"For luck, Witchy-Ears?" Straton growled to Randal, and Ischade relaxed. "It'shardly lucky for that pup."

He must take his anguish out on someone, vent his spleen. She'd thought whilethey walked among the corpses askew on training grounds and open-legged indoorways that the "someone" might be her. She'd raised shades to help the siegeeven one named Janni who'd been a Stepson before his death. And Strat, who'dknown Janni and Stilcho and others among Ischade's part-living cadre when they'dlaid a clearer claim to life, had had shadows in his eyes.

The same shadows of disgust scoured his mouth now as the big Stepson spat overhis shoulder and demanded, "Randal, give me an answer."

But Randal, the big-eared, freckled mage who was so cautious and yet no man'sfool or pawn despite his slight and unassuming person, knew that Straton wantedmore than a reason for the sacrifice of a cur. Strat wanted someone to tell himthat the massacre he walked through fit somehow into the Stepsons' code ofhonor.

But it didn't. Not in any way at all. It was war out of hand and blood begettingblood and the only justification or reason for it was the nature of Sanctuaryitself- Sanctuary was out of balance, gnawing on its own leg while it frothed atthe mouth, beset by enemies from within and without. The town was full offactions among men and among gods and among sorcerers, so full that evenIschade, who had interests here, had to come out into daylight to protect them,and to throw in her lot with Straton's Sacred Band and Sync's amoral 3rdCommando.

When Randal didn't answer, just favored Strat with an eloquent sickened lookfull of accusation, since Strat was putatively in command, Ischade said to theofficer beside her, "Order is its own reward. And reason makes its bed with us,not with the Beysib interlopers who have the Prince enthralled, or with the