Straton. Those are her major foci.”
The S’danzo went hurriedly aside, snatched at a small box on the shelf. “Dubro
please,” she said when the big man moved to interfere; and he let her alone as
she sank down on her knees in the middle of the floor and laid out her cards.
Nonsense, Ischade thought; but something stirred, something twitched at the nape
of her neck, and she thought of the magic-fall that still swept the winds,
recalling that prescience was not her talent, and she had not a way in the
worlds and several hells to judge what the S’danzo did, how much was flummery
and how much self-hypnosis and how much was a very different kind of witch.
The cards flew in strong, slim fingers, assumed patterns. Re-formed and showed
their faces.
Illyra drew her hand back from the last, as if she had found the serpent on that
card a living one.
“I see wounds,” Illyra said. “I see love reversed. I see a witch, a power, a
death, a castle; I see a staff broken; I see temptation-” Another card went
down. Orb.
“Interpret.”
“I don’t know how!” Illyra’s fingers hovered trembling over the cards. “There’s
flux. There’s change.” She pointed to a robed and hooded figure. “There’s your
card: eight of air. Lady of Storms-hieromant.”
“Hieromant! Not I!”
“I see harm to you. I see great harm. I see power reversed. The cards are
terrible-Death and Change. Everywhere, death and change.” The S’danzo looked up,
tears flowing down her cheeks. “I see damage to you in what you attempt.”
“So.” Ischade drew a deep breath, teacup still in hand. “But for my question,