leaned close, smiling broadly, her lovely sanguine face no older than a
marriageable girl’s. Her fearsome faith, behind those eyes which supped on fear
and now were feasting on Randal’s anguish, was older than the Mageguild in which
she stood-stood against reason, against nature, against the best magic Rankan
trained adepts and even Randal, who’d learned Nisi ways to counter the warring
warlocks from the high peaks, could field.
“Whhd whd drr whdd? Whr hheh?” Randal said from behind his sopping, choking gag
of sheets: What do you want? Why me?
And the Nisibisi witch stretched elegantly, leaned close, and answered. “Want?
Why, Witchy-Ears, your soul, of course. Now, now, don’t thrash around so. Don’t
waste your strength, such as it is. You’ve got ’til winter’s shortest day to
anticipate its loss. Unless, of course …” The luminous eyes that had been the
last sight of too many great adepts and doomed warriors came close to his, and
widened. “Unless you can prevail on Stealth, called Nikodemos, to help you save
it. But then, we both know it’s not likely he’d put his person in jeopardy for
yours…. Sacred Band oath or not, Niko’s left you, deserted you as he’s
deserted me. Isn’t that so, little maladroit nonadept? Or do you think honor and
glory and an abrogated bond could bring your one-time partner down to Sanctuary
to save you from a long and painful stint as one of my … servants?” Teeth
gleamed above Randal in the dark, as all of Roxane’s manifestation gleamed with
an unholy and inhuman light.