“Mother Bey! Mother Bey, my hind foot. Do you know where she found her first
snake? That’s all she needs, you know, a silly blood-mouth World Serpent. Not my
father. No, she doesn’t need him at all!”
When she wasn’t doting on the children, Jihan fumed about her father’s
progressive entanglement with the fish-folk’s goddess, Mother Bey. Jihan, who
had never had a rival for her father’s affection, was developing a dangerous
resentment for all things Beysib.
Gods were the priests’ problems. Randal had heard the adolescent protests before
and was openly relieved to leave them to Molin. He found a fist-sized watch-lamp
beside the glowing brazier, lit it, and headed toward the curtained alcove where
Niko convalesced. Tempus had forbidden the direct application of magic on his
partner’s wounds so Jihan worked her healing through vile unguents; the taint of
rotting offal drew Randal to the alcove more surely than the flickering
lamplight. He swallowed his sneezes as he drew the curtain aside and stood at
Niko’s feet.
The mercenary thrashed on his pallet in the grip of nightmares or pain.
“Leave me be!” he gasped-and Randal pressed his back against the wall of the
alcove.
Chiringee had followed the magician. She stalked across the damp, discarded
linens, easily eluding Randal’s cautious attempts to restrain her. Her teeth
glistened and her tail quivered as it only did when she was closing on her prey.
Randal set the lamp carefully on the footboard and moved closer.
“Leave me!” Niko murmured again before his words became incoherent moans and his