man and god. Lalo had been interrupted but Molin recognized a Nisibisi witch
like his mother had been, or as Roxane still was.
He was still staring when Niko dismissed the Ilsigi limner. The Stepson began to
speak of Arton and Gysk-ouras as if he alone understood their nature. The
children, Niko announced, needed to be educated in Bandara-an island a month’s
sailing from Sanctuary. When Molin inquired how, exactly, they were supposed to
transport two Storm Children, whose moods were already moving stones, across an
expanse of changeable ocean, the Stepson became irrational.
“All right, they’re not going any further unless and until my partner Randal
who’s being held by Roxane, I hear tell-is returned to me unharmed. Then I’ll
ride up and ask Tempus what he wants to do-if anything-about the matter of the
godchild you so cavalierly visited upon a town that had enough troubles without
one. But one way or the other, the resolution isn’t going to help you one whit.
Get my meaning?”
Molin did. He also felt a tingling at the base of his spine. Witch-blood rushed
to his eyes and fingertips. He saw Nikodemos as Roxane saw him: his maat, his
strength and his emotions displayed like the Emperor’s banquet table- and the
priest knew witch-kind’s hunger.
Niko, oblivious to Molin’s turmoil, continued with his demands. He expected
Molin to get Askelon’s armor out of the Mageguild and to storm Roxane’s abode
with a company of warrior-priests.
“Are you sure that will be enough?” Molin inquired, his voice turned sweetly