Wings of Omen

REBELS ARENT BORN IN PALACES by Andrew J. Offutt

Offer a prize for the lowest, skungiest dive in Sanctuary, and Sly's Place will win it hands down. That's a good place for hands at Sly's Place, too. Down, near your belt-purse and weapons. Sly's Place is sphinctered in the improbable three way intersection of Tanner and Odd Birt's Dodge and the north-south wriggle of the Serpentine (near Wrong-way Park). Those are "streets," to those who don't mind a certain looseness or downright ludicrousness in terminology, in that area of town called the Maze. 'Way back deep in the Maze, which is the lowest, skungiest hellhole in Sanctuary and probably on the continent, and let's don't talk about the planet.

Every Maze-denizen and most Downwinders know where Sly's Place is, and yet no one can assign a proper address to it. Its address is not that winding maze-link called the Serpentine. It isn't given as being on the streetlet called Tanner. And no one gives Odd Birt's Dodge as an address. Sly's Place is just there, at that sort of three-way comer, that preposterous intersection where that little Hanse-imitating cess-head Athavul got his comeuppance a couple of years ago, and where Menostric the Misadept, hardly sober and fleeing, slipped on a pile of human never-mind and actually skidded onto three streets before he came to an indecorous but appropriate stop in the gutter, sort of wrapped around the comer so that his head was up against the curbing on Tanner and his feet were actually in Wrong-way Park. It is also the area in which welled up so many disagreements swiftly escalating into encounters, sanguine fights, brawls, and worse that a physician named Alamanthis wisely rented space a couple of doors down on Tanner, and hired a mean ugly nondrinking bodyguard, and made street calls. He charged in advance, and slept most of each day, and was getting rich, damn and bless him.

Sly's Place! Name of Father Ils, Sly had taken dropsy and died three years agone, and the dive was still called Sly's Place because no one wanted to admit to owning it or to take responsibility either.

On the other hand, since all that Beyfishfacesin/sorcery problem in the Vulgar Unicorn and the pursuant edict and raid-or raid and edict; who in power could be bothered with niceties where anything in the Maze was concerned? -business waxed at Sly's like the tide when the moon is right, like the moon when the heavens are favorable, like the heavens when the gods are getting along. Someone had to be getting rich off Sly's Place, damn and bless him. Or her.

Sly's was where a pair of rebels/patriots met, and awaited the advent of an invited guest. In a town first occupied by those rank Rankans and then by the much ranker Stare-Eyes from oversea, rebels/patriots could not, after all, arrange such a meeting in some fine uptown place such as the Golden Oasis or Hari's Spot or even the Golden Lizard.

The two had been waiting quite a while and already one knife-fight had played absolute havoc with a winejar, two mugs, an innocent bysitter's pinky, a poorly made chair, and a kidney.

"Wish that little son-of-a-bitch would hurry up and get here," one said; his name was Zip and he had eyes that would look better on the other side of iron bars.

The other young man frowned, glancing distastefully at the mug on the table before him. "No call to say that-you don't even know who his mother is."

"Neither did his father, Jes."

Jes tried not to smile at that one, and shrugged. "Fine. Call him a bastard, then, and leave slurs to womanhood out of it."

"Lord, but you're sensitive."

"True."

Zip didn't say anything about the reflection on womanhood implicit in the very existence of bastard offspring, because he didn't think of it. His mind was not given to the formulation of such retorts, or much cleverness. He was a rebel and a fighter, not a thinker. On the other hand, he was the very hell of a patriot and rebel. His name was Zip and he had always thought quite a bit of a certain spawn of the shadows and tried to emulate him, until lately. Now he had lost respect for that one, but needed him.

"That's him," Zip said. "A bastard. Both by birth and by nature."

This time Jes went ahead and smiled. "That's pretty good. Zip. Oh-the barkeep's staring at us again." Jes's name was really Kama, and she was nothing at all like Zip except that tonight, like Zip, she was in disguise. Yet she had made one of those astonishing discoveries that come all unsuspected on unsuspecting people who might wish for better: she liked Zip, and she liked him more than somewhat.

"Oh, no. If I have to order another of those rotten cat-urine beers, I'll-ah. Here comes the son of a-the bast- here he comes now," he said, gazing past her. She didn't have to turn much to see the doorway; they had got themselves seated so as to be able to note who came in without seeming to show interest.

A step above the room, the doorway of Sly's Place was graced by thirty-one strands of dangling Syrese rope, each knotted thirty-one times in accord with that superstition. They hung just short of the oiled wooden flooring. Through that unlikely arras had just come a narrow lean wraith of a youthful man of average height, above-average presence, and a weening cockiness that showed in face and stance and carriage. Several years younger than Zip he was, and dressed all in black except for the (very) scarlet sash. His hair was blacker than black and seemed trying to decide whether to curl above almost-black eyes to make a person step aside while his own hair tried to curl. The falcate nose belonged on a young eagle. Good shoulders on him, and no hips worth mentioning.

His wearing of weapons was overdone the way a courtesan overdid her gems: as advertisement and braggadocio. Over the sash he wore a shagreen belt; from it a curved dagger swung at his left hip and an Ilbarsi knife, its blade twenty inches long or worse, on the right. The copper-set leather armlet that encircled his right upper arm was more than decoration: it housed a hiltless, guardless, long black lozenge of a throwing knife. So did the long bracer of black leather on that arm. More than one patron of Sly's Place knew that the decoration on his left buskin was the hilt of a knife sheathed within that soft boot. (They were wrong; he'd moved that sticker to the other buskin, and it didn't show.) Maybe he wore other blades and maybe he did not; there were rumors.

From beneath raven's-wing brows he surveyed the place as if he owned it and yet despised it and might turn it into a pet shop or fishmonger's tomorrow morning early. (He didn't own it.) He did own the imperiously Imperial Rankan eagle off the roof of Barracks Three, because he had stolen it for a lark and to use as a pissoir; and for a time he had owned the Savankh, too: the wand of Imperial office and authority of the Rankan governor, which he had stolen from within the very palace (which everyone knew was impossible of clandestine access) and ransomed it back to its rightful possessor, a nice well-meaning blond of about his age.

Quite a fellow, this (calculatedly) sinister-looking youth, who had once told a royal prince of Ranke that killing was the business of princes and the like, not of thieves; and yet who had killed two men one night, his first and his last, on behalf of a fellow he respected but found mighty hard to like. Bom in Downwind of casually acquainted parents, he needed pride and any sort of respect badly and was cockily, pridefully sure that he'd risen above Downwind. The Maze might be counted as above Downwind-about a spider's stride above.

Four people in Sly's signed to him or greeted him, two by his name and one by his nickname. None of the four was either of the two awaiting him. He surveyed the place with eyes like chips of anthracite or basalt, and when their gaze touched Zip, Zip pushed a finger into his nose as signal. The newcomer noted, looked on, nodded to someone, made a negligent gesture of greeting to a girl woman named Nimsy (who winked), noted the two Zip's Boys three tables away from the disguised Zip, and did not change expression. He took a single pace across the little landing and descended the step into the crowded dim-lit alcohol-fumed ambience of Sly's Place.

"Think I'll join those two," he said almost regally to one who had called him by name and nickname both. "Watch that cheap beer, Maldu! Ahdio makes it in the outhouse."

And he passed, Maldu saying, "Aww, Hanse!" loudly and, to his two companions, quietly, "See? I told you. Me'n Hanse're old buddies. Ever tell you how he actually got the better of ole Shrive the fence-I-mean-changer ha ha?"

Hanse slid down into a chair at the round, three-chair table where Kama and Zip waited. He glanced barward and raised his right hand, half-cupped into a standing right angle, took it higher than his head, then elevated three of the fingers. The bartender nodded and went about drawing three mugs of the good stuff; the brew off which he blew the • foam so as to serve an honest measure to those as paid for k.

"Want me to admit I didn't even know you in that black wig and droopo mustache?" Hanse said to Zip. "I didn't even know you."

"Hanse," the normally short-haired and clean-shaven Zip said, "this is Jes." In a much lower voice he swiftly added, "Tonight-name's Kama."

Shadowspawn looked at the soft-faced youth with Zip- also mustached-and was impressed; she was tallish and the disguise was good enough that he hadn't considered her female. Nothing changed in his face, including his eyes.

"Any friend of Zip's," he said affably, "is suspect."

She blinked, recovered, said, "Likewise, I'm sure."

Hanse's black, black, close-nestling brows went up and he blinked. His face looked as if it were seriously considering a smile. He left it at that and flicked his gaze back to Zip.

"We've been waiting awhile," the Downwinder street-lord said.

Shadowspawn said nothing.

Ahdiovizun brought three glazed mugs of beer on a tray; Sly's Place didn't use barmaids because that led to unbelievable stress, strain, strife, and worse. Everyone knew that his gimpy assistant left after closing with only a staff and not a copper. Ahdio was known to be from Twand, in truth was not, and was large. He was known to have killed, and had, and known to have felled a Mrsevadan horse with a blow of his fist to the animal's head, and had. The coat of linked chain mail he wore was definitely unusual attire for a tavemer. It was considered to be part of the color and ambience of Sly's Place. It was, of course, although that was not its purpose. Its purpose was the same as when its like was worn by a soldier. Ahdio tended bar in Sly's Place and had killed a man or so and felled a horse (a big gray gelding, in fact, with two white stockings) with a single fist-blow to the head, and at times intervened in fights. He also wore a mailcoat and did not leave at closing, alone, but slept upstairs in company with two truly nasty cats, because Ahdio was not stupid.

"Here you go. Three of the best. These two are running a tab."

"Good for them. This round's on me," Hanse said.

Ahdio's smile was easy, open, and amiable. "You, ah, had a good night, Hanse?"

"No," Hanse said, and paused to drink half the contents of the mug Ahdio had just set before Zip. Hanse replaced it, and ignored the way the rebel patriot stared at the sadly depleted container. "As a matter of fact, I haven't. That was last night."

Ahdio, who had never seen Hanse knock back anything that way, thought it best to say, "Ah."

"Ah," Zip echoed, sensing a story. "But.. .you don't drink, Hanse!"

Shadowspawn looked at him. "I just did," he said, while his lean dark hand moved over to Kama/Jes's mug without the aid of his eyes. He glanced up at Ahdio, whose form occluded an incredible number of the tables behind him. "I came here to meet these people, and I'm late. You'll stop fights so I won't have to take them elsewhere?"

Ahdio nodded without changing so much as a single muscle in his face. Shadowspawn nodded in return.

"Ah, that's good, Ahdio," he said, and paused to put a serious dent in the contents of Kama's mug. "No, Ahdio, I'll tell you, tonight has not been a good night. I have just killed a Stare-Eye."

Zip blinked in surprise, then grinned and looked significantly at Kama-whom he found giving him a significant look.

"A good night for Sanctuary!" Zip said with enthusiasm.

"Stairae," Ahdio said. "Don't believe I know him. Her?"

"Stare... Eye," Hanse enunciated, and stared, unblinking.

"Ah!" Ahdio smiled again. "One of the froggies! A good night for us all! I'd better hurry, then. Three more of the same upcoming, on me."

Shadowspawn nodded and came very close to smiling. Ahdio departed. A customer reached out for him en passant and jerked back his hand to stare at fingertips instantly bereft of prints. Ahdio's coat ofquintuply-linked-and-butted chain was absolutely genuine.

"Shit," the customer said.

"Coming right up," Ahdio threw back.

Amid laughter. Zip leaned forward. "How'd it happen, Hanse?" (He was keeping his hands away from the brew Hanse had ordered and was buying. Shadowspawn was not a killer, had been living high and soft and with a lot of bed-company of late, and obviously had a sincere and monumental thirst this night.)

Hanse seemed to work at relaxing. His shoulders visibly lowered and he sat a bit down in his roundpeg chair.

"The... creature accosted me. Like a Lord of the Earth, you know? Arrogant and cocky and expecting me to play sandworm under its feet. I didn't and it got abusive. I endured that awhile, just wanting to be on my way to see what you wanted. It went on with it. Couldn't accept my lack of real response when it wanted foot-licking. It got more abusive. When it finally paused to see if I'd drop dead or start in weeping from all its words, I asked politely enough which had been the fish, its mama or its papa. It took that as an offense, only Ils knows why, and reached for a weapon."

They sat in silence, his table companions staring at him. Hanse noted that somehow he'd emptied his mug, said, "Not thirsty?" and reached over for Zip's mug. He drained it.

A fine sense of drama, Kama thought, a Rankan and a soldier and a woman in an Ilsig tavern as a man, among Ilsigs only. One of us has to ask; he's forcing us. And she asked: "And then, Hanse?"

He leaned forward loosely, elbows thumping onto the table. "Jes, do not be alarmed when I touch your left shoulder."

Kama/Jes, seated on his left with her right shoulder next to his left, showed surprise and lack of understanding. "All right," she began, and saw a dark blur, felt the touch on her far shoulder, and there was Hanse sitting there with his elbows on the table, looking at her from expressionless eyes the color of the bottom of a well of a moonless midnight.

"You..." she began, and aborted that because her voice was going high. She swallowed as unobtrusively as possible and said, "I... understand. You are fast."

Zip laughed, exaggeratedly. So did Ahdio, setting down three more.

"You're Rankan," Hanse had said, very quietly. Only Jes/Kama heard, and nodded. She was impressed anew.

"You really take down one of them tonight, Hanser?"

Shadowspawn nodded. "Straight Street, Ahdio, three doors down from Odors."

Ahdio's smile was genuine."! love it. How? Excuse me- will you tell me now?"

"It attacked." Hanse reached lazily across himself, tapped the leather-and copper armlet at his right bicep. "In the eye. The right eye. Wiped the blood on its tunic-thing."

Ahdio was grinning. "Mind if I spread the word?"

"Think it's safe?"

"You think they have spies or informants here in the Maze?" Ahdio's voice was rich with incredulity.

"I do. Half the people in this room would sell a sister for a good offer, and all of us would spout about anything under torture. I think I'd better say I mind, Ahdio."

The huge man sighed. "My lips're sealed. You three look's if you'd ruther be in the back room."

Zip and Hanse nodded in unison.

A minute later he and Kama were ambling back that way, after having bade Zip good night. The little room beyond the wall behind the bar was plain, with the same flooring, walls adorned only by hanging utensils and pottles and a couple of leathern sacks, full. The table was square and the chairs roughly- and well made. The room was also occupied by a score or so tuns of beer and a good-sized red cat with a cropped ear, a restless tail, and a mean look. It was looking at Hanse. Hanse didn't like cats overmuch; any animal that could and would stare down a human should be illegal. This one also looked as if it ate large, live dogs for snacks.

"These are friends. Notable," Ahdio told the cat. "Excuse me," he said quietly, and patted Hanse's shoulder, and Kama's. "Friends, Notable. Take a nap."

Notable blinked, long, and didn't say anything. It continued to stare. Kama acted as if it weren't there, while Hanse stared back. They stood still while Ahdio went over and moved a keg that had to weigh several hundred pounds. Next he moved the one behind it. And squatted. When Zip's knock came, the taverner was ready to open the concealed half-door and move back while Zip squat-crawled into the room. Ahdio closed the low door, secured both its locks, and replaced both kegs. He went through the friend-excuse-me-hand-on-shoulder routine with Zip, gestured to the table and chairs, and started to leave.

"Oh," he said, at the door into the main room. "If you want anything, wait awhile. I'll send Throde."

"Who's Throde?" Zip asked, while Hanse was saying, "You telling us not to get up and walk over to that door because of the cat, Ahdio?"

"That's a damned good cat, Hanse. Had a prowler try to get in here one night and Notable screamed loud enough to scare off every prowler from here to Vomit Boulevard. 'Nother fellow followed me back here one night late with his mind on badness and before he had his sticker out of its sheath Notable was eating holes in his knife-arm. Likes beer but won't take it from anyone but me. Zip: Throde is my helper. You know-^they call him Gimp. Good boy. From Twand; my cousin's boy."

Since Hanse knew very well that Ahdiovizun was not from Twand, he considered that stuff about Throde or Gimp to be highly unlikely. So what? Ahdio was better than all right, and Throde was his helper, and both Zip and what-was-her-name Jes were in disguise, and-never mind how many lies were being told and lived out in the taproom.

That stuff about Notable the red cat Hanse believed implicitly.

Ahdio departed their company and without a trace of preamble or smile Hanse said, "Let's hear it. You've become leader of a bunch called People's Front for the Liberation of Sanctuary and recently you were very nearly killed. This woman disguised as a man has an accent says she's from Ranke and she knows how to move. An alliance against the Stare-Eyes, then? What's it want with me? I'm not political."

"Popular Front," Zip corrected. "The P in PFLS is for Popular, not People's. We don't mind saying you're right about Kama-she's with the Rankan 3rd Commando unit. They're as eager as we are to get rid of the froggies. The Stare-Eyes. It isn't going to happen tomorrow morning or by next Eshday, either. We need more respect, more money, more good people, and even more warm bodies."

Hanse had ceased even touching the mugs of beer or glancing at them either. "Got no money and I'm not good people or interested in joining the Popular FLS." He shrugged. "You'll get more respect when you've shown you can do more than write bloody messages on the Vulgar Unicorn's walls and get One-Thumb and a bunch of other people in trouble."

"The PPLS didn't do that, Hanse, and I didn't do it. And you're right-it was a rotten idea. Those froggies that busted in there looking for trouble weren't official ones, though. And Hanse... we know how-Kama and I-how we can gain respect and money and more followers all in one operation that won't involve a single death. Not one. Just-"

"You're dreaming."

Kama made a noise, and Hanse didn't glance her way. He did glance at Notable, which was examining its left forepaw with great interest while its tail sort of wandered around the floor behind it.

"Damn it, Hanse-"

"Zip?" Kama waited a moment, and Zip leaned back, trying not to look disgusted. "Hanse," she said, "word is that once someone actually broke into the Governor's Palace and actually stole Prince-Governor Kadakithis's wand of power-the one straight from Ranke as emblem of Empire-and actually got away. Whether it was strictly the thief's idea or not is not for certain and not important anymore. Kadakithis is in hiding or detention and the Beysa sleeps in the governor's suite-alone, presumably-as boss of Sanctuary. Word is also that the thief who pulled off that fantastic piece of work actually ransomed the Savankh back to the prince, and got away with it. Maybe a traitor or two got killed along the way, and maybe not; maybe the prince actually owes a debt to that thief and maybe not. All that doesn't matter."

She paused, waiting, and Hanse decided to outwait her. After thirty seconds or so it got to him and he said, "I've heard that story, or some of it, too. What about it, Jes?"

"Call me Kama. What about it is this. What would have happened if it had been noised around that the Savankh was in the hands of the people of Sanctuary-the Ilsigs? Enormous loss of face for the prince and for the Empire he represents, or represented! Lots of laughter in town. And lots of people flocking to join those who had the Savankh. Maybe a few contributions of funds, too. Nowadays things are worse. A lot of people didn't like the Rankan rule of Sanctuary, but no one likes these fish-eyed invaders."

"That's for sure," Zip muttered.

"True," Hanse said, and glanced at Notable. As a test, Hanse slapped his leg. Notable put down his paw and took up staring. "I think I like that cat."

"So," Zip said, on an eye-signal from Kama, "if I-if the PFLS had the Beysin scepter, their symbol of power... and if we spread the word, actually showed it around..."

"You'd have about a million Beys down your throat."

"Maybe about a hundred," Zip said, "but they wouldn't be down our throats, they'd be trying to find us. Meanwhile just about everyone in Sanctuary would be happily lying to them and misdirecting them, and joining us to free Sanctuary for Sanctuarites, and contributing services and money and even working deals to get some weapons in here."

"Not me," Hanse said. "I've got a life to live and I'm not political. It's true that I and Prince Kadakithis get along all right as two men, but I'm Ilsig and he's Ranke and the only thing I'd help him do is sneak out of town-provided he was headed away from Ranke."

Kama tapped a finger on the table. "That won't be necessary. Look, Hanse... Ranke is in trouble, too. It isn't just the Beysins in Sanctuary. An empire is a lot of land, a lot of people, a lot of Sanctuarys. A united and triumphant Sanctuarite populace who'd got rid of the Beysins would be too proud to let the prince back into the Governor's Palace, and I have to tell you that he wouldn't be strong enough to enforce it." She glanced away. "He couldn't count on any help from Ranke, either. Ranke is busy. Ranke is in trouble."

"Is it true that Vashanka's dead?" Hanse asked.

Both Kama and Zip stared at him and Hanse wondered at their expressions.

"Anyhow," he said, "I'd say that you'll make a lot of noise and get in a lot of trouble and kill some Stare-Eyes and get a lot of our people killed; and then they'll smash you. If you're lucky you'll die in that one, and not have to be tortured to death. Zip. I'll be going about my business, but not with you or your people. I'm just not political. Zip."

Zip's anger had him all ready to blurt "Coward!" but he got control of himself and opted against saying anything so silly, since he wasn't ready to die right now. Instead he said, "Hanse, Hanse... you said you killed one just tonight!"

Hanse gave him a look. "Said I did?"

Zip gestured and sighed. "Words, words. I wasn't questioning you. The point is-"

"The point is that I did. I had three choices: run, die, or kill. It was that kind of thing. I had to. It wasn't political." Now he, too, sighed and wagged his head. "I didn't say that I liked those creepy stare-eyed creatures-I said that I am not political and am not joining any political groups."

Zip slapped the table a bit harder than he should have done, which Notable remarked with a smallish noise in his throat. "We don't want you to join if you don't want to, Hanse, and we don't want any money from you. You have the opportunity to do more for Sanctuary, for your fellow Ilsigi and against them, than anybody... because only you can break into the palace and steal the Beysa's scepter."

Hanse looked at Zip as if the PFLSer had just asked him to strip and dance through the streets. He jerked at Kama's touch on his wrist-only a touch, he noted, and knew that she was both bright and dangerous; not one to go grasping a touchy man's wrist as just any woman might have done. He looked at her without expression; she had already taken her hand back.

"Hanse... only one person in all Sanctuary and probably in the world could do it. We-Sanctuary-needs you, Hanse."

"And once it's done, we'll swear that we had assistance from inside," Zip said excitedly, "so that they'll suspect their own, see, and we'll never, never tell anyone that Hanse did it."

"That's true," Hanse told him, "because Hanse isn't going to do it. One more time: I am not political. I do love living. You told me that you had this big idea that would do more than anything and no one would have to die. What you want, though, absolutely requires the death of one person."

Zip glanced at Kama; looked at the best thief on the continent. "Done," he said, thumping the table. "Who has to die?"

"Me, you damned fool, if I were damned fool enough to try to break into the very palace and snatch Her Fishi-ness's scepter and get out again!" And Hanse rose, pushing back his chair, and turned to the door. And looked down into the eyes of the cat that had suddenly got itself to a point two feet from his buskins and was staring up at him with big round black marbles set in green almonds. Showing almost no ears. Notable made a nasty remark.

One dramatic exit blown all to hell by a cat. Hanse sighed and, slowly, eased back down into the chair to await the advent of Ahdio's gimp-legged aide.

"You rotten dam' cat," he muttered, picking up his glazed mug. "I think I like you. Here, have a beer."

Notable hissed.

"I CANNOT BE SLAIN BY WEAPONS OF YOUR PLANE, IDIOT, LITTLE THIEF, POOR DEMI MORTAL," the god Vashanka had said to Hanse, and then Hanse put the knife into the god, and Vashanka was sore struck and must die, even as He slew Hanse. Yet Vashanka was right: He could not be slain, and so was hurled forever from this plane on which existed Thieves' World, Sanctuary, and Ranke, Vashanka's chosen city and people, and could never return, for here He had been killed.

Since Vashanka had killed Hanse but did not exist on this plane and so could not have killed Hanse, a paradox existed and paradoxes, the god Ils of the Ilsigi said, could not exist. And therefore Hanse called Shadowspawn called Godson was alive and unmarked. And Ils gazed down at him.

"You, beloved son of Shadow, have defeated a God and restored Me to My Own people in Sanctuary. Further, as Vashanka had become the most powerful of the gods of Ranke, that people's power shall wane. Empires die slowly, but it has begun, as of this moment."

And, "For ten circuits of the sun, you shall have what you wish. All that you desire.... Then you will face Me again, beloved Hanse, and tell Me what is your desire."

As the weary Hanse, spawn of the shadows and son of the shadow-god Shalpa (and slayer of a God), trudged home that night, he wished that this weariness of battle would go from him; and it was so, and then grinning, he made another wish, and when he entered his room there she was. His wish, awaiting him in his bed all low-lashed and smoky-eyed.

The night was wonderful after that, that night of Hanse's great triumph and Vashanka's death-banishment forever, and in the morning the ships were there. The Beysib had come.

Hanse went down to the dock that day and looked at the ships as they came closer, and closer, and he pondered and considered. Then he went back up to Eaglenest where he had consorted with gods and fought with a god. They were not there. Only the ruins were there. And the well. Hanse sighed. That well had held two horsebags full of silver coin-and a few gold-for many, many months, and the money was his. Without it, strangely, he had been neither better nor worse off. Merely Hanse, thief, thinking about his next theft and his next girl and phantasizing about those he could not ha-

But he could, couldn't he? Ils had sent to his bed Esaria, the beautiful young daughter of Venerable Shafralain. It had been a wonderful night, and no ill had come of it. A shudder took him as he thought that the love goddess Eshi, too, had shared his bed-he thought. And too. She was somehow involved with Mignureal, daughter of Moonflower... who had expressly asked Hanse to stay away from her daughter, He had been willing, but since then-oh, since then, all that had happened!

He walked back down to Sanctuary, pondering. Phantasizing. Along the way a sort of test had arisen: a big accoster had a go at him. Hanse readied himself but took opportunity to wish the fellow would just go to sleep and leave him alone. He watched the man yawn, then crumple up like a falling curtain. Marveling, Hanse checked that crumpled form. Alive, definitely alive. Just asleep. Just like that.

"Why-I have ten days (or months? Surely not years!) of this! Whatever I wish!"

In his excitement he spoke aloud in a rising voice, and danced a few jiggy steps, and joyously entered Sanctuary with a thousand visions and possibilities, a thousand phantasies chasing each other through his mind. He found his beloved Moonflower the seer, and astonished her by hugging her while he wished that she had twice the coinage she thought within the vast cleavage of what she called her treasure chest, and that it was in gold and silver besides. He heard the clinks and saw her look of surprise and some discomfort as that temporary storage vault between the great pillows of her bosom became crowded and heavy, on the instant.

He skipped away laughing, and walked smiling about town so that others wondered what he could possibly be so happy about. Why, people were actually fleeing, with an invasion fleet almost in the harbor! Hanse, however, was become a child with a marvelous new toy, the most mar-velous of toys. A block or so later he saw a twice-attractive woman and wished that he might have her, whereupon she looked around and saw him. She came straight to him, all jingle and jiggle and sway of hips and flash of teeth.

"You're beautiful," she assured him. "Take me to bed!"

But by the time they had reached the building wherein he had a second-floor room, he had seen another, and sort of traded in the first, who went away happily with no memory of what she had said and done or rather almost done. He had learned something already! And how cheap lessons were, not as in real life. The second was absolutely beautiful and with a very nice figure indeed, but he soon found that behind closed doors and on a bedsheet she was an absolute dud. He improved that with another wish....

At about dusk he departed, a bit weak in the legs but happy (he'd had to resort to a wish to get her to leave him alone and go away), for he had thought of a wonderful mission for himself: Hanse Godslayer. Along the way his stomach rumbled. He wished he had an apple, so the first vendor he passed called "Hey!" and tossed him a beauty.

Walking along eating with relish, he thought, / wish that redhead would walk with me; we'd look good together! She did of course, but that led to some difficulty when her husband appeared and demanded explanation, and Hanse learned something else of this new power. Something prompted him to wish that the couple would forget him and go happily home and be happy ever after and it was the nicest thing any human ever did for another, surely. With the help of Ils, of course. Marvelously attentive god, that Iis! -

Arrived at the dock, he found a nervous throng and moved among them. Listening, observing, thinking, seeing their fear and ridiculous hopes. ("Whoever it is, they've come to drive off the Rankans and leave us in peace!" -Sure, Hanse thought. "There's always a great profit to be made from newcomers to town!" Sure, Hanse thought, especially when they come easing up in over a hundred ships. Oh, sure!)

Then he stood tall and straight and confident, and smiled, and while he gazed at all those approaching sails he wished that they would turn around and go away and never bother Sanctuary.

They came on and Hanse learned something else. Some things, big things, must take longer even for Ils! Tomorrow they'd be gone! That didn't happen either, and Hanse had to accept what he had already known: that not all things were possible, and that while Ils was a god. He was not the god. Others existed, and the powers of gods had fences and boundaries. (On the other hand, that night he enjoyed a meal beyond mere good, a fabulous meal, in the very house of Shafralain, just because Hanse had seen that wealthy noble and wished that he'd invite Hanse in for dinner. ... Naturally he spent the night in the company and arms of Esaria, again. When he awoke before dawn it occurred to him that he was better off leaving now and wishing they'd all forget this whole night. On his way home, he wished that Esaria would know much, much happiness in her life, and again Hanse had done the unlikely: good.

Next day the fascinating but ugly oversea folk landed and tramped into town. It did not take long to discover that they had come to take over, and were expediting that. By afternoon he had tried thirteen several wishes against them. None took. On the other hand, when one of the unblinking creeps accosted him and indicated that Hanse was wanted for something, he wished the ugly never-blinking creep would just start sneezing and continue for a nice long while. That happened, and Hanse went on his way chuckling. Individual Beysibs, obviously, were easy for Ils.

He wandered over to the east side of town, and stood gazing up at a fine lofting mansion he had always admired. He had always wanted to break into that place and see what was there, and remove a few thises and thats. "I wish I could," he muttered, and it was easy, easy. He sold the nice things he removed from the premises, but that seemed silly, somehow, as the coin was counted out to him by a no-questions denizen of the Maze; all this trouble when he could merely wish for money, all he wanted!

Of course he had enjoyed all the passionate kisses and fondling of two lovely slaves of that house, and of course he had wished that on the morrow their master would take a notion to free them and give them a nice departing present, too. Eternal Ils, he had done it again-Hanse had done good!

The money business occupied his mind to a considerable extent. He bethought him of all that Rankan coin down in the well up at Eaglebeak. It was an odd wish he made, then, but he liked the idea: "When I do go for it I wish that it would rise up out of the well to me, and be no trouble- oh! Oh I wish she'd just amble right over here and think I'm handsome and want to night with-no, no, offer me a fine wine-red cloak-dark!-to night with her!"

When he and she-her name was Bumgada, but what's in a name?-arose from bed next morning, happy with each other, he thought that something had been forgotten. No, no; she took him right out and downtown and bought him both breakfast and a fine scarlet cloak-a long dark one- and didn't that raise eyebrows.

As they were walking along, she said something and Hanse said something and added, "Oh, and Bumma-I wish you'd just forget everything that happened since just before you saw me yesterday-but not get into any trouble for it at all, and have a nice happy life."

"Excuse me," she said, as if she had just bumped into him, and went on her way, wherever that was. Hanse ambled along, wondering what she did remember, and what those slavegirls remembered, and what Esaria and indeed her family and servants remembered, and...

He had to find out. It was a dreadfully naughty idea, but he did have to find out, didn't he? He made a wish, involving the awaiting in his bed of a certain person when he reached his room. Next he wished that he could pick ten pockets without being discovered, but that turned out to be stupid and a bore because it was so easy. Besides, he lost count and the eleventh victim grabbed his hand and let out a yell and Hanse had to do some mighty fast wishing. He stopped running after a couple of blocks. After all, it wasn't as if he had to, anymore. Just a pleasant habit of long duration.

He found another limit to the power of Ils by wishing that Tempus and his boys would clean up on the Beysibs- maybe that was the way to do it!

Wrong; instead, Tempus and his boys left town and a lot of half-competents and worse began showing up. One gave him trouble and Hanse wished the fool would just fall down on his own dagger, but when it happened he really didn't feel very good about it. After a couple of blocks he turned around and went back. That was how he discovered that he couldn't raise the dead.

As he passed a fine tavern for the wealthy and lordly, he chuckled aloud. Wishing that they'd treat him in manner lordly and "remember" that he had paid in advance, and well, he ambled in. An hour later he left, stuffed, with the manager and tableman thanking him and wishing him well and swift return.

He was groaning along, feeling stuffed with more than he should have eaten and far richer fare too, when a thought hit him hard. He immediately expressed the wish that none of the women he had disported himself with had got a child of his. Nor anyone I happen to find in my bed tonight, he thought, and smiled a secret smile. And went home.

Her name was Mignureal and she was Moonflower's daughter and she had seen him as no one should see any man, doubly one so cocky and full of needs as Shadow spawn: she had seen him gibbering in sorcery-induced fear one night. She had taken him home with her and tended him with her nervous mother staying close, having seen Mignue's soft eyes admiring Hanse. On another occasion he had been about to set forth on a dreadful mission she did riot even know about when a look of strange intensity came over her face. "Oh Hanse-Hanse, take the crossed brown pot with you."

With an eerie feeling, he did that. It was the night on which his mission was to get a pitifully maimed Tempus out of the dripping hands of one Kurd, a man whose occupation bore that which was surely the ugliest word in any language: vivisectionist. Cutter-up of the living-and not as physician, either. As it turned out, the brown pot's contents saved his life that night, and he knew that Mignureal the S'danzo had some of her mother's power of Seeing. And then.. .and then it had been Mignureal's form the goddess Eshi had taken, to fetch him to that final dreadful confrontation with Vashanka.

And Eshi seems to love me-at least wants me, he mused, wending his full-bellied, red-cloaked way homeward. Does Mignureal?

And after a few steps more: How old is she, anyhow?

Ah Gods ofllsig-what has that to do with anything? I don't even know how old I am!

Yet he knew that he knew, as he walked on all wrapped in his thoughts and new cloak, who and what he was: the son of some woman of Downwind and... Shalpa. A god. Demi-mortal, Vashanka had called him. That was a phrase that implied another half: demigod. Hanse was a demigod.

How in Ten Hells can I live with that?

How in Eleven Hells can I live with this wishing business?! Anything I want-it's well nigh boring already!

He reached home, and his room, and she was there, small and lovely and vulnerable-looking in her nakedness, sitting up in his bed to smile and stretch forth her shapely arms to him as he entered. Mignureal, little Mignureal daughter of the woman Hanse loved but did not even know he wished were his mother.

"Darling! I thought you'd never come home to me!"

He turned to close the door and pretended to have trouble with the latch, keeping his back to her while he frowned and wrestled with thoughts and emotions.

So she slid out of the bed and came to him. She was all willowy and even lovelier, naked and softly lit, for there was only the light of the bright moon that smiled boldly through the window.

Unable to resist her nearness and upraised arms, he stepped into her embrace and as they kissed his hands moved all over the back of her, from nape to sulcus and back. Both of them trembled, and both longed.

"Mignue, Mignue... what are you doing here?"

She smiled, pressed to him, and nuzzled his neck. "You know what I am doing here, Hanse."

"Please... why did you come, Mignue? Why tonight? What prompted you to come tonight?"

"Because I wanted to be with you, darling-to be yours."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Oh damn, damn. Six more questions elicited similar lovely yet unsatisfactory answers. It was all circular. She has no idea and probably didn't really want to do this at all, he thought in growing agony, she's here because I wished it and Ils sent her, that's all, and I feel... I feel just so, so... rotten!

She had just unbuckled and removed his belt, both sheaths included, and laid it carefully aside on the old keg he used as nightstand. She turned only her head, to give him an arch look over her shoulder. Hanse swallowed hard, and again. He felt truly evil, truly a monster.

She turned to face him with her hands behind her back and her head partly down, flaunting her breasts, and swung her torso this way and that far more in the manner of a little girl than a temptress. Her eyes and voice, however, were not those of a little girl: "Want me, Hanse?"

"Us and Eshi-who could not want you, Mignue? I-"

But that was the wrong thing to say, under the circumstances, which involved his mental state; a joyous smile sunned over her face and she ran to him across two whole feet, her arms whipping around him. Hanse stood stiff, one hand just touching her, while he chewed his lip and wished that he were- No! I wish that if ever I wish that I were dead, it be not considered a wish! And "Oh," Mignue said, low, having discovered herself pressing against a very aroused male. And her arms around him clamped the harder, and she pressed in harder.

He stroked her thick and very soft hair. Revelation and inspiration hit him and he said it aloud: "Ah, Mignue, Mignue... I wish that you wanted to wrap yourself in my nice new cloak and just talk a while."

"This may sound awful," she said against his chest, "but know what I'd like to do?"

Yes, he did.

She looked unequivocally and downright dangerously fetching in that wine-dark cloak, especially sitting on his bed with her legs drawn up (within the cloak, gods be thanked). Yes, of course she remembered telling him to take the crossed brown pot-and hadn't he? -Yes. And had it proven useful? -Yes. And he told her of that night, and she was astonished that he had done all that, rescuing the mighty and apparently immortal Tempus. Yet, that she had saved his life did not astonish her.

"It is the S'danzo, Hanse. You must know that a S'danzo never tells a client that she foresees his death. Never. Nor does a S'danzo dare try to interfere with the way of a world and the will of the gods, other than to suggest that that person have a care." She sat with her arms enwrapping her drawn-up legs and her hand clasping her wrist, and she was not looking at the young man who sat on the windowsill with his feet on the floor. He had drawn the drapes almost closed, but the room was as if twilit, not nighted.

"On the other hand... with those we love, we S'danzo cannot See as well, because the emotions are involved- you know, darling. But! There is a compensation. Sometimes we can See the danger, often without realizing it, and See just what those we love should do to avoid or to, uh, cope with it."

Hanse blinked. She is telling me that she loves me... and has for over a year! Oh! Oh, g-Ils, Ils, god of my fa-hmp!-my mother. God of Gods... I wish that I knew whether that were true or not! Or not, I say!

"There... I've said it. Now you know, Hanse, oh, Hanse. Now you know... I have loved you, loved you, oh loved you for years-ever since first I saw you, surely, although I was only a girl then."

Hanse swallowed. He felt like melting wax and his eyes had gone all blurry. Me! Shadowspawn! Who ever loved me?! It's all I ever wanted-but I had to pretend, didn't I, so that when it happened, if it happened, I would know it was real... but I never would because I've always had to test, to try so hard not to be hurt....

He tried to be unobtrusive about wiping the damned unmanly embarrassing glistening tear off his cheek. As soon as he had done, the other eye let go. I hope she doesn't see, he thought, and was not even thinking about the power of the wish.

He asked her question after question about the whole Ils/Eshi/Vashanka business. She remembered none of it. She had had a horrible dream about his being forever lost to her, beyond her, because he was in the arms of a goddess, and she had wakened weeping. Her mother had held her and held her and crooned and spoken soft words to her and made her see that was silly, not at all logical or likely or possible.

Of course, Hanse thought, and said, "Me! With a goddess? Oh Mignureal!"

"I know," she said, darting a look-at him and looking away just as swiftly. "But we can't control our dreams, and sometimes they're so real!"

He steeled himself, and swallowed hard, and said, "This is a dream, of course."

She looked sharply at him. "What?"

"I said," he said, exerting all his strength to look at her and to say the words, "that this is a dream, of course. You could not be here in my room. You could not have been waiting naked for me, in my bed. It is not S'danzo; it is beneath that great soaring wonderful mother of yours, and your fine and proud old people, and... above all, Mignue, it is not you. You would not do such a thing. It is... it is beneath you. It is not what I want or you want, not in such a way, not now. It is not in accord with your pride or your dignity."

She was staring at him, and tears were flowing in long glistening tracks all down her cheeks and onto his cloak.

"It has to be a dream, don't you see?"

Mignureal raised her eyebrows, and no girl but a woman said, "It is not a dream, Hanse."

Again it hurt, and he had to steel himself and swallow hard and take a deep breath as well, that his voice might hold without breaking: "It is a dream, Mignue. And you will remember every bit of it. I wish that this were a dream for you, Mignureal, dear sweet Mignureal, and that you would remember every bit of it, and that you were at home asleep in you bed."

She said nothing in return, because she was not there. Only the new red cloak was, crumpled on his bed. He could still see the tear-spots, even from the windowsill. The wet darker spots from her tears, and he knew that she was home in bed.

He sat there feeling really stupid and feeling really sorry for himself, and yet after a time he seemed to hear a soft female chuckle in his head, inside his head, and knew that it was Eshi who chuckled and said, inside his head. And you wondered why I came to you as Mignureal, ass-an ass and lovable being an ass, like all men!

His purpose had been to spend this night abed with Mignureal as he had others, and then to go to her home and leam what her mother and she, what her father and siblings, knew and thought and remembered. Now he would not know, for Hanse had at last discovered that which was not worthy of him. / wish that I could be worthy ofMignureal and her love, he thought, without thinking at all of Ils or , of the power of the wish, and the entirety of his life was changed in an instant. Without knowing that, he undressed and went to bed.

The torture began.

Nearly an hour later he gave it up and made a wish.

The very very shapely daughter of that customs man and investigator Cushariain was all soft writhing femininity in his bed and just wonderfully loving and amorous and wonderful to feel and think about and want, but after a while in her arms a poor pitifully surprised Hanse had to make the wish that he cease thinking about Mignureal and get over this very first experience with impotence.

Somewhere Ils smiled. In Hanse's bed, an ultra-shapely young woman did, too. At first Hanse simply sighed in relief, but that was soon replaced by both stronger emotion and stronger physical activity.

After that night a rather befogged Shadowspawn indulged himself in a very great deal of thinking. He could hardly wait for the time to be up and to be summoned again into the presence of the gods!

As it turned out, Ils had meant ten days and nights, not years or months. Then once again the tumbled lightless ruins of Eaglenest were transformed into a dazzling palace of gods, and Hanse of Downwind and the Maze was gazing down that long table at the faceless Shadow that was Shalpa, and the great light that was Us of the Thousand Eyes, He from whom the Ilsigi had taken their name, and at the most absolutely incredibly beautiful and shapely woman any man ever saw. For that was the form Eshi chose to take this night, and Hanse realized: the goddess was showing him how magnificent She could be, how far beyond mortal Mignureal, and a great warmth and pride soared in him.

It occurred to him to ask if his wishes were done with, and the Great God replied that aye, all were done with save only the final lifelong desires, and Hanse said that was too bad, for a diplomat rose up in him and avowed that he'd have wished that the woman he loved, Mignureal, could be touched with the beauty and magnificence and sexuality of the goddess Eshi, who was beyond him.

"Father-r-" Eshi began, and her father silenced her.

"And so you face me again, Hanse," He said. "Tell me that which is your desire."

"My desire is threefold," Hanse said. "First, that neither I nor anyone close to me, dear to me, ever knows the true moment of my unavoidable death. Have I expressed that aright?"

"It is specific, and well-expressed," that quiet sonorous voice of Power said, "and it is Done. And?"

"I desire superior ability with weapons, as well as good health and good fortune," Hanse said. "And to forget all that has happened. All that I have done and thought and wished (saving only for a dream that I share with Mignureal, daughter of the S'danzo), since that time when first You did approach me, in the matter of Vashanka."

For a long moment there was silence, and then the Shadow spoke, the living god who was shadow itself and who sat at the right hand of his father. "What? You would forget that you are my son?!" The voice was rustly, as befitted that of a shadow among shadows, but the last word boomed.

Hanse looked down. "Yes."

"What?" Eshi demanded. "You would forget all that you have done-forget that you have lain with me?" -

And again Hanse waxed diplomatic: "I choose to be a human and mortal, 0 Beauty Itself. How could any man live at peace, when he has seen You and even held You, and knows it? It is too much, Goddess, Eshi. You must not let me remember and be tortured with memory of what was and might have been."

She waxed even more beautiful then, and as irresistible as the word itself, and her smile was sun and moonbeams bathing him in warmth. "Let it be," she said, and became a handsome and shapely woman in white, and no more.

"Your son, Shalpa my son, is touched with genius," He of the Thousand Eyes said. "Yet I would remind you, Hanse, Godson. Much, much of the world is within your grasp. We have conferred; you could even opt to join us, to preside perpetually over the mortals of the earth. Would you be one of them instead?"

"I am..." (Hanse swallowed hard) "... grandfather."

"You might also continue to have your every wish so long as you are within our precincts, or the greatest of wishes: that your every desire and wish be yours."

"That one," Shalpa's voice rustled, "and then forgetful-ness."

Hanse fell to his knees and his voice shook. "Let me be Hanse!"

"It's the damned eternal truth," Eshi said. "Your charming bastard is a damned genius, Shalpa!"

"Yet damned," her brother answered. "Damned by his own tongue and his own wish. The terminator of a god, the savior of his city and toppler of Empire, the son of a god and lover of a god-and beloved of a god, eh?-damned to mortality, humanity, by his own asinine wish!" And the Shadow of Shadows... vanished.

"Tell my father," Hanse said very quietly, "that I have known misery not knowing the identity of my father, and now in knowing it. Tell him that... that his son is strong."

"True," Ils said, "and I'd never have thought it. Done!"

When Hanse awoke he was in the ruins of Eaglenest and wondered what in all Hells he was doing here. Yet he had had this wonderful joyous dream involving Mignureal, and he felt a glow as he dragged himself to his feet on that pocked, cracked stone floor and, stepping around fallen columns and detritus, left the mansion that had been. He glanced over at the old well but shrugged. It was going to take a lot of labor and gear to get those moneybags up out of there. He sighed and started pacing down the hill toward Sanctuary.

On the day following, Moonflower told him seriously that she might have been mistaken in forbidding him to see Mignureal; perhaps gods were at work, here. That day only three persons were slain, one way or another, by the Fish-Eyed Folk-From-Oversea, but many more lives were ruined by them and their doings. That evening while three of her siblings peeked and giggled from this vantage point and that, Hanse and the very young S'danzo Mignureal discovered together that they had both had the same dream last night, and that gods must be at work here.

Considerably later a much-bejeweled Beysib amused herself by punishing an Ilsigi offender-never mind the minor offense-by handing the youth a pouch from her belt. When he opened it, the beynit inside bit him at once. The snake's neurotoxin worked swiftly. The Sanctuarite was dead in less than a minute, and the Beysib was not punished. The PFLS burned a wagonload of hay on the Processional. That was the day Hanse received the message to meet Zip in Sly's Place.

(Rumor was that Throde the Gimp was set upon that night after closing, but he was fine next day, limping around Sly's without a mark, and no one took the rumor seriously.)

She had been a fixture of the Maze for a hundred years, or maybe it was a dozen. She sat outside the family home/shop in which her husband sold... things, and raised their several children well while keeping her husband happy. And she Saw. She did not charge a great deal of money for her Seeings, this S'danzo named Moonflower. She Saw danger and felicities to come, pain and pleasure to come, and she Saw linkages.

She had Seen enough once to let Hanse know that he was involved in a very large plot emanating from Ranke itself; a treacherous governor's concubine had quite charmed Hanse and, with a treacherous Hell-Hound, aided him into the palace one night to steal the Savankh.[i] Warned by Moonflower, Hanse had wriggled out of that one, and the two plotters paid the supreme penalty. Moonflower had Seen other things for Hanse, whom she could not help liking and thinking of as a good boy even though she knew he was not. And she had Seen many things for many others. Ilsigi and Twanders, Mrsevadans and Rankans, Syrese and Aurveshi... and now Beysibs.

Oh yes, even the newest conquering invaders came to the gross diviner Hanse called "Passionflower" (for he did charm that woman and bring out the kitten in her), sitting just outside the shop on a stool which she overflowed all around, wearing yards and yards of fabrics in divers colors and hues and patterns and more colors. She made a Seeing for the Beysib Esanssu on Anenday, and again on Ilsday, and the following Anenday as well. The fish-folk woman complained about the brevity of the first reading, and then on her return she dared complain of its accuracy even though it did help her rediscover both lost objects she had sought. And so Moonflower gave her another divining at half-rate, and damned if the oversea bitch didn't complain that this time she was not treated with sufficient respect. (An eight-year-old child, Moonflower's, stared at her was all; it was hard, not staring at freaks.)

At least she went away all elated after the third session, because the S'danzo had Seen an upturn in Esanssu's love-life. All races had losers, even conquerors, and Esanssu botched it. Naturally she came back to blame Moonflower. She railed and screamed and threatened to such an extent that Moonflower's husband came rushing out, fearful for his wife. Blind with rage, Esanssu hardly saw him as she drew and slashed him. He fell spurting blood.

Moonflower screamed. All huge-eyed, she started to collapse, but caught herself, or perhaps it was adrenaline that caught her and powered her to her feet in a lurch and flaring rustle of skirts and shawls of many colors and hues and patterns. All on automatic she slapped the murderous creature from oversea, with all her considerable weight behind the blow. The Beysib was dashed against the wall of the shop with frightful impact. Her head struck first. She slid down the wall, leaving a bright red smear on the stucco, until she reached a sitting position. Her eyes were open and her legs twitched. To Moonflower's horror (had she not been crouched over her wounded husband, weeping but curbing her wails while she ripped skirts to stem the tide of his blood) Esanssu was dead.

All that was bad enough and everyone knew that Moonflower was in trouble. Justice was a word, and the Beysib were conquerors. Unfortunately there was more; a Beysib soldier, just insulted by three Ilsigi children who had run and seemingly vanished into a warren of alleys and alley-like streets, came arunning. Already irate, and having lost her head along with having taken on the arrogance of all conquering occupation forces everywhere, she drew her long single-bladed sword from her back and struck, all in a rush. Moonflower's husband would live; Moonflower died there on the street.

Hanse arrived only a few minutes after that flurry of senseless violence and murder. Half in shock, he tried to cope with the weeping of Mignureal and the screams and wails of her siblings, and could not. He was too choked with grief to talk coherently and too blinded with tears even to see. Without even knowing it he ran, blindly and full of the agony of grief. And rage.

Upon turning a comer a couple of blocks away he ran full into a Beysib peacekeeper. He never knew whether it was the same who had murdered Moonflower, beloved Moonflower, mother of Mignureal.

"Here you, what's all this ru-"

"Excuse me," Hanse said sobbing, and buried his dagger in the creature's belly, and twisted it and drew it out and, hardly having paused, ran on. Everyone got out of his way, for Hanse called Shadowspawn seemed to have gone mad.

"Here, you-what the (deleted) are you doing here?- this is Zip's turf. Mazer, and you're carryin' an awful lot of sharp metal. Me an' my buddy here will just take-"

That one of Zip's Boys named Jing broke off. He knew this interloper at the edge of the several blocks of Downwind that Zip controlled, and he'd never seen the sinister fellow look so-so sinister. Mean. His black eyes below his black hair and above his russet peasantish tunic looked so ugly. His face was working as with a tic and his expression was one of rage barely controlled by mighty effort.

"I don't know you but I know Speaklittle there with you. You reach for one of your weapons and you are deader than the Stare-Eye froggy I ran into a few hours ago. I promise not to use the same knife on you, though-don't want to contaminate the blood of a fellow Ilsig with the cess they have for blood... even if you are busy dying at the time." An arm jerked up and pointed. "I'm outside Zip's line. Go and tell him I'm here to see him. Zip and I know each other and he's expecting me. I'll see him but I'll be wearing my stickers when I do, and I expect him and you and his bodyguards to be armed, too. Go on, Speaky, hurry! Get Zip!"

Jing frowned, made a sneery face, and reached for his sword. That quick, he was looking at a slender throwing knife in the hand poised just above the interloper's left shoulder. It stayed there, ready, and Jing left his short nasty sword where it was. The world knew that the former Down-winder named Hanse knew how to throw a knife, and Jing thought that continuing to live was just what he wanted to do.

The knife went back into its sheath so fast that Hanse might just have flipped it there, except that he hadn't. With an expression of seething and only just controlled rage, he looked at Speaklittle.

"Speaky, go on and tell Zip. I and your friend will stay right here and make mean-eyes at each other. Go, damn it!"

Speaklittle departed at speed while Jing looked at Hanse, mean-eyed. For some reason he said, "You really kill a fish-eyes today, Hanse?"

"A few hours ago. Since then I've been trying to think and I've been grieving. That makes two of 'em I've killed. I'm ashamed that it hasn't been more, but I'm slow about some things. And the knife I had out to warn you-believe that. It's not the one I stuck into the Stare-Eyes. This is the one that's been into two Stare-Eyes."

"Ahhh. And... you say Zip's expecting you?"

"Can't imagine why you didn't have the word," Hanse lied, catching Jing's respectful look. "What's your name?"

A few minutes later Speaklittle came running back, to escort Hanse to Zip. No one said anything about Hanse's arsenal. They went about a block and a half, and into a building and out again, and into a barrel. That led into a very secret passage, a short one, which led to Zip. He was flanked by two bodyguards and looked as hungry as ever.

"Hanse. You're presuming a bit, but I go along. What's so-"

"I'm breaking into the god-damned palace to remove the Beyswine's god-damned scepter and the heart of any goddamned Stare-Eye murderer that gets in my way and I hope some do, Zip. I thought you'd be interested. You want to help? I could use some good line, silk, and a very good archer with guts. Decide fast, man-I'm goin' in tonight."

The first time Shadowspawn had entered the governor's lofting manse he had walked in, with help from Prince-Governor Kadakithis's traitor-concubine, Lirain. He'd had only to break out, with the Savankh. The second time had been on his own and, as he realized only after he was in the Prince's privy apartment 'way, 'way up in the palace, ill-advised. He had stolen nothing, and again he had to break out.

This time he had no inside help, but he had help. PFLS members, working hard to look unobtrusive, haunted every street within blocks. Others were way over on the other side of town, raising a ruckus and attracting lots of armed Beys. From the shadowy granary across from the palace's outer defense wall, Hanse watched while Zip's best archer sent the arrow up. It whizzed past the spire atop the palace and, checked by the long line it trailed, swung back. It went around the spire about six times and the archer and his assistant really leaned on the line.

Shadowspawn raised his eyebrows and nodded. "You do good work," he muttered, and nudged himself out of his natural habitat, the shadows.

The PFLSer didn't even flash his teeth. Once Hanse had hold of the silken line strong enough to support two Hanses, the archer did his best to emulate the thief. Into the shadows, with arrow ready for any interfering Beysib-or even nosey fellow Ilsigi, since this mission was more important than individuals. Right now Hanse, not a member of the Front, was the most important person in the Front. Zip had said so. The best archer in Sanctuary figured that made him fourth, after Zip and Kama. Right now Kama was fourth, since she was an archer's assistant.

He watched while the wraith all in black squirreled up onto the roof of the granary, poised, and swung out across the street. Looked like he hit the palace wall hard. Went right on up, though, after just a moment.

He was without that long swordlike knife, but with a leathern pouch boiled to rocky hardness and strapped to his chest, and with a pair of throwing stars, and that strange four-foot staff, too, and of course the prepared arrows and the short bow. Step after step and hand over hand, he went up that wall in an impressive sort of reverse rappel.[ii] Eventually the archer and Kama and the other secretly watching PFLSers lost sight of him, but they continued to wait and to stare upward just as if they could see.

They could not; they could see only shadows. The thing was, any one of those shadows might be Hanse.

It had been weird, really weird. The elated Zip and Kama arranged this and that help, and offered all sorts of other aid that Hanse neither needed nor wanted. Yet as he was returning from Downwind, he had met a person he had never seen before in his life. A skinny ugly girl with warts and a facial birthmark the size of a lemon but the color of dried blood, and a figure so unfortunate that even her mother must wince.

"You are he called Shadowspawn, and you are going climbing. My master bids me give you this wand, and trebly urge you to take it with you. Just push it into your boots or something, and leave it behind when you leave your... destination."

"My name is Mudge Kraket," Hanse impatiently said, "and I am not going aclimbing. Heights scare me. Why not find someone else to hand that funny stick? Looks like a good piece; a dune-viper carved from mahogany, isn't it?"

"Because you are Hanse and you are on a mission for all Ilsigi and thus Ils Himself, and because you will need this. It is important. Gods are at work this night, Hanse." She continued to proffer the staff.

"Orders?" he came back, and he was truculent.

"Oh stop being silly." And suddenly she was all aglow, and the glow was bright, like Love itself, so that Hanse squinted and shielded his eyes and wished that sorcery would leave him alone. "Take it! Have you really forgot so soon, Godson, lover?"

Since she then vanished utterly, and the stick had got itself somehow into his hand, Hanse decided that it were best to take the damned thing up the wall with him. He respected sorcery; only idiots did not. He just didn't like it, any more than did most non-adepts. Definitely hoping he must have to do with no more this night, he went on.

He was swinging down Tanner when the true light appeared-Mignureal, all wan and red-eyed and droopy in her dark red dress of mourning. She ran into his embrace and at once commenced to weep. Hanse, who had sworn off weeping two hours ago, immediately began anew. Meanwhile he hugged her close and stroked her long dark hair.

"I'm about to have to leave this damned town, Mignue," he told her very quietly, "and I want you to come with me."

"But," she said, pushing herself back to look into his face, "why-why would you want to 1-" And her eyes went blank while a jerk went through her. Then so stiff that she quivered while she spoke in that strange voice: "Hanse- take the red cat."

"What?!"

"When you go up the silken rope for Sanctuary, Hanse, take along the red cat."

Hanse held her automatically while he stared at nothing. God and gods damn it all, sorcery's all over the place and everybody in Sanctuary knows what I'm going to do and has advice! If this goes en I'II be so laden I couldn't climb into bed!

Yet he knew that was not so; only two knew, one by sorcery and Mignue by a sudden seizure of her S'danzo Seeing. And he remembered the brown pot, and as she suddenly said, "Oh. What am I doing-I have to go home and get ready," he knew that he had to go to Sly's Place. She whirled and ran. Hanse heaved a great sigh and rubbed his face. He started walking, feeling dizzy.

A short time later he was staring at Ahdiovizun with eyes like dying coals. "Ahdio, I-"

"Hanser! Lord God Ils and Shalpa, Hanser! I've wanted to see you! You'll never believe what happened the other night after you three left! Ole Notable pounced up on the table in back and lapped up every bit of the beer in your mug that he could reach, then cried and pawed for me to help him get the rest!-and he wouldn't touch the mugs of those other two! What'd you do to that cat, anyhow you a sorcerer, Hanse?"

"Ahdio," Hanse said as if he hadn't heard and without changing expression, "I need to borrow Notable. Just for awhile, just tonight. Please, Ahdio, don't give me a hard time. I've got to."

"Hanser, that cat wouldn't ever-"

Ahdio broke off to watch as Notable came in and started in rubbing Hanse's buskined legs.

And so Shadowspawn bore a cat in a claw-proof, fang-proof pouch on his chest when he went up the wall this night, and a flask, and a (presumably sorcerous) wand-thing and bow and two arrows on his back. The cat was a bit weighty and Hanse was used to climbing light. Still, the junk on his back aided the balance and Notable was still and quiet. The cat was no heavier than a glazed brown pot with a cross on it, Hanse told himself, and up he went. Eventually he peered downside up through the diamond-shaped window, into the luxurious apartment that had been Prince-Governor Kadakithis's and now was the dwelling of the Beysa herself. It was unoccupied.

Hanse swung in. Without even looking around he saw to his egress, as planned. The silken cord dangling from the pinnacle was a loss. The one he'd come down on was bound and braced on the roof-wall above. So was the third one, which was very long. Lacing its end through the prepared arrow, he dumped the rest of the cord out the window. Then, awkwardly bracing himself, he nocked arrow to short bow and took aim as well as he could.

I can do it. Have to. Don't want to have to pull the thing back up and shoot again! You can do it, Hanse! Breathe out, in, out; suck in a good deep one. Pull. Sight. Oops. Now-

The string twanged and the arrow zipped out the window, trailing its line.

Peering out, Hanse saw at once that it was a rotten shot, way wide of the mark, arcing leftward. Oh Thousand-Eyed Ils, and there was someone down there, too, watching. Suppose it's a Stare-Eye...

That one of many posted PFLS members let the arrow pass, caught the cord, held it aloft and waved it, and started running to where Kama and the archer waited. Knew I could do it, Hanse thought smiling. He turned, opening the rocky-hard pouch on his chest. Without a sound Notable emerged and bounced feather-light onto the pillow-strewn, silken-sheeted bed. It sat, examined a paw, and began to lick it.

Oh, really wonderful, Hanse mused, and supposed that he would just have to accept that Mignureal was a young S'danzo and inexperienced, and couldn't be right every time. And he had to get the fool cat back down, too-but thinking of Mignue had reminded him of Moonflower, and that put mist in his eyes. Once he had angrily rubbed them clear, he saw two things.

The first was not the Beysa's wand of office but her crown, a coiled snake done in gold with emeralds set as eyes; with markings of coral and of ruby and twinkling bits of glass banding the body again and again. That was the first thing he saw: a golden snake of far more value to the PFLS than a mere wand. The second thing he saw, however, was the real thing.

A beynit, he knew. A nasty-tempered snake with a bite that killed in a minute or less-and no way of stopping or countering that toxin. This one was probably trained-a watch-snake. It was about four feet away on the carpet, and it was staring at him.

Oh my god, Hanse thought, I'm dead!

At the very edge of the bed, not two feet directly above the beynit. Notable arched its back and hissed. The snake snapped its head over to stare up at the cat. Notable made a mean sound in its throat. The beynit recoiled just a bit, a sinuous rope, and Notable made another nasty remark. Then it hissed with what seemed to Hanse enough volume to rouse every unblinking sword-backed fish-eyed guard in the palace. Sliding his feet, Hanse moved back and to the side. He moved more slowly than ever he had, as he eased one of the throwing stars off his belt. The beynit caught that motion, and twitched its head to stare... and with a low growly sound Notable pounced at its tail. The snake's nerve broke. It rushed into the nearest nice, dark haven-the pouch so recently occupied by Notable.

Hanse whipped the flap over and back up and over again, winding the bag, and fastened it tight. The chances were that not even a worm could have gotten out of that pouch, but Hanse dumped a pillow out of its nice striped satin casing and popped the pouch in. The fit was very snug. With an azure robe-sash he tied that pillowcase as tightly as he had ever bound anything in his life.

"Remind me to take that with me," he muttered, and hurried to the Ti-Beysa's crown. Notable said nothing, but only stared at the pouch while his tail imitated a nervous snake. Hanse shook another pillow out of its casing, choosing a dark one, and with a smile popped in the crown worth the ransom of a prince-or of a scurvy little town called Sanctuary. He tied that silken package, too, and made it very, very fast to his back.

"Notable," he said, gingerly picking up the pillow casing that housed a bag of boiled leather he kept reminding himself was hard and thick enough to turn a good dagger-blow, "we've got to go. I'm afraid you can't ride in the bag. This snake'll be of some value to Z-to Sanctuary. Got any ideas about your travel arrangements?"

Uncharacteristically, Notable gave him a nice little "mrow."

"That," Hanse said, "is a rotten dumb answer. Here." And he took the little flask from the pouch at his waist, and poured beer into a superbly wrought Rankan bowl that was not Beysib property. After that it was maddening, jittering there by the window while the damned cat lapped daintily as if it had all the time in the world not to mention a sore tongue.

After about a month of that. Notable finished and looked up with eyes like black marbles. He licked his mouth exaggeratedly, and started in on his whiskers.

"I'm impressed," Shadowspawn said. "I am also leaving."

Notable said "mew" in a sickeningly sweet voice and sent his tongue all the way around his yawning mouth again. Hanse made a face, started to swing up into the window, remembered, and turned to toss the snake-carven staff onto the floor. It landed about a foot from Notable and rolled a foot. Notable pounced straight past Hanse to the windowsill and turned back to look.

"Look at you. Bravest cat in the world with the real thing, and afraid of a little st-"

The staff shimmered, its wriggly carving seeming to wriggle in reality. Then, while a few hundred ants played footrace up Hanse's back, the staff moved. It glided along the floor, and up onto the bed, and to the far end, and into a nice dark sheltering place: under the Beysa's figured silk bedspread.

"I've got to get out of this damned town," Hanse muttered in a voice wavery as the sand-viper, and went out the window. He had to drag himself back up that fulvistone wall on one silken rope so that he could go down another-all the way across the palace grounds and wall and the Processional to where Kama and company would have made the arrow-end of the line fast.

Notable passed him on the way to the roof. Hanse gave him a glare, wishing he could go up walls that way. Maybe with the talons the Stare-Eyes slid onto their fmgers when they ate...

He was up and on his belly, pulling himself up between two merlons of that toothily crenelated defense-wall around the roof, when he heard the voice. The accent was neither Rankan nor Ilsigi.

"So. A rotten little thief tries to invade us, does he? Well, Ilsiger slime, this is your last climb!"

And Hanse heard the sound of the guard's sword clearing its scabbard on his back, doubtless to come down on Shadowspawn's neck. Or wrists, or forearms; it didn't matter. He was helpless and absolutely vulnerable, on his stomach and clutching with both hands while his legs dangled.

That was when he was startled so that he nearly let go and fell, for his ears were assaulted by the loudest and most terrible yowling screech he had ever heard in his life. Wincing, scrabbling desperately, Hanse twisted his neck to look up-He saw the Beysib guard all astagger, shocked by that ghastly sound; and he saw the red streak that was Notable on the pounce. The cat began eating holes in the Stare-Eye's arm and the poor worse-than-disconcerted idiot forgot what he was about and struck at the cat with his sword. That cost him not just the pain as he struck his own arm, but his balance. With only a grunt he went right over Hanse and through the crenelation and down a hundred feet and more to a messy splat of an end.

Mignureal did it again, Hanse thought, wriggling onto the roof in double-time. She knew, and Notable just saved my life. Twice, probably. But he also went down with the Stare-Eye... how'II I ever explain to Ahdio? Then he was on his feet, ready to seize the taut rope stretching down and out and down, and the cat on the nearer merlon said "mrowr?"

Hanse could not control his chuckle. "I like you, cat! Want to hop on and ride me down? Careful now-you sink a claw into my shoulder and I'll tell Ahdio you're soft on mice!"

They went down.

The snake from the Beysa's apartment would be useful-it and its venom and a few physicians working away in quest of an antitoxin. As for the Beysa, the sand viper in her bed had doubtless given her a lot of fun. As for the Ti-Beysa crown-the PFLS was made. Amid all the yammering chatter of PFLS voices, Hanse sort of faded into the shadows, fleeing all the praise and overblown encomiums. He was sure that there was no way the word was not going to get out. The theft and the blow against the invaders were enormous accomplishments. Someone would tell: Shadowspawn did it.

I've got to get out of this dam' town!

Mignureal went up the long, long hill with him, she leading the ass and he the horse.

"I've got to leave town," he had told her. "Maybe... maybe forever. You're coming with me, right?"

She stared at him for a long while, until at last she nodded. "Right."

Up at Eaglebeak, they tethered the two animals to fallen chunks of fine building stone and Hanse went to the old well. If only I hadn't dropped all that coin down here, he thought. This is going to be a job among jobs. Gods, but I wish I had it out already!

Since by choice he remembered only that he was Hanse, son of a barely-known mother and the never-seen father who had been only her casual acquaintance, he knew nothing about previous wishes. He was mightily surprised when the two laden, leathern saddlebags came floating, noisily dripping, up to his waiting hands.

Zip and Jing and a lot of others were mightily surprised, a little over an hour later, when a big leather bag came flying down, seemingly from the sky. It struck the hard-packed earth of a Downwinder "street" with an enormous • crashing jingling noise... followed by a lot of little jingles as a flashing clinking rolling skittering mass of good minted silver splashed out.

"For Sanctuary," a voice called from above, and it was not the voice of Ils or even Shalpa, but of a thief on a rooftop. Getting that bag up there had been a lot of work, but it was worth it for the effect: "Shadows can go anywhere, into palaces and even into the hallowed and guarded precincts of Zip!"

"Hanse! You've just been elected second-in-command and Master Tactician! Come down, man!"

They waited a long time.

Much, much later than that, an aide ushered a sentry into the tent of their leader.

"Your pardon. General. Go ahead, Pheres."

"Sir, there's a man and a woman, both mighty young out here. Wrigglies. I mean Ilsigi, sir. On a horse and an ass. With a lot of silver coin in an old cracked leather bag- a big one. Threw back his white robe and hood to show me he's dressed all in black. Said he's a friend of yours? From Sanctuary? Right out of the shadows, he says. Sir."

The general stared, then smiled and rose from his camp-table to stride past the two men and out of the tent. "Hanse!" Tempus called.

[i] Detailed in "Shadowspawn," in Thieves' World, 1979

[ii] For a detailed description of Hanse's entry into the upper precincts of the palace, see "The Vivisectionist" in the third Thieves' World volume. Shallows of Sanctuary. No better way in has been found, although having help is nice.