Every morning before opening the tavern master inspected the place, starting with the common room and bar where most of their business was done. Becca, a bosomy woman with a tiny waist and boyish hips, standing just half past five feet tall, strictly maintained the high standards that were responsible for the Cock and Boar's growing reputation. A triangle of black silk scarf held her chestnut hair back. A narrow sleeved, wide-cuffed scarlet shirt covered her high ample breasts, tucked into the wide waistband of black trousers that fit tight in the seat and loose in the legs, ending in a pair of practical low-heeled black boots. Her hips swayed coquettishly when she moved, more out of habit than advertising though she had done a fair bit of that in less prosperous times, turning tricks to make ends meet. Until late last summer she had worn dresses like the rest of the women in Vorgensburg, but after getting into an "anything you can do, I can do better" match with one of the two female owners of the Cock and Boar, which involved unloading a wagon load of supplies, she had been forced to admit the practicality of pants, bought her first pair and discovered she liked them. Now there were no dresses in her entire wardrobe. Giving away her dresses, many of them beautiful and expensive--purchased since the upturn in her fortunes--had brought an odd pleasure: For much of her life she had been the recipient of hand-me-downs, now, for the first time in her life, Becca had done the handing, taking them down to the poor quarter and it felt good. She would have given them to the household servants, but the majority of them had followed her into pants as a way of setting themselves apart as members of Aejys Rowan's household.

Zacham, the scullery boy, his wealth of shiny black hair tousled and mixed with straw from sleeping in the stable loft, shoved a push-broom with a handle that was longer than he was tall through the common room past Becca. The tables and chairs stood stacked in the corners to allow this daily cleaning. One of the adults would come through later with a mop, which Zacham was not yet strong enough to manage. The Cock and Boar, the cleanest establishment near the wharves, attracted as many traders and mid-level merchants as they did sailors, which had not always been the case; it had only been since Aejys Rowan and Tagalong Smith purchased it that the Cock and Boar stopped being a cheap dive and became a first rate tavern. And, since last spring, when Aejys lured away the Duke of Beltria's best pastry chef, it had begun to get the occasional wealthy merchant and guild master with a sweet tooth.

Becca nodded at Zacham, appraising his efforts and finding them adequate. He flashed her a grin, then ducked his head in the self-conscious way some children had simply because he did not know what else to do. She had just started toward the kitchens, the Cock and Boar would be opening for breakfast soon and the regulars would be pounding on the doors if she did not get them open on time, when a flash of blue light erupted in front of her, stopping her in her tracks.

"What in Nine Hells!" Her hand dropped to her pocket where the ends of a sling dangled above a handful of smooth stones. She wore a dagger at her waist and, although she had had some recent training, her instinctual reaction was still to reach for her sling. It was the only weapon she had known since childhood and felt entirely comfortable with. She always had a pocketful of her lucky river stones.

The blue light faded, leaving two people huddling in the middle of the floor in front of her: a mon cradling a bloody, grievously wounded nude mon in his arms. Becca was already moving before the mon's face registered in her mind and she recognized Josh's deeply seamed, weatherworn face and abraded complexion framed by a heavy, gray-streaked, brown beard. Becca went to her knees beside him, searching his face for clues to what had happened and who the mon was.

"Help her," Josh said, his voice strained with weeping. "Please, Becca."

"Of course." The tavern master brushed back the long tangle of sweat-drenched, blood-crusted hair from the mon's battered face and a scream rose in her throat before she could stop it. "Oh My Gods! Aejys!"

Zacham dropped the broom with a clatter, racing to her side. The scullery boy crouched at her elbow, staring through the crook of her arm. "Ohhhhh."

Becca glanced at Zacham and bent forward, trying to block his view of Aejys by covering their liege-lord with her body and elbowed the boy back. "Get away, Zacham. You don't need to see this."

The kitchen staff poured into the common room, clustering about them. An irritating cacophony of shocked questions rose around Becca. "Get out, all of you!" Becca shouted before she thought, then recovered enough to start issuing orders, "Zacham, Molly, wait. And Ash. The rest of you get back to work. Zacham, roust Omer and Raim. I'll need them to help get her upstairs. Ash get the healer fast. Molly, fetch a sheet and a blanket. We'll wrap her in the sheet first so no fibers from the blanket get in her wounds."

As she straightened, a soft sob just behind Becca's shoulder, caused the tavern master to swivel on her knees. A small girl of seven stood there--obviously frightened--worried tears running down her round cheeks.

"She'll be all right, Sami," Becca said, not really certain of anything. "Get hold of yourself. Go sit out front and tell the regulars we'll be opening a bit late, to be patient. But don't tell them why. This is very important. Don't tell them why. Just say 'opening late' nothing more. Can you do it?"

The little girl wiped her tears away with the back of a grubby hand, nodding.

"Good." Giving them things to do would keep down their talk and brooding on what they had just seen.

As they departed, Becca turned to Josh. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"Rowanslea," Josh said, adding quickly. "They're okay." The sot reeked of whiskey, a nasty sour smell: He had consumed so much that it was sweating through his pores.

"That's something," Becca muttered. "Who did this? How did it happen?"

"Margren."

"Her sister?"

Josh nodded. "Talk later, Becca. I don't feel so good." Strain from the incredible Jump and reaction had set in; he felt dizzy and sick.

Becca caught Josh as the sot collapsed, lowering him gently to the common room floor to lie beside Aejys. She checked him for wounds and, finding none, wrote his unconsciousness off to the alcohol. Molly reappeared and together they carefully wrapped Aejys in the sheet to protect her wounds and then the blanket to keep her warm.

Molly was a small middle-aged mon who wore her golden, curly hair caught at the back of her head with a bit of cheap red ribbon. She had warm brown eyes thickly lashed. Her small, delicate mouth was twisted tight with worry and concern. A soldier's widow, she had spent years following her husband on campaigns, serving as nurse, cook, and general forager for the company. When her husband died, the commander felt that it was improper for her to continue with them, took up a collection from the men, and sent her away. It was the blood, gore, and ugliness she had seen during those years of endless marching that caused her to say what Becca was afraid to, "She's been tortured. Get someone to build up the fire in her rooms. I'll need some warm water and soft cloths. The least we can do before the healer gets here is to start bathing some of the blood off so he can see what is hurt and what isn't."

Becca felt grateful to be able to put Molly in charge. Although the tavern-master had seen her share of brawls, she had never seen anything as ugly and upsetting as this.

The healer lowered Aejys' wrist, shaking his head. "Massive blood loss. Someone revivified her..." He gently pulled the pillow from under Aejys' head, moving it to beneath her feet and added the pillow from the far side also. He wore deep green robes and trousers; his waist length, glossy black hair tied back with a simple bit of green leather; a broad woven green band around his neck concealed his gills in an attempt to obscure his mixed species parentage--unnecessary for a member of Aejys' tolerant household, but Taun was new, having been enlisted by Becca after Aejys' departure from Vorgensburg last summer.

Oil-lamps sat on the nightstand, a small table in the center and the two end-tables framing the window seat, their wicks turned all the way up, sending a dancing orange glare through the room in response to the tiny draft entering along the edges of the windows.

Becca shook her head. "What does that mean, Taun?"

"She died." Taun's pale sea-foam eyes hooded with distress, for the thought clearly bothered him. "They brought her back. Sometimes, if a healer gets there in time, they can restart the heart and breathing."

"But she'll be all right?"

"I can't say yet--her blood-pressure is almost too low to..." Taun broke off, changing the subject--he had looked eagerly forward to finally meeting Aejystrys Rowan, but not like this. This was the worst thing the young healer had ever seen. "That's lifemage work." Taun's finger lightly traced the scars on Aejys' stomach. "Those wounds are only about an hour old."

Becca blanched, folding her arms across her stomach and fighting back nausea at the thought of what had been done to her liege lord. Before Aejys Rowan pulled her out of the gutter side of life, she had been a tavern wench, serving drinks and turning tricks just to survive. Aejys recognized and rewarded her talents, showing her that there was a better way to live, even arranging for Becca to learn to read and write. And if Aejys is lost, then the whole household is in danger. Everything we've gained is lost, she thought, then flushed with shame: I should be worrying about Aejys, just that, not what will happen to myself and the rest of us. No. Aejys would want me to worry about them.

Taun turned to Josh. "Why did they not finish the healing? Why only a makeshift mending?"

"They're dead." Josh dropped his eyes, focusing with distressed intensity on his fingers drawing circles on the clawed arms of his chair. He wore a long nightshirt with a wool blanket wrapped around him, his well-shaped legs sticking out beneath. He had roused from his exhaustion and alcoholic stupor the moment Omer and Raim tried to slide him into bed, managing to stagger down the hall to Aejys' room where he curled up in an over-stuffed chair. Josh had collapsed mainly from reaction to the strain of making the long Jump to safety in Vorgensburg from Rowanslea.

Taun's eyes went distant, unfocussed. "Genocide," he said softly. "I've heard rumors that the lifemages were all slain by the sa'necari." Then he visibly shook himself free. "Keep her warm. Keep her feet up to reduce the strain on her heart. Should she wake don't let her out of bed for any reason. Find some kind of bowl for her to relieve herself in. Get all the liquids into her you can. Lots of broth and tea." He pulled three bottles from his satchel. "Three fingers of this three times a day. It's a blood tonic." He sat a large bottle of amber liquid on the nightstand, placing a bottle of golden holadil next to it. "Two fingers for pain and to keep down the chance of infection. As needed. But at least three times a day for now."

"What's that for?" Becca picked up the smallest bottle, which contained a blue powder.

"With her blood pressure so low there's a chance of seizures. Should it happen, rub the powder into her nostrils and gums."

"That would mean we're losing her..." Becca guessed this.

Taun's expression clouded again. "If we can't stop them quickly enough..." He pulled the blankets over Aejys, tucking them in around her. "If it happens, get me immediately. I need to get some splints made for her hands and fingers. I doubt she'll ever have much--if any--use of them again--but we must try. And don't leave her alone. Not for a moment!" He shouldered his medicine satchel, rising to his feet.

"Taun," Becca's hand on his arm stopped him. "Would you mind moving into the main building here? I want you right next door to her."

"Can Skree stay here with me?"

"Of course. Skree is always welcome."

"Thank you." Taun's face brightened. His lover was a skeptic, harboring grim suspicions about all landsmyn; so Taun saw this as an opportunity to turn him around. Even more importantly, Skree was a sea-mage with gifts and knowledge more wide ranging than Taun's: if Skree could be persuaded to help, then Aejys' chances of survival would be vastly improved. However, only a lifemage could make a real difference and neither of them were one.

"I'll send Omer and Raim for your stuff."

Becca could hear the kitchen crew banging pots as they washed up from the evening meal in the room beneath her office; the day had crawled away at last and yet she had gotten very little done, running as she had with her spirits at half-mast. It had taken all the strength and discipline she could muster just to keep the worry schooled out of her face and voice for the sake of all who depended on her and who ultimately depended on Aejys. Last time there had been a serious crisis Tagalong and Clemmerick had been there to back her up, this was the first time that it was all up to her. There had been several rich influential merchants hovering about like vultures ever since Aejys left for Rowanslea last summer, held back only by the knowledge that Aejys and her crew would be returning in the spring. If Aejys did not make it, they would descend on the properties to rip it and everyone there into bite size pieces before eating them alive. It would happen fast, because they would want to get it done before Tagalong Smith could return. Most of Aejys' people were social outcasts, pariahs, rogues and rebels, people who rarely got a first chance, much less a second; as a result they were fiercely devoted to her. Many influential people, Thomas Cedarbird being the ringleader, would like to see them put back in their places, shoved down into the gutters and ghettoes from which Aejys had rescued them. Without Tagalong Smith and Clemmerick Poetson things could get very, very bad indeed.

With all that weighing on her mind, she sat at her big desk, staring at the open ledger book distractedly without really seeing it. She was still new enough to reading that she had to think about the words in front of her, and she could not find the concentration just then. Next to the ledger was a slender book of children's poems that Brother Arlethan had left her as a primer. Her life had been both easier and harder back when the only person she had to worry about was herself. "Well, rise with the waves or sink to the bottom," she muttered resolutely.

The finish on the enormous monstrosity of an oak desk had long ago been worn away in all but a few places; the edges were nicked and battered. It had dozens of drawers with unmatched pulls on them. She could have had a new one; Aejys had suggested it often enough, but the otherwise unsentimental tavern master and seneschal would not hear of it. She had wanted this odd desk for her own from the day she first saw it when she worked for the previous owner. To have his desk was a cherished symbol of how far she had come since that first day in Vorgensburg ten years ago. She had had to sleep with the old bastard just to get the meager job serving and whoring in the Cock and Boar; now she not only had his job, she had his desk.

She had slept alone for over two years now, despite frequent temptations, and that would have felt just as good as the desk, except that she had finally found someone she genuinely wanted a relationship with. Unfortunately the big ogre did not seem at all interested in her except as a friend, and she had let it go at that out of fear of endangering what they did have. Now that Clemmerick was far away in the Rowanslea Mar'ajanate of Shaurone, she could not stop thinking about him, imagining and wishing she had done something about the situation before he left with Aejys. What made it even worse was that their last encounter had been a bad one. She had beaten him with a broom stick and chased him out of the tavern after discovering he and Josh had managed to consume most of the north cellar in a single night of uncharacteristic, for Clemmerick, drunkenness.

She missed him in more ways than just his company. He had taken care of the stables (she had to hire two myn to get anywhere near as much work done as Clemmerick had alone) and he had helped her with the books. Becca knew she had to start delegating some of the work around the properties since there was getting to be too much of it. Maybe she could have Brother Arlethan, the Willodarian cleric who taught reading to all in the household who wanted to learn, to help her with the books--at least until Clemmerick got back.

She dipped a quill in ink and painstakingly wrote a request to Brother Arlethan to come to her office. She had to concentrate hard just to form the letters readably and wondered for a moment at the end of each word, hoping she had spelled them right. Then she sighed and blew on the ink to dry it: if she had not spelled them correctly, she had at least gotten close enough that the good monk would be able to figure them out. Becca folded the note, walked to the door, and shouted into the hallway, "Zacham!"

It did not take long for his tousled head to appear, sticking out of a door with the end of his broom just above his head. She waved the note at him.

Zacham disappeared, and then reappeared without his broom. She gave him the note. "Take this to brother Arlethan," she told him.

"Okay," he said, grinning brightly, grateful to be off broom duty for a time. He took it and raced for the back stairs, which were closer to the converted warehouse serving as winter quarters.

Becca returned to her desk, sitting a little longer, staring at the pile of tally sticks before closing the ledger book with a sigh, finding it too hard to concentrate with Aejys lying upstairs in bad shape. Worrying about Aejys; worrying about Clemmerick; wishing Tagalong Smith, Aejys' partner and Becca's friendly nemesis, was there to back her up on various deals involving their holdings--but even more importantly to keep Cedarbird off her back. She needed to see how the renovations were going on the two adjacent warehouses that were being converted into winter quarters for their drivers and caravan guards, but what she really wanted was to be sitting upstairs with Aejys, making certain she was all right. Watching over her liege-lord would not make Aejys get better faster, but it would comfort Becca just to be there. So she headed upstairs.

Zacham found Brother Arlethan in the little office he had in the warehouse. The withered old monk engendered mixed feelings in the boy. Most of the time it was all right, but some times he scared Zacham and the boy was never certain why; it was just a gut-feeling so he never brought it up to the adults, who would probably brush it off as a childish worry. Zacham hovered in the door with the note in his hands. Arlethan was alone, his nearly baldhead with just a thin fringe of hair around the base glinted redly in the lamplight. He stretched his claw-like, gnarled fingers toward Zacham and a chill ran down the boy's spine.

"You have something for me?"

Zacham nodded. "Note from Becca."

"Well come here, boy. Give it to me. I'm not going to eat you."

The cleric's voice had an oily kindness that made the boy uncomfortable; left him feeling like a mouse being coaxed from its hole by a large cat. Zacham swallowed and crossed the room, holding the note at arm's length before him.

Arlethan took it and Zacham retreated. "Stop. Wait. I may want to pen a reply for you to take back."

Zacham halted, but did not offer to come closer, and he watched Arlethan read the note. When the monk finished, he nodded at the door. Zacham spun, darting out.

Arlethan rose and took his cloak down from the rack near the door. He walked down stairs to the narrow alley that ran between the warehouse and the Cock and Boar, opening on the courtyard quad. As he neared the back door, he paused. He could hear a warning hum in his ears and taste the acridness of the ward before he encountered it. The shaman's wards were back: That meant he could not enter the building--it also meant that Josiah had returned. The shaman's wards were keyed to keep Arlethan from any building that Josiah was in at the moment. He cursed softly, and then turned back. If Josiah was back, then Aejys must be also. He would have to get Becca to come to him.

"Because my old bones ache, of course," he smiled then. For nearly twenty years the Kwaklahmyn shaman, Branch, had blocked him from reaching Josiah, but eventually his Waejontori master would contact him again and perhaps he would know how to get past them. It had never mattered much before; after all, Arlethan Dinger had burned the magic out of Josiah when he was a boy, eliminating him as a threat. But there were rumors that the magic had somehow come back. Dinger's primary task, set him nearly thirty years ago, had been primarily to destroy all the lifemages of the coast and secondarily to find and destroy the entire Abelard lineage. Josiah was the last of the Abelard blood.

Molly sat in a comfortable chair beside Aejys' bed, working on her embroidery. She normally spent her days, mopping the upper floors, making beds, dusting and other general stuff. Molly wore black pants with a dark loose tunic brushing her knees, split fore and aft for ease of movement. Like nearly all of Aejys' household women, she had given up her dresses in favor of pants in imitation of Becca, who had adopted the Sharani style of clothing the previous summer.

Although Josh had also remained, Becca did not count the sot as capable of watching over Aejys and informed the servants of that. Josh spent that first day in the chair without moving from it. He dozed fitfully, stirring at every noise. Becca woke Aejys twice to get the medicines down her, but the ha'taren, paladin of Aroana the Compassionate Defender, seemed scarcely aware of them, her eyes unfocused. The healer returned late in the afternoon to splint her hands, and, although she roused at the pain, she did not become fully conscious. Taun feared that she might never do so, being in deep shock from her injuries.

Snow blew in from the north in the early afternoon, turning to a storm by nightfall. Becca, having given up on getting anything more done with the books, relieved Molly: The servants had been taking turns sitting with Aejys all day, rotating at roughly two-hour intervals, but Becca and Molly had taken the most shifts. Becca built up the fire some more. During the day the ovens kept the entire building heated, but in the early evening, with dinner done, the coals would be banked and it would be a matter of keeping the food warm for serving while the members of the household trooped through for their meals in the hours after closing. Then the upper floors would start to cool. She put an extra blanket over Aejys for the night.

"Josh," she said kindly, squeezing his shoulder. "Go down and get something to eat. You need it."

Josh shook his head. "Can't. I can't leave her." Tears rushed suddenly to his eyes, running down his battered face. "Should've done more ... should've been something more I could do." Can't think ... Can't think. Sonden told him in Rowanslea that he was the reincarnation of Josiah Abelard, the Mage-Master. If that was so, then why couldn't he think of something to pull Aejys out of danger--he felt as helpless and impotent as he had the day he washed up on the sands near the blowholes after the archenwyrm sank his foster-father's ship, the only survivor. He hated feeling that way.

Becca looked down at him startled. Josh never had much to say to anyone. Usually he just sat and drank; wandered aimlessly along the beaches; or disappeared into one of his many mysterious bolt holes. She knew he talked to Clemmerick, for he and the big ogre hostler were friends, but he had never really opened up to any one else, especially her. Perhaps it was just that Clemmerick was thousands of leagues away, and Josh had no one to talk to ... Maybe he had changed as result of things that happened on the journey. Becca could only speculate. "You want to talk about it?" Becca settled onto the window seat beside Josh's chair.

Josh nodded.

"You want a drink?" There was a well-stocked liquor cabinet in the adjoining parlor, Aejys' private stock, but the tavern master did not think the paladin would mind under the circumstances.

Josh surprised Becca by shaking his head, "No."

"Okay."

"I--I love her..."

"We all do, Josh," Becca smiled, placing her hand over Josh's.

"No." Josh shook his head. "Not like that ... I'm in love with her, Becca. For years now."

Becca went silent, taken aback by Josh's admission. Finally she asked, "Does she know?"

Josh shook his head. "I'm not worthy. I know what I am. I'm a sot."

"You just refused a drink..." Becca pointed out.

"You're missing the point. I want a drink. I want it real bad. I don't like being sober ... all the nightmares start crowding in on me. My body hurts and burns, every waking moment. I take a drink and it all goes away. I stop feeling anything."

"You just refused a drink," Becca repeated.

"Listen to me." His voice filled with a gnawing wretchedness as if life itself chewed his heart out. "I'm going to stay sober as long as I can. But it won't last. It never does."

"Josh. I think Aejys would respect you just for trying ... Maybe the healer could help."

"It's worse than that, Becca. A lot worse. I was mage-born on a small island north of here. Raiders murdered everyone but me. Sometimes in my dreams I remember crying, begging my mother to hold me, to wake up, to move, and she doesn't. She can't ... because she's dead. She fell across me. Her body hid me from the raiders."

"Oh, dear gods!" Becca slid nearer to Josh until she was sitting on the edge of the window seat, leaning close to him, both his hands gripped tightly in hers. "I'm so sorry. We never knew."

Josh's face screwed up as he fought down a wave of grief, old grief, but still hot and painful because he had held it in for so many years. When he finally mastered himself, he went on. "The mon who found me was a sailor. His ship put into the bay for water and supplies. That's who I'm talking about when I say 'my father'. When my magic started showing up it frightened him. Angered him. He meant to make a sailor out of me. When I was seven or eight--I don't know, I might have been younger--he took me to a back alley apostate priest. Had the magic burned out. It was like being blinded, half my senses cut off. And my body? My muscles started crawling under my skin, my bones hurt, my nerve endings burned. It never stopped. As I got older it just got worse."

"I'd like to beat the crap out of him!" Becca bristled.

Josh gave her a wan smile. "He's dead. The archenwyrm got him. I watched him slide down its throat. I'll never understand why I lived when everyone else perished. Never."

Becca nodded mutely, encouraging him.

"When Aejys dosed me with the holadil it restored the magic. But with the normal channels in my body seared closed, it had to make new channels. Maybe because I'd been drunk for so many years--I don't know--but the holadil bonded with the booze somehow. It's always going to be with me, but I can't use the magic without drinking--the more I drink, the stronger the magic comes out. Now I'm only mage-blind when I'm sober ... To rescue Aejys I got very, very drunk."

The tears started again, his whole body shaking with sobs. Becca stood up, wrapped her arms around him, pressed his face into her shoulder, and held him for a long time while he wept out his despair. When his sobbing stopped, Becca stepped back, lifting his chin in her hands. "Go wash your face, then go downstairs and get something to eat. You want to be in good shape when Aejys wakes up."

Josh nodded agreement. As he passed the bed, a low moan caused him to pause. He looked back and saw that Aejys' eyes were open, staring at him. Her lips moved with words too soft to hear. The sot rushed to her side, bending to listen.

"Josh," Aejys said weakly, extending one ruined hand toward him. "You brought me back." Fear mixed with gratitude in her words, the weakness of her body left her emotions on the surface, stark and exposed and vulnerable in a way she had not been before. That vulnerability frightened her. She could not stop remembering: what it felt like to die; the days, which seemed like weeks, of systematic torture; the pain that never seemed to end. It terrified her and she could not get past it. She felt desperate to touch him and be touched by him; to have him chase away the terror and helplessness.

Josh moved the chair, which Becca and the servants used in watching over Aejys, closer to the bed. He tenderly took her splinted hand in his rough, weathered ones, trying not to hurt her. He brushed his lips against the torn skin. "Rest. You'll be all right. Becca wants me to go eat. But I'll be right back. I'll sit here. Close." Then he rose to go.

"Stay. Don't leave me..." Her weakness shamed her. She felt shattered and broken to the bottom of her heart and spirit. Josh's presence seemed to be the only thing separating her from madness, from screaming her lungs out at the hovering memories. Without him, she would feel exposed and the nightmares would fold themselves around her again like a smothering blanket.

Josh could not leave her: seeing those things written in her face affected him strongly. He hated seeing her reduced to this. He sank back into the chair.

Becca stepped into the parlor, returning with a small table that she placed beside Josh's chair. "I'll get some food sent up."

When Becca came back she found them both asleep. Josh's head lay right cheek down on the bed; arm extended, his and Aejys' fingertips just touching.

"My pipe. Josh, where's my pipe?"

Aejys' voice woke him.

He stirred sluggishly, his back aching from sleeping in the chair. "Left it behind," he muttered.

Aejys thought about that, frown lines forming on her forehead, adding to the hideousness of her battered face: Her left eye was swollen shut, a long gash stretched beneath it to her jaw; a squarish wound on her right cheek marked where her sister's ring had caught her, ripping away a chunk of flesh down to the bone; dark bruises covered her skin.

"Get me a new one," she said.

"Josh can go get it," Becca said, bending over her, relieved to see her finally awake. She originally wanted to keep Josh inside out of sight to avoid speculation about the rest of the company, especially Aejys. However, Molly had overheard some customers talking at breakfast and reported that somehow the word had gotten out about Aejys and Josh being back: People were asking questions. Therefore, he might as well be seen. At some point Becca intended to find out which of their people had leaked the news. Whoever it was, even if it was one of the children, would get a tongue-lashing they would never forget.

"No," Aejys replied hoarsely, her voice rising barely above a whisper and even that enough to tire her. Without him the nightmares would close in again. "Send. Someone. Else."

"No. It isn't fair to keep him cooped up here. Josh has not left your side for two days. He needs to get some fresh air, to move around. It's not good for him to just sit here."

Aejys looked away, the small movement of her head brought enough pain to twist a groan up from her gut. She had no right to keep him tied there beside her. He had needs also. Although her stomach knotted up painfully at the thought of his absence, she forced herself to do the right thing and said: "So ... be ... it."

Becca pulled a handful of silver coins from her pocket. "Here," she said, pressing the coins into the sot's hands. "Get her a new pipe and some tobacco--an angel blend. If you see something you want for yourself, then get it. Hyacinths for the soul, you know." She had gotten the hyacinths phrase from the little book of poems she was learning to read from and liked it. Angel blends included herbs such as gahnjan, which produced a pleasant, relaxing high.

Josh's hand closed over the coins. "I ... this isn't a good idea. I need to be here. What if something happens?"

"Nonsense," Becca cut him off. "Taun will be here soon. Just go get the pipe and tobacco. And something for yourself."

Josh remained standing, looking at Becca, and hoping to change her mind, pleading with his eyes. Becca's hands on hips stance told him she would not be moved, so he sighed heavily and left. He did not have the energy to argue with her at length. Although his body was whole, his mind and spirit were exhausted.

The sot found the streets filled with people clearing away the snow, getting ready for business. Everybody stared at him, many whispering between themselves as his presence confirmed the latest spat of rumors. He felt intensely uncomfortable at first, walking along in his Kwaklahmyn style coat with a heavy wool cloak throw over for extra warmth. Several people stopped in their work to grin at Josh, telling him how glad they were to see him back in town. They always asked about Aejys, but Josh simply told them that it was not his place to say anything. By the time he started back from the tobacconist shop, Josh was feeling unburdened, his step was light and a smile flickered frequently across his face. He carried Aejys' pipe and tobacco tucked inside his jacket alongside the bag of cinnamon candy he liked best. Sucking on a piece of candy helped him not think about drinking as much.

He had awakened that morning craving a drink, his muscles crawling around just beneath his skin along with an aching emptiness in his belly for a fire that food could not quench. In spite of his best efforts, he could almost feel that hot rush through his veins and nerve-endings when the first drink would hit his system. Josh sucked viciously on the candy and walked faster. The harder he tried not to think about the whiskey, the more he thought about it. The burning spiral down into the bottle gripped him in its vortex as he struggled to shove the cravings aside, the need to hide himself from himself. He had deliberately left his pocket flask in his room to place temptation out of reach. The people watching him no longer felt as friendly. Josh shied away from further greetings, certain that they extended them only because of his relationship to Aejys.

He was the town drunk and would never be anything more to them. They were all watching for him to fall back into the bottle again. He began to notice the undercurrent to everything around him. Vorgensburg had held him in contempt for years, knowing what he was. It still lurked there beneath the polite facades they had given him that day. A sense of desolation rose up to tighten painfully around him. All the confidence he had begun to gain while traveling in the company of Eliahu, High Mage of Winter, and the earthmage Laurelyanne, vanished. They had treated him as an equal. But this was Vorgensburg. He was home again and the only thing here was disdain and rejection. Although Aejys' household was kind to him, he sometimes found it there also, laced with pity. Josh wanted a drink.

Aejys hung naked in chains from scaffolding atop the highest tier of the altar of hecatomb in Dragonshead. She was dying--Margren had stabbed her repeatedly in the stomach and chest before drinking her blood and leaving. She remembered the blade: a baneblade covered in death runes--Margren had made certain Aejys knew the blade's nature before shoving it in the first time--the blade ensured that she would rise, undead.

Her limbs felt very cold, she was afraid to look at them, to see them turning blue with undeath--she could almost feel her flesh rotting. Death she did not fear; but undeath, her soul and awareness trapped in rotting flesh, terrified her. She fought the terror, holding fast to her hope that Tagalong, her childhood companion, would come and take her head and heart so that she would not rise.

"Look at me!" A deep male voice demanded.

Aejys' eyes opened. The sa'necari, a living necromancer with all the powers of the undead, stood naked before her. "When you die with me inside you, your soul will shatter and I will have the death-gift--a piece of your soul--mortgiefan. Even if they destroy your undead body, your shattered soul will walk the earth in torment for eternity." Then he shoved his manhood inside her dying body and Aejys screamed in anguish.

Josh returned to the Southwest End near the wharves where the Cock and Boar lay as twilight gave way to full dark. The lamplighter, leading a small donkey, passed him with his lantern. The nearer Josh got to the tavern the faster his pleasant mood faded and he began to worry that he had taken too much time talking to people he knew in passing. The minute he entered the tavern, Josh realized something had gone terribly wrong. Zacham sat upon the bottom stair; his face twisted and tear streaked. Josh's stomach did a queasy roll and his muscles seemed to crawl beneath his skin.

"Aejys?" Josh demanded, already knowing the answer.

The boy nodded in mute misery.

Josh took the stairs two at a time, pausing in the parlor to fling open the doors to Aejys' liquor cabinet. His glance fell instantly on a bottle of Dragonsbreath, a dwarven whiskey famous for its raw strength and intensity more than its flavor: Only dwarves drank it straight. He ripped the cork from the bottle as he spun on his heel and plunged into the bedroom, taking a long swallow. The strongest whiskey he had ever tasted, it seared his throat and stomach. His stomach heaved in rebellion, but Josh kept it down, taking another long pull from the bottle as he saw what was happening. Aejys' body jerked in rapid spasming; writhing and twisting; her chest heaved and her eyes rolled up in her head. Omer and Raim, the two big drivers fought to hold her still as the healer, Taun, tried to administer the blue powder.

Josh shoved Taun aside. "Get out of the way!"

Taun glared, grabbing at him. "Her heart's weakening. We're losing her."

Josh ignored him, roaring at Omer and Raim. "Get the hell out of my way!"

He took another long swig, sat the bottle on the nightstand. A stunning clarity gripped him as he remembered the one spell from his past life that could make a difference. The two drivers obeyed without thinking: all long time members of Aejys' household knew not to mess with Josh when he was drinking because they had all seen the strange things that tended to manifest when he did. Josh quickly straddled Aejys, his buttocks settling across her hips as he pushed her back down. Her frantic writhing intensified and for a moment it looked as if she would throw him off. His palms pressed her shoulders to the bed with the surprising strength that only came when he drank. Josh bent forward; his lips brushed Aejys' bruised lips gently.

"I love you," he said so quietly no one but himself and Aejys could hear him. He would never have said it if he believed she would comprehend his words, but she appeared to be in no state to understand.

"Get off her!" Taun shrieked, catching Josh by the shoulder. Josh ignored him, totally focusing on Aejys. Blue white light sprang up around the sot, spreading quickly to envelop Aejys as well. Taun released Josh with a startled yelp, stumbling backwards to land on his bottom. "What in Haven's Name?"

Aejys stilled as the blue-white cocoon of power embraced her with his touch. As they watched Josh's body turned transparent, fading into a ghost-like pattern of undulating energy. Josh's body sank into hers, visible only as a visual distortion surrounding and surrounding her. The convulsions ended. Her breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. Josh's ghostly form rose out of the paladin's body, coalescing above her. Josh pushed himself away, falling and rolling onto the far side of the bed, weak and exhausted.

Taun, visibly shaken by what he had seen and filled with uncertainty about what it meant, gripped Aejys' wrist, Reading her. Her blood levels were higher than before the convulsions began--in fact they were at safe levels for the first time since the healer had seen her. Then he knew what had occurred: Josh was clearly not a lifemage and there was only a single spell that could mimic some of their powers; only a single mage in all of history had been able to work it: Josiah Abelard, the mage that created it, the only mage so incredibly powerful he had been called the mage-master. "That spell..." Taun's voice shook. "That was Shared Life ... You passed your blood and life force into her body."

"Yaw," Josh said, got up and staggered over to the nightstand to snag his bottle of whiskey. He took another long pull from it. The Dragonsbreath was strong, but after those first few swallows, Josh had no trouble keeping the raw stuff down. He liked the fire it set burning in his veins, if Aejys had more of the stuff he wanted to find it. He returned to the overstuffed chair by the window seat.

"Only one man ever worked that spell successfully," the little nerien remarked, half-question, half observation. "It's creator."

"Josiah Abelard," Josh said, snuggling up to his bottle of whiskey and pulling his blanket back around himself. "Three ... he had three..." his words started to slur and he worked hard to speak carefully so he could be understood.

"Signature spells?"

Josh nodded sloppily. "Revelation, Shared Life, an--an Shaukra Death. I ken do'em all."

"Where did you learn? What mage school?" Taun moved to the window seat, leaning close to Josh, trying to see how he could have missed the presence of such power in the sot.

"None. I'm..." Josh took another long pull from the bottle. "I'm jess uh drunken sot uf a sailor."

"But the mage-master's spell ... How? How could you work that spell? His spell book was lost and without it no one could duplicate those spells."

"Anythin' Josiah did I ken do. If'n I toll you why you'd jess call me mad." A tear slipped down Josh's drunken face as much for himself as for Aejys: he was the magically and emotionally crippled reincarnation of Josiah Abelard, with all of his knowledge and none of his memories; with all of his power, but twisted and damaged in its channels. His sobriety had only lasted two days before disaster forced him back to the bottle. Despair clamped down around his heart and soul like a demonic vise. Yet underneath that was a tiny core of relief, life felt better somehow with a haze of alcohol between him and it. He could stop thinking now, stop feeling, stop fighting.

"I think you have had more than enough of that," Taun said, trying to gently, but firmly, pry the bottle from his hands. He had had no experience with hard-core drunks before or addicts of any other variety, so he really did not know what he was getting into. He thought Josh was simply drinking to deal with his problems in a momentary lapse, that the landsmon would sober up and be back to normal soon--but Taun had not yet realized that sobriety was the anomaly for Josh, not inebriation.

Josh wrapped his arms around the bottle, hunkering down to shield it from the healer's hands. No one had tried to take his bottles away in years, not since Aejys extended him her protection and became his guardian, but he still remembered how often he had lost one before that. "Lemme be!" he growled, glaring suspiciously at the healer. "Ish not yers. Ish mine."

"Josh, you keep drinking like this, you'll damage your body."

"Awreddy have, go way."

Taun looked stunned. "Did another reader tell you that? How many years have you been drinking like this?"

"Go way. None uf yer bishnish."

Taun tried to get hold of Josh's wrist to Read the sot, but Josh balled up even tighter, thinking that Taun was still trying to take his bottle away. Taun shoved his free hand down the back of Josh's shirt, his fingers brushing close to the organs most frequently affected by prolonged alcoholism. "Holy Mothers of Life! You're dying, mon!"

Outrage surged up in the young healer, he had witnessed a miracle, but the source of it was killing himself with drink; the total unfairness and utter, to Taun's mind, stupidity of it inflamed him. Taun thought of all the people that he could have saved had he known or been able to cast the spell of Shared Life. He pulled his hand free, shoving Josh backwards. The chair overturned, spilling the two myn on the floor. Anger lent the small half-nerien strength and with a twist he managed to rip the bottle from Josh's hands, throwing it across the room. The bottle struck the wall and shattered, splattering Aejys' bed with whiskey, filling the room with its sharp odor.

Josh burst into tears. "Ya broke it! Ya broke it!"

"What is going on?" Aejys struggled to sit, as Josh broke free from Taun, fleeing the room.

Molly had sent for Becca, after telling her about Aejys. Becca, returning from the north cellar where she had been taking inventory, encountered Josh on the second floor landing. She reached out to stop Josh, but he shoved past her, racing down the stairs in full, heedless flight.

"Josh?" Becca called after him, then entered the suite. And asked Taun, "Aejys ... is she--"

"I'm all right," Aejys answered her question.

The sound of her voice snapped Becca's attention around. Her eyes widened in wonder and she crossed the room to reach one hand hesitatingly toward Aejys, half afraid that what she saw and heard could scarcely be true--Molly had fetched her, saying that they were losing Aejys, yet here she was sitting up.

"What in the Nine Seas is happening?" A vibrant, basso baritone demanded archly. All eyes turned to see the tall triton mage, Skree standing in the door to the bedroom. Tiny sea-green overlapping scales covered his face and body--except for his lips, the tips of his fingers and palms of his hands--reminiscent of a reptile, which he was not; his long hair green to the edge of black hung loose about his shoulders, draping the delicate lace-work of gills that ran from the back of his jaw down his long neck; suspicion was written large on his face, his half-past six foot body tensed as if ready to rescue Taun from some danger he had sensed. Neriens, like Taun, were a much smaller amphibious race than the tritons, and Skree was fiercely protective of his mate.

"Did he hurt you?" Skree demanded, drawing the much smaller Taun into his arms.

"Who?"

"The sot. Did he? When I passed him in the common room, I saw you, fighting." Skree touched two fingers to his forehead, indicating to Taun that he had had a telepathic incident with Josh in passing. Such incidents were infrequent for Skree was not a full-blown mind-speaker except among his own kind and the creatures of the sea; to catch something from a landsmon's thought was highly unusual for him.

Taun shook his head. "It was my fault. I tried to take his bottle away."

"I don't like people interfering with each other's private matters," Aejys said as Becca put a pillow to her back, helping her sit better.

Taun's face twisted up at the rebuke. "You don't understand. He worked a miracle. You're alive because he worked a miracle..." Taun's eyes glistened with angry, frustrated tears. "But if he doesn't stop drinking, he won't last three years. Maybe not even one. This is not right. It is not fair. I will not allow him to keep drinking without trying to stop him. If that gets me thrown out of your household, so be it. But I will not stop trying."

Skree glared hard at Aejys, as if daring her to do so and prove him right about the treacherousness of landsmyn.

Aejys nodded at a packet lying on the floor where it had fallen from Josh's pocket. "I think that's my pipe. Would someone help me with a smoke?" She held up her splinted hands. "I have not had one in several days. Then maybe we can talk this over more calmly." She gave Taun a lopsided grin, which was the best she could manage.

Taun returned the smile with just a touch of uncertainty. He emerged from Skree's protective arms, scooped up the package, and carried it over to Aejys.

Josh paused just long enough in his flight to snag another bottle of whiskey from the bar before running out into the frigid weather in his shirtsleeves, muttering unhappily about the broken bottle of Dragonsbreath and wondering if Aejys might have another somewhere among her private stock. He ran recklessly across the hard-packed ground, plunging into the barn. The sot lost his balance as he reached the rows of stalls, his body twisting sharply around with a little spin that crossed his ankles and pitched him face forward into the stout stall door. Josh lay stunned, hugging the bottle. When he could pull himself together, he rose on hands and knees, crawling down the line to a big box stall at the end. It was one of the few still empty, most contained horses and mules belonging to Aejys' people currently in winter quarters. He threw himself down in the hay, wondering for a single drink-blurred instant where Aejys' big wynderjyn--a unicorn-horse hybrid--Gwyndar was, and then he remembered with a sob that Gwyndar was dead. He had been slain by the vargeis Margren sent to kill Aejys. Josh let out a long howl of grief: His drunken magic had let him talk to Gwyndar as Aejys could; he found comfort in the big animal's presence. Josh huddled deeper into the straw. He would just get drunker and drunker, pretending that Gwyndar was standing there, that they were talking. Eventually the alcohol would overcome him and all the sadness and pain would go away.