“Haught’s there,” Ischade said. “So’s Roxane by now. Right in the middle of it.
And Roxane’s got her ally poised here. In Niko. You need me for either and we
could lose it in either place. You choose. You’re the strategists.”
The witch stirred a step, looked down at her/his own body, and up again.
Tasfalen’s eyes burned with a preternatural clarity. “Give me that,”
Tasfalen/Roxane said, taking a second step toward Haught; and Haught clutched
the pottery globe the tighter and backed that step away while Moria shrank back
against the outside of the bannister.
“Oh, no,” said Haught. “Not so readily as that-compatriot. You may even be
outranked. Do you want to try me? Or do you want to take the gift I’ve already
given you and be reasonable?”
The witch laid a hand on her own naked chest, ran it down to the belly. “Is this
your sense of humor, man? I assure you I’m not amused.”
“I worked with what I had at hand. If you’ve seen the staff in this house you
know I did quite well. This one-” Haught grasped Moria by the arm and dragged
her behind him. “-is mine. The body is Tasfalen Lancothis. He’s quite rich. And
with your tastes I’m sure you’ll find amusement one way or the other.”
Tasfalen’s eyes looked up from under the brows and all hell looked out.
“We’ll do better,” Haught said, “if we both live that long.” He nodded toward
the street. “There’s considerable disturbance out there. They’re back at it
again. I found you, I offer you a body. I have the globe. For two wizards, this
is an opportune place and an opportune time: Ranke is dying in the streets out