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 The purse was withdrawn.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?'

'I think that is not the right word for it. Aspect. What are you about, here?'

'Now, now. Hell Hound-' .''

'Tempus.'

'Yes, Tempus. You have not lost your fabled sense of irony. I hope it is a comfort.'

'Quite, actually. Do not interfere with the gods, guildbrother of my nemesis.'

'Our prince is justifiably worried. Those weapons-'

'-equal out the balance between the oppressors and the oppressed. Most of Sanctuary cannot afford your services, or the prices of even the lowliest members of the Enchanters' Guild. Let it be. We will get the weapons back, as their wielders meet their fates.'

'I have to report to Kitt - to K-adakithis.'

'Then report that I am handling it.' Behind the magician, he could see the ranks whispering. Thirty men, the archmage had brought. Too many.

'You and I have more in common than in dispute, Tempus. Let us join forces.'

'I would sooner bed an Ilsig matron.'

'Well, I am going in there.' The archmage shook his head and the cowl fell back. He was pretty, ageless, a blond. 'With or without you.'

'Be my guest,' Tempus offered.

The archmage looked at him strangely. 'We do the same services in the world, you and I. Killing, whether with natural or supernatural weapons, is still killing. You are no better than I.'