Alten hefted the purse with raised eyebrows, nodded and started for the doorway.

"Healer!" Jubal called from the floor, halting the man in mid-stride. "Currentlyonly the three of us know my whereabouts. If any come hunting us and fail tofinish the job, one, or both, of us will see you suffer hard before you die."

Alten hesitated then moistened his lips. "And if someone finds youaccidentally?"

"Then we'll kill you-accidentally," Saliman concluded.

The healer looked from one set of cold eyes to the other, jerked his head in ahalf-nod of agreement and finally left. For a long time after his departuresilence reigned in the hovel.

"Where did you get the money?" Jubal asked when such thoughts were far from hisaide's mind.

"What?"

"The money you gave Stulwig," Jubal clarified. "Don't tell me you had thepresence of mind to gather our house-funds from their hiding places in themiddle of the raid?"

"Better than that," Saliman said proudly, "I took the records of our holdings."

From the early beginnings of Jubal's rise to power in Sanctuary, he had followedSaliman's advice-particularly when it concerned the safety of his wealth.Relatively little of his worth was kept at the estate but was instead spreadsecretly through the town as both investments and caches. In a town likeSanctuary there were many who would gladly supplement their income by holding apackage of unknown content for an equally unknown patron.

Jubal forced himself up into a sitting position. "That raises a question I'vebeen meaning to ask since the raid: why did you save me? You placed yourself inphysical danger, even killed to get me out alive. Now, it seems, you've got therecords of my holdings, most of which you've managed. You could be a wealthyman-if I were dead. Why risk it all in an attempt to pluck a wounded man fromthe midst of his enemies?"

Saliman got up and wandered to the doorway. He leaned against the rough woodframe and stared at the sky before he answered. "When we met-when you hired meyou saved me from the slave block by letting me buy my freedom with my promises.You wouldn't have me as a slave, you said, because slaves were untrustworthy.You wanted me as a freeman, earning a decent living for services rendered-andwith the choice to leave if I felt my fortunes might be better somewhere else."

He turned to face Jubal directly. "I pledged that I would serve you with all mytalents and that if I ever should leave I would face you first with my reasonsfor leaving. I said that until then you need never doubt my intentions orloyalties...

"You laughed at the time, but I was serious. I promised my mind and life to theperson who allowed me to regain my freedom on his trust alone. At the time ofthe raid I had not spoken to you about resigning, and while I usually contentmyself with protecting your interests and leave the protecting of your life toyourself and others, I would have been remiss to my oath if I had not at leasttried to rescue you. And, as it turned out, I was able to rescue you."

The slaver studied his aide's face. The limbs were softer and the belly fullerthan the angry slave's who had once struggled wildly with the guards whileshouting his promises-but the face was as gaunt as it ever had been and the eyeswere still bright with intelligence.

"And why was that resignation never offered, Saliman?" Jubal asked softly. "Iknow you had other offers. I often waited for you to ask me for more money-butyou never did. Why?"

"I was happy where I was. Working for you gave me an unusual blend of securityand excitement with little personal risk-at least until quite recently. Once, Iused to daydream about being an adventurer or a fearless leader of men. Then, Imet you and learned what it took to lead that sort of life; I lack the balanceof caution and recklessness, the sheer personal charisma necessary forleadership. I know that now and am content to do what I do best: risking someoneelse's money or giving advice to the person who actually has to make the lifeand-death decisions."

A cloud passed over Saliman's expression. "That doesn't mean, however, that Idon't share many of your emotions. I helped you build your web of power inSanctuary; helped you select and hire the hawkmasks who were so casuallybutchered in the raid. I, too, want revenge- though I know I'm not the one toengineer it. You are, and I'm willing to risk everything to keep you alive untilthat vengeance is complete."

"Alive like this?" Jubal challenged. "How much charisma does a cripple have?Enough to rally a vengeful army?"

Saliman averted his eyes. "If you cannot regain your power," he admitted, "I'llfind another to follow. But first I'll stay with you until you've reached yourdecision. If there's anyone who can inspire a force it's you-even crippled."

"Then your advice is to let Stulwig do his work?"

"There seems to be no option-unless you'd rather death."

"There is one," Jubal grinned humorlessly, "though it's one I am loathe to take.I want you to seek out Balustrus, the metal-master. Tell him of our situationand ask... no, beg him to give us shelter."

"Balustrus?" Saliman repeated the name as if it tasted bad. "I don't trust him.There're those who say he's mad."

"He's served us well in the past-whatever else he's done," the slaver pointedout. "And, more important-he's familiar with the sorcer-ous element in town."

"Sorcery?" Saliman was genuinely astounded.

"Aye," Jubal nodded grimly. "As I said, I have little taste for the option, butit's still an option nonetheless . . . and perhaps better than death ormaiming."

"Perhaps," the aide said with a grimace. "Very well, I'm off to follow yourinstructions."

"Saliman," the slaver called him back. "Another instruction: when you speak toBalus-trus don't reveal our hiding place. Tell him I'm somewhere else-in thecharnel houses. I trust him no more than you do."

Jubal bolted awake out of his half-slumber, his dagger once again at the ready.That sound- nearby and drawing closer. Pulling himself along the floor towardthe doorway the slaver wondered, for the first time, just whose hovel Salimanhad hid him in. He had assumed it was abandoned-but perhaps the rightful ownerwas returning. With great care he poked his head out the bottom corner of thedoorway and beheld-

Goats.

A sizable herd meandered toward the hut, but though they caught the exgladiator's attention, they did not hold it. Two men walked side-by-side behindthe animals. One was easily recognized as Saliman. The other's head came barelyto Saliman's shoulder and he walked with a rolling, bouncy gait.

Jubal's eyes narrowed with suspicion and puzzlement. Whatever Saliman's reasonfor revealing their hideaway to a goat-herd it had better be a good one. Theslaver's mood had not been improved by the time the men reached the doorway. Ifanything it had darkened as two goats strayed ahead of the rest of the herd andmade his unwilling acquaintance.

"Jubal," Saliman declared, hardly noticing the goats that had already enteredthe hovel. "I want you to meet-"

"A goat-herd?" the slave spat out. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Not a goat-herd," the aide stammered, surprised by Jubal's erupting anger."He's a Lizerene."

"I don't care where he was born-get him and his goats out of here!"

Another goat entered as they argued and stood at Jubal's feet, staring down onhim with blandly curious eyes while the rest of the herd explored the corners.

"Allow me to explain, my lord," the little man said quickly and nervously. "It'snot where I'm from but what I am: the Order of Lizerene ... a humble orderdevoted to the study of healing through sorcery."