'I have never doubted it,' grated the mercenary.
'You have doubted it repeatedly,' growled the voice querulously, if thunder can be said to carp. ' You have been unruly, faithless, though you pledged Me your troth. You have been, since you renounced your inheritance, a mage, a philosopher, an auditing Adept of the Order of the Blue Star, a-'
'Look here. God. I have also been a cuckold, a footsoldier in the ranks, a general at the end of that. I have bedded more iron in flesh than any ten other men who have lived as long as I. Now You ring me round with thunder and compass me with lightning though I am here to expand Your worship among these infidels. I am building Your accursed temple as fast as I can. I am no priest, to be terrified by loud words and bright manifestations. Get Thee hence, and leave this slum unenlightened. They do not deserve me, and they do not deserve You!'
A gust sighed fiercely, flapping Tempus's woollens against his mail beneath.
'I have sent you hither to build Me a temple among the heathens, 0 sleepless one! A temple you will build!'
'A temple I will build. Yes, sir, Vashanka, lord of the Edge and the Point. If You leave me alone to do it.' Damn pushy tutelary god. 'You blind my horse, 0 God, and I will put him under Your threshold instead of the enemies slain in battle Your ritual demands. Then we will see who comes to worship there.'
'Do not trifle with Me, Man.'
'Then let me be. I am doing the best I can. There is no room for foreign gods in the hearts of these Sanctuarites. The Ilsig gods they were born under have seen to that. Do something amazing: strike the fear of You into them.'
'I cannot even make you cower, 0 impudent human!'
'Even Your visitations get old, after three hundred and fifty years. Go scare the locals. This horse will founder, standing hot in the rain.'
The thunder changed its tune, becoming canny. 'Go you to the harbour. My son, and look upon what My Majesty hath wrought! And into the Maze, where I am making My power known!'
With that, the corral of lightning vanished, the thunder ceased, and the clouds blew away on a west wind, so that the full moon shone upon the land.
'Too much krrf,' the mercenary who had sold himself for a Hell Hound sighed. 'Hell Hound' was what the citizenry called the Prince's Guard; as far as Tempus was concerned. Sanctuary was Hell. The only thing that made it bearable was krrf, his drug of choice. Rubbing a clammy palm across his mouth, he dug in his human-hide belt until searching fingers found a little silver box he always carried. Flipping it open, he took a pinch of black Caronne krrf and, clenching his fist, piled the dust into the hollow between his first thumb joint and the fleshy muscle leading to his knuckle. He sniffed deeply, sighed, and repeated the process, inundating his other nostril.
'Too much damn krrf,' he chuckled, for the krrf had never been stepped on - he did not buy adulterated drugs - and all six and a half feet of him tingled from its kiss. One of these days he would have to stop using it - the same day he laid down his sword.
He felt for its hilt, patted it. He had taken to calling it his 'Wriggly-be good', since he had come to this godforsaken warren of magicians and changelings and thieves. Then, the initial euphoria of the drug past, he kneed his horse homewards.
It was the krrf, not the instructions of the lightning or any fear of Vashanka, that made him go by way of the harbour. He was walking out his horse before taking it to the stable the Hell Hounds shared with the barracks personnel. What had ever possessed him to come down-country among the Ilsigs? It was not for his fee, which was exorbitant, that he had come, for the sake of those interests in the Rankan capital who underwrote him - those who hated the Emperor so much that they were willing to back such a loser as Kadakithis, if they could do it without becoming the brunt of too many jokes. It was not for the temple, though he was pleased to build it. It was some old, residual empathy in Tempus for a prince so inept as to be known far and wide as 'Kitty' which had made him come. Tempus had walked away from his primogeniture in Azehur, a long time ago, leaving the throne to his brother, who was not compromised by palace politics. He had deposited a treatise on the nature of being in the temple of a favoured goddess, and he had left. Had he ever, really, been that young? Young as Prince Kadakithis, whom even the Wrigglies disparaged?
Tempus had been around in the days when (he Ilsigs had been the Enemy: the Wrigglies. He had been on every battlefield in the Rankan/Ilsig conflict. He had spitted more Ilsigs than most men, watched them writhe soundlessly until they died. Some said he had coined their derogatory nickname, but he had not, though he had doubtless helped spread it...
He rode down Wideway, and he rode past the docks. A ship was being made fast, and a crowd had gathered round it. He squeezed the horse's barrel, urging it into the press. With only four of his fellow Hell Hounds in Sanctuary, and a local garrison whose personnel never ventured out in groups of less than six, it was incumbent upon him to take a look.
He did not like what he saw of the man who was being helped from the storm wracked ship that had come miraculously to port with no sail intact, who murmured through pale cruel lips to the surrounding Ilsigs, then climbed into a Rankan litter bound for the palace.
He spurred the horse. 'Who?' he demanded of the eunuch-master whose path he suddenly barred.
'Aspect, the archmage,' lisped the palace lackey, 'if it's any business of yours.'
Behind the lackey and the quartet of ebony slaves the shoulder-borne litter trembled. The viewcurtain with Kitty's device on it was drawn back, fell loose again.
'Out of my way. Hound,' squeaked the enraged little pastry of a eunuch-master.
'Don't get flapped, Eunice,' said Tempus, wishing he were in Caronne, wishing he had never met a god, wishing he were anywhere else. Oh, Kitty, you have done it this time. Alain Aspect, yet! Alchemist extraordinaire, assassin among magicians, dispeller of enchantments, in a town that ran on contract sorcery?
'Back, back, back,' he counselled the horse, who twitched its ears and turned its head around reproachfully, but obeyed him.
He heard titters among the eunuchs, another behind in the crowd. He swung round in his saddle. 'Hakiem, if I hear any stories about me I do not like, I will know whose tongue to hang on my belt.'
The bent, news-nosed storyteller, standing amid the children who always clustered round him, stopped laughing. His rheumy eyes met Tempus's. 'I have a story I would like to tell you. Hell Hound. One you would like to hear, I humbly imagine.'
'What is it, then, old man?'
'Come closer. Hell Hound, and say what you will pay.'
'How can I tell you how much it's worth until I hear?' The horse snorted, raised his head, sniffed a rank, evil breeze come suddenly from the stinking Downwind beach.
'We must haggle.'
'Somebody else, then, old man. I have a long night ahead.' He patted the horse, watching the crowd ofllsigs surging round, their heads level with his hips.
'That is the first time I have seen him backed off!': a stage-whisper reached Tempus through the buzz of the crowd. He looked for the source of it, could not find one culprit more likely than the rest. There would be a lot more of that sort of talk, when word spread. But he did not interfere with sorcerers. Never again. He had done it once, thinking his tutelary god could protect him. His hand went to his hip, squeezed. Beneath his dun woollens and beneath his ring mail he wore a woman's scarf. He never took it off. It was faded and it was ragged and it reminded him never to argue with a warlock. It was all he had left of her, who had been the subject of his dispute with a mage.
Long ago in Azehur...
He sighed, a rattling sound, in a voice hoarse and gravelly from endless battlefield commands. 'Have it your way tonight, then, Wriggly. And hope you live 'til morning.' He named a price. The storyteller named another. The difference was split.
The old man came close and put his hand on the horse's neck. 'The lightning came and the thunder rolled and when it was gone the temple of Ils was no more. The Prince has bought the aid of a mighty en
chanter, whom even the bravest of the Hell Hounds fears. A woman was washed up naked and half drowned on the Downwinders' beach and in her hair were pins of diamond.'
'Pins?'
'Rods, then.'
'Wonderful. What else?'
'The redhead from Amoli's Lily Garden died at moonrise.'
He knew very well what whore the old man meant. He did not like the story, so far. He growled. 'You had better astound me, quick, for the price you're asking.'
'Between the Vulgar Unicorn and the tenement on the corner an entire building appeared on that vacant lot, where once the Black Spire stood - you know the one.'
'I know it.'
'Astounding?'
'Interesting. What else?'
'It is rather fancy, with a gilded dome. It has two doors, and above them two signs that read, "Men", and "Women".'
Vashanka had kept his word, then.
'Inside it, so the patrons of the Unicorn say, they sell weapons. Very special weapons. And the price is dear.'
'What has this to do with me?'
' Some folk who have gone in there have not come out. And some have come out and turned one upon the other, duelling to the death. Some have merely slain whomsoever crossed their paths. Yet, word is spreading, and Ilsig and Rankan queue up like brothers before its doors. Since some of those who were standing in line were hawk-masks, I thought it good that you should know.'
'I am touched, old man. I had no idea you cared.' He threw the copper coins to the storyteller's feet and reined the horse sideways so abruptly it reared. When its feet touched the ground, he set it at a collected canter through the crowd, letting the rabble scatter before its iron-shod hooves as best they might.
2
In Sanctuary, enchantment ruled. No sorcerer believed in gods. But they believed in the Law of Correspondences, and they believed in evil. Thus, since every negative must have its positive, they implied gods. Give a god an inch and he will take your soul. That was what the commoners and the second-rate prestidigitators lined up outside the Weaponshop of Vashanka did not realize, and that was why no respectable magician or Hazard Class Enchanter stood among them.
In they filed, men to Tempus's left, towards the Vulgar Unicorn, and women to his right, towards the tenement on the corner.
Personally, Tempus did not feel it wise or dignified for a god to engage in a commercial venture. From across the street, he took notes on who came and went.
Tempus was not sure whether he was going in there, or not.
A shadow joined the queue, disengaged, walked towards the Vulgar Unicorn in the tricky light of fading stars. It saw him, hesitated, took one step back.
Tempus leaned forwards, his elbow on his pommel, and crooked a finger. 'Hanse, I would like a word with you.'
The youth cat-walked towards him, errant torch-light from the Unicorn's open door twinkling on his weapons. From ankle to shoulder, Shadowspawn bristled with armaments.
'What is it with you, Tempus? Always on my tail. There are bigger frogs than this one in Sanctuary's pond.'
'Are you not going to buy anything tonight?'
'I'll make do with what I have, thanks. I do not swithe with sorcerers.'
'Steal something for me?' Tempus whispered, leaning down. The boy had black hair, black eyes, and blacker prospects in this desperadoes' demesne.
'I'm listening.'
' Two diamond rods from the lady who came out of the sea tonight.'
'Why?'
'I won't ask you how, and you won't ask me why, or we'll forget it.' He sat up straight in his saddle.
'Forget it, then,' toughed Shadowspawn, deciding he wanted nothing to do with this Hell Hound.
'Call it a prank, a jest at the expense of an old girlfriend.'
The thief edged around where Tempus could not see him, into a dapple of deepest dark. He named a price.
The Hell Hound did not argue. Rather, he paid half in advance.
'I've heard you don't really work for Kitty. I've heard your dues to the mercenaries' guild are right up to date, and that Kitty knows better than to give you any orders. If you are not arguing about my price, it must be too low.'
Silence.
'Is it true that you roughed up that whore who died tonight? That Amoli is so afraid of you that you do whatever you want in her place and never pay?'
Tempus chuckled, a sound like the cracking of dry ice. 'I will take you there, when you deliver, and you can see for yourself what I do.'
There was no answer from the shadows, just a skittering of stones.
Yes, I will take you there, young one. And yes, you are right. About everything. You should have asked for more.
3
Tempus lingered there still, eating a boxed lunch from the Unicorn's kitchen, when a voice from above his head said, 'The deal is off. That girl is a sorceress, if a pretty one. I'll not chance ensorcel-ment to lift baubles I don't covet, and for a pittance!'
Girl? The woman was nearly his own age, unless another set of diamond rods existed, and he doubted that. He yawned, not reaching up to take the purse that dangled over the lee of the roof, 'I am disappointed. I thought Shadowspawn could steal.'
The innuendo was not lost on the invisible thief. The purse was withdrawn. An impalpable something told him he was once again alone, but for the clients of Vashanka's Weaponshop. Things would be interesting in Sanctuary, for a good little while to come. He had counted twenty-three purchasers able to walk away with their mystical armaments. Four had died while he watched, intrigued.
It was possible that a career Hell Hound such as Zaibar might have intervened. But Tempus wore Vashanka's amulet about his neck, and, if he did not agree with Him, he would at least bear with his god.
The woman he was waiting for showed there at dusk. He liked dusk; he liked it for killing and he liked it for loving. Sometimes if he was very lucky, the dusk made him tired and he could nap. A man who has been cursed by an archmage and pressed into service by a god does not sleep much. Sleep was something he chased like other men chased women. Women, in general, bored him, unless they were taken in battle, or unless they were whores.
This woman, her black hair brushing her doeskin-clad shoulders, was an exception.
He called her name, very softly. Then again: 'Cime.' She turned, and at last he was sure. He had thought Hakiem could mean no other: he had not been wrong.
Her eyes were grey as his horse. Silver shot her hair, but she was yet comely. Her hands rose, hesitated, covered a mouth pretending to hardness and tight with fear. He recognized the aborted motion other hands: towards her head, forgetful that the rods she sought were no longer there.
He did not move in his saddle, or speak again. He let her decide, glance quickly about the street, then come to him.
When her hand touched the horse's bridle, he said: 'It bites.'
'Because you taught it to. It will not bite me.' She held it by the muzzle, squeezing the pressure points that rode the skin there. The horse raised his head slightly, moaned, and stood shivering.
'What seek you in there?' He inclined his head towards Vashanka's; a lock of copper hair fell over one eye.
'The tools of my trade were stolen.'
'Have you money?'
'Some. Not enough.'
'Come with me.'
'Never again.'
'You have kept your vow, then?'
'I slay sorcerers. I cannot suffer any man to touch me except a client. I dare no love; I am chaste of heart.'
'All these aching years?'
She smiled. It pulled her mouth in hard at its corners and he saw ageing no potion or cosmetic spell could hide. 'Every one. And you? You did not take the Blue Star, or I would see it on your brow. What discipline serves your will?'
'None. Revenge is fruitless. The past is only alive in us. I am not meant for sorcery. I love logic too well.'
'So, you are yet damned?'
'If that is what you call it, I suppose - yes. I work for the Storm God, sometimes. I do
a lot of wars.'
'What brought you here, Cle-'
'Tempus, now. It keeps me in perspective. I am building a temple for Him.' He pointed to Vashanka's Weaponshop, across the street. His finger shook. He hoped she had not seen. 'You must not ply your trade here. I have employment as a Hell Hound. Appearances must be preserved. Do not pit us against one another. It would be too sour a memory.'
'For whomever survived? Can it be you love me still?' Her eyes were full of wonder.
'No,' he said, but cleared his throat. 'Stay out of there. I know His service well. I would not recommend it. I will get you back what you have lost. Meet me at the Lily Garden tonight at midnight, and you will have them. I promise. Just take down no sorcerers between now and then. If you do, I will not return them, and you cannot get others.'
'Bitter, are you not? If I do what you are too weak to do, what harm is there in that?' Her right eyebrow raised. It hurt him to watch her.
'We are the harm. And we are the harmed, as well. I am afraid that you may have to break your fast, so be prepared. I will reason with myself, but I promise nothing.'
She sighed. 'I was wrong. You have not changed one bit.'
'Let go of my horse.'
She did.
He wanted to tell her to let go of his heart, but he was struck mute. He wheeled his mount and clattered down the street. He had no intention of leaving. He just waited in a nearby alley until she was gone.
Then he hailed a passing soldier, and sent a message to the palace.
When the sun danced above the Vulgar Unicorn's improbably engaged weather vane, support troops arrived, and Kadakithis's new warlock. Aspect, was with them.
'Since last night, and this is the first report you have seen -fit to make?' The sorcerer's pale lips flushed. His eyes burned within his shadowed cowl.
'I hope you and Kadakithis had a talk.'
'We did, we did. You are not still angry at the world after all these years?'
'I am yet living. I have your kind to blame or thank, whichever.'
'Do you not think it strange that we have been thrown together as - equals?'
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