Azel scanned the square he had to cross. He saw no sign of excitement. He haddistanced the hunt but probably not the news that a child had been snatched.

Should he try it now, in the long shadows of afternoon, or await the friendlydarkness?

The square was almost empty. The kid was out of fight again. Gorloch knew whatmight creep out of the labyrinth behind him if he sat on his hands.

He grabbed the brat's paw and headed out, fast, like an angry parent. The kidstumbled and whimpered, and that fed the illusion.

As he tramped across the square Azel lifted his gaze and rehearsed andnurtured the rage he was going to vent.

And that fed the illusion, too.

Aaron pressed up the hill, the black fear gnawing his heart. He was a man keptstrong and trim by his labors, but emotion had driven him to a violent stormup the long climb from the waterfront. His legs were billets of lead, as theywere in his nightmares.

It was over now. Long over. But some of the spectators remained, still telling one another what had happened. Beyond them were a handful of Herodian soldiersand several Dartar horsemen. Ranking Dartar, Aaron realized after a secondlook. Startled, he found himself exchanging momentary glances with a fierce- eyed old man who had the face of a raptor and a savage grey beard.

Fa'tad al-Akla himself! Fa'tad the Eagle, commander of all the Dartarmercenaries, bloodthirsty as a vampire, merciless as a hungry snake. What washe doing? Making himself a target for the Living?

Of course not. Was he not supposed to know as little of fear as the desertwindstorms that brewed over the Takes and raged north over the KhadatqaMountains and beyond, to inundate Qush-marrah with dust and torment it with aferocious dry heat? Fa'tad al-Akla held the Living in contempt.