeling the searing heat upon his face, he wondered what Anneliese was doing at that moment. She was alive—he couldn't believe anything less.

Why would no one help him?

Suddenly exhausted, he stepped into a shaded alcove, sliding down to one knee and running a hand over his face. He'd never been good at asking for help—much to the amusement of his wife.

But Mari, I swear, if only one person would come forward, I'd give them anything they asked. Anything at all.

Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the picture of his daughter. Someone must have seen her: a fragile girl with shorn blonde hair....

“She was dressed as a boy,” a voice said.

Startled, he looked up. A girl stood in the street before him, hair matted into peaks beneath a pair of heavy goggles—the silent girl, he realized, who had been with the mehtar.

“What did you say?” he asked.

She sat beside him in the shade. “She was dressed as a boy. Yet, she did not fight back when Aloca-Coc stole her boots. I knew then she was an adult, for a child would always fight and with less provocation."

Mortar struggled to keep his voice level. “How do you know her?"

“You spoke of a reward?"

He smiled. “Treinte scalar."

“I do not want your coin."

“Then what?"

“Take me with you."

Mortar recoiled. “That's impossible."

“I know you have a ship,” she said. “I can work in your galley. I will do anything. Anything."

Settling back, he studied her face. She was so young. How could she hope to help him? “All right. Tell me. What have you seen?"

“She was lent to Lirtsban-Teralgo-Pas by a man who said he was her father. Lirtsban paid for her in good faith. That is why he would not answer your questions."

“The burned man,” Mortar prompted.

“Yes. He took us to the fire plains, a night's march from the city. During the trek, a girl and her brother befriended her. She accompanied them onto the flats. Of their find, I know nothing, for shortly thereafter there was an accident: the mehtar was injured, the girl killed."

“Was my daughter hurt?"

“No. She escaped with the brother. The two of them headed back toward the city."

Two of them. Mortar jumped to his feet. No wonder the security guards couldn't locate her—they searched for only one. “Can you tell me his name?"

“Of course. He is Pilar-Shay."

“Excellent!” He laughed. “You have been most helpful. I can't thank you enough."

“But, my reward...."

“I'll come back for you,” Mortar called over his shoulder.

He had to get this information to Abbas, he thought. Surely then the deputy would extend his search outside the city. He might even know the whereabouts of Pilar-Shay or his family.

Rushing down the street, Mortar plotted a course back to the main throughway. He'd have to walk to the Resort—he'd find no cabbers at this hour. He smiled, encouraged for the first time in days. What luck it had been to find that girl.

Her face came to mind then: her expression of betrayal as he walked away, her earnest request for asylum. She'd promised him anything in return for his help.

Hadn't he made a similar vow?

His step slowed. He should go back for her. But what would he do with a child in his galley? That isn't the point, a voice whispered in his mind. The pact he'd made was with Mari...

...and Anneliese. Mortar glanced at the sun. Sweat ran like rivers down the creases of his face. Turning, he went back the other way.

His footfalls seemed loud against the silence of midday. The street was deserted but for him. Ahead, he made her out—she still sat in the alcove. Sleeping, he thought as he approached.

“You might as well come with me now,” he said. The girl did not move. He knelt beside her. “Young lady,” he said, and then froze.

Her body slumped with his touch. Her robe fell away, and in her chest, he saw the ornate hilt of a knife.

Harmadeur's knife. He gasped with recognition, remembering the Master the first time they'd met. But, hadn't Anneliese taken the knife when she escaped the cage? Was she in Enceinte after all?

Suddenly, Bano leapt before him. A flash encased the biorg's bulk. Mortar tensed. Someone was shooting at him. Slowly, he straightened, staying within his bodyguard's shadow. His eyes flicked to the side. He saw a man running between the buildings.

Then Bano was gone, moving more swiftly than his size decreed, chasing the assailant. Mortar followed, catching up to them just as Bano cornered the man in an alley, just as the man turned to fire, showing his face.

Bossman, Mortar thought. Surah's man.

Pol stumbled backwards, firing repeatedly, hitting the biorg in the chest—and with each shot his dark face blanched a bit paler. “Demon,” he cried, “keep away. Don't touch me."

Bano moved toward him smoothly, sparks issuing from his blackened chest, wisps of smoke rising. Mortar thought the automaton incapable of emotion, but he couldn't prove it by his actions.

Stepping into the alley, Mortar called loudly, “Why did you murder that child?"

“Demon!” Pol cried. “Save me! Save me!” He fired point blank.

Bano's head jerked. His step faltered.

“The child, Pol,” demanded Mortar.

Pol fell to his knees, eyes wide in terror. “It was Surah's plan. She wanted to keep the search inside the city. She told me to leave the knife where it would be found to throw you off the trail."

“Anneliese's trail."

“I didn't want to give your daughter to the mehtar. It was Surah. Surah."

Just then, Bano reached him, wrapping his huge hand about the man's throat. Pol squealed like a stegort, his feet kicking as Bano lifted him in the air.

“Release him,” Mortar yelled, rushing forward.

Sparks crackled in Bano's chest. Mortar's nose stung with the stench of burning. He pulled at his bodyguard's arm but Bano didn't budge. Pol's eyes bulged, his tongue protruding from his lips.

“Damn it!” Mortar pried at Bano's fingers. “We need him as a witness."

Bano twitched, his circuitry failing. With a final spasm, he crushed the man's throat.

CHAPTER 33

Anneliese climbed the ancient steps of the Chamber, sitting beside Myetrae in the third tier of the huge amphitheatre. Beside her, a brazier threw coils of sweet-smelling smoke into the air. The sound of a gong filled the cavern then trailed away. For a moment, only the dancers moved, the ringing of their costumes meek in comparison.

Four men appeared in the recessed entryway. Each displayed scars of passage upon their cheeks. They wore dark colors, muted and brooding, somber against Sayer's crimson robe. The chiliarch stood beside them, facing the Llaird. Sayer's mien was open and composed, but Anneliese recognized lines of fatigue about his eyes, tension along his jaw.

One by one, the men stripped away their layered robes, revealing belted jerkins and leggings. Sayer's bright colors looked garish against the shades worn by his adversaries.

Myetrae leaned close. “They offer themselves to the scrutiny of the barrow."

“None wear the sash your father wears. Aren't they all chiliarchs?"

“They are speakers. Champions of opinion."

“They should listen to their own words,” Anneliese said.

Again, the gong sounded. The five men stepped away from one another, each intoning a mantra, creating a grating cacophony, as if every barrow had its own manner of prayer.

Anneliese whispered, “Your father looks tired."

Myetrae nodded. “They sought to sway his stance on the eve of assembly, but they do not understand. My parents argued the day my mother died: she wanted him to fight, and he wished her to remain in safety. Afterward, he blamed himself. He thought if he had joined the jihad, he might have saved her life. To support battle now would be to deny his loss."

Anneliese felt uncomfortable hearing about Myetrae's mother. She wondered if Kihn could feel that strongly about her, then she brushed the thought away. It mattered not that Kihn loved his dead wife. All Anneliese wanted was to go home.

A man stepped forward. He stretched out his arms, scanning the seats as if seeking to make eye contact with each individual. His brow was heavy, dominating his face, his dark hair pulled severely back. He spoke eloquently, his voice booming in the acoustically correct Chambers.

Anneliese motioned with her chin. “That's the leader?"

“He is Sivlow-Rakin. Do you not know your previous master?"

“I never really saw him,” Anneliese told her.

But she recognized the voice, remembered the scorn in his words as he condemned Pilar to death. His bigotry was obvious to Anneliese. She thought that his stance would be as immutable as Sayer-Kihn's own, and she pictured the two of them facing each other, irreconcilably deadlocked.

Sivlow-Rakin bowed his head, his speech concluded. A second man took his place.

“Does he also support this Fool's War?” Anneliese asked.

Myetrae's face tightened. She listened to the speaker before replying. “He agrees to attack the spaceport. But he proposes further to rid our homeland of the affront of Enceinte, to murder every man, woman, and child living in the shadows of the Resort."

Anneliese flicked her gaze to where Pilar-Shay sat. The boy's eyes were frenzied, afire with excitement, as if he couldn't wait to begin the slaughter of his own kind. Mesmerized, she thought, by the speaker's words, the cadence of his voice.

She clenched her fists between her knees. “Hypnotism,” she said. “Brainwashing. This assembly is a sham. Why don't they simply order their barrows to comply?"

“No one can compel another to war. Each must make their decision. Most in attendance have been in battle before. They are not children to be easily swayed."

“Perhaps not,” Anneliese whispered, looking back at the rows of people. “But they are foolish if they think they can defeat the Resort with knives."

One by one, the speakers made their stand. At last, Sayer-Kihn stepped forward. For a moment, he held silence, his eyes downcast and his shoulders low, and Anneliese feared that even he had been affected by the litany of the warmongers.

But as he raised his gaze, his face was beatific as if beholding a vision only he could see. A trace of a smile touched his lips. Finally, he spoke, his voice pitched low enough that she had to strain to hear it.

Beside her, Myetrae caught her breath. “He tells a story my grandfather taught, of a time when the land was idyllic and the people were united in friendship and well-being.” She clasped her hands together, pressing them against her lips.

Anneliese closed her eyes. Again she felt the power of Sayer-Kihn's voice. Her head swam, and she felt as if his words were lifting her. She felt that, if she wanted to, she could fly.

But Myetrae gave a strangled sob. Anneliese looked at her in surprise, and then placed her arm about the girl's shoulders. Myetrae bent forward as if wracked with unbearable pain.

“And now he speaks of destruction and loss, the terrible despair of the people as they fled their ruined cities and denounced their heritage. In the shadow of the Resort, they debased themselves, losing all sight of who they were, begging only for the safety of their children.” Tears filled Myetrae's eyes and her voice hitched. “They are our brethren. He pleads for their lives."

Anneliese swallowed in a tightening throat. She glanced about in confusion. This was the wrong story, she thought. This will not turn these people from war. She looked again at Pilar sitting with his young friend.

Abruptly, Sayer's story ended. The chiliarch bowed his head, but Anneliese saw him wince and she grimaced in return, knowing his distress and helplessness. Conversation grew within the Chambers, rumbling like an approaching storm. A high-pitched ringing met her ears.

Two girls appeared in the recessed entrance. Each wore simple white tunics, their hair knotted into crowns. They carried silver staffs of tiny bells, shaking them as if heralding another's presence.

And, indeed, a woman stepped behind them. She wore a cape of deepest onyx, almost the absence of color, and a gown that shimmered like a fall of black water. Her eyes were amber but her gaze was dark, penetrating as if she could see one's thoughts, and Anneliese found herself hoping those eyes would not fall upon her.

Quietly, Myetrae said, “She is Duessa-Kimmer. She will conduct the Babesh."

A fortuneteller. Anneliese cringed inwardly. They hinge their lives on parlor games, she thought, on mysticism and sleight of hand. The Llaird were children, after all, and their naiveté meant their certain destruction.

The fortuneteller's presence was so strong she seemed taller and more commanding than the men. All around Anneliese, the onlookers leaned forward, their whispers falling.

Again, the staffs rang. A boy hurried across the floor, carrying a small stone bowl. The woman accepted the vessel ceremoniously, holding it toward the ceiling. Then she took a sip.

“What does she drink?” Anneliese asked.

Myetrae said, “It is a sacred potion meant to heighten her awareness and open her spirit to guidance. She has taken small doses throughout her life, acclimating herself."

“It's poisonous?"

“The potion is used to execute traitors. It wracks the body and bursts the heart. In diluted form, it tricks the person into thinking they have much strength. Long ago, it was fed to our armies before battle."

They would fight for days and never notice they were dead.

“Tea,” Anneliese said darkly. “Brewed from moss."

“How do you know of this? Only the anointed may touch such ingredients."

Anneliese bit back a bitter laugh. She wanted to tell Myetrae of how she'd rubbed the moss on her skin, anointing herself—but she thought better of it.

From folds of darkness, the fortuneteller produced her cards, offering them for the crowd to see.

Anneliese rubbed an ache behind her eyes. Beside her, the brazier guttered, belching a final ball of smoke. Her voice rose too loudly. “Don't tell me your people's decision will be swayed by the interpretations of this seer."

“The Babesh allows a glimpse into the tapestry of time,” Myetrae told her.

It's a pack of cards! Anneliese wanted to say.

The woman knelt, her cape billowing and falling about her. A pall of incense hung over the room.

Anneliese pressed her temples. Suddenly she saw the Chambers not as it was but as it might be after the Resort attacked—saw charred bodies sprawled over the benches, the beautiful ancient walls turned to ash. The image was so strong, she could almost smell the burnt flesh, hear the rumble of explosions, children screaming.

She covered her face with her hands, wishing she had never gotten to know these people, wishing she didn't care. A terrible panic rose from her gut. She couldn't breathe.

With a muffled cry, Anneliese leapt to her feet, running down the stairs. Vaguely, she was aware of startled looks and gasps. She ran along the base of the amphitheatre toward the darkened alcoves at the side of the stage. She looked for the stairwell she had used before.

Instead she saw Wathe-Taln. Anneliese pulled to a halt, staring at the bodyguard's shadowed form, his eyes glowing like a wolf. Her heart pounded unevenly, and resolve left her in a rush. Quickly, she stepped through a doorway.

The room was dark but for a gleaming crescent. Anneliese blinked, adjusting to the light. She saw unadorned walls, a single stone bench, and a small statue upon a shelf. A meditation room, she thought, moving nearer the statue. It was a stylized representation of Jefe-Naik.

Anneliese groaned, balling her fists in her hair. Her emotions tangled themselves, and she could not sort them. These people were going to die. Why should she care? How could she stop them? In her mind, all she saw were charred bodies.

Suddenly the tears came. She sank to the floor, sobbing silently, pressing her face against the cool surface of the bench. She could not save the Llaird, could not watch them die.

A footstep alerted her. Sayer-Kihn stood in the doorway.

“Do you pray to the prophet?” he asked.

Anneliese stifled a fresh volley of tears. “She doesn't listen."

Stepping into the room, he lifted the lid from the urn of coals, bringing them to life. His eyes were dark wounds carved into his skull. He sat upon the bench.

Anneliese wiped her face with the heel of her hand. “Is it over?"

“Yes.” He took the circlet from his brow, dropping it to the floor.

Hesitantly, she rose from her knees and sat beside him. “What did the fortuneteller say?"

He took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “She said this battle would begin as many others, but will end as none had before. Sivlow-Rakin took this to mean victory."

“Or annihilation,” Anneliese said sharply, and then regretted her tone. She forced a tentative smile. “Myetrae translated your story for me. It was beautiful. Touching."

“Thank you."

“I think she was a little surprised that you pleaded for Enceinte instead of speaking out against the destruction of the spaceport."

“I had intended such, but as I saw their faces, I knew we were already lost. At the last moment, I changed the tale."

“But someone has to stop this.” She shook her head. “The Resort will retaliate if even one ship is damaged. They can't afford disgruntled patrons."

“I understand."

No, you don't. Anneliese winced, blinking back her tears. “When does the battle begin?"

“Tomorrow. As the sun sets."

So soon. “And will you accompany the warriors?"

“No."

Anneliese slumped with relief then got up to stand at the door. She heard the Llaird filing slowly from the Chambers. Only the dancers remained, oblivious to all but their communion. Beseeching their gods. Anneliese held the chiseled doorway so tightly, her hand cramped.

And, in a voice that sounded not her own, she said, “You promised to take me to the Trader City when the doctor pronounced me well. I would like to leave tomorrow morning."

“This isn't a good time."

“Do you go back on your word?"

“I will keep you in safety."

She spun toward him. “But it isn't safe here. Sayer, the Resort is going to kill you! They will seek out the Llaird and destroy the barrows."

“They've never found us before."

“They've never tried before. You serve them. You are part of their attraction.” She moved toward him, eyes locked upon his face. “But if Rakin's army disrupts their profits, they will wipe you from this planet. They will use orbiting heat sensors to track you down and eradicate you without leaving their orgies."

“No one can do that. No one has that much power."

“You above all should know. You've seen technology. There is nothing they can't do."

He leapt up, pacing angrily.

She grabbed his arm. “Come with me to the Trader City. Leave this war to those who crave it."

“I will not forsake my barrow."

“I will not watch you die."

He turned toward her, his face lost to shadow. He stood so near, she could smell the incense clinging to his robes, hear the pounding of his heart—and she thought he would say something more.

Brushing past, he left the room. Anneliese lowered her head, and then knelt to pick up the circlet of gold. When she looked up again, Myetrae stood in the doorway.

“He argued with my mother,” Myetrae said softly, “the night she went to battle."

“There will be no battle.” Anneliese jutted out her chin. “Someone has to stop this."

CHAPTER 34

Mortar Thielman knelt beside the scavenger girl. “It's my fault she's dead. I should have taken her with me."

Deputy Master Abbas opened the girl's robe, exposing the knife hilt. “This is Harmadeur's knife. The same knife you claim your daughter used to kill the Master."

“It's a plant,” Mortar said. “Pol used this knife to make us think Anneliese was still in the city."

“Why would we think otherwise?"

“Because she isn't in the city.” Mortar gnashed his teeth. “Look, before she died, the girl told me that my daughter was with a scavenger troupe in the fire plains. And Pol admitted he sold Anneliese."

“Before he died?"

“Yes!” Mortar got to his feet, pulling at his hair.

Abbas fingered a scorched mark on the white wall. “You know, the Resort has restrictions on firearms."

“I wasn't the one with a weapon,” Mortar snapped, and then stopped, seized by new insight. “Where did Pol get a gun?"

But Abbas was already walking away. Mortar hurried after him, following him down the alley where Bano stood frozen with Pol in his grip. Two guards looked on with undisguised terror, keeping their distance as if the automaton might suddenly come to life.

Demon, Pol had called him, and indeed the biorg looked like a creature from hell with his face streaked with soot and his chest eaten away. Mortar regretted that he hadn't thought to bring a spare.

Abbas crouched at the dead man's side, looking at the gun. “The possession of a firearm is a grave offense. Only security guards are allowed such weaponry."

Mortar paced behind him. “The blaster must belong to Surah."

Abbas stood. “It won't be registered in her name, of course, but no doubt it can be traced to her. The question now falls to you."

“What do you mean?"

“Surah Rudnitsky is not native to this world, yet she does not live here as a patron of the Resort. If you will swear out a complaint, I can have her apprehended. She will spend the rest of her life on a labor quad."

“If she is convicted."

“Oh, we have a very high rate of conviction here—ninety-five percent. The other five having hung themselves before reaching trial."

Mortar scowled. “That doesn't help me find my daughter."

Abbas walked out of the alley. “I wanted to tell you that the Resort has agreed to reopen your daughter's case. Now I have three knots to untangle—Harmadeur's death, your daughter's disappearance, and the attack of Llaird terrorists...."

“There were no terrorists. Cade set that explosion."

“That's doubtful. There are sensors throughout Customs. How could he smuggle explosives inside?"

Mortar said, “Tetryl wouldn't trigger the alarms."

Abbas paused, thinking for a moment. He shook his head. “Cade carried no luggage. Apparently, he was most vehement about it, enough so that the hostess included it in her notes. He called down later to have a satchel retrieved from his ship. I'm afraid it is impossible for Cade to have set the blast."

Mortar blew out his breath, looking down the street. The Resort Debauch towered in the distance. Give him enough tetryl and he would take it all down.

Quietly, Abbas said, “Do you wish the body of your bodyguard returned to you?"

“Damn him!” Mortar said. “And damn you. My daughter is lost somewhere outside the city. You will immediately extend your search to the surrounding area. She might be traveling with a companion—a young boy."

“We've been over this. No one can survive the desert flats."

“She's out there, Abbas."

“Mr. Thielman. By your own admission, she would have sought help. I'm sorry, but your daughter must be dead. Or perhaps held for ransom—has anyone contacted you?"

“No.” Mortar clenched his fists.

A wicker jinrikisha stopped before them and Abbas climbed aboard.

Mortar looked up at him. “She's alive. You're wasting time."

“Perhaps. But it will take more than your gut feeling to convince me of it.” Abbas motioned to his driver, and the jinrikisha pulled away. He called over his shoulder, “Stop by my office and fill out that complaint."

Mortar turned his back on the receding bicycle. He watched a man load the scavenger girl onto a cart. He treated the body reverently—with more respect than she'd found in life, Mortar thought, remembering the girl's face as she begged him to take her with him. Another promise broken. Mortar grimaced.

Slowly, he walked toward the spaceport. He thought of his daughter on the flats, alone but for a young boy. Two children.

Suddenly he remembered the jowl-faced portsmith complaining that two children had broken into his office. Show me the child who could read a computer, the guard had jeered. Mortar nodded.

Anneliese.

CHAPTER 35

Anneliese stared at the darkened ceiling, listening to Ente's slumbering breaths and the beating of her own heart. She moved her foot nearer the edge of the crib.

Ente stirred.

Alarm shot through Anneliese. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the gasp that threatened to expose her. Shifting her weight, she lowered her feet to the floor.

If she didn't leave now, she knew she would lose her nerve.

Her eyes swept the room. Ente had built a nest out of pillows and slept in the corner. Anneliese waited for the woman's slow, even breathing to resume, felt an upsurge of fear at the deepening silence. Perhaps the woman was awake and watching.

Stop frightening yourself! she chided herself. No one knew her plan. She'd be on her way before either Sayer or his servant realized that she was gone.

Stepping quietly, she picked up the robe and tucked her sandals into the crook of her arm. The lantern hung from a hook at the side of the doorway, and she grit her teeth as she lifted it, praying for silence. Her eyes strained helplessly against the dim light.

She moved into the anteroom. Six paces ahead, two to the left to circumvent the malpais statue, three more to the door. Then the courtyard opened before her. She scanned the silent expanse. Only a few urns still glowed, crescent moons braving the darkness. The rest were extinguished.

Anneliese drew a breath, running sweaty palms over her robe. She'd expected to find guards in the courtyard, expected to flee or fight, and she was vaguely surprised that no one accosted her. Slipping her feet into her sandals, she stepped into the open.

Shadows outlined the grave figures carved into the walls, and she felt their eyes upon her as she crossed the slumbering platform. Shrugging off a sense of trepidation, she concentrated upon the blackness before her. She knew which tunnel led to the surface, knew the way back to Enceinte. Nothing would stop her.

She was doing the right thing.

But her heartbeat quickened halfway across the floor, and she entered the tunnel at a trot. Fear-sweat plastered the robe to her back. She twisted the key on the side of the lamp, exposing the stone chips, and a sliver of light escaped the louver. Taking a breath to steady her resolve, Anneliese followed the silent passage.

She imagined Sayer-Kihn's face as he learned what she had done. Perhaps he would never forgive her, never understand. But someone had to do something, and if warning the Resort of the attack upon the spaceport was the only way to save the barrow, then so be it.

She would march into the Customs office and turn herself in to the authorities. Of course, they'd be looking for her—she'd killed the Security Master, after all. She wondered about the penalty for murder on a world where all fantasies were real. Anneliese grimaced.

It didn't matter what happened to her.

Light danced with shadow along the coarse walls. The tunnel narrowed, branching to the left. Soon she would reach the surface. She would betray her friends to the enemy. Surely, the Llaird would not attack if they saw the Resort was expecting them.

But in her mind, she saw Sayer-Kihn's face, and the sorrow in his eyes filled her. She remembered how he'd teased her when he caught her snooping in his room, remembered the basket ride to Myetrae's eatery—and she quailed at the thought that she would never see him again.

She had no business being attracted to him.

Her footsteps quickened, her sandals slapping the timeworn stone. She held out the lantern as if searching for the truth. In the darkness, she conjured an image of Cade—his crooked smile, eyes sparkling as he ridiculed her. Anneliese remembered how flattered she'd felt at Cade's attention, her excitement at their secret rendezvous. She couldn't imagine that she was the same person—so much had happened.

She thought of Pilar then—wondered if he would notice she had gone, or would he simply set her from mind as he had his sister. The thought felt oddly reassuring. It was enough that she would remember him.

Again the passage forked, the floor slanting downward. Abruptly, Anneliese stopped walking. She did not recognize the passageway. Turning up the lantern, she peered into darkness. Damn. She must have taken a wrong turn. Hurriedly, she retraced her steps.

But at the fork in the tunnel, Anneliese stared again. The floor was cracked and pitted. Lamplight revealed scarred and poorly kept stone, as if the shaft were unused.

A prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. Don't panic, she willed herself. Gathering the front of her robe with one hand, she followed the curving passage.

The ceiling dipped, the walls closing in. Anneliese slowed her step. In her mind, she saw the route she had taken with Sayer-Kihn—she remembered the floor slanting upward toward the exit.

Again she turned back, holding the lamp outward, praying for a familiar stretch of rock. Her heart thumped dully against the fear in her chest.

She would handle this, she told herself. She had a good sense of direction—as a child she'd read star charts for entertainment. But a nagging voice continued behind her thoughts: if she didn't complete her mission, the Llaird would be slaughtered.

Again she imagined charred bodies, heard the explosions, the screaming. Her eyes grew wide. She ran down the unfamiliar shaft—a branch to the right, another leading downward. In her panic, she swung the lantern, snapping its handle, sending it skittering across the floor. Anneliese slumped against the wall, staring at the spilled stones. Their light dimmed, the stones oxidizing.

Then a new light appeared. A voice called her name.

“Sayer,” Anneliese whispered, seeing the chiliarch. Guilt warred with relief. “How did you find me?"

“The guards kept you in sight."

“Of course.” She looked away, cheeks flaming. She'd expected the barrow to be guarded—why hadn't she noticed she was being watched?

He sat beside her. “What are you doing here?"

Sudden tears blurred her sight. She picked at her robe. “I'm leaving. I'm going back to the Resort."

He winced, looking up. “Do you hate me?"

She gasped. “No, I—"

“How do I reach you, Anneliese? I've run out of stories."

She paused, watching his many-angled face. “Then let me tell you one,” she said. “Once there was a girl who believed in love. She believed in it so blindly, she thought she saw it in the eyes of a monster. She followed the dream to the brink of insanity, where she was beaten and robbed and used. And all who knew her thought she was dead."

“But she lived,” Sayer whispered.

“No,” said Anneliese. “She died. And in her place grew a vile murderess. She wandered the desert, hating herself, hating anyone who looked at her. Until one day she was given a chance at redemption, a way to prove to herself that she was not what she'd become."

“Still looking for love in the monster's eye."

“I can't stay here, Sayer. I have to go."

“In that case,” he said, standing, “it would be faster through the gardens. I'll show you."

Anneliese felt his fingers close about her hand, felt his tug as he led her through the twisting tunnels. Inside, her thoughts reeled. Was he helping her leave? Would he be so accepting if he knew what she intended to do?

Gradually, she became aware of the taint of moisture, then of a familiar scent.

“Flowers?” she asked.

Smiling, Sayer-Kihn held up the lantern. The walls caught the light and cast it back, as if from a mirror of gold. Ahead, the tunnel held a profusion of flowers, their lacy edges aglow.

“Midnight lilies,” Anneliese cried. “But, how?"

“These tunnels lie nearest the enclosed city. Long ago, the Resort used them as a dumping ground. When water came to the barrow, the discarded plant life took root in the compost. You can imagine our surprise.” Reaching down, Sayer-Kihn plucked a weighty blossom from the floor.

Anneliese cupped it in her hands, breathing the fragrance. “Midnight lilies grow wild in the forests of my home, deep within the shadows of the trees. At the touch of a breeze, their petals fly like silver moths."

“Here, there is no breeze to disturb the garden, and our flowers do not grow wild."

“Your people tend them?"

“They work in shifts, leaving every other cycle to allow the plants to rest. Like us, they thrive in darkness.” He tucked the flower behind her ear, and a petal dropped whisper soft onto her shoulder. “We have learned from their example to grow our own food—refuse for compost, malpais to provide heat and light."

Anneliese stuttered. “The walls are malpais?"

“Unpolished, but malpais nonetheless. The surface reflects the smallest lamp."

Sayer walked slowly, the carpet of foliage muffling his step. He turned his lantern to the barest gleam, yet the walls took up the glow, lighting his way.

Anneliese watched, dumbfounded. How could these people not know the wealth they possessed? She ran her fingers over the rough malpais. And the Resort had used the tunnel as a garbage dump. She wanted to laugh.

At the chiliarch's side, she followed the gilt-laced passage. She felt the dampness of the leaves about her ankles, the mossy loam beneath her feet. Flower scent rose in swells. Then she heard distant thunder. She was about to ask what it was when Sayer extinguished his lamp.

The flowers glowed a moment longer, drawing afterimages from the walls, and in the soft light, Sayer-Kihn turned toward her.

“I would show you this before you leave,” he said. Taking her hands in his, he drew her into a side passage.

At once, the sound grew to a deafening crescendo. Darkness closed about her. Anneliese blinked, her step hesitant. Noise pounded in her chest.

Then the volume dropped and she sensed the walls open as if she were in a vast cave. Moisture touched her face, and she thought the air smelled like a rain shower. The rock felt slick beneath her feet.

“Wait here,” Sayer-Kihn told her. “I'll see to the light."

She heard footsteps moving away, heard a lid dragging across a stone urn. Light exploded within the cavern. Anneliese gasped.

Before her, a fall of water cascaded into a pool. Motes sparkled overhead. She crossed her hands upon her breast, stepping forward.

“Oh Sayer,” she whispered. “It's beautiful."

The cave rose over fifty feet, shelved with gnarled rock. Plants grew in clusters up the walls: swathes of moss, stands of clattering reeds. The light of the urn rebounded across the ceiling, drawing sunset-colored streaks; and the malpais awoke as if it were alive.

Anneliese hurried to the bank, wanting to laugh and dance. Currents of air stirred her hair—the force of the pounding water. She said, “This pool looks bottomless.” She looked up as the chiliarch joined her.

Sayer-Kihn touched her cheek. “Will you show me how you race the waterfall?"

Her heart soared. “Oh, yes!"

“There is a stairway of sorts leading to the breach. You could dive from the top."

“Come with me?"

He chuckled. “I do not swim. The notion never occurred to my people."

Anneliese kissed him lightly then ran along the edge of the pool. The rock was slippery, the path thick with flowers. Kicking off her sandals, stripping away her robe, she met the base of the stairway wearing only her bloomers and sleeveless vest.

Rounded outcroppings of stone staggered unevenly up the wall, and she climbed them on hands and knees. Sprays from the waterfall streamed down her face. It tasted like Myetrae's bathwater.

At last, she reached the top. Water thundered from the broken rock. Pulling herself to tiptoe, bare feet upon a craggy lip, she looked for a moment at the churning pool below.

Then she pushed away, launching herself from the underground cliff, diving, the air whistling until she felt she could fly. She knifed into the water with barely a splash. When she again broke the surface, she saw Sayer-Kihn, his golden gaze steady upon her. He smiled, and she filled with joy.

“This feels wonderful,” she called.

“I'm happy it pleases you."

“Did this river once flow on the surface?"

“Perhaps.” He smiled, but his eyes were solemn.

Anneliese pulled herself onto the mossy bank. She felt as if she were dreaming. Burdens sloughed away like droplets from her shoulders. She dangled her feet into the water.

“I could stay here forever,” she said.

“The air is too thick.” Sayer-Kihn sat beside her.

She was aware of the nearness of his body, and she held very still as if she might frighten him away. She had no business being attracted to him, she reminded herself. Quietly, she asked, “What made you come after me?"

“Ente saw you leave. I think she expected me to call the guards and have you apprehended instead of searching for you myself."

Anneliese stole a glance. “She loves you."

He looked away. “It will pass."

Paddling her feet in the rushing current, Anneliese felt another worry roll slowly away. She watched the falling water, tasted its spray upon her face.

She said, “This is where it started for you, isn't it? Being a chiliarch, I mean."

He paused before answering. “Yes, it was here. Both my end and my beginning. For days afterward, I would stare into this water and wonder how they could believe I could help anyone."

“You helped me, saved me from Sivlow-Rakin."

Sayer shook his head. “I must confess to you, Anneliese-Thielman. When I found you in Sivlow-Rakin's custody, I was overjoyed. Since the day I saw you in the spaceport, I have thought of little else. Against my daughter's counsel, I would go to the marketplace in hope of seeing you."

An icy grip clenched Anneliese's stomach. “Did you see me in the ... in the..."

He looked at her. “If I had, I would have torn the cage apart with my bare hands. I love you, Anneliese."

She pulled away. “You can't. You don't know me, the things I have done."

“I know you better, I think, than you know yourself.” He ran his fingers along her jaw, the back her neck. “You see only the outside."

Anneliese closed her eyes, overwhelmed with shame and longing.

Sayer pulled her into his embrace. His arms were warm about her, his breath in her ear. He kissed her cheek, her brow, his hands cupping her face, caressing her as if she were a fragile bloom.

She looked into his golden eyes, saw his happiness, his pain—and knew suddenly that this man was hers to hold, to keep, and the enormity of it stunned her.

Lifting her lips, she opened to him, gasping slightly as his mouth closed over her own. Her body liquefied, her senses flying, drawing her higher. Higher. Someone called his name.

Sayer pulled away. Anneliese blinked, glancing back at the cavern. People stormed toward them—ten, perhaps twenty Llaird. Wathe-Taln was in the forefront. And Ente....

“What's happening?” asked Anneliese.

The chiliarch got to his feet, standing to face them, and their voices rose as if in challenge. Taln stepped forward, his gaze dark and defiant.

Anneliese sat upon the pond bank, hair dripping down her forehead, one arm crossed over her breasts. She listened to their strident exchange, then recognized the word Rafa-Ja and realized with a start they spoke of her.

“Wathe, you are a fool!” Sayer-Kihn's voice shook with fury. “At least have the courtesy to accuse her in her own tongue."

“Fool, am I? While you lie here at her mercy? Very well. Anneliese-Thielman, you are found to be a spy and assassin for the Resort Debauch."

Her stomach fell and her eyes widened. “But, I..."

“That's absurd,” said Sayer.

“Then why has she attempted to leave the barrow so soon after witnessing our plans?"

Anneliese looked up at Sayer, pleading. “I wanted to save you."

Emotions warred across his face. Hands fell upon her.

“Sayer, please!” she cried.

Sayer-Kihn moved close to Wathe-Taln. “What will you do now, my friend? Will you bleed her to death before the sacred pool?"

Taln sneered. “No. She will be executed as a traitor. Take her to the Chambers."

CHAPTER 36

Mortar's voice boomed through the confines of the spaceport. “Do you have it?” he asked.

Climbing from the shuttle's side, Gordon Rathbone said, “I brought everything you requested. But, I don't understand...."

Mortar took the case from Gordon's grasp, laying it flat upon the still crackling surface of the shuttle's underfin. Inside the case, he found a Lyncean spectrograph and an Internet link.

He snapped it shut. “Excellent."

“Mortar, what do you hope to find?"

“Evidence,” Mortar said. “Anything that will prove Anneliese is still alive."

He stepped through the shadows between the berthed ships. The fumes of hydyne fuel stung his throat. Ahead, Mortar saw the portsmith's office.

The jowl-faced smith looked up as they entered. Mortar nodded curtly, moving along a narrow aisle, glancing about. Stacked crates and upturned boxes lined the walls. Packing fettle littered the floor. A layer of grime covered everything—the exhaust of a thousand ships—as if the office were rarely cleaned. So much the better, Mortar thought.

“I wish to question you further about your reported assault by two children,” Mortar said, and then added, “I am assisting Deputy Master Abbas."

The portsmith relaxed visibly. “I thought I'd seen you before."

“Can you describe these children—their coloring, their height, what they wore?"

“They wore what children wear.” The man snorted. “And why doesn't Abbas see me himself? Does he fear to face me after ignoring my complaints these many days?"

Mortar leaned toward him over the desk, careful not to touch anything. “The deputy is busy, as you might understand. Now, will you answer my questions, or shall I tell him that you've dropped all charges?"

His eyes sparked. “I'll answer your blessed questions."

“Tell me in detail exactly what happened. I want you to remember everything. Keep in mind that all you say will be recorded on data chit.” Mortar nodded at Gordon.

The portsmith sighed. “I was at my desk, like so, when I noticed movement outside. At first, I thought it was a patron. But as I stood to offer assistance, I saw the robes. A city dweller.” He nodded, one brow cocked. “I kicked open the door, hoping to gain the advantage, when I realized it was a small boy. So I grabbed him by the hair and shook for his attention."

“You wished to harm the boy?"

“Of course not. I planned to turn him over to the authorities for proper execution."

“Would you recognize this child again if you saw him?"

The jowl-faced man shook his head. “I don't think so. He wore goggles."

“I see. Continue."

“So I have him in my grasp when, what would you know, another one steps up from behind, hits me in the head with a Starfire nozzle."

Mortar's heart leapt. “May I see that nozzle?"

“It was ruined. I threw it away."

“And did this second child also wear goggles?"

“Yes ... no!” The portsmith screwed up his face. “The goggles were pulled down below the chin. And the eyes were gray—perhaps blue. A blessed off-worlder! What would you know!"

Mortar fought to keep his hands from shaking. He glanced behind, and Gordon nodded that he had recorded the information.

But information wasn't enough—they needed proof.

He removed the spectrograph from the case, attached the adjustable bolo. “I assume your prints are on record with the Resort?"

The man eyed him warily. “What are you doing?"

“Scanning for fingerprints. Please continue your story."

“Not much more to tell. I blacked out and when I came to, they were both in here, accessing my computer. Like spies, knowing what they were doing."

“Standing or sitting?” Mortar asked.

“Standing, I think. Right here."

Mortar ran the spectrograph slowly over the console, bathing the keyboard in purple-blue light. He lifted several clear prints and, linking into the Internet, identified them as belonging to the portsmith. A list of prior infractions scrolled across the face and he commanded the computer to disregard.

“Do you know which files they accessed?” Mortar asked, still working.

Scowling, the smith said, “They were into my personal files."

Mortar glanced up. “You keep records on every patron?"

“It's a boring job—I have to liven it up somehow."

Why would Anneliese open the portsmith's files? What was she looking for? Again, Mortar drew the spectrograph across the monitor. He was aware of the smith's stare, aware of Gordon's impatience.

But he couldn't give up. Anneliese had been there. He knew it.

“Can you tell me anything more?” Mortar asked.

“Nothing,” said the portsmith.

Mortar slid the instrument along the edge of the desktop.

And there, glowing faintly, was an entire handprint. It was small enough to belong to a child.

Mortar held his breath. Seconds stretched as he sent the print through the Net. A prayer floated from the recesses of his mind. And still he was amazed as the ‘graph flashed positive ID. Anneliese Thielman.

CHAPTER 37

Anneliese paced her stone cell. Her heart pounded. Glancing toward the tunnel, she saw guards to either side of the doorway. Waiting to execute her, she thought.

Panic swelled in her throat. She balled her fists in her hair. What was she going to do?

Suddenly, Sayer stepped into the room. She rushed into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his arms upon her chilled skin, reminding her of her damp clothing, her swim just a few hours ago. Tears filled her eyes and she winced against them.

“Do you believe them?” she asked. “Do you believe I would betray you?"

“No,” he said, “of course, not."

“Well, you should.” She pushed him away, walking across her cell, wrapping her arms about her chest. “The Llaird are marching toward obliteration. All that they've worked for—all the artwork, and the gardens, and dreams—everything will be gone. I thought I could stop that. I thought I could help.” She turned, pressing her back against the wall. “But I'm worthless. I have nothing to offer you or your people. Everything I was, everything I had is lost."

He stepped forward, touching his fingers to her lips. “There is a bedtime story that has been passed through generations—the tale of a bird that leads the children to light. It is the story of hope, the prophecy of a stranger who holds knowledge that we lack. I believe you to be part of this prophecy."

“And in this bedtime story, was the bird executed?"

He smiled. “They will not go that far, I am certain of it. Just face Ente's accusations calmly, let them see you as I see you. Follow the path."

Her lip trembled. “I'm afraid."

“There is something special within you, Anneliese. A strength that is yet untested. I believe if you had to you could do anything."

Anneliese looked up into Sayer-Kihn's eyes. Then she heard Ente's voice. Guards burst into the room, taking hold of Anneliese's arms, pulling her away.

“Sayer,” Anneliese cried.

The chiliarch bowed his head.

The guards rushed Anneliese down a short hall and into the Chambers. She saw the glow of the lighted pit, the moiru dancers upon their pedestals, still searching for enlightenment. She saw Ente and Wathe-Taln, heard the Llaird filing into the huge amphitheatre.

She felt weak with fright, and for a moment, she sagged against the hands that bound her. Then Wathe-Taln approached and she lifted her chin.

“You might have at least allowed me my robe instead of forcing me here half naked,” she said.

Taln lifted his lip in a snarl. He grabbed her roughly away from the guards and pulled her to stand at the edge of the gravel where the light shone into her face. He stood behind her, his fingers sinking into her arms, forcing her to face the Llaird.

Anneliese clenched her teeth. She stared through the glare at the darkened tiers of onlookers, wondering if Pilar were among them. How would it affect him to see her die? Would he remember his sister?

Then Ente entered the spotlight. She regarded Anneliese with a gaze that spoke of righteous outrage—but as she moved to stand beside her, a hardened smile crossed her lips.

Anneliese imagined how the spurned woman had felt to find her in Sayer's arms. Her voice cracked. “Ente, please."

Ente turned her back. Facing the barrow, the woman raised her voice in a strident litany. Anneliese twisted about, searching for Sayer-Kihn, but Taln held her fast, blocking her view.

Again, Ente approached Anneliese. She spat out a stream of consonants, her yellow eyes narrowing into glowing slits. Reaching into the sash of her robe, she pulled out a knife.

A murmur rounded the amphitheater. Anneliese's knees buckled. She wanted to tell them about the Resort's capacity for revenge, wanted to warn them of the danger. But the Llaird weren't interested in truths or logic, she knew. They believed in mystics.

Ente held the knife in the air, circling the pit where Anneliese stood, then dropped the weapon onto the glowing stones. It lay black upon the surface, marring the light.

Anneliese struggled against the unwavering grip of Wathe-Taln. “Why did she drop the knife?” she whispered. “I thought you planned to slit my throat before your people."

“With this one gesture she denounces you. She says you are not worth sullying her blade. But have no hope of reprieve, Rafa-Ja. You will be poisoned to death as a traitor."

Poisoned. Anneliese swallowed a lump in her throat. The air pulsed with the chiming din of the moiru. Ente lowered her head, stepping backwards into shadow.

Then Anneliese saw Sayer-Kihn. He stood at the farthest reaches of the light, looking not at her but at the rows of Llaird in attendance. His face was calm, his hands clasped behind his back.

A sob escaped Anneliese. Stand beside me, her mind cried. Tell them I was trying to save the barrow. But the chiliarch made no move in her defense.

He had abandoned her.

Despair stole her breath, a fist crushing her chest. She shook her head. No, she could not believe that of him. Then Sayer turned his eyes toward her.

And in the back of her mind, Anneliese heard him say, I believe if you had to you could do anything.

Follow the path.

Suddenly the air rang with bells. The soothsayer entered the Chambers.

Anneliese felt her legs tremble and she steeled herself against them. With more bravado than she felt, she said, “Will she tell my fortune before you murder me?"

Taln's fingers tightened like metal bands about her arms. “Do not mock our ways,” he hissed in her ear. “She will read to you as you die, so that you may know to which of the nether regions your spirit will be drawn. It is meant as a comfort."

“How thoughtful,” she said.

Duessa-Kimmer crossed the stage. Dressed in her shimmering onyx robes, the dark woman swept her arms, playing to the audience. Anneliese felt the weight of the woman's penetrating gaze. She looked at the knife's shadow upon the stones, avoiding the soothsayer's eyes.

In stilted Standard, Duessa-Kimmer said, “Now is the time for you to refute the accusations."

Words clamored up Anneliese's throat and she swallowed them back down. Slowly lifting her eyes to the soothsayer's face, she said, “The path is laid, Duessa."

The woman shied back, clearly disconcerted, and Anneliese smiled in spite of herself. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sayer's stunned face, saw him take a step forward, restrained by one of the guards.

Just then, the moiru dancers stopped. They stood, chests heaving, staring blankly ahead, the cessation of their costumes falling to silence.

Anneliese said, “Release me, Wathe. Let me face this on my own."

She felt his hesitation.

“If you run, I will cut you down,” he whispered, dropping his hands.

Anneliese stepped into the center of the pit. She imagined light streaming around her, exposing her slight form, her damp and clinging undergarments. Spreading her arms as the speakers had done, she opened herself to the scrutiny of the barrow. She made a show of running her gaze over the shadowed tiers, gathering the people with her eyes. Then she looked toward the dark woman.

Duessa-Kimmer lowered her head. She held her heavily lidded eyes half-opened, as if seeking a trance. A boy offered the seer a small stone bowl, and she took it ceremoniously, holding it toward the ceiling.

Anneliese watched with trepidation. The soothsayer took the merest sip from the bowl and handed it back to the boy ... who then offered it to Anneliese. With trembling hands, Anneliese accepted the stone vessel. The liquid was thick as gruel, not like the tea served at the Resort.

“Is this the poison?” she asked.

Taln's voice came behind her. “It is poison most foul. It will heighten your senses, and then burst your heart."

Anneliese wavered beneath a surge of doubt. It was just tea, she promised herself, brewed strong and potent but tea nonetheless. She remembered staining her skin with the moss, remembered Surah telling her she might have died of heart failure. Only the anointed dare drink, Myetrae once said.

But she was one of the anointed.

Taln whispered, “Drink or I will slay you where you stand."

Anneliese's heart raced. She stared into her fear. Then, lifting the bowl as she had seen done before, she drank the tea. The gruel was bitter yet familiar. It burned as it coursed down her throat. Anneliese tilted back, drinking the poison to the last drop.

A gasp shook the amphitheatre, and she realized she was expected to take only a mouthful, not finish the bowl. Anneliese gazed toward the onlookers. For good measure, she licked her lips ... then winced as a spasm seized her stomach. She looked at the bowl in her hand, considered smashing it against the gravel floor or hurling it defiantly into the crowd.

Before her, the boy watched avidly. She smiled then walked past him, handing the empty bowl to Duessa-Kimmer.

Caught off-guard, the esteemed woman actually accepted it. Anneliese wanted to laugh. Heat rushed over her, and she felt her lungs would burst.

She pictured Syoney writhing in flames.

The fortuneteller turned away. Regaining her composure, she took out her Babesh stones. She knelt in the gravel, black robes flowing around her, golden light bathing her face—but for a moment, Anneliese looked beyond Duessa-Kimmer and saw an old crone sitting in the marketplace. A boy sat beside her, his face marked with drool.

Anneliese closed her eyes. She remembered the vacant child, remembered her loathing at the sight of him. Her cheeks burned with shame.

Suddenly her life passed before her mind's eye: a humiliating parade of narcissism and prejudice. She wanted to tear at her breast, to throw back her head and howl. This is who I am! If you must judge me, let it be for the truth.

Again, the seer rolled the stones—old hands, young hands, old hands, young. Anneliese staggered. She saw the dancers climb from their pedestals, clinging to each other, staring. Ente rushed from the stage. Sayer-Kihn's face loomed, eyes stark with horror. He spoke, but his voice was lost to the sound of rushing wind.

Anneliese thought her veins were on fire. She grit her teeth. Was this what it was to die? No! She would not allow them to kill her. She'd survived an overdose of the drug before—she would live through this now.

Duessa-Kimmer chanted softly, matching card to stone. Her fingers moved with the grace of long familiarity. But, as they came to the final card, they hesitated, placing the image down reverently.

A woman with two faces holding a sword overhead, one foot poised over a chasm.

Slowly, the soothsayer looked up at Anneliese. Shock contorted her face.

And for the first time, Anneliese knew what she had to do.

“Yes! Jefe-Naik!” She snatched up the card. “From this point you may go in either direction. Recant your Fool's War. There is a better way."

A deepening silence clenched the room. Anneliese held the card for all to see. Her body shook with exhilaration, adrenaline intensifying the effects of the drug. The air beat as with the wings of a bird.

Then Wathe-Taln said, “You can rid us of the Resort?"

The scorn in his voice slapped her awake. She glanced about, viewing the gathered faces as if from a great height. Then she saw Sayer-Kihn, saw his pride in her, his absolute certainty.

“Yes. I can,” she said smiling, and knew at last she could fly.

CHAPTER 38

Anneliese knelt at the jagged crevice, looking out from the mouth of the tunnel. Stars filled the sky and for a moment she could only stare, it seemed so long since she'd last seen them.

Reaching into a sack at her side, she withdrew a fist-sized piece of malpais, holding it into a shaft of moonlight. The stone glowed like black-green ice.

“Magnificent,” she whispered.

Behind her, Sayer-Kihn said, “I don't like this. I should be with you."

“We can't risk it. You've been to the Trader City too many times. Someone would recognize you.” She rewrapped the stone in a cloth, stowing it with the others in her sack. “Everything will go smoothly."

“But you are the Jefe-Naik, our prophet of change. You should remain in safety, let others carry out your vision."

“I am no more special than you were when you located the water with your divining rod.” Anneliese shook her head. “Besides, we're making a business proposition, and who among you understands the merits of versatile profit?"

“But what if the Resort is searching for you there?"

“Why would they do that?” She paused, expecting him to say more. “I have to go. My partner will become surly."

“Take me with you,” Sayer-Kihn said.

“I can't."

He turned away. “But why Wathe-Taln? There are others in the barrow who speak Standard."

Because he feels diminished, she thought. Because he needs to redeem himself—and she needs to know she can forgive. Aloud, she said, “Wathe believes I am the Jefe-Naik. He'll keep me safe enough."

Moving to Sayer's side, she ran her fingers across the scars along his cheek—rites of passage, he'd once told her, one slash for each level of learning. She had also been marked, she thought, but her scars were internal.

Sayer exhaled sharply, but after a moment, he smiled. Reaching for her hand, he dropped two coins into her palm.

“Is this my allowance?” she asked.

“It will help you to look like a prospector. Go now. I will wait for you here."

She blinked. “But I might be gone a day or more, especially if I can't get that abandoned skip-chaser to float."

“I will be here. I will wait until you need me. Now go. Your partner grows impatient."

Anneliese hesitated, wanting to tell him how flimsy she thought her plan was and how frightened she was trying to carry it out, wanting to tell him how much he meant to her.

She watched the chiliarch beneath the cover of semi-darkness, and then realized he could see her plainly, even in the scant light. Glancing out at the night, she slung the bag over her shoulder.

“Good-bye,” was all she could think to say.

Slipping through the crevice between the rocks, Anneliese stepped from the tunnel. Fresh air struck like a tonic, cool and dry and silent. Huge twin moons bathed the land in coppery light, gathering the hills in stark relief. She found the sight oddly comforting, as if she'd come home.

Sighing, she brushed back her hair then replaced her misshapen hat. She'd traded her robes for a musty jacket, her sandals for keratol boots. Prospector attire. She shuddered, wondering where they might have been found.

“I am here,” a voice called.

She turned toward Wathe-Taln, picking her way toward him over the uneven stone. In a rocky pocket, she found the fallen skip-chaser, its sleek, arrow-shaped form crumpled and scuffed. The hatch was askew, the side view ports smashed, but the wind bonnet was smooth and intact.

Wathe-Taln looked up as she approached. “I've moved the bodies beyond those rocks. No one will find them."

She circled the craft then peered inside. “How long has this been here?"

“Who can say? Can you fly it?"

“I can if there's power. What made it go down, I wonder?” She remembered the stories of hunters at night, swooping down through the canyons.

Wathe-Taln sneered. “Perhaps the land reached up to smite them. Hateful off-worlders."

Anneliese snapped upright, meeting his eyes squarely. “Clean out some of this dust,” she demanded. “We want the vehicle to look worn, not abandoned. I'll see if the battery packs were damaged.” Moving to the rear, she slid back the hood.

She had no idea what she was looking at. A braid of cables lay to one side, a sheet of leathery bubbles to the other. A narrow cylinder seemed to be ajar and she pushed until it snapped into place. She listened to Wathe-Taln's movements inside, heard him break out the remainder of the ruined view ports. Gently, she replaced the hood.

“Let's see if that did it,” Anneliese said, dusting her hands and climbing into the pilot's cage.

The air was stale despite being open to the elements. The stink of mummies, she thought wryly. Placing the sack of malpais between her feet upon the floor, she turned her attention to the control panel. Altitude. Orientation. The computer grid remained dark. She pried loose the keychip, and then slammed it home again.

The tiny craft roared. Anneliese squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She could do this—she'd flown skip-chasers before. She pulled the flight harness over her head.

“You'd better strap in up here,” she said. “The bay is only for carry-on."

Wathe-Taln appeared beside her, face pale in the moonlight.

She reached over, securing his harness. “Relax. We aren't in the air yet."

“I know,” he said.

Smiling to herself, Anneliese pressed ORIENTATION, holding them level as the craft rose. The grid came on-line, fixing the cabin in a green glow. Outside, the night became impenetrable.

“No lights,” she said. “You'll have to guide me."

He swallowed audibly before answering. “In that direction, beyond the ridge."

She swung the ship about, one eye on the simulation as it flowed across the grid. They darted forward, tilting haphazardly, slowly picking up speed.

Wind rushed through the portholes, and Anneliese raised her voice over the racket. “Who are these traders we're supposed to meet?"

“My contact said only that they were hungry."

“Perfect. That gives us the advantage."

“Or puts us at further risk,” he said.

Anneliese laughed, covering her nervousness. She'd seen her father negotiate hundreds of times, she thought. She could handle a few hungry traders.

But as their silence grew, her misgivings took root. Anneliese gnawed her lip, concentrating upon flying the lightweight plane. As her hands stroked the control panel, she noticed Wathe-Taln watching closely as if memorizing her movements.

The sky grayed with dawn. Anneliese saw the outlines of rocks. She saw ships taking off like arcing sparks. Then the glow of a city rose from the horizon.

Trader City. Just days ago, all she wanted was to be there—now all she wanted was to finish her business so she could leave. A change in perspective, she thought, smiling.

Anneliese pulled the craft to a halt in a courtyard. A thunderous roar startled her. She saw a flash then a fireball as it streaked across the sky: a shuttle blasting away.

Unlatching the harness, she said, “This won't take long. We may as well leave the food and water here."

“We do not leave water behind,” Wathe growled.

“Then it's your baggage. Go outside and see what we're up against."

She heard him clamor through the aft hatch. A tiresome man, she thought, for all that he believed her a prophet. Perhaps she should have brought Sayer-Kihn instead.

The thought caused a twinge of panic. She had become too close to the chiliarch, too fast. She didn't want another love affair to end as badly as her first.

She pulled the keychip from the slot, and then thinking better of it, left it in place—they might need a quick escape if they ran into trouble. Reaching for her sack of malpais, she brushed against a shelf beneath the console. A gun fell to the floor.

Gingerly, she picked it up. It was old, almost archaic. A needle gun. She turned it over in her hands, wondering if it still worked.

“It is safe.” Wathe-Taln rapped upon the wind bonnet.

Anneliese jerked upright. She slid the weapon into her sack, and then climbed from the hatch.

Scattered ships lined the courtyard: flitters and skip-chasers, planet-bound craft. The shuttles were at port in the center of the city—she could see their lights.

She slung the bag over her shoulder. “How are we to know these traders your informants ferreted out?"

“They will know us. We are to wait at the Wayfarer Inn. Near the shipping docks."

“Then follow me,” she said.

Increasing her pace, Anneliese entered the city. The streets were wide and smooth, the buildings rounded lumps in the darkness. Mud huts, she thought. A hive of insects.

She clenched her fists against a coursing fear, drawing her father's face from the shadows. Stare down your opponent, he would say.

Trade is power.

Pirates and brigands darted past, off-worlders filling the streets. Anneliese watched them furtively, aware of the gun's weight in her sack. The sky lightened, allowing her to see her surroundings. She stopped at a sign printed in Standard: Shipping Port C.

She pointed at the runes painted below. “Are those Llaird words?"

Wathe-Taln ran his fingers over the sign. “It gives directions."

“Any we can use?” She scowled as the silence lengthened. “Well, we can't just wander the streets hoping to find...."

“One side. Out of my way!” A voice rose over a sudden clatter.

Anneliese turned to see a man barrel into a woman, sending her sprawling into the street. A metal cup flew from her hand, bouncing a few feet away.

“Filthy local,” the man snapped.

The woman flinched, groping about, finding the coins that had fallen from her cup.

A beggar woman, Anneliese realized. She glared at the man as he passed, then turned her ire upon Wathe.

“How can you just stand there?” she asked.

“It is as it is. Should I change the world?"

“Yes!” she snapped.

Anneliese crossed over to the woman, taking her elbow. The face that looked up was no more than eighteen years old. Defiant and scared. Shunted aside. Anneliese cringed as if she looked into her own face.

A child's voice cried out—a boy peeking around a building—and the woman hissed at him, warning him in her guttural tongue. She turned back to Anneliese, scraping and bowing, rattling her cup.

Stiffly, Anneliese rose. She glanced at Wathe-Taln. “Tell her this, in my words. Are you truly a beggar, then, a filthy local as that naplaugh named you? Well, I do not give to those who believe themselves worthless.” She paused as Wathe finished translating, waiting for her words to register. “However, I will be happy to buy information from you, if you've any to sell."

The woman got to her feet. She was taller than Anneliese, even hunched within her robes. She glanced between them then nodded.

“Ask her where we can find the Wayfarer Inn.” Anneliese listened to their clipped discourse, hearing for the first time the patterns and music of their speech.

Wathe said, “The tavern is in that direction."

“Very good."

Reaching into her jacket, Anneliese dropped one of Sayer's coins into the woman's cup. The beggar smiled, jabbering her thanks. Anneliese crossed the street, and then glancing back, saw the woman place the coin into her mouth.

The sky turned pink along the edges. A skip-chaser roared overhead. Anneliese pushed through the crowded shipping yard, dodging stacks of crates. She saw several Llaird, all of them laborers, but the majority of the people were off-world traders.

She'd seen such traders in her father's meeting rooms. They were curt and single-minded, dressed so much alike it seemed almost a uniform: short-pants and boots, tailored vests, and a bulge in back from a holstered gun. They bellowed and cussed, lording over their booty. Anneliese ran her eyes over the melee.

Then she noticed a hut pocked with small disks. A communications array! Waves of homesickness washed over her. She thought of her father grieving over her reported death. When she was finished at the Inn, she would send a message, she decided. But she imagined her father arriving, insisting on taking her away. Smothering her.

“There.” Wathe-Taln spoke over the din.

Anneliese looked toward a small dome-shaped building and a hand-painted sign: Wayfarer Inn. A group of men burst from the door, laughing and jostling. Fear clutched her. No, not fear—exhilaration.

Wathe asked, “Do you want me to wait elsewhere while you speak with the smugglers?"

“No,” she said. “I need you to stand at my back, in case someone tries to slip a knife into it."

CHAPTER 39

Anneliese pushed through the tavern's heavy drape, entering the noisy room. The underground Inn was larger than she'd expected. A full-length bar dominated one end, crowded tables the other. Heads turned as she stepped into their midst.

Trade is power, she recited soundlessly.

She slapped her remaining coin onto the bar as if she'd been born to such things. “Give us something cold to drink."

The barkeep brought two glasses of a frothy liquid—the milk concoction she'd tasted at Surah's lounge. Anneliese cradled the coolness in both hands, and then drank half of it down.

Slowly, she warned herself. Don't appear too eager. You are a prospector, not some naive young girl running one step ahead of trouble.

But beside her, Wathe-Taln smacked his lips, setting his empty glass upon the bar.

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “Let's find a large table in back."

The tables were of molded plasticene, stools attached to the base, their once bright colors scuffed and stained. Anneliese took another sip of her drink then set the glass upon an empty tabletop, staking her claim.

A man sat down at the table. He picked up her glass. “Yllib milk? Rather boring. Let me buy you a real drink."

“This seat is taken,” Anneliese said, still standing, “and I am here to conduct business, not to imbibe."

The man smiled. His blue eyes were startling. “And I don't conduct business unless I imbibe.” He motioned toward Wathe-Taln. “Your servant?"

“My partner."

He stood. “The deal was with you."

Anneliese's head whirled, finally realizing that he was one of the traders. “He doesn't speak Standard,” she said quickly.

“Then how do you communicate?"

She leaned against Wathe as she had seen Surah lean against Pol. “We have our ways."

An older man stepped forward, glaring at the first. “I wasn't informed there would be a counter offer."

The man laughed. “Perhaps you expect exclusive rights?"

“I expect honesty in my business dealings."

“Luckily, the lady here is not so big a fool."

Anneliese hardened her eyes. “Lower your voices,” she said. “We are expecting one more."

“That would be me,” said a man.

She turned to face the third trader. A shock of familiarity rushed through her—where had she seen him before?

Unsettled, Anneliese leveled her gaze upon the other two. “You question if I am fool or lady, and the answer is no to both. As for counter offers, life wouldn't be worth much without them.” She let her words rest for a moment, and then took her seat. Wathe stood warm at her back—watching for knives, she thought. “I assume you know what I've found and have already queried prospective buyers. I will now sweeten the proverbial pot."

Reaching into the bag upon her lap, she withdrew a fist-sized piece of malpais. The blue-eyed man handled it admiringly, reluctant to pass it on. Anneliese took out the other two stones, setting them before her.

“You are handing out samples?” the third man asked.

She smiled. “I guarantee, once you have them appraised, your contacts will leap into the bidding."

The old trader said, “What's to keep us from taking these and not returning?"

“I have more."

“How much more?” the blue-eyed man asked.

“My lava field is very large. I can accommodate your buyers,” she said.

The third trader made a disgusted sound. “How do you know this field of yours won't be found by someone else?"

Anneliese smiled, lifting her glass. “No one has yet.” She took a large gulp of milk then wiped her mouth with the side of her hand. She could feel the eyes of the third trader upon her, staring.

Perhaps she looked familiar to him, too, and he was trying to place her. Would it hurt or help, she wondered, if he knew she was Mortar Thielman's daughter?

“The quality is good,” Blue Eyes said. “Marketable."

The old trader laughed. “The market hasn't seen the like of this in fifty years. And you say you have more?"

“Don't tell me you're falling for this scam.” The third trader set the stone spinning across the table. “Two or three good pieces, and she has you fawning all over her. There's a good reason why this hasn't been seen in fifty years—there is no more malpais!"

“Maybe there is and maybe there isn't,” the elder man said. “Where credits are concerned, I keep an open mind."

“And when she doesn't deliver, then where are you going to be?” He threw his hands in the air. “Fools. Both of you. And you the biggest of all if you think I don't see through this little sham."

Anneliese couldn't respond. She hadn't anticipated hostility. The trader got to his feet, then leaned across the table, his face inches from hers.

“No sir, little beauty, you don't fool me."

Little beauty. Dear God! It was Prin, Cade's friend. The man who'd locked her in her room the night she'd been abducted. Anneliese felt the blood rush from her face. Her fingers tightened about the glass of milk.

He doesn't know me, she told herself. He probably calls every woman that. She stared as Prin headed toward the staircase.

The elder man got to his feet. “It's a risky venture, but I may have a lead or two. I'll leave word for you in a few days.” Pocketing one of the stones, he left the Inn.

He didn't believe her, either, Anneliese thought. Her plan had failed. Lifting her gaze, she faced the blue-eyed trader.

The man smiled. “As I was saying, the quality is good. As for the risks, life wouldn't be worth much without them."

She fought to keep her voice level. “Do you have buyers, Mister...?"

“Hunter. Steven Hunter. I believe we can do business. How much are you asking?"

“Enough to meet my needs,” she said.

He hefted the glowing rock. “If you can provide more of this, you will be rich beyond any need. You will own this planet."

With a wink, he stood and walked away. Anneliese slumped in her chair.

Wathe sat beside her. “I don't understand."

“It's business,” she said. “First, you gain their interest by flooding the market with your stone. Sell to whomever makes an offer. Then, when the eyes of the galaxy turn toward the Llaird, you stop the flow—until they meet your demands. And one of those demands will be a controlling interest in the Resort Debauch."

“We don't want to control them, we want them off our world."

“That is too big a step. The Resort is a powerful enemy—you need to cut them down at the knee.” A saying she'd heard her father use.

Her father. Anneliese covered her face, wishing she'd never left her father's stronghold, wishing she could lock herself in her room and never come out. What made her think she could pose as a trader? She picked up the remaining piece of malpais.

“Let's get out of here,” she said to Wathe.

Anneliese blinked at the strong sunlight as she pushed through the Wayfarer's outer drape. Forgotten heat seared her skin.

Wathe raised his goggles. “Do you trust that man?"

“No.” She tugged at her crumpled hat. “Trust is not part of the game. We will use him to get what we want."

“And he will use us. A dangerous game, even for a prophet."

Anneliese sighed. He was right—the plan had been doomed from the start. She looked toward the communications building. She could call her father, she thought, and wait for him to take her home. She could leave the Llaird to run the negotiations.

She shook her head. None of the Llaird grasped what she was doing. Not even Sayer. They were like babes, and she'd be throwing them to the wolves.

She thought of Sayer then, picturing him sitting in the mouth of the cave. Waiting. A warm rush of hope filled her. She pulled the hat over her eyes. Life wouldn't be worth much without risk, she told herself.

Turning her back, Anneliese walked away from the communications array. She retraced the remembered route out of the city. The streets were blinding white. Low slung huts rose to either side. She hung the sack over one shoulder, feeling the weight of the stone Prin had refused.

Then a man crossed her path, nearly knocking her down. Anneliese caught a glimpse of a white turban.

Wathe grabbed her arm, pulling her away. “Did he harm you?"

“Only startled me.” She smiled, looking at him quizzically.

He kept his grip upon her, glancing about. “I thought he was the white-haired man."

“What man?” asked Anneliese.

“Sayer-Kihn warned me of a man who searches Enceinte for the murderess of the Security Master. The man has paved the streets in coin, paying for information."

Anneliese turned cold inside. Sayer knew about Harmadeur? Then a new thought struck her. “Did Sayer mention a reward?"

Wathe's eyes shifted. “I'm not aware of such."

She staggered back. Of course there would be a reward, she thought. That's why Sayer was so happy to take her into his custody. He was holding her until a better deal could be struck.

Anneliese pressed her palms against her temples. She'd been a prisoner after all, a slave seduced by words of love. How could she be so trusting? “Dear God, not again."

“I am charged with your safety,” Wathe said.

“And from whom should you save me?” she asked bitterly. “Sayer or the bounty hunter?"

“The white-haired man.” He frowned. “The stranger who shares your name."

“What did you say?"

“The man whose name is Thielman."

She shoved him. “My father? My father is here looking for me—and Sayer-Kihn kept me from him?"

Wathe-Taln shook his head. “This man is your sire?"

“Damn you. What other secrets are you hiding?"

He reached for her arm. “The chiliarch will explain."

Anneliese pulled the gun from her sack, pointing it at her bodyguard. “I'll listen to no more of his stories."

Wathe's eyes hardened. “You are not the Jefe-Naik."

Anneliese's aim wavered. An aircraft screamed overhead and she glanced up distractedly. “Look, I've ended your Fool's War,” she said. “I've given you a real chance for change. Just follow it through."

“I do not play your game.” Wathe sneered.

She took a step away. “Go back to your barrow, Wathe. Tell Sayer ... I'm glad I found out in time."

Turning, Anneliese ran toward the loading docks. Her boots pounded the heated pavement, exertion plastering her jacket to her body. Her father was looking for her—she turned the thought over in her mind, incredulous. If he were on this world, the yacht would be in orbit. She could leave word of her whereabouts with the crew.

The streets were empty, the local workers sleeping through the heat of day. She rounded a stack of crates, and then bounded down a short stairwell cutting into the side of the communications building.

A locked door barred her way. Anneliese slammed it with her shoulder.

“Damn it!” she cried, pounding. “Open this door!"

“He's probably gone for something to eat.” A woman looked down at her from the street.

“I have to get a message to my ship,” Anneliese said.

The woman shrugged. “He'll reopen at sundown."

Anneliese watched her walk away, and then sank upon the steps. Sweat streamed down her face. Scrubbing away hated tears, she shouldered her sack, returning to the Wayfarer Inn.

The tavern was busy, laughter rising in waves. She felt eyes upon her as she crossed to the bar.

“What can I get for you?” the barkeep asked.

“I want a quiet room and a meal,” she said.

“That will be three local scalar."

Anneliese fished inside her sack, drawing out the remaining piece of malpais. The man's eyes lit as he lifted the stone from the bar.

“Enough?” she asked him.

He handed her a rectangular keychip. “Room 16B, down the tunnel to the left."

Anneliese followed the shadowed hall. Noise deadened as if the tavern had been cut off—a trick of the rock, she thought. She slid the chip into its slot and the door of her room clicked open. Light flickered from bars set in the ceiling.

Sitting upon the lumpy cot, Anneliese removed her boots. Above the bureau, a spotted mirror looked back at her. She turned away from her face.

A knock came at the door. Anneliese tucked the gun into her waistband, peering outside. She found her dinner untended on a tray upon the floor. A pitcher of ale, a bowl of stegort, and a loaf of steaming bread.

She carried the tray to the bureau, drank the ale too fast, setting her head swimming. The bread was laced with morels. She ate half, wrapped the rest in the napkin draping the tray.

Then, finding the control for the lights, she lay in pitch-darkness, picturing the face of Sayer-Kihn.

* * * *

Anneliese startled herself awake, forgetting for a moment where she was. Standing before the bureau, she stared at the remains of her supper. The stegort was shriveled from sitting out. She tore off a piece, chewing it solemnly, then placed the rest of the meat and the bread in her sack. Tucking the gun into the sash at her waist, she left the room.

The tavern was quiet. A woman stood behind the bar, looking as if she would rather be asleep. Anneliese placed her key upon the counter as she walked past.

Outside, the air was dry and still, the sky fiery with sunset. Floodlights painted the dockyards in stark white and blue shadow.

Anneliese stepped out of the way of a local man walking behind a repulsor trolley. The trolley was unwieldy and overloaded. Someone's shipment had come in, she thought. Several shipments, in fact—the yard boasted an imbroglio of people and crates. Hovercraft hung overhead, jockeying for position, and workmen moved their employers’ possessions from pile to pile.

She fixed her eyes upon the communications building. Soon she would be safe, she thought. She would be on her father's moon, imprisoned as neatly as with any cage.

A bird struggling against its captors.

Anneliese bit her lip, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Sayer had been the consummate liar, she thought, saying all the right words, looking into her heart and playing upon her pain. And she'd wanted to believe him, needed to believe. She was strong when he was with her.

A crash stole her attention. The trolley had failed, scattering its load upon the rock. Instantly, a barrel-chested trader appeared, bellowing red-faced at the laborer. The man stood meekly, eyes downcast, shoulders collapsed.

Anneliese winced, looking away. She could not help people who believed themselves worthless. Yet, she'd thought herself worthless most of her life. When had her perceptions changed?

She circled around the back of the Inn, hoping to keep out of the way, plotting a route to the communications hut. Shadows gathered beyond the reaches of the dockyard, night swallowing the last vestiges of day. Leftover heat swelled from the pavement.

She turned down a narrow alley. Soon she would be safe. She thought of soft clothing and cool sheets, wondered if her bedroom was as she'd left it. What would her father say when he saw her? Her smile broadened.

But her step slowed. A stand of boxes piled three deep blocked the alley. Damn! She'd lose time if she went back around. Perhaps she could squeeze between them.

She jarred the wall of cartons. The box on top wobbled. She took a step back, hands on her hips.

Behind her, a voice said, “Hello, Lisa."

Anneliese froze, replaying the words, her stomach filling with dread. She turned, forcing herself to face him.

“Hello, Cade,” she said.

CHAPTER 40

Cade showed a crooked smile, hair spilling over his forehead. He was so handsome. Anneliese found herself leaning forward, irresistibly drawn to the man. Hope resurrected itself. Perhaps he hadn't betrayed her, after all. Perhaps it was all a mistake.

“Lisa,” he said. “At last."

And she stammered like a child. “Cade, what are you doing here?"

“I've come for you, of course."

Anneliese's stomach wrenched, as if she were falling. “Stay where you are."

“But, aren't you happy to see me?” he asked.

Yes, she cried silently. She flexed her fingers, arms aching. Images flashed through her mind: Cade standing in a garden of stars—Harmadeur before her in the cage.

Something within her screamed. She swayed, remembering, reliving the horror as hands tore at her breasts, teeth bruising her lips. Cade moved toward her slowly, so slowly, and as if in a dream, she took the gun from her waist and leveled it at his chest.

His eyes narrowed but the smile remained. “I see you've figured it out. Maybe you have more intelligence than I'd given you credit for."

Anneliese blinked with the sting of his words. “I know about your gambling debts. I know you orchestrated my death with that explosion at the Resort. But why, Cade.... “She paused, afraid to ask, afraid he would not deny her accusations. “Why did you put me in that cage?"

“Why?” He barked an explosive laugh. “Because everything you have was meant for me. My mother loved Mortar Thielman. And he loved her. Until that libertine came between them."

Anneliese shook her head. What was he saying? “My mother was not—"

“Yes, she was.” Cade's face contorted into a mask, feral and vicious. “Surah did all she could to make him see that. She was crazy with despair, tried to make him jealous with another man, some trader she didn't even know. So, I was born without the life I deserved, and you were born to a whore."

Anneliese staggered against the wall of boxes. Her head pounded as if the world were crashing down. “Personal? Are you saying this was all personal, that the plot was against me and not against my wealth?"

“Oh, your money repaid my creditors all right. But Harmadeur would never be satisfied with mere repayment. I knew he would haunt me, blackmail me for the rest of my life. I had to entice him with something I could hold over his head."

“The rape of a captive virgin.” She stared. True. It had all been true. Her stomach churned with seething rage.

Cade paced back and forth, moving closer. “He was supposed to finish you when he was done. I couldn't believe you'd escaped him."

“I'm sorry you were disappointed."

“Well, I was at first, but I figured you wouldn't last long in Enceinte. Then your father found your diary. Really, Lisa, I'd expected you to be a little more discreet."

“Stand back.” She motioned with her gun.

Cade continued pacing. “He became obsessed with finding your body. Even in death, you stole him from me. Now, the only way I can save myself is to be sure no body is ever found."

Breath froze in her chest. Anneliese sensed the boxes behind her. She said, “How did you know I was here?"

“Prin, of course."

She winced. Of course.

Cade smiled. “He told me about your boyfriend. I can't say I was surprised, but a stinking Llaird?"

“Shut your mouth, you bastard. You don't know anything about them. They're a proud people."

He cocked a brow. “All this passion?"

Anneliese felt her face redden. She held the gun out. “Hold still! Keep your hands where I can see them."

“I have to kill you now, Lisa. No blood, of course. Red blood in a local alley would attract attention. But I want you to know I almost liked you in a way."

Her voice became shrill. “Put your hands up, Cade. Don't come any closer."

“What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

“I'm going to take you to the police. You'll spend the rest of your life in a labor camp. That is what you deserve, Cade."

He laughed. The sound chilled her.

“Tell me something, Lisa. What the hell did you do to your hair?"

Abruptly, he lunged. Anneliese pulled the trigger.

The gun did not fire. She squeezed again, staring blankly.

Cade swatted the weapon from her hand. He struck her across the face, sending her flying into the boxes, dislodging them. Anneliese shook her head, ears ringing, felt herself lifted by the front of her jacket, fingers closing about her throat. She struggled, gasping, clawing at Cade's face. With all her might, she brought up her knee, ramming it into his groin.

He gave a muffled moan, staggering. She locked her hands together and, using them as a club, smashed her fists into his jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Run, her mind ordered, but rage overcame her wits. Swinging her foot in a wide arc, she kicked his chest with her boot. He grunted, catching her ankle, seating her heavily upon the pavement.

Anneliese swiped her sack at his head, causing him to duck, loosening his hold on her. Bringing her foot back, she slammed her heel into his head. He fell back, a bloody crescent appearing over one eye.

Turning, she got to her feet. Cade struck her bodily from behind, throwing her headfirst into the boxes. The unsteady wall toppled. Anneliese felt the air rush from her lungs. A red haze encroached upon her vision.

A hand grabbed her thigh. Anneliese tensed with an onslaught of visions, electrified by the force of her memory—Harmadeur lying, weight heavy upon her, spreading her legs....

Fueled by hatred, she twisted about, pushing the carton aside. Cade bared his teeth in a demon's smile, fingers sinking into her flesh. The bridge of his nose bled freely, filling the hollows of his eyes. Slowly, he rose to his knees, pieces of smashed box shedding from his back.

Anneliese wriggled, trying to get away, clawing the broken carton beneath her. Her hands filled with packing material, and she threw the dusty fibers into his eyes. Then her fingers closed about something solid. She pulled the object free, carrying the motion over her head and down upon Cade's shoulder.

He roared, rearing back. Anneliese scrambled over the fallen boxes, lurching stiffly to her feet. Still holding her club, she turned to face him.

“Come on!” she taunted. “You thought to defeat me?"

Cade staggered, one arm hanging low. Reaching into the debris, he picked up a jagged shard of the crate. Anneliese glanced at the object in her hand: a figurine of an unclothed woman carved of wood, perhaps two feet long. She looked at Cade, smiling grimly.

He came at her suddenly, yelling as he descended the fallen wall, waving the piece of plastic as he would a sword. She darted back, her club taking the brunt of the blow. Swinging again, he sliced her arm. She felt the shock of acknowledgment, a gush of liquid warmth. But no pain.

You can't hurt me anymore.

With a heavy, downward chop, she snapped his sword in two. Cade blinked as if surprised, then lunged, stabbing at her—but Anneliese spun to the side and again brought the club against his shoulder.

She heard a satisfying snap. Cade cried out, dropping to his knees. Anneliese cocked the club back and, with summoned strength, struck the back of his skull.

The impact shivered up her arms—and for a moment, she was back in the cage, swinging the malpais pendant at Harmadeur's head. Fury exploded, unrestrained. She brought the wooden figurine down again.

“Bastard! Do you know what you've taken from me? Do you understand what kind of woman I've become?” Screaming, she rained blows upon his prone body.

Suddenly, light flooded the alley. Anneliese staggered back, blinking against unbearable brightness. A police cruiser hovered overhead. She saw a line of guards rush up the alley.

Coming to stop her.

No! she raged inwardly, then gasped, aghast at her emotions. She stared at the bloodied club, dropped it to the ground, set her jaw firmly as she stood before the advancing guards....

And, incredibly, found a familiar face.

“Father?” She took a step forward.

He spoke, but she couldn't hear him over the roar of the aircraft. Then she sensed movement.

Anneliese spun about. Cade stood behind her, eyes wild in his blood-streaked face. The box shard flashed like a knife overhead, stabbing down at her.

But at the last moment, a hand grabbed Cade's wrist, arresting the movement. Anneliese screamed belatedly, fingers over her mouth. She looked to her savior.

It was Sayer-Kihn.

Dear God! What was Sayer doing here? What was going on? Her eyes dropped to her blood encrusted hands. To have him see her like this.

But he was not looking at her. Sayer's eyes were locked upon Cade's, his face rigid with a fierce protectiveness she realized was meant for her—and something swelled inside as she heard his words again: you are safe with me.

Abruptly, the guards jerked Cade from Sayer's grasp. Anneliese looked up into the chiliarch's face.

Her father came between them, wrapping her in a rough embrace. “Thank God,” he murmured. “Thank God you're alive."

Anneliese laughed through sudden tears. She hugged her father tightly. Above them, the cruiser pulled away, floodlights dancing with the darkness.

A deputy appeared. “You are under arrest,” he said to Cade.

“For beating my wife?” Cade sneered.

“Your marriage to Miss Thielman was annulled two days ago. In any case, you are accused of a much more pressing crime. You are charged with willful and malicious destruction to the property of the Resort Debauch."

Cade's face went slack. “That's absurd! You can't prove it!"

The deputy said, “You led an intricate dance, I'll give you that. Nearly everyone involved in the explosion is dead. Not, however, the trader who sold you the tetryl."

Anneliese nodded. “And not me,” she whispered.

Her father drew her away. “I never gave up."

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“Your friend.” Her father motioned with his chin.

Anneliese looked toward Sayer-Kihn. “You brought him?” Her head whirled. “But, I thought you were trying to keep us apart...."

“When Wathe-Taln told me what you said about the stranger.... “Sayer bowed his head. “Anneliese, forgive me. I had no idea."

Anneliese leaned away from her father's support. Relief washed over her in waves—and she realized it no longer mattered what happened to Cade. Sayer hadn't lied to her.

Roughly, the guards led Cade away. He grunted, limping.

The deputy laughed. “Next time, you should choose your victims more wisely.” He walked over to her father and clasped his hand. “It's been a pleasure working with you, sir. If you will come to the station, we can make the additional charges of attempted murder and misappropriating funds."

“My daughter is in need of medical attention. For the moment, I'll take her back to my yacht,” Mortar Thielman said.

Sayer took a step forward. “Anneliese, come home."

“Now, just one moment, young man."

“Father, wait.” Anneliese's heart beat like the wings of a bird.

Sayer said, “I have no wish to come between you and your father. But is there not room in your life for both?” He stretched out his hand. “Anneliese, please. I am empty without you."

She looked into his high-planed face, his golden alien eyes. “I will not serve you."

“Nor I you. Come home with me."

Smiling, Anneliese folded her fingers over his. She lifted her face, and as Sayer's lips touched hers, Anneliese's heart took flight.

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