Stealers' Sky

"What better place? Where could they go where they'd have what they needed, and there wouldn't be complaints? The chamels? Downwind? Could you see those women and children lasting three days Downwind?"

Wedemir thought his questions had obvious answers, but Walegrin scratched his ear and took them seriously.

"Well , . . They should be downwind, or at least not upwind ... They need clear water, but the water won't be clear when they get done with it, so they need a stream that goes straight to the rivers ... That puts them outside the walls in a villa. They don't have any money and that Theudebourga, she'd never put her mark on an indenture ... A patron. They'd have to find someone with a villa wKo'd tolerate the stench for a chance to get a bargain on the finished silk."

"Which villa would you suggest: Eagle's Nest? Jubal's old place now that the Stepsons are gone, or what about Land's End with Chenaya and her gladiators?" Wedemir drawled.

For generations these three estates had marked the end of Sanctuary and the begi

"I promised my parents I'd visit them if I came close to home." It wasn't an absolute lie. Gilla was always glad to see her eldest son; and he had a sudden need of his family.

Walegrin understood. "I'll go on ahead. No need to catch up with me. You've learned enough for one afternoon, I think."

There was an ache in Wedemir's gut, as if he'd drunk one of Gilla's bitter purges. For a moment he felt cold and alone, then he headed up familiar streets to the just-barely-respectable quarter where his family had always lived. He sought a meaning for the commander's hostility. He was an intelligent youth with a lively imagination. It was impossible for him to guess the truth of the matter, but that didn't stop him from finding a satisfactory explanation: each estate he'd mentioned was bound to the past or the Rankan Empire. The silk workers would need a different sort of patron. By the time Gilla heard his thick-soled sandals on the stairs, Wedemir had his plan worked out.

Walegrin, in contrast, had no plan. He checked out the warehouses with a deliberately empty mind. He'd satisfied himself that the onus wasn't on his hands. His shoulders were relaxed when he crossed the empty caravan plaza on his way to the Bazaar. There was an emptiness in his gut-but that could be entirely attributed to hunger, and he knew just the remedy for that.

It was Sixthday-which was easier than remembering that is was also Eshi's Day, Spirit's Day, Sabellia's Day, or Somebody Else's Day-and on Sixthday, Walegrin ate di

Their home had grown considerably over the years: a wall here, a roof there, a second anvil, and, most recently, a rebuilt forge with one bay for Dubro and a new one for his journeyman. Illyra's chamber with tasseled curtains stuck out to one side like an afterthought.

Illyra was happy, Walegrin told himself when he noticed that the curtains were roped tight, happier than she'd been when she sat in that airless room Seeing secrets for anyone who crossed the threshold. Hadn't she always said she couldn't See when she was happy? Illyra was happily surrounded by her family and neither he nor Dubro had to worry about what, or who, she Saw.

Walegrin didn't have to duck his head to enter this room, or worry that he'd break a stool when he sat down. Little Trevya saw him first and came racing across the hard-packed floor, her limp all but vanished. She shrieked as only a two-year-old could shriek when he scooped her into his arms. Trevya had always been fascinated by the bronze band across his forehead, but lately she'd discovered a more intriguing toy; the heavy straw-colored braids the band was supposed to confine.

"Want ride!" she trilled when she'd caught them in her fists. With a patient sigh he leaned forward and let her pull his head toward the ground.

"Again!" She gave the braids a demanding yank.

This is the last time, Walegrin thought as he straightened up. The little beggar's stronger than she thinks ... and getting heavier. But he was Still playing the game when Illyra came through the other doorway.

"Wale-why, you're all covered with spider silk!"

It was a tone they all knew and respected. Trevya dropped silently to the ground. Even the hammering outside stopped. Walegrin dusted his shoulders and arms. There was nothing clinging to them, of course. Against all probability, Illyra was Seeing.

"I stink of it, you mean," Walegrin stammered. "There was a problem over in Safe Haven. Some crazy newcomers fermenting cocoons in their courtyard. That's all."

Illyra gave a little shudder. The image vanished. She cocked her head to one shoulder. The image didn't return; but it had been a true Seeing, however much he wanted her to pretend it wasn't. "It's nothing to worry about," she assured him with an affectionate hug.

That was true. The little impulses that flashed across her mind weren't ominous. They were not always literally true, either-the S'danzo Sight often came wrapped in layers of meaning. Illyra might have let the vision go as both insignificant and obscure, but it meant something to her brother, and that had her curiosity aroused. It nagged at her throughout the meal; she was never more than half attentive in the conversation.

"I'm going to go after a crustade for dessert," she a

She was silhouetted in the sunset, then gone. The afterimage lingered in Walegrin's mind. Sunset. Sixthday. There wasn't a warm baker's oven in the Bazaar, nor anywhere else in Sanctuary. It took two days to braise a joint large enough to satisfy the men at her table. She never relied on last-minute inspirations or improvisations ...

Walegrin followed her out the door and around to the back where the ropes across her scrying chamber dangled.

"Tell me what you See."

He took her completely by surprise. The cards flew from her hands. They scattered across the room, onto the floor, and into the powders she used for her essences, but three fell neatly on the table where she did her work.

Illyra blushed; she began to dissemble. Walegrin's features composed themselves into his interrogator's face and she abandoned the effort before a half-dozen words were out of her mouth.

"I was curious," she admitted.

"I'm curious myself. What did you See?"

"I told you what I Saw. You were surrounded by spider silk. It shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow-"

"What did it mean, Lyra? What did it mean?"

The seeress looked away and caught sight of the cards on the table. The amashkiki, the spirits of the cards, supported her. Eagerly she adjusted their alignment. "Here ... The Lady of the Forest. The Lady of the Stones. Between them, the Fifth-"

"Ly-ra ... Do it right."

"No, no, this is right."

"It was an accident."

Illyra hunched her shoulders and thrust her jaw at her brother. "I do not have accidents," she hissed.

Momentarily chastened, Walegrin allowed her to continue with her explanation.

"I See good fortune, easily come by."