Sweating freely, Randal tried to wriggle off his Mageguild bed as Roxane's formlost its wraithlike quality and became palpably present. He succeeded only inbanging his head against the wall, and cowered there, wishing witches couldn'tslit Mageguild wards like butter, wishing he'd never fought with Stepsons orclaimed a Nisi warlock's Globe of Power, wishing he'd never heard of Nikodemosor inherited Niko's panoply, armor forged by the entelechy of dream.

"Umn hmn, nnh nohnu, rgorhrrr!" Randal shouted at the witch who now had humanform, even down to perfumed flesh whose scent mixed with his own acrid, fearfulsweat: Go away, you horror, evermore!

Roxane only laughed, a tinkling laugh, not horrid, and minced over to hisbedside with exaggerated care: "Say you what, little mageling? Say again?" Sheleaned close, smiling broadly, her lovely sanguine face no older than amarriageable girl's. Her fearsome faith, behind those eyes which supped on fearand now were feasting on Randal's anguish, was older than the Mageguild in whichshe stood-stood against reason, against nature, against the best magic Rankantrained adepts and even Randal, who'd learned Nisi ways to counter the warringwarlocks from the high peaks, could field.

"Whhd whd drr whdd? Whr hheh?" Randal said from behind his sopping, choking gagof sheets: What do you want? Why me?

And the Nisibisi witch stretched elegantly, leaned close, and answered. "Want?Why, Witchy-Ears, your soul, of course. Now, now, don't thrash around so. Don'twaste your strength, such as it is. You've got 'til winter's shortest day toanticipate its loss. Unless, of course ..." The luminous eyes that had been thelast sight of too many great adepts and doomed warriors came close to his, andwidened. "Unless you can prevail on Stealth, called Nikodemos, to help you saveit. But then, we both know it's not likely he'd put his person in jeopardy for