"My goddess!" Both Prince and Beysa fell back as Molin turned on them, lookingrather like a Storm God himself with his mantle flaring around him and dustflying from his uncombed hair and beard. Lalo found it hard to believe that thiswas the same sleek priest who had given him his first great commission so longago. But then his own changes in the past few years had been even moreremarkable, if less obvious. And Sanctuary itself had changed.

"Dyareela's no deity of Ranke, or of the Ilsig either!" Molin's gaze fixed onLalo and a quick grab hauled the limner out from behind the pillar. "You tellthem-you're a Wrig-glie! Is Dyareela any goddess of yours?"

Lalo stared at him, more startled than offended by the priest's use of theRankan epithet. Torchholder's unguarded tongue was the best evidence of thepriest's own frustration and fear.

"The Good Goddess was here before the Ilsigi came." He pulled off his mask andanswered softly. "She rules the wastelands, and the lost spirits who dwellthere. But mostly, men do not pray to Her..."

"Mostly?" asked Kadakithis. "When do they pray to Her, limner?" .

Lalo kept his gaze on the patterned tiles, his skin prickling as if even talkingabout it could bring the fever on. "I was a boy when the last great plague camehere," he said in a low voice. "We worshiped Her then. She brings the fever. Sheis the fever, and She is its cure...."

"Wrigglie superstition," began the Prince, but his voice lacked conviction.

Molin Torchholder sighed. "I don't like to give recognition to these nativecults, but it may be necessary. I don't suppose you remember any details of theceremonies?" His grip tightened on Lalo's shoulder again.

"Ask the priests of Us!" Lalo shrugged free. "1 was a child, and my mother keptme inside for fear of the crowds. They said there was a great sacrifice. They