'Perhaps I should yield her to you; this is unheard of, that Lythande should fight in the streets over a woman! You see, I know your habits well, Lythande!'
Damnation of Vashanka! Now indeed I shall have to fight for the girl!
Lythande's rapier snicked from its scabbard and thrust at Rabben as if of its own will.
'Ha! Do you think Rabben fights street-brawls with the sword like any mercenary?' Lythande's sword-tip exploded in the blue star-glow, and became a shimmering snake, twisting back on itself to climb past the hilt, fangs dripping venom as it sought to coil around Lythande's fist. Lythande's own star blazed. The sword was metal again but twisted and useless, in the shape of the snake it had been, coiling back toward the scabbard. Enraged, Lythande jerked free of the twisted metal, sent a spitting rain of fire in Rabben's direction. Quickly the huge adept covered himself in fog, and the fire-spray extinguished itself. Somewhere outside consciousness Lythande was aware of a crowd gathering; not twice in a lifetime did two adepts of the Blue Star battle by sorcery in the streets of Sanctuary. The blaze of the stars, blazing from each magician's brow, raged lightnings in the square.
On a howling wind came little torches ravening, that flickered and whipped at Lythande; they touched the tall form of the magician and vanished. Then a wild whirlwind sent trees lashing, leaves swirling bare from branches, battered Rabben to his knees. Lythande was bored; this must be finished quickly. Not one of the goggling onlookers in the crowd knew afterwards what had been done, but Rabben bent, slowly, slowly, forced inch by inch down and down, to his knees, to all fours, prone, pressing and grinding his face further and further into the dust, rocking back and forth, pressing harder and harder into the sand ...
Lythande turned and lifted the girl. She stared in disbelief at the burly sorcerer grinding his black beard frantically into the dirt.
'What did you -'
'Never mind - let's get out of here. The spell will not hold him long, and when he wakes from it he will be angry.' Neutral mockery edged. Lythande's voice, and the girl could see it, too, Rabben with beard and eyes and blue star covered with the dirt and dust -
She scurried along in the wake of the magician's robe; when they were well away from the Promise of Heaven, Lythande halted, so abruptly that the girl stumbled.
'Who are you, girl?'
'My name is Bercy. And yours?'
'A magician's name is not lightly given. In Sanctuary they call me Lythande.' Looking down at the girl, the magician noted, with a pang, that beneath the dirt and dishevelment she was very beautiful and very young. 'You can go, Bercy. He will not touch you again; I have bested him fairly upon challenge.'
She flung herself on to Lythande's shoulder, clinging. 'Don't send me away!' she begged, clutching, eyes filled with adoration. Lythande scowled.
Predictable, of course, Bercy believed, and who in Sanctuary would have disbelieved, that the duel had been fought for the girl as prize, and she was ready to give herself to the winner. Lythande made a gesture of protest.
'No -'
The girl narrowed her eyes in pity. 'Is it then with you as Rabben said - that your secret is that you have been deprived of manhood?' But beyond the pity was a delicious flicker of amusement - what a tidbit of gossip! A juicy bit for the Street of Women.
'Silence!' Lythande's glance was imperative. 'Come.'
She followed, along the twisting streets that led into the Street of Red Lanterns. Lythande strode with confidence, now, past the House of Mermaids, where, it was said, delights as exotic as the name promised were to be found; past the House of Whips, shunned by all except those who refused to go elsewhere; and at last, beneath the face of the Green Lady as she was worshipped far away and beyond Ranke, the Aphrodisia House.
Bercy looked around, eyes wide, at the pillared lobby, the brilliance of a hundred lanterns, the exquisitely dressed women lounging on cushions till they were summoned. They were finely dressed and bejewelled - Myrtis knew her trade, and how to present her wares - and Lythande guessed that the ragged Bercy's glance was one of envy; she had probably sold herself in the bazaars for a few coppers or for a loaf of bread, since she was old enough. Yet somehow, like flowers covering a dungheap, she had kept an exquisite fresh beauty, all gold and white, flowerlike. Even ragged and half-starved, she touched Lythande's heart.
'Bercy, have you eaten today?'
'No, master.'
Lythande summoned the huge eunuch Jiro, whose business it was to conduct the favoured customers to the chambers of their chosen women, and throw out the drunks and abusive customers into the street. He came - huge-bellied, naked except for a skimpy loincloth and a dozen rings in his ear - he had once had a lover who was an earring-seller and had used him to display her wares.
'How may we serve the magician Lythande?'
The women on the couches and cushions were twittering at one another in surprise and dismay, and Lythande could almost hear their thoughts; None of us has been able to attract or seduce the great magician, and this ragged street wench has caught his eyes? And, being women, Lythande knew they could see the unclouded beauty that shone through the girl's rags.
'Is Madame Myrtis available, Jiro?'
'She's sleeping, 0 great wizard, but for you she's given orders she's to be waked at any hour. Is this -' no one alive can be quite so supercilious as the chief eunuch of a fashionable brothel - 'yours, Lythande, or a gift for my madame?'
'Both, perhaps. Give her something to eat and find her a place to spend the night.'
'And a bath, magician? She has fleas enough to louse a floorful of cushions!'
'A bath, certainly, and a bath-woman with scents and oih,' Lythande said, 'and something in the nature of a whole garment.'
'Leave it to me,' said Jiro expansively, and Bercy looked at Lythande in dread, but went when the magician gestured to her to go. As Jiro took her away, Lythande saw Myrtis standing in the doorway; a heavy woman, no longer young, but with the frozen beauty of a spell. Through the perfect spelled features, her eyes were warm and welcoming as she smiled at Lythande.
'My dear, I had not expected to see you here. !s that yours?' She moved her head towards the door through which Jiro had conducted the frightened Bercy. 'She'll probably run away, you know, once you take your eyes off her.'
'I wish I thought so, Myrtis. But no such luck, I fear.'
'You had better tell me the whole story,' Myrtis said, and listened to Lythande's brief, succinct account of the affair.
'And if you laugh, Myrtis, I take back my spell and leave your grey hairs and wrinkles open to the mockery of everyone in Sanctuary!' . . -
But Myrtis had known Lythande too long to take that threat very seriously. 'So the maiden you rescued is all maddened with desire for the love of Lythande!' She chuckled. 'It is like an old ballad, indeed!'
'But what am I to do, Myrtis? By the.paps of Shipri the All-Mother, this is a dilemma!' . ^
'Take her into your confidence and tell her why your love cannot be hers,' Myrtis said.
Lythande frowned. 'You hold my Secret, since I had no choice; you knew me before I was made magician, or bore the blue star -'
'And before I was a harlot,' Myrtis agreed.
'But if I make this girl feel like a fool for loving me, she" will hate me as much as sheJeves; and I cannot confide in anyone I cannot trust with my life and my power. All I have is yours, Myrtis, because of that past we shared. And that includes my power, if you ever should need it. But I cannot entrust it to this girl.'