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 enchanter, 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.'