Two Moors remained of the stragglers captured in the last nine days. One of them was weak and disoriented, ready to leave the pains of the world for the houris of Paradise. The other had resisted and was now locked in a contest of wills with Chimenae.

"It is most entertaining," she told her clan when they gathered at her stone house. "And Sanct' Germain has been useful." This concession was as much praise as she was prepared to offer.

Overhead the sky was dense with clouds, and from time to time, thunder muttered in the higher peaks, heralded by sprinks of lightning. The air was close, heavy as a winter mantel, and still as an ambush. The clan was restless, wanting to be about their night's hunting before the rain came and immobilized them. The distant thunder provided an accompaniment to their gathering.

"It is nearly mid-summer," called out Achona. "We have not long to hunt."

Wembo seconded her. "And rain is coming."

"I will not hold you long," said Chimenae. "Which village supplies the next two-legged goat?" She knew the answer but wanted to be told as a reminder to the rest.

"Mont Calcius. Tomorrow. Possibly the night after." Aulutiz frowned in annoyance. "Is there anything we need to know about the Moors?"

"Then all of you will have what you want, and I will use the Moors a little longer." Chimenae could not conceal a quick, satisfied smile.

"Have you learned enough from them to make it worthwhile to keep them both alive another night? It is dangerous to let them live when they have seen so much, is it not?" Edic asked, a hint of criticism in his voice. "Would it not be better to finish them both and be done with it?"

Chimenae considered her answer. "I have found out a little-not enough yet. I know now there are parties of soldiers and slaves and slaves cutting down trees to the east and south of us."

"We knew that," scoffed Achona, encouraging others to share her scorn.

"They are coming higher into the mountains," said Chimenae. "They may eventually reach our region. Whether it is their intention, they are driving game higher into the mountains, and they will bring in their goats and sheep to graze after they have taken our trees to make ships."

"Still nothing new," said Edic with some concern.

Chimenae pointed to Edic. "Do you doubt me? Do you question what I have learned? Say if you do."

"I do not doubt you," Edic responded at once.

"Good." She singled out Dorioz. "You will bring the goat tomorrow, or the next night. Mont Calcius has yet to choose whom it will be; they may have to waylay a traveler or shepherd-no matter. And you may partake of him first." Then she swung around and looked directly at Wembo. "You will not share in the goat. Nor will you." This was to Achona. "You are treading near the edge, my girl. Do not press me."

If Achona was afraid, she showed no trace of it as she faced Chimenae. "Or you will make me a goat for the Moors?" A faintly derogatory smile curled her lips.

"Achona. Don't," Aulutiz said urgently.

"Very good, my son," Chimenae approved. "Now, all of you, listen to me. If rain comes, go at once to your resting places and secure them. We do not want the villagers to assume they can neglect their offerings. The storm will pass quickly and it may be that you may hunt still before dawn. If not, tomorrow night, or the night after, there is the two-legged goat and hunting to sustain us. I will have more to tell you when we meet then." She raised her arms and stood in that posture until all her tribe had gone and only San-Ragoz remained. "Come. I need you to speak with Yamut for me."

"Do you expect he will say anything more? He is very stubborn." San-Ragoz did not want to be part of the questioning; he was convinced that Yamut ibn Rabi could tell no more of the Moorish plans because he knew no more.

"All the more reason to persist," said Chimenae, and went into her stone house, holding the door for him to come inside.

Two oil lamps burned in the cave-like interior, lending their little flags of light and the smell of burning tallow to the place. High up on each wall there was a single, narrow window with a plank shutter; all four of them were open, but admitted little more than the oppressive night air; the flames of the oil lamps burned without wavering. There was a high table with two couches flanking it; the Moors lay on the nearer couch, kept in place with wide belts of braided leather and foot restraints of hinged wood. One of the Moors was pale and inert, his eyes beginning to turn upward in his head; his breathing was shallow and listless and his flesh had acquired a waxy texture. This was Marid ibn Ali, and he was dying. The other Moor was alert and angry, his body straining against his bonds, his face flushed with his emotion, his presence dangerous.

"Tell him I greet him," said Chimenae to San-Ragoz.

"She greets you, Yamut ibn Rabi," said San-Ragoz, his speech flawless but slightly accented.

"She should die. Allah must will it. She is a shameless woman and an unclean thing." Yamut ibn Rabi said through clenched teeth. "Jackals will eat her private parts and scorpions will nest in her hair."

"Tell him not to curse me," said Chimenae, correctly interpreting Yamut ibn Rabi's tone of voice.

"You should not displease her," San-Ragoz recommended. "She is a sharp-tempered woman."

"I do not need you to tell me," said Yamut ibn Rabi. "I have proof of it lying beside me." He angled his jaw toward Marid ibn Ali. "She has done unholy things to him, and he will die of them, may Allah send him a kind death." He set his face as if prepared to face the forces of Shaitan.

"What a fine, refractory heart is his," Chimenae approved sarcastically. "How worthwhile his obstinacy."

"He will not obey you," San-Ragoz told Chimenae while he scrutinized Yamut ibn Rabi's infuriated visage. "It is probably useless to try."

"I do not like being cursed," she said with false cordiality, inclining her head in Yamut ibn Rabi's direction. "I will make him pay for all his maledictions."

San-Ragoz faced Chimenae. "What do you want to know from him? I do not think he will tell you much, but I will ask."

"You keep telling me he will say nothing, but I hear many words," Chimenae said, her mouth pursing with annoyance. "You will not amuse yourself at my expense."

"No one is amused," San-Ragoz assured her before he once again spoke to Yamut ibn Rabi. "If you know anything about the military plans of your forces, it would be wisest for you to reveal them."

"Do you think so?" Yamut ibn Rabi glared at him. "Tell that she-devil that I know nothing, and if I did, I would never tell her." He spat to make his point.

San-Ragoz translated his outburst and waited while Chimenae prowled about the stone house. "Do you want me to repeat your questions?"

"No," she said, stopping still. "Tell him that if he will say what he knows, I will kill him quickly and cleanly, with a single stroke. He will not have to endure the agony his comrade is experiencing." Her smile was broad and insincere.

"That may be suitable," San-Ragoz said uncertainly.

"Tell him," she ordered, her smile vanished and her voice harsh.

Sam-Ragoz did as he was told, adding, "She may keep her word, or she may not."

"The offspring of a basilisk and swine!" Yamut ibn Rabi exclaimed. "She is made up of curses and infernal things."

Chimenae came closer. "Tell him," she said dulcetly as she reached out to run her fingers along his brow, "that if he will not earn himself a clean death, I will make him my lover and my slave before allowing him to die. What he sees in Marid is nothing compared to what I will compel him to die. He will be grateful to lick my foot."

"Do you think she can do such a thing?" Yamut ibn Rabi shouted out when San-Ragoz had finished his translating, his fear underneath revealed in the high pitch of his words.

"Yes; I do," said San-Ragoz as bluntly as he could. "I think she would enjoy doing it. You would be a fool to attempt to best her. Better to answer her questions than to put her will to the test." He did not like admitting so much, but he was appalled by the possibility of Yamut ibn Rabi becoming Chimenae's abject idolater.

"I would die first," Yamut ibn Rabi vowed.

"You would not have that opportunity," said San-Ragoz sadly.

"She is only a woman. How can she undo me? I have not been badly wounded, as Marid ibn Ali has been. I have more purpose than many others have." He bared his teeth. "She is a demon, and you are her servant."

"I am worse than a demon," said Chimenae when San-Ragoz repeated Yamut ibn Rabi's accusation. "A demon is a fable for children. I am as real as the blood in your veins." She came and leaned over the two Moors while San-Ragoz translated for Yamut ibn Rabi. When San-Ragoz stopped speaking, she bent down and kissed Yamut's mouth, maintaining the contact while Yamut tried to twist away from her.

"Stop it," San-Ragoz insisted as Chimenae took hold of Yamut ibn Rabi's shoulders. "Do not do this to him. It does nothing but make him resist you."

Chimenae lifted her head. "I know that," she said with a smirk. "That is why I enjoy it."

Yamut ibn Rabi was spitting epithets at her, condemning her in every way he could; there was fright in the back of his eyes now, as if he finally believed that she was capable of hurting him in precisely the way she promised she would. "You threaten me with death, but you do nothing. End this. Kill me and be done with it," he howled as she began to chuckle.

Beside Yamut ibn Rabi, Marid ibn Ali turned glazed eyes on Chimenae and whispered endearments to her, his breath fading even as he strove to speak her name.

"By Allah-the-All-Seeing, you are despicable," Yamut ibn Rabi yelled, but whether he addressed Chimenae or Marid ibn Ali was impossible to guess; his condemnation was punctuated by a swath of lightning in the eastern sky.

"How good of you to rail at me," said Chimenae, once again caressing his brow. "You take away any doubts I might have in my plans for you." She pointed to San-Ragoz. "Do not tell him that."

"What is the she-swine saying?" Yamut ibn Rabi demanded when San-Ragoz did not speak to him.

"She is giving you compliments you would not like, as she intends you would not," said San-Ragoz, solving his conscience with the inner conviction that this was near enough to the truth. He looked at Chimenae as she touched Marid ibn Ali's hands and was rewarded with a faint, pathetic smile; thunder drubbed in the distance as if to underscore her actions. "Yes. Oh, yes. One day," she said dreamily, "very soon, Yamut will be as appreciative of my attentions as Marid is now."

Instead of translating Chimenae's toying with him, San-Ragoz said, "Your anger only tempts her to be more outrageous. You are goading her, and she is gratified when she can respond as keenly as your fury permits her. If you contain your emotions, she will not tease you as much. Believe this, for I am telling you the truth as if I held the Qran in my hand." He saw the astonishment in Yamut ibn Ali's eyes, and he added, "Say something derogatory to me-quickly."

Baffled, Yamut ibn Rabi blinked, then called San-Ragoz the spawn of afreets and vultures.

"Very good," San-Ragoz approved, telling Chimenae. "He thinks I am lying to intimidate him. I have said I am not; I doubt he is persuaded."

"Why should he think that?" Chimenae asked, her eyes shining like steel. "What have you been telling him?"

San-Ragoz answered indirectly. "Among his people, women do not lead. Csimenae. Women are supposed to devote themselves to their fathers, their husbands, and their sons. When they do, the men reward them by affording the same treatment they give their dogs: they keep them all together in a fine kennel and give them eunuchs to guard them." He recalled the women he had seen in Africa, who starved themselves so that their men might eat, and the women of the harem, who were kept in ignorance and idleness so that they could serve the whims of the Emir's son.

"That cannot be true," Chimenae burst out. "It is false. I know it is false. You are saying this to mislead me."

Recalling Charis, and the wives of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, San-Ragoz shook his head. "No, I am not. I want you to know why he does not believe you, and why he cannot understand what you say." He looked down at Yamut ibn Rabi, saying to him, "You cannot frighten her with threats and curses. You can only give her pause if you take the time to respond sensibly."

"Sensibly!" Yamut ibn Rabi jeered. "Why should I do so much for her?"

"It is the only thing she will respect," San-Ragoz said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

This time when Yamut ibn Rabi cursed, it was under his breath.

"What is he saying?" asked Chimenae asked, disappointment turning the corners of her mouth down. "You have to tell me, Sanct' Germain."

"He says he is not afraid of you," said San-Ragoz. "He is afraid for his comrade."

Chimenae nodded once. "That will change," she said. "You had best go outside, Sanct' Germain. Marid is going to going to make his last offering to me." She paused, then said with deliberate provocation. "A pity that I have tasted this Yamut's blood as much as I have. It is too late to make him one of mine; I have too much of him in me now. It is a pity." She shrugged. "Still, I might make an exception for him, if he will become as much my ally as he is my foe. Tell him that."

Before San-Ragoz could speak lightning struck again, much brighter, showing vividly in three of the four windows, and followed almost at once by an eruption of thunder that bludgeoned the air.

Marid ibn Ali made a feeble effort to reach out to Chimenae, but he had no strength to sustain his exertion.

Very quietly and steadily, San-Ragoz translated for Yamut ibn Rabi, adding, "She may well do it."

"I could never surrender so to a woman." He squirmed as much as his restraints would allow so that he could see Chimenae. "You do not have the authority to bend me to your uses. I am above your threats, even death. Nothing you do could change that, for I am a follower of the Prophet of Allah." Then he looked at San-Ragoz. "You may tell her what you wish. I do not care if it is a lie or the truth."

San-Ragoz translated the first and last part of what Yamut ibn Rabi said, but omitted his condemnation at the middle. He gave Chimenae a long stare. "Do you still want me to go?"

"Of course," she said impatiently. "Unless you are curious enough to want to watch."

"I think not," said San-Ragoz, unable to mask his aversion. "Am I to remain nearby or may I depart for the night?"

"Hunt awhile if you like, but come back before dawn, for the spoils," she said at her most magnanimous.

San-Ragoz did as she told him, and saw as he shut the door that Wembo had come back to watch over the stone house.

"The lightning struck a way up the slope; there are trees burning," he said to San-Ragoz, as if that accounted for his presence. He kept his hand on the axe hanging from his belt.

"It may come again," San-Ragoz said, his thoughts in turmoil. Was Chimenae testing him once more, or had she already concluded he would never be part of her singular world and was prepared to be rid of him for all time? Was she informing him that she would not allow him to leave her region, that he would ally with her or die the True Death? She was capable of such finality, and her ambivalence was strong enough to impel her to kill him. Was she waiting for him to try to run, so that she could give her orders and justify them to everyone, including herself? Was there any way he could bridge the gulf that yawned between them without driving her to attack him? He did not like the way his ruminations were tending, but he could not ignore the likelihood that Chimenae would reach a point where she would demonstrate her authority over her vampires by killing him, for she wanted no ally who might prove a rival; his death would be a potent object lesson for those of her blood who had become restive. In the next few days he would have to leave or risk becoming a victim of her dreads and ambitions.

Finally the clouds gave up their burden in a display of rain, lightning, and thunder that shook the mountains even as the ground ran, carrying loose debris into freshets and rills, promising a gathering flood at lower elevations. The rain was dense, falling without wind in a direct line from the heavens, battering through the trees and soaking everything.

San-Ragoz's clothing was saturated almost at once, becoming heavy and clinging; he told himself that at least he would be cleaner when the rain stopped. With that philosophical observation for consolation, he started back the way he had come, letting the rain pour over him, not minding when it sapped a little of his strength. Giving himself a short time to hunt, he went past another of the improvised cup shrines located in a grove of trees where he noticed a few of the cups had been overturned and left; San-Ragoz could not determine if this had been deliberate or accidental, but it left him with an uneasy feeling that bore down on him with the rain as he continued up the slope toward the barren ridge and Chimenae's stone house.

Half a dozen of Chimenae's vampires had already arrived; they were prowling about the stone house seeking shelter from the misery of the rain. None of them spoke to San-Ragoz or to one another. As San-Ragoz hung back, a jagged blade of lightning gashed through the clouds, striking the largest of the cups and reducing it to misshapen slag while thunder pummeled the ridge.

Achona arrived in the yawning silence that followed. She did her best to swagger, but she could not hide the desperation that came from her like a stench. Staying a short distance away, she paid no attention to the rain or to the others as they came to the stone house.

Finally Aulutiz strode out of the woods and onto the exposed ridge. He had a stag slung over his shoulders; the animal was stunned but still alive. "Wembo!" Aulutiz called out. "Take this."

Wembo emerged from the shadows of the stone house and came to do as he was bid. "A fine animal."

"He had been running in fright. The storm panicked him. I brought him down without effort." Aulutiz was boasting and his boast was calm, confident.

"Are we all here?" Aulutiz asked nonchalantly as he gave the deer over to Wembo.

"Two are missing," said Wembo, taking up the stag.

Aulutiz was about to ask who they were when the door of the stone house opened and Chimenae stepped out. "There is a dead Moor to be disposed of in the mountains. This storm should make that an easy task." She looked about her. "Who shall do this thing for me?"

There was a clamor of voices, and one or two were bold enough to step forward to offer their services.

Chimenae motioned the impetuous volunteers back. "Tamosh," she said. "You and Ennati will do this. Make sure you choose a remote place. No one is to find any of the Moors for at least two generations."

Tamosh ducked his head. "I will see to it."

"And Blaga, you will bring the two-legged goat tomorrow. It must be this next night. Take Ennati with you." She pointed to the copper-haired man standing beside Blaga. "Tell them, Dorioz; tell them in the village what we demand. Go now, so you can speak to the guards. Make sure that they understand it must be ready by nightfall. I will accept no delays." Chimenae moved quickly to Aulutiz's side. "You have brought a stag, my son. That is good of you."

"You saw me?" He was startled, and disappointed with himself for being taken unaware.

"Certainly, Aulutiz. You should not doubt me." She walked away from her son, only to turn back to him. "Remember who I am."

"Yes, Matra." He scowled at her, to which she chuckled.

"Chimenae," said Edic, coming forward. "You must consider. You cannot continue to hide bodies in the forest."

"Edic," said Chimenae with exaggerated patience, "you are too timorous. Who is going to find them, but wolves?"

"I say you are growing too reckless. We have gone unchallenged for many years, and it has made you complacent. You have not been vigilant, thinking that you will not be tested by the villagers now that the Moors have come; that is foolhardy. You are no longer protected as you once were. These times are not as safe as twenty years ago." He shook his head. "You will draw attention to our presence, and the villagers will not protect us. They will be glad to be rid of-"

"Our kind," she finished for him. "Yes, yes, yes. You have said this before. And if it gladdens you to know, San-Ragoz agrees with you." She dismissed him abruptly. "You have heard my orders. That is the end of it."

San-Ragoz could see that Edic was disconcerted; he tried to form a protestation but decided it was useless. He shook his head in defeat and turned away.

"The storm may last through the morning, so choose your resting places with care, away from running water," Chimenae reminded them all. "Ennati and Tamosh, come with me. Blaga, Cossadin, Merez, you are to patrol the forest until dawn. Be vigilant. I will want your account at dusk. The rest of you, go with Aulutiz and feed on the stag. See that Mont Calcius is given the body, to remind them why they must give us our two-legged goat."

A few of her tribe attempted to catch her attention but to no avail; the downpour soon drove them off the ridge toward the place Wembo had taken the stag. San-Ragoz went off toward the place where his native earth was hidden, grateful he had not been asked to translate anything more for Chimenae that night.

By noon the clouds had passed and the sky was bright and hot; sunlight streamed down on the hollow where San-Ragoz had taken shelter, waking him from his stupor with the burning sting of its touch. He sat up, listening and alert, and wishing he had a change of clothing, for his garments were damp, ragged, and the hems were smirched with mud. The ground beneath him was slightly damp, cooling him enough to make him able to bear the impact of the sun. Rubbing his face, he felt the slow-growing stubble emerging. If he could find a weapon with a proper edge, he might risk shaving, but without such a tool, he knew the wiser course was to wait. He frowned, considering all that had taken place the night before, and again he wondered if it might be prudent to leave and take his chances being hunted. But he suspected that as long as Yamut ibn Rabi was able to speak, Chimenae would want him to translate for her, which gave him a few more days in which to plan.

With many hours of daylight still ahead of him, San-Ragoz felt at loose ends; he had none of his usual occupations available to him-he had no provisions for making medicaments beyond gathering herbs, and no place to store them once he had them; he had no books to read and no vellum or ink that would make it possible for him to write; he had no instruments on which to play; and worst of all, there was no companion with whom to talk. He had long valued his friend and bondsman, the ghoul Ruges, and not primarily for his service and attendance, but for his comprehension, his experience of long, long life. In the centuries since San-Ragoz had brought him back from death, they had been nearly constant companions; this separation of years had never weighed more on San-Ragoz than it did that day.

Finally making up his mind, San-Ragoz left his hidden native earth and began making a rapid trek through the forest, searching out tracks and trails that led upward and that could guide him out of the region without recourse to the few roads traveled by men. He came upon two more groves with offerings of cups of blood set out on stones or in ancient niches; he noticed that the blood was coagulated, and so the cups had to have been set out some time before. These remote groves served to provide him a rough estimate of how far Chimenae's region extended, and to gauge the distance he would have to travel to be out of the reach of her and those of her blood; it was an impressive range, and one he knew it was prudent to extend beyond the groves. To be safe, he decided he would need to be at least ten thousand paces beyond such shrines. He found it repellent to think of them as being of his blood as well, although he knew they were. It distressed him to think what might become of them, for clearly, they could not continue as they were. With the increasing acrimony and invidiousness, there would be a point where their rancor could no longer be contained, and when that occurred, San-Ragoz suspected that in spite of her strength of will, Chimenae would be unable to maintain the control she had contrived to exercise thus far; he did not know if she was appraising her tribe's devotion, but he reckoned if that were the case, she would fail. He realized that warning her would do no good, for it had not succeeded before now, yet he could not rid himself of the gnawing uneasiness that rebellion would be more catastrophic for the whole tribe than Chimenae's tyranny had been.

By late afternoon, San-Ragoz had covered more than forty thousand paces and was feeling the strain of his efforts. Turning his steps in the direction of Chimenae's stone house, some eight or nine thousand paces distant, he settled into the long, clean stride that was faster than it looked, taking him along the shepherds' trails to Aqua Frates and from there upward through the long shadows toward the treeless ridge.

Wembo and Edic were already at the stone house; they swung around protectively as San-Ragoz approached, the last glow of sunset fading behind him. Both of them held their weapons as if they were intending to use them. "The stranger," said Wembo to Edic. There were no greetings offered.

San-Ragoz went to where the cups had been let and noticed that there were fewer than the evening before. It was an ominous turn, he told himself.

Aulutiz was next to arrive, and after him, Achona. By the time the stars were fully bright, all the vampires but Dorioz were waiting for Chimenae.

She came out of her stone house with a force of purpose that was apparent from her stance to the way she moved the door. She paused in the frame of the open door, waiting until she had the full attention of all those gathered. "By sunset tomorrow," she announced, "Yamut ibn Rabi will be one of you."

There was an appalled silence; then Aulutiz howled, anguished beyond the scope of words.

"Chimenae!" Edic shouted, having recovered from his stupefaction an instant ahead of the rest. His cry was taken up by most of the others.

San-Ragoz felt a cold fist gather within him.

"It is done!" Her voice cracked over the others. "There shall be no questions." She took a step forward and closed her door behind her. "This is my will."

This time the shouts of protest were more angry than shocked, and a few of the tribe dared to curse.

"That is enough!" Chimenae commanded, and then waited for silence to return; when it did, it was sullen.

It was Aulutiz who braved her wrath. "Matra, you have wronged us," he said in quiet reproach. "You bring an enemy into our numbers."

"Not an enemy," Chimenae told him. "He will be our best friend."

"Your friend, perhaps," said Achona, taking a chance.

"Achona, you are being foolish," said Chimenae.

Very deliberately, Achona laughed. "I am not alone in what I think."

Some shouted words of encouragement, others of derision, and for a long moment, dissent took over the tribe.

Then Aulutiz stepped forward. "No. No. You must all stop! My mother has done this thing for a reason. Let her explain it to us."

Once again the vampires grew quiet.

The shift was subtle, but San-Ragoz sensed it as surely as if the ground had twitched beneath his feet; some portion of Chimenae's authority had passed irrevocably to her son.

"I do not have to explain myself to anyone," Chimenae insisted, pulling her arm away from Aulutiz's protective touch.

Into this conflict-ridden confrontation came Blaga; he was leading a hooded and bound man in traveler's robes. He brought the two-legged goat through the group, directly to Chimenae. "The villagers at Mont Calcius say they can spare no more of their own. They send you this instead."

At the edge of the gathering, San-Ragoz stood more observantly, a mounting sense he did not understand making him apprehensive; he saw the increased animation in Chimenae's tribe as the two-legged goat was turned to face Chimenae.

"Remove the hood. Let us see what the villagers have sent us," said Chimenae.

Blaga did as he was told, Ennati holding the bound figure while Blaga pulled off the hood and held it up as if it were a treasure.

The man revealed was sandy-haired and middle-aged, lean of cheek and austere of expression. He looked directly at Chimenae. "Csimenae," said Ruges.

San-Ragoz did not move as he stared at his old friend, apprehension changing to trepidation as he saw Chimenae's expression set in one of fury. "You!" She made the word a curse. "A thousand devils! It is not enough that he"-she flung her hands in San-Ragoz's direction-should be here, but now you!" She signaled to her companions to come closer to Ruges. "What use are you to us? You are no two-legged goat." She pointed to San-Ragoz this time. "You are execrable. How can you do this-having this creature of yours come here? I cannot endure the sight of you-of either of you. Mont Calcius will pay for this affront."

Those gathered around her were confused and distressed, seeing the depth of her rage; their whispers were a susurrus against the bluster of the wind. Finally Edic dared to raise his voice. "Who is this man?"

"He's not a man at all," said Chimenae, dismissing the notion with a shrug. "He is the tool of Sanct' Germain. He was here with his master, long ago."

"Another vampire," groaned Aulutiz, and was echoed by the protests of a dozen of the others.

San-Ragoz had recovered from his first astonishment and was now scrutinizing those gathered around Chimenae, trying to discern how they were reacting to this latest phenomenon.

"No, not a vampire. He is something other." Chimenae walked up to Ruges and poked at his chest. "What are you? What are you?"

"I am a ghoul, as well you know," he said without emotion, looking only at her. "I have come to help my master; I have been seeking him for five years and more. When he was taken away, he said he might be found here. The villagers in Mont Calcius took my chests and my horses when they seized me."

Chimenae scowled. "You will have it all back again, every bit of it," she announced with grim determination. "And you shall be permitted to leave here, for all you have done for me and mine in the past; I do not forget these things, and I know my obligations. We shall choose a two-legged goat from among their numbers for ourselves. They have lost the right to select the goat. It is now our right." This evoked a cry of approval from those around her. "Let us make the hunt worth our while. We will choose two goats, so that they will know not to disgrace me and mine again."

Aulutiz led a ragged cheer. "Finally you give us sport," he approved, and was echoed by most of the rest, although Achona hung back, her face sulky.

"This is troublesome," Edic said as the enthusiastic noise died down. "The people of Mont Calcius have defied us before."

"It is because that was my village," said Chimenae, "the one I held for my son. They never recovered from my departure." She pointed to Aulutiz. "You will bear the news to them-that we will come soon to take what is owed us."

"But they will not want us to do anything so..." Aulutiz sought for the word, and said finally, "like fighting. They will fight back."

"Not against me," said Chimenae. "They will not have the courage. They owe me too much. That village is mine. They owe me fealty. If they have forgot that, I will remind them." The fury in her eyes dissipated. "I do this for you, my son. I held the village so that it would be yours."

Aulutiz nodded in response to this old theme. "So you say."

"Do you doubt it?" Chimenae studied him intensely, dismay building within her. "How can you doubt it? After all I did? Ask this person"-she pointed to Ruges-"if you doubt me after all this time. He saw what I did. He knows." She touched Aulutiz's cheek gently. "This is for you, my son."

"If it is," said Aulutiz, his doubt becoming a challenge, "then do as you have just promised and send Sanct' Germain and his servant away. They do not belong with us." As Chimenae stepped back, Aulutiz pressed on. "You say that you are obliged to show him gratitude. Well, then, send him away. Send them both. Do not go back on your word. So long as he is here, I do not think you will be free of his influence."

"How can you expect treachery of me? I have said they may go, have I not?" Chimenae demanded, shaking her head adamantly.

Aulutiz was ready with his answer. "I can question you as your son. Do not pretend you have never countermanded an order in the past. If you intend to protect me as you say you intend to-and if you hold our clan in the regard you claim-you will have them leave and soon, as you should have let the Moor die rather than make him one of us."

There were whispers among the gathered tribe, and an uneasy movement toward the stone house, as if to get closer to Chimenae and Aulutiz. Ruges was shoved up against the door and pinned there while the confrontation continued, San-Ragoz moved as near as he dared, knowing how volatile the situation had become.

"This is intolerable. How can you question me?" Chimenae cried out. "You have no notion what I have done for you-for all of you."

"Then do one more thing," Aulutiz said. "Send those two away. Or give your Moor the True Death. Here. Now. So we may see it happen."

"That is what you want, isn't it? That is what you want me to do; kill the Moor. These two do not matter. They are nothing to any of us, nor should they be more than that. You're after Yamut ibn Rabi, aren't you?" Chimenae asked cynically. "You want Yamut ibn Rabi truly dead, so you make this absurd request." She laughed without mirth. "Very well, my son, I will play your game this once." With that, she reached out and took Ruges by the shoulder. "You and your master will leave. At once. With no more than what you came with. You will have two days to depart the region, and then, if you have not gone, I will not vouch for your safety. My clan will honor my word for two days. Will you not?" This last was to Aulutiz.

"We will," said Aulutiz, his voice raised enough to carry. "They will have two days and two nights to get beyond this region. Two days and two nights, no more and no less." A muttered agreement from the rest served to encourage him. "The Moor will have nothing to fear from us." It was a graceless concession, and one that evoked fewer sounds of compliance.

"It is done, then." Chimenae thrust Ruges into the crowd, saying as she did. "You and your master will leave at once. You will take what is yours from Mont Calcius, and if anything is refused you, I will make them answer for it. You will have two days and two nights to get beyond our reach. When the two days and two nights are over, you will be hunted."

A bellow of anticipation came from the gathered vampires as Ruges, his hands still bound, stumbled through them toward San-Ragoz. As they met, Ruges managed to smile. "Well met, my master."

San-Ragoz managed a chuckle as he freed Ruges' hands. "By all the forgotten gods, I hope so." Was he actually dismissed? he wondered as he clasped Ruges by the shoulders. Had Chimenae decided to be rid of him at last? Was this mercurial determination genuine, or had she some deeper intrigue in mind? He would not wait to find out. "Are we able to travel?"

"I have two horses and a mule, in Mont Calcius; I came with them, and therefore I should be allowed to claim them," said Ruges. "If the villagers will part with them, we may be gone by mid-day." He looked around circumspectly, asking just above a whisper. "What has happened here?"

"I will tell you, but later," San-Ragoz assured him.

Chimenae raised her voice again. "Sanct' Germain must have his things. And we must have an accounting. We go to Mont Calcius!"

This time all the tribe roared approval, and stood aside for Chimenae as she started away from her stone house toward the slope that led down the mountain to the village she had claimed for her son a century ago.

Text of a letter form Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq in Usca to Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa in Karmona.

Before Allah, the All-Compassionate, I tell you, my nephew, that your soldiers are chasing a dead man. I have received the report of Omma ibn Ali from his own lips, and I tell you that it is impossible for San-Ragoz to have survived; there is no report of such a man at the passes we control, nor has any ship's captain taken the fugitive aboard a ship. We know he did not flee to the north, perhaps to avoid the fighting there, or perhaps because he did not think he could escape us in that direction. We do know he left Zaraugusta headed east and north into the mountains, but we can find no trace of him beyond that, in spite of the determined searches of your soldiers. You have ordered a thorough search, and your men have done all they can to carry out your wishes. It is not by accident that these mountains have proven a barrier to our efforts. The mountains are steep and difficult to travel and the villagers are not friendly. Furthermore, Omma ibn Ali has lost forty-two men in the region known as Sacred Blood: they have vanished as if into a void. If your soldiers have disappeared in those mountains, armed and mounted as they were, how little chance is there that San-Ragoz could succeed where they have failed?

I know you have sworn to have this San-Ragoz back, and I know you have declared that he will answer to you for his perfidy, but I ask you to think: it is possible that this man will not be found, except, perhaps, as a corpse, or a scattering of bones. Your men have better things to do than to tramp about these mountains, taking risks that endanger their lives, all so you may be satisfied in your vengeance. Not even those cutting timber on the lower slopes go willingly into the higher valleys, and the peasants say it is dangerous territory.

This is one man, my nephew, and a slave. What has he done that has made him worthy of your wrath, but put himself into danger? If by some quirk of fate he has managed to stay alive, he must be living like an animal, and among such people and beasts as would turn survival to torture. I do not think he is still alive, nor does Omma ibn Ali, who has said that he is certain San-Ragoz is not alive. Even the Christians here in Usca say that they are wary of the Sacred Blood region, and they do not venture there. If they are in accord with Omma ibn Ali, do you not suppose that it is futile to continue this search? How many of your soldiers must you lose before you are willing to accept San-Ragoz's death as unquestionable?

It is my intention to begin my return to Karmona in three days, for I have neglected my duties for too long on this fruitless quest. I will stop in Zaraugusta for a few days to see if I can garner any more information about San-Ragoz; I have offered rewards to Muslims and Christians alike for information that will bring this escaped slave to heel. There may be word brought from the mountains, or from the passes, that will tell us something of use, and if that should happen, I will pursue the matter as diligently as I can. But if I should learn nothing more, I will continue on to Karmona, where I shall present all my findings to you upon my arrival, and await your decision in their regard. Your soldiers are willing to do your bidding, although they have little stomach for this hunt.

For the sake of your father, let me urge you to consider carefully what you are doing. Forty-two soldiers are a high price to pay for a single slave. Let this be enough. If you keep on, you will surely bring disgrace to your father-may Allah send him many good years and healthy sons-and to our family. You cannot be willing to sacrifice so much for so little, when we have a grand opportunity before us, to claim this land for the Prophet-may He be praised forever-and to complete our campaign against the Franks. It would be folly to persist in this venture when there is so much more to gain in other emprise.

Timus ibn Musa ibn Maliq

four days after the Summer Solstice