Things were so damned depressing, sometimes he wanted to cry.

When he wiped his eyes and took his old, gnarled hands away, a woman stood therebefore him.

He drew in a shocked breath and almost cowered: was it a witch? Was it dreadedRoxane, come back from the northern war? Roxane, who had all but destroyed theStepsons and made undead slaves of her conquests? Had he just pacted with awitch? By the mechanism of a thought, just an errant thought? Surely, no onecould lose their soul so easily, so offhandedly....

The woman was tall and broad-shouldered, with a turn chin and clear narrow eyes;her hair was as black as a wizard's, her clothes nondescript but cut tofacilitate easy movement-her tunic vented, her Ilsig leggings bloused at theknees and disappearing into calf-high, laced boots.

"Hakiem, are you? I'm Kama. Shall we walk?"

"Walk? I'm... waiting for someone-my apprentice," he lied lamely. Was this aBey mercenary? He didn't know they covered their breasts or wore pants. Was heto be arrested? That would be a story- "Inside a Beysib Interrogation Cell"-ifonly he might live to tell it....

"Walk." The woman's voice was throaty as she chuckled. "It's safer, for thiskind of meet. And the someone you're waiting for, I hope, is me." She smiled,and there was something familiar about her eyes, as if an old acquaintancelooked out of them. She extended her hand to him as if he were infirm, some oldwoman to be helped to her feet. Women were getting altogether out of hand inSanctuary this season.

He brushed her hand aside and got up stiffly, hoping she wouldn't notice.

She was saying, "-your apprentice? That idea's not half-bad. I'd probablyqualify, having won first prize at the last Festival of Man, wouldn't youthink?"

"First prize? Festival of Man?" Hakiem repeated dumbly. "What did you say your