bitch’s web to serve, our necromancer says, as bait for Roxane’s lover.” He
looked at the swords Wale-grin carried. “I think we will only talk this morning
and walk a little-until I can feel my feet. Hoxa will blame himself if I return
limping. It was not a good night-“
Walegrin held up his hand for silence. “To walk away from her is cause for
prayer.”
Molin shrugged the sympathy aside. The need to confess and confide had become
all-consuming and Walegrin, however inappropriate, had become its object. “I
came here because I did not know what to do next and my thoughts, not prayers,
summoned something-a god called Stormbringer. I don’t know-maybe it was only a
dream. It said I must use stealth to serve Gyskouras and Arton-but that’s the
lesser of my problems, it says. The greater one is inside me. God or dream, I
make no sense from it.”
Walegrin stopped as if struck. “Stealth? Randal is bait for Roxane’s lover-eh?”
“According to Ischade.”
“It fits. It fits, Molin,” the blond soldier exalted, using his superior’s given
name for the first time in their acquaintance. “Niko’s been seen at the Mere’s
Guild.”
“Niko-Nikodemos the Stepson? I met him once-with Tempus. Has Tempus returned,
then?” Molin brightened.
“Not that anyone’s seen. But Niko-he’d be the lover, if rumor’s true. More
important: He’s Stealth.”
Torchholder leaned against the gelding. The habit of taking war names was not
limited to the Stepsons. He’d become Torchholder one night on the ramparts at
Val-tostin, though unlike most, he’d made his war name a part of his known name.