The sound came from his right. He slipped his knife back into its sheath, pattedother sheathed knives, and undid the thong at his belt to get the bag off. Thathurt, as a shard of pottery emerged from his clothing, and him. That hand hemoved very slowly, mindful of the clink of broken pottery. He squinted before heglanced back, because he did not want his enlarged pupils to shrink.

The window showed a pretty night, small-mooned but dark of sky, without cloudsor rain. Without even knowing that the rain had been confined to Kurd's grounds,Shadowspawn shivered. Did gods exist? Did gods help?

Hanse took a long step into the corridor and turned right. The bag swung at theend of its thong from his right hand. Just in case someone popped up, that mightmake him look less deadly: anyone sensible would assume him to be normallyright-handed.

As he reached the end of the hall with a big door ahead and another on his left,someone popped up. The side door opened and light rushed forth. It flared fromthe oil lamp in the hand of a gnome-like man who wore only a long ungirt tunic;a nightshirt. 'Here -' he began and Hanse said 'Here yourself and hit him withthe wet, rent bag of broken pottery. Since it struck the fellow in the face, hemoaned and let go the lamp to rush both hands to . his bloodied face. 'Damn,'Hanse said, watching hot oil slosh on to the man's tunic and bare legs and feet.It also splashed wall and door and ran along the floor, burning. At the sametime, a third groan of unendurable agony rose behind the other door, the big onestill closed.

'Master!' Hanse screeched, high-voiced. 'FIRE!' And he shoved the squatty fellowbackwards, kicked the burning lamp in after him, and yanked the door shut.Instantly he attacked the other one, and soon entered Hell.

Part of a man lay on a table, a short skinny fellow. He was even shorter andskinnier now, bereft of both legs and both arms, all his hair, and his leftnipple with part of the pectoral. Even as Hanse shuddered, he knew there wasonly one form of rescue for this wretch. Ignoring the shining sharp instrumentsKurd used, Hanse drew the arm-long blade those crazies up in the Ilbars Hillscalled a knife, got his best two-handed grip, and struck with all his might.Blood gushed and Hanse clamped his teeth against vomit. He had to strike againto complete the job. Now only a torso lay on the table, and a shudderingShadowspawn clung to the weapon as he squinted around a chamber full of tablesand thoughtfully provided with graded runnels in the floor, for the carrying offof blood.

'Thales?'

Two groans replied. One of them ended with 'help', weak as a kitten. It was notTempus's voice, but Hanse went to that table.

'He - he - he's cut off my right arm and... and three fingers of my-my 1-1-leeft hannnd ... just 10 ... just to...' An enormous bodyshaking shudder refusedto let the man finish.

'You do not bleed. Your legs? Feet?' Hanse was squinting without really wantingto see.

'I -I - they ... there...'

'Think,' Shadowspawn said, swallowing hard. 'I can cut these straps or yourthroat. Think, and choose.' He started to turn away.

'I am ... ali-i-ive ... I can wa-a-alk...'

Hanse sliced off the man's restraining straps. 'I seek Tempus.'

'You seek death here, thief!' a voice said, and light flooded the chamber.

Hanse didn't pause to reply or look to see who bore the light. He turned,plucking forth a guardless knife like a leaf of steel, and threw. Only then didhe really look at the man in the doorway; throw once to disconcert, the secondtime with aim. Lean and more than lean the man was, pallid skin taut. A manin a voluminous nightshirt, a man to get a chill from a south wind in June. Aman who held a cocked crossbow in one hand, awkwardly, and a closed lamp orlanthorn in the other, sleeve sliding back to show an arm of bone plated withparchment. Kurd.

He was ducking the whizzing knife that missed by several inches. The lanthornSwung wildly, splashing lunatic flashes of yellow light off walls and floor andtables with ghastly stains. The doke should have put the light down first, Hansethought, plucking out another sliver of sharp steel. With both hands on thatlittle crossbow Kurd might be dangerous. Instead his arm was nailed to the doorby a knife that caught cloth but only raked skin - there was no flesh - so thatthe monster cried out more in fear than in pain. The crossbow hit the floor,thunked, and sent its bolt thunk-twanging into a wall or a table leg or - Hansedidn't care.

'I'm here for Tempus, butcher. Just stand there and provide light. Move and I'llthrow again.' He showed Kurd a third bright blade, sheathed it. 'You'd look goodwith another navel, anyhow.' Then he went to the source of the third groan. 'Oh,oh gods, oh, oh gods, why is this allowedT

No god answered the anguished query torn from Shadowspawn by the sight ofTempus.

Big blond Tempus answered, scarless and armless, and the answer came from amouth without a tongue. He managed to make Hanse understand that three pins werestuck into each stump. Hanse steeled himself to pull them out before turning togush vomit on to the grooved floor of Kurd's laboratory of torment, and whirledback to send such a glare at the vivisectionist that Kurd shivered and stoodstill as a statue, lanthorn held high.

Hanse cut Tempus loose and helped him sit up. The big man did not bleed. He borevarious cuts, all of which looked old. They were not. He made stomach and heartwrenching sounds, ghastly noises that Hanse interpreted as 'I'll heal', whichwas just as ghastly. What was this man?

'Can you walk?'

More noises. Repeated. Again. Hanse thought he understood, and bent to look.Yes. Minus some toes, Tempus had said. He was. Three. No, four. The middle onewas gone from the left foot

'Thales, there's only me and I can't carry you. I freed another and he can'thelp. What shall I do?'

It took Tempus a long while to make him understand, trying to form words withouta tongue, and once Kurd moved. Hanse turned to see the other freed wretchfleeing past the vivisectionist. Hanse threatened and Kurd froze. He held thelantern in a quivering hand at the end of a wavering arm.

Strap Kurd to a table, Tempus had said. Where's servant?

Kurd answered that one, once he had a knife at his flat gut. His gardener andsole retainer was unconscious.

'Oh,' Hanse said, 'he'll want to be bound, then,' and worked the blade out ofsleeve and door. With a knife in either hand, he gestured. 'Hang the lanthorn.'

'You can't -'

Hanse poked him with sharp steel. 'I can. Run complain to the Prince-Governor assoon as you can. You can also die now, which would be a shame. But I'll try tostick you in the belly, low, just deep enough so you'll be a day or three aboutdying. Of gangrene, maybe. Hang that lanthorn, monster!'

Kurd did, on the hook that was, naturally enough, beside the door. He turned tomeet Hanse's foot driving straight up between his skinny shanks. It impactedwith a jar.

'Something for your balls, if you have one,' Hanse said, and didn't even glanceat the man who sank all bulge-eyed and gasping to his knees, with both hands inthe predictable position. Hanse hurried to where the gardener lay, not evencovered by the blanket his master had used to smother the fire. By the timeHanse finished trussing him with strips of his nightshirt, the gnomish fellowwould starve before he freed himself.

Minutes later his master was strapped to one of his own tables. Hanse gaggedhim, because Kurd had left off threatening to plead and make the most ridiculouspromises. Hanse returned to Tempus.