"The magician wasn't Rankene," Thrusher offered in consolation.
"That only means we have new enemies. C'mon. It's time to find my sister. She'll make at least as much sense as the metal-master."
The rain had kept the bazaar crowds to a minimum, but so close to the harbor there was fog, too, and Walegrin got them lost twice before he heard the sound of Dubro's hammer. Two mercenaries, a Whoreson pair by the look of them, waited beneath the awning. Dubro was mending their shield.
"You're putting in more dents than you're taking out, oaf," the younger, taller of the pair complained, but Dubro went on hammering.
Walegrin and Thrusher moved closer without being noticed. A rope was tied across the doorway, usually a sign that Illyra was scrying. Walegrin tried to find the scent of her incense in the air but found only the smell of Dubro's fire.
There was a scream and a crash from the inside. Dubro dropped his hammer and bumped into Walegrin at the doorway. A third Stepson yanked the rope loose and attempted, unsuccessfully, to bully his way past both Dubro and Walegrin. The smith's hands closed on the Stepson's shoulder. The other pair reached for their weapons, but Thrusher already had his drawn. Everyone froze in place.
Illyra appeared in the doorway. "Just let them go, Dubro," she asked wearily. "The truth hurts him more than you can." She noticed Walegrin, sighed and retreated back into the darkness.
"Lying S'danzo bitch!" the third Stepson shouted after her.
Dubro changed his grip and shook the small man. "Get out of here before I change my mind," he said in a low voice.
"You haven't finished with the shield yet," the young one complained, but his companions hushed him, grabbed the shield and hurried into the rain.
Dubro turned his attention to Walegrin. "One might expect you to be here when something like this happens."
"You shouldn't let her see men like that."
"He wouldn't," Illyra explained from the doorway. "But that's the only kind that comes anymore-for mongering and scrying. The Stepsons scare anything else away."
"What about the women you used to see? The lovers and the merchants?" Walegrin's tone was harsh. "Or did the S'danzo not give them back?"
"No, Migurneal was not untrue. It's the same everywhere. No woman would venture this close Downwind anymore-and not many merchants either. They don't need me to tell them their luck if they run afoul of the Sacred Band."
"And you need the money because of the babes?" Walegrin concluded, then realized
he didn't hear the normal infantile sounds.
Illyra looked away. "Well, yes-and no," she said angrily. "We needed a wet nurse-and we found one. But it's not safe for her or the babies here. They're bullies. Worse than the hawk-masks were-those at least stayed in the gutters where they belonged. Arton and Lillis are at the Aphrodesia House."
It was not uncommon to foster a child at a well-run brothel where young women sold their milk. Myrtis, proprietor of the Aphrodesia, had an unquestionable reputation. Even the palace women kept their children in the Aphrodesia nursery. But fostering wasn't the S'danzo way and Walegrin could see Illyra had agreed to it only because she was scared.
"Have you been threatened?" he asked, sounding like the garrison office he had been.
Illyra didn't answer, but Dubro did. "They make threats everytime she tells them the truth. She tells them they're cowards-and their threats prove it. 'Lyra's too honest; she shouldn't answer the questions men shouldn't ask."
"But I'll answer your questions now, Walegrin," she offered, not facing her husband.
The incense holders were still scattered across the carpets. Her cards had been thrown against the wall. Walegrin watched while she set her things in order and seated herself behind the table. She had recovered from the birth of the twins, Walegrin judged. There was a pleasant maturity in her face but otherwise she was the same-until she took up the cards again.
"What do you seek," she asked.
"I have been betrayed, but I am still in danger. I wish to know whom I should fear most and where I might be safe."
Illyra's face relaxed into unemotional blank-ness. Her expressionless eyes stared into him. "The steel brings enemies, doesn't it?"
Though he had seen her in scrying trances before, the change chilled Walegrin. Yet he believed totally in her gifts since she had read the pottery fragment which had led him to the ore. "Yes, the steel brings enemies. Will it be the death of me? Is it the final link in a S'danzo forged chain?"
"Give me your sword," she demanded.
He handed her the Enlibar blade. Illyra stared at it a while then ran her palms along the flat and touched the edge tenderly with her fingertips. She set the metal on her table and sat motionless for so long that Walegrin began to fear for her. He had started for the door when her eyes widened and she called his name.
"The future has been clouded since I gave birth, Walegrin, but your future is as the fog to the sun.
"Steel belongs to no man but to itself alone- this steel even more so. It reeks of gods and magic, places the S'danzo do not see. But unless your betrayers work through the gods they will have no power over you. There is intrigue, treachery but none of it will harm you or the steel."
"What of the men of Ranke? Have they forgotten me? When I go north-"
"You will not go north," she said, taking hold of the sword again.
"'Lyra, I'm going north with my men and the swords."
"You will not go north."
"That's nonsense."
Illyra put the sword on the table again. "It is the clearest thing I've seen in a week, Walegrin. You will not go north; you will not leave Sanctuary."
"Then you cannot say no harm will come to me. What of the spy we trapped this morning. The stranger who got away. Do you see him?"
"No-he can mean nothing to you, but I'll try my cards." She picked up the deck, took his hand and pressed it against the cards."Perhaps your future is distinct from the steel. Make three piles then turn over the top card of each."
He placed the three piles where she pointed and flipped over the cards. The first showed two men dueling. Though blood dripped from their blades neither seemed injured. It was a card Walegrin had seen before. The second was unfamiliar and damaged by water running through the colors. It seemed to show a great mass of ships on the open sea. The third card showed an armored hand
clutching a sword-hill that changed to flame halfway up the blade. Without thinking Walegrin moved to touch the flame. Illyra's fingers closed over his and restrained him.
"Your first: the Two of Ores: steel. It means many things, but for you it is simply this steel itself. But you already know this.
'"Your second: this is the Seven of Ships, or it was the Seven of Ships. It was the fishing fleet, but ithas become something else." She squeezed his hand. "Here is all danger and opportunity. Not even the gods see this card as we see it now. The Seven of Ships sails out of the future; it sails for Sanctuary and nothing will be the same. Remember it!" she commanded and overturned the card again. "We were not meant to see what the gods have not yet seen.
"Your third is not a sword, though you thought it was. It is the Lance of Flames-the Oriflamme: leader's card. Coming with steel and the revealed future it places you in the vanguard. It is not a card for a man who believes in S'danzo curses."
"Don't speak in riddles, Illyra."
"It is simple. You are not cursed by the S'danzo-if you ever were. You have been marked by the gods; but remember what we say about the gods: it is all the same whether they curse or favor you. Since the birth of my children this is the first future which is not clouded. I see a huge fleet sailing for Sanctuary-and I see the Oriflamme. I will not interpret what I see."