But straight answers were lacking in the Rankan Empire this season, and Tempus,with Jihan around, was more obscure than usual.

So it came to pass that Tempus said to Crit as they came down the General's Roadto the ford at the White Foal River: "Make your own way henceforth. Stepson,among the pigs in their mire. Find Straton and reconvene your covert actors:I want the whereabouts of Roxane and her power globe by midnight."

"Is that all?" Crit asked, sarcasm finding its way into his tone-no disrespect,but gods whispered in the Riddler's ears and never spoke to Critias at all, sothat orders like these always seemed impossible, issuing from nowhere, thoughhe'd hardly ever failed to carry through a task, however vague, that the Riddlerset him.

But this time, as his sorrel stallion pawed the White Foal's mud and lewdly eyedthe blue roan Jihan rode, Crit was more than usually defensive: Down inSanctuary, across the Foal somewhere, was Kama, Tempus's daughter, whom Crit hadgot with child. It had been in the Wizard Wars, against the Riddler's orders,and ill had come of it for everyone involved. He'd not thought of her-an act ofwill, not fortune-until this moment, but looking out across the Foal where thelights of Sanctuary's whorehold, the Street of Red Lanterns, were twinkling inthe dusk, suddenly the mercenary fighter could' think of nothing else.

And Tempus, who understood too much too often, who healed from every mortal cuthe took, who buried everyone he loved in time and enjoyed the confidence of godsand shades, said softly in a voice like the river coursing gravel, "No, not all.A start. Take a unit of your choosing, find Straton, use what he has, destroyRoxane's power globe by dawn, then seek me in the palace."

"And is that the whole of it. Commander?" Crit asked laconically, as if the taskwere simple, not a death sentence or an invitation to mutiny.