mold was gone, replaced by a heady incense. Instead of soft lamps, braziers
glowed redly, providing the light. This new room was much larger, full of
shelves with books and old furniture. Thick carpets covered the floor. In a
corner an odoriferous vapor steamed from a large samovar.
At the opposite end of the room was a huge chair on a low dais. Someone,
completely obscured by a voluminous cloak, sprawled upon it.
“Pardon me if I’m mistaken,” the figure addressed her, “but most people tremble
in my presence. You’re not trembling.”
She batted her eyes innocently. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
He held up a hand to silence her, and he pulled himself more erect. “You have
the mark of a god upon you.” Two red eyes gleamed at her from beneath a hood as
spacious as her own. “You are Chenaya, called by some the Daughter of the Sun.”
She was beginning to hate that title. “I came to bargain with you, Wizard. I’ve
heard of your power. If there’s anything to know in this hell-hole, you know it.
It’s information I want.”
His laughter fairly shook the walls. “Have I changed so drastically? Do I look
like Hakiem the Storyteller, or Blind Jakob? Seek those for your information,
woman. I’m no peddler of gossip. More important things occupy my time.”
“Indeed? Well, occupy yourself with these!” She flung back her cloak and
brazenly cupped her breasts. “Nearly a year ago a caravan bearing the Prince’s
wife and concubines was attacked in the Gray Wastes. The conspirators organized
the attack from right here in Sanctuary. You have power, Enas Yorl, and you can