more than a month. Some of the others don't like her, but I trust her more than Bolan.' He clenched his fist. 'Power flows off her like a shadow.'

'Do you think she's pushing him to bring in new worshipers?'

'I think she's pushing him to do more than that. The mission Cyrume was on last nightthat was her idea.'.'What's her name?' Keph asked.

'Variance. You may meet her tomorrow night.'

'Maybe I will,' agreed Keph. 'Are you going to be there?'

'I'll wait with you in the alley,' Jarull promised.

They walked for a few blocks in silence. Keph watched Jarull out of the corner of his eye. The big man stalked from shadow to shadow with as much strength as Keph had ever seen in him. Maybe even morethere was a new determination to him, a fire Keph could feel every time they talked. At the same time, Jarull was different. More distant. Harder. Shar had changed Jarull. Keph bit his lip.

'Jarull, this invitation…?'

Jarull paused and looked down at him. 'Keph,' he said, 'if you're having second thoughts, now is not the time. An invitation like Bolan's is only extended once and if you choose not to accept it…' He gritted his teeth. 'The cult has to be protected, Keph. It's too late to back out now.'

Keph snorted and spun around to walk backward, facing him. 'Jarull, when have I ever backed out of anything?'

Jarull smiled like a shark and said, 'Never.'

'That's right.'

Keph turned back around and swaggered onward.

CHAPTER 5

Wedge Street took its name from its shape: narrow and tapering, less a street than a long, dead-end courtyard. It lay on Yhaunn's south side, not too far inland from the festering slums of the docks. The buildings surrounding it were large and had once been grand. Over the years, they had been either divided up into dirty, cramped rooming houses or given over to decay. The buildings left to rot weren't necessarily uninhabited, however. As the last red of sunset faded over the Sea of Fallen Stars and muggy night descended, Keph could see firelight inside the old shells.

Keph kept his hand on Quick and tried to sink into the shadows of the alley, hoping no one would notice a man too rich for the neighborhood. And alone.

Jarull hadn't come.

'Lying bastard,' Keph muttered.

He squeezed Quick's grip, and stood his ground.

Jarull or no Jarull, he wasn't going to leave.

That afternoon, Roderio had ventured out of his chambers for the first time since his accident. Most of his bandages had been removed to reveal skin that was tender and baby pink, newly restored by the prayers of a priest. The only bandage still in place was the one that circled Roderio's head, covering his eyes. Soon that too could be removed, the priest had promised, but in the meantime, it was better to leave it. Looking barely worse off than a child playing a blindfold game, Roderio had shuffled about Fourstaves House, chatting and even laughing with his parents, his sister, his brother-in-law, his niece, the servants…

But not his brother. Keph had been ignored.

The night grew deeper. Tucked into the alley, all Keph could see overhead was the narrowest sliver of black sky. The few stars that twinkled in that space were pale and weak. Somewhere not too far away, people were singing some interminable halfling song. Keph stalked back and forth in the shadows.

'Come on, Bolan,' he muttered. 'Don't make me listen to that drivel alone all night.'

'No one is alone in the darkness,' murmured a voice.

Keph spun around, tearing Quick free of her scabbard.

'Storm's lashV he spat.

In the moment that lightning crackled around the blade, its blue glow shone on half a dozen figures, their heads shrouded in dark hoods.

But his attackers were ready for Quick. Strong arms seized him from behind and hands pried open his fingers. Keph yelled and struggled, but the rapier was torn away from him. The sparks that lingered on the blade popped and vanished. Stained by afterimages of that brief light, the darkness seemed even deeper than before. Someone clamped a cloth over his mouth to muffle any further screams. Keph felt himself hustled forward. His heart thundered with panic.

The sounds of singing vanished and the sense of an open sky above him along with it. A door closed. He was inside.

Hands and arms released him. Keph panted in the darkness.

'Mistress of the Night,' whispered a different voice, 'we are mortal and imperfect. We beg your forgiveness for our failings.'

There was a scratch and a burst of flame as someone struck a tindertwig and held it to the wick of a single candle.

Keph almost collapsed with relief at the sight of the black and purple disks around the necks of the figures in the dim light. It was the cult of Shar.

'Dark!' he gasped, 'you gave'

One of the figures slapped him.

'You have no voice in this place,' a woman said gruffly. 'You have no voice until the Lady of Loss gives you one.'

Another figure held out a massive goblet carved from black stone and commanded, 'Drink.'

Keph stared into the goblet. It was filled with dark wine. He could smell it. He could smell something else as well, though, something bitter. He glanced up, trying to see the face of the cultist who held the goblet.

Too slow. Hands grabbed him again and pulled his head back. The rim of the goblet knocked painfully against his teeth, then wine flooded into his mouth. He choked against it.

'Drink it!' spat the cultist holding him.

Keph managed to gulp down some of the wineand to keep gulping as the goblet was tilted higher and higher. Finally it was empty and he was released once more. He staggered and wiped futilely at his face and shirt. Both were soaked. Wine dripped out of his goatee. His lips felt strangely numb.

The cultist with the goblet raised it high and intoned, 'He has drunk the Elixir of the Void from the Cup of Night!'

'Hail to the Mistress of the Night!' chanted the other cultists in response.

Keph's stomach roiled and churned.

'The Dark Goddess is within him!'

'Hail to the Mistress of the Night!'

'Dark Dancer, we honor you!'

'Hail to the Mistress of the Night!'

Keph squinted through the dimness of the candlelight. The cultists' forms were beginning to spin in his vision. No, he realized, the cultists themselves were spinning. They were dancing, moving into a slowly swaying ring with him at its center. Keph's eyes flickered at the sight and he nearly staggered. He peered at the cultists. None of the them had either Jarull's height or Bolan's odd stature. He turned, trying to catch a glimpse of those behind him.

'He dances!' called a voice.

'Hail to the Mistress of the Night! Hail to the Dark Dancer!'

Arms swept Keph up and whirled him into the dance. Someone was making a simple rhythm, the slap of hands and feet punctuated by ringing, clashing steel. Keph hoped it wasn't Quick being used to make that noise.

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