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’
Bit
of
a
poser
,
isn
’
t
it
?
’
agreed
Cutwell
.
’
That
’
s
fate
for
you
,
I
’
m
afraid
.
If
the
world
can
’
t
sense
you
,
you
don
’
t
exist
.
I
’
m
a
wizard
.
We
know
—
’
’
Don
’
t
say
it
.
’
Keli
stood
up
.
Five
generations
ago
one
of
her
ancestor
had
halted
his
band
of
nomadic
cutthroats
a
few
miles
from
the
mound
of
Sto
Lat
and
had
regarded
the
sleeping
city
with
a
peculiarly
determined
expression
that
said
:
This
’
ll
do
.
Just
because
you
’
re
born
in
the
saddle
doesn
’
t
mean
you
have
to
die
in
the
bloody
thing
.
Strangely
enough
,
many
of
his
distinctive
features
had
,
by
a
trick
of
heredity
,
been
bequeathed
to
his
descendant
,
accounting
for
her
rather
idiosyncratic
attractiveness
.
They
were
never
more
apparent
than
now
.
Even
Cutwell
was
impressed
.
When
it
came
to
determination
,
you
could
have
cracked
rocks
on
her
jaw
.
In
exactly
the
same
tone
of
voice
that
her
ancestor
had
used
when
he
addressed
his
weary
,
sweaty
followers
before
the
attack
,
she
said
:
’
No
.
No
,
I
’
m
not
going
to
accept
it
.
I
’
m
not
going
to
dwindle
into
some
sort
of
ghost
.
You
’
re
going
to
help
me
,
wizard
.
’
Cutwell
’
s
subconscious
recognised
that
tone
.
It
had
harmonics
in
it
that
made
even
the
woodworm
in
the
floorboards
stop
what
they
were
doing
and
stand
to
attention
.
It
wasn
’
t
voicing
an
opinion
,
it
was
saying
:
things
will
be
thus
.
’
Me
,
madam
?
’
he
quavered
,
’
I
don
’
t
see
what
I
can
possibly
—
’
