avoided.
Even so a great portion of the manse stood, and some of it was even under roof.
Green-bordered blue cloak fluttering, his emerald-hued tunic with its purfling
of yellow gold an unwontedly soft caress on his thighs, Hanse approached a
doorless entry. It yawned dark, and still the ancient dark stains splashed the
jamb; the blood of murder. He cast many anxious looks this way and that, and he
did not hurry. For once he was not pleased to go into shadows.
He was met and greeted. Not by Ils or a beauteous woman, either!
Oh she was female, all right, and indeed shapely in a warm deep pink, a long
gown sashed with red and hemmed with silver. The dress was lovely and rich and
her figure was lovelier than that but even so the most striking aspect of her
was her face. She had none.
Hanse stopped very abruptly and stared. At nothing. It was as if his gaze
somehow swerved away from the face of this woman who greeted him, putting forth
one lovely smooth hand.
The hand was adorned with a single ring. Hanse recognized it. He had seen it
yesterday, in the sky-aspiring temple of Ilshipri.
“Don’t be fearful, Hanse of the Shadows, Chosen of Ilsig, Son of Shadows.” It
was a very nice voice, and unconditionally female.
“Of one who has no face on her? Oh, of course not!”
Her laughter was a stream of bright quicksilver in sunshine. “Choose a face
then,” she bade him, and proceeded to give him a choice.
The air shimmered above her shoulders and a head formed, and a face. It was not
comforting. Hanse was looking at Lirain. Lirain, who had conspired with another