‘Redeem your harp; that one will do your voice no boon.’ But when the minstrel
raised his head in thanks, the magician had gone unseen into the shadows.
Pocketing the gold, the minstrel asked, ‘How did he know that? And how did he go
out?’
‘Shalpa the swift alone knows,’ the tapster said. ‘Flew out by the smoke-hole in
the chimney, for all I ken! That one needs not the night-dark cloak of Shalpa to
cover him, for he has one of his own. He paid for your drinks, good sir; what
will you have?’ And Cappen Varra proceeded to get very drunk, that being the
wisest thing to do when one becomes entangled unawares in the private affairs of
a wizard.
Outside in the street, Lythande paused to consider. Rabben the Half-handed was
no friend; yet there was no reason his presence in Sanctuary must deal with
Lythande, or personal revenge. If it were business concerned with the Order of
the Blue Star, if Lythande must lend Rabben aid, or the Half-handed had been
sent to summon all the members of the Order, the star they both wore would have
given warning.
Yet it would do no harm to make certain. Walking swiftly, the magician had
reached a line of old stables behind the governor’s palace. There was silence
and secrecy for magic. Lythande stepped into one of the little side alleys,
drawing up the magician’s cloak until no light remained, slowly withdrawing
farther and farther into the silence until nothing remained anywhere in the
world -anywhere in the universe but the light of the blue star ever glowing in
front. Lythande remembered how it had been set there, and at what cost – the