Tales from the Vulgar Unicorn

TO GUARD THE GUARDIANS By Robert Lynn Asprin

The Hell Hounds were now a common sight in Sanctuary so the appearance of one in the bazaar created little stir, save for the concealment of a few smuggled wares and a price increase on everything else. However, when two appeared together, as they did today, it was enough to silence casual conversation and draw uneasy stares, though the more observant vendors noted that the pair were engrossed in their own argument and did not even glance at the stalls they were passing.

'But the man has offended me...' the darker of the pair snarled.

'He offends everyone,' his companion countered, 'it's his way. I tell you, Razkuli, I've heard him say things to the prince himself that would have other men flayed and blinded. You're a fool to take it personally.'

'But, Zalbar...'

'I know, I know - he offends you; and Quag bores you and Arman is an arrogant braggart. Well, this whole town offends me, but that doesn't give me the right to put it to the sword. Nothing Tempus has said to you warrants a blood feud.'

'It is done.' Razkuli thrust one fist against his other palm as • they walked.

'It is not done until you act on your promise, and if you do /'// move to stop you. I won't have the men in my command killing each other.'

The two men walked silently for several moments, each lost in his own dark thoughts.

'Look, my friend,' Zalbar sighed, 'I've already had one of my men killed under scandalous circumstances. I don't want to answer for another incident particularly if it involves you. Can't you see Tempus is trying to goad you into a fight? - a fight you can't win.'

'No one lives that I've seen over an arrow,' Razkuli said ominously, his eyes narrowing on an imaginary target.

'Murder, Razkuli? I never thought I'd see the day you'd sink to being an assassin.'

There was a sharp intake of breath and Razkuli faced his comrade with eyes that showed a glint of madness. Then the spark faded and the small man's shoulders relaxed. 'You're right, my friend,' he said, shaking his head, 'I would never do that. Anger speeds my tongue ahead of reason.'

'As it did when you vowed blood-feud. You've survived countless foes who were mortal; don't try the favour of the gods by seeking an enemy who is not.'

'Then the rumours about Tempus are true?' Razkuli asked, his eyes narrowing again.

'I don't know, there are things about him which are difficult to explain by any other logic. Did you see how rapidly his leg healed? We both know men whose soldiering career was ended after they were caught under a horse - yet he was standing duty again within the week.'

'Such a man is an affront against Nature.'

'Then let Nature take vengeance on him,' Zalbar laughed, clapping a friendly hand on his comrade's shoulder, 'and free us for more worthwhile pastimes. Come, I'll buy you lunch. It will be a pleasant change from barracks food.'

Haakon, the sweetmeats vendor, brightened as the two soldiers approached him and waited patiently while they made their selections from his spiced-meat turnovers.

'That will be three coppers,' he smiled through yellowed teeth. 'Three coppers?' Razkuli exclaimed angrily, but Zalbar silenced him with a nudge in the ribs.

'Here, fellow...' the Hell-Hound commander dropped some coins into Haakon's outstretched hand, 'take four. Those of us from the Capitol are used to paying full value for quality goods -though I suppose that this far from civilization you have to adjust the prices to accommodate the poorer folk.'

The barb went home and Zalbar was rewarded by a glare of pure hatred before he turned away, drawing Razkuli with him. 'Four coppers! You were being overcharged at three!'

'I know.' Zalbar winked. 'But I refuse to give them the satisfaction of haggling. I find it's worth the extra copper to see their faces when I imply that they're selling below value - it's one of the few pleasures available in this hellhole.'

'I never thought of it that way,' Razkuli said with a laugh, 'but you're right. My father would have been livid if someone deliberately overpaid him. Do me a favour and let me try it when we buy the wine.'

Razkuli's refusal to bargain brought much the same reaction from the wineseller. The dark mood of their conversation as they had entered the bazaar had vanished and they were ready to eat with calm humour.

'You provided the food and drink, so I'll provide the setting,' Razkuli declared, tucking the wine-flask into his belt. 'I know a spot which is both pleasant and relaxing.'

'It must be outside the city.'

'It is, just outside the Common Gate. Come on, the city won't miss our presence for an hour or so.'

Zalbar was easily persuaded though more from curiosity than belief. Except for occasional patrols along the Street of Red Lanterns he rarely got outside Sanctuary's North Wall and had never explored the area to the northwest where Razkuli. was leading him.

It was a different world here, almost as if they had stepped through a magic portal into another land. The buildings were scattered, with large open spaces between them, in contrast to the cramped shops and narrow alleys of the city proper. The air was refreshingly free from the stench of unwashed bodies jostling each other in crowded streets. Zalbar relaxed in the peaceful surround . ings. The pressures of patrolling the hateful town slipped away like a heavy cloak, allowing him to look forwards to an uninterrupted meal in pleasant company.

'Perhaps you could speak to Tempus? We needn't like each other, but if he could find another target for his taunts, it would do much towards easing my hatred.'

Zalbar shot a wary glance at his comrade, but detected none of the blind anger which he had earlier expressed. The question seemed to be an honest attempt on Razkuli's part to find a corn-promise solution to an intolerable situation.

'I would, if I thought it would help,' he sighed reluctantly, 'but I fear I have little influence on him. If anything, it would only make matters worse. He would redouble his attacks to prove he wasn't afraid of me either.'

'But you're his superior officer,' Razkuli argued.

'Officially, perhaps,' his friend shrugged, 'but we both know there are gaps between what is official and what is true. Tempus has the Prince's ear. He's a free agent here and follows my orders only when it suits him.'

'You've kept him out of the Aphrodesia House...'

'Only because I had convinced the prince of the necessity of maintaining the good will of that House before Tempus arrived,' Zalbar countered, shaking his head. 'I had to go to the prince to curb Tempus's ill-conduct and earned his hatred for it. You notice he still does what he pleases at the Lily Garden - and the prince looks the other way. No, I wouldn't count on my influence over Tempus. I don't think he would physically attack me because of my position in the Prince's bodyguard. I also don't think he would come to my aid if I were hard-pressed in a fight.'

Just then Zalbar noticed a small flower garden nestled beside a . house not far from their path. A man was at work in the garden, watering and pruning. The sight created a sudden wave of nostalgia in the Hell Hound. How long had it been since he stood outside the Emperor's Palace in the Capitol, fighting boredom by watching the gardeners pampering the flowered grounds? It seemed like a lifetime. Despite the fact that he was a soldier by profession, or perhaps because he was a soldier, he had always admired the calm beauty of flowers.

'Let's eat there ... under that tree,' he suggested, indicating a spot with a view of the garden. 'It's as good a place as any.' Razkuli hesitated, glancing at the gardened house and started to say something, then shrugged and veered towards the tree. Zalbar saw the mischievous smile flit briefly across his comrade's face, but ignored it, preferring to contemplate the peaceful garden instead.

The pair dined in the manner of hardened, but off-duty, campaigners. Rather than facing each other, or sitting side-by-side, the two assumed back-to-back positions in the shade of a spreading tree. The earthenware wine-flask was carefully placed to one side, but in easy reach of both. Not only did the arrangement give them a full circle of vision to ensure that their meal would be uninterrupted, it also allowed a brief illusion of privacy for the individual a rare commodity to those whose profession required that every moment be shared with at least a dozen colleagues. To further that illusion they ate in silence. Conversation would be neither attempted nor tolerated until both were finished with their meal. It was the stance of men who trusted each other completely.

Although his position allowed him a clear view of the flower garden, Zalbar found his thoughts wandering back to his earlier conversation with Razkuli. Part of his job was to maintain peace among the Hell Hounds, at least to a point where their personal differences did not interfere with the performance of their duties. To that end he had soothed his friend's ruffled feathers and forestalled any open fighting within the force ... for the time being, at least. With peace thus preserved, Zalbar could admit to himself that he agreed wholeheartedly with Razkuli.

Loudmouthed bullies were nothing new in the army, but Tempus was a breed apart. As a devout believer in discipline and law, Zalbar was disgusted and appalled by Tempus's attitudes and conduct. What was worse, Tempus did have the prince's ear, so Zalbar was powerless to move against him despite the growing rumours of immoral and illegal conduct.

The Hell Hound's brow furrowed as he reflected upon the things he had heard and seen. Tempus openly used krrf, both on duty and off. He was rapidly building a reputation for brutality and sadism among the not easily shocked citizens of Sanctuary. There were even rumours that he was methodically hunting and killing the blue-masked sell-swords employed by the exgladiator, Jubal.

Zalbar had no love for that crime-lord who traded in slaves to mask his more illicit activities, but neither could he tolerate a Hell Hound taking it upon himself to be judge and executioner. But he had been ordered by the prince to allow Tempus free rein and was powerless to even investigate the rumours: a fine state of affairs when the law-enforcers became the lawbreakers and the lawgiver' only moved to shelter them.

A scream rent the air, interrupting Zalbar's reverie and bringing him to his feet, sword in hand. As he cast about, searching for the source of the noise, he remembered he had heard screams like that before ... though not on any battlefield. It wasn't a scream of pain, hatred, or terror but the heartless, soulless sounds of one without hope and assaulted by horror too great for the mind to comprehend.

The silence was completely shattered by a second scream and this time Zalbar knew the source was the beautifully gardened house. He watched in growing disbelief as the gardener calmly continued his work, not even bothering to look up despite the now frequent screams. Either the man was deaf or Zalbar himself was going mad, reacting to imaginary noises from a best-forgotten past. Turning to Razkuli for confirmation, Zalbar was outraged to find his friend not only still seated but grinning ear-to-ear.

'Now do you see why I was willing to pass this spot by?' the swarthy Hell Hound said with a laugh. 'Perhaps the next time I offer to lead you won't be so quick to exert your rank.'

'You were expecting this?' Zalbar demanded, unsoothed by Razkuli's humour.

'Of course, you should be thankful it didn't start until we were nearly finished with our meal.'

Zalbar's retort was cut off by a drawn out piercing cry that rasped against ear and mind and defied human endurance with its

length.

'Before you go charging to the rescue,'' Razkuli commented, ignoring the now fading outburst of pain, 'you should know I've already looked into it. What you're hearing is a slave responding to its master's attentive care: a situation entirely within the law and therefore no concern of ours. It might interest you to know that the owner of that building is a ...'

'Kurd!' Zalbar breathed through taut lips, glaring at the house as if it were an arch-enemy.

'You know him?'

'We met once, back at the Capitol. That's why he's here ... or at least why he's not still there.'

'Then you know his business?' Razkuli scowled, a bit deflated that his revelations were no surprise. 'I'll admit I find it distasteful, but there's nothing we can do about it.'

'We'll see,' Zalbar announced darkly, starting towards the house.

'Where're you going?'

'To pay Kurd a visit.'

'Then I'll see you back at the barracks.' Razkuli shuddered. 'I've been inside that house once already, and I'll not enter again unless it's under orders.'

Zalbar made no note of his friend's departure though he did sheathe his sword as he approached the house. The impending battle would not require conventional weapons.

'Ho there!' he hailed the gardener. 'Tell your master I wish to speak with him.'

'He's busy,' the man snarled, 'can't you hear?'

'Too busy to speak with one of the prince's personal guard?' Zalbar challenged, raising an eyebrow.

'He's spoken to them before and each time they've gone away and I've lost pay for allowing the interruption.'

'Tell him it's Zalbar...' the Hell Hound ordered, '...your master will speak with me, or would you like to deal with me in his stead?'

Though he made no move towards his weapons Zalbar's voice and stance convinced the gardener to waste no time. The gnome-like man abandoned his chores to disappear into the house.

As he waited Zalbar surveyed the flowers again, but knowledge of Kurd's presence had ruined his appreciation of floral beauty. Instead of lifting his spirits, the bright blossoms seemed a horrifying incongruity, like viewing a gaily coloured fungus growing on a rotting corpse.

As Zalbar turned away from the flowers, Kurd emerged into the daylight. Though it had been five years since they had seen each other, the older man was sufficiently unchanged that Zalbar recognized him instantly: the stained dishevelled dress of one who sleeps in his clothes, the unwashed, unkempt hair and beard, as well as the cadaverously thin body with its long skeletal fingers and pasty complexion. Clearly Kurd had not discontinued his habit of neglecting his own body in the pursuit of his work.

'Good day ... citizen,' the Hell Hound's smile did not disguise the sarcasm poisoning his greeting.

'It is you,' Kurd declared, squinting to study the other's features. 'I thought we were done with each other when I left Ranke.'

'I think you shall continue to see me until you see fit to change your occupation.'

'My work is totally within the limits of the law.' The thin man bristled, betraying, for a moment, the strength of will hidden in his outwardly feeble body.

'So you said in Ranke. I still find it offensive, without redeeming merit.'

'Without redeeming...' Kurd shrieked, then words failed him. His lips tightened, he seized Zalbar by the arm and began pulling him towards the house. 'Come with me now,' he instructed. 'Let me show you my work and explain what I am doing. Perhaps then you will be able to grasp the importance of my studies.'

In his career Zalbar had faced death in many guises and done it unflinchingly. Now, however, he drew back in horror.

'I ... That won't be necessary,' he insisted.

'Then you continue to blindly condemn my actions without allowing me a fair hearing?' Kurd pointed a bent, bony finger at the Hell Hound, a note of triumph in his voice.

Trapped by his own convictions, Zalbar swallowed hard and steeled himself. 'Very well, lead on. But, I warn you - my opinions are not easily swayed.'

Zalbar's resolve wavered once they entered the building and he was assaulted by the smells of its interior. Then he caught sight of the gardener smirking at him from the doorway and set his face in ' an expressionless mask as he was led up the-,stairs to the second floor.

All that the Hell Hound had ever heard or imagined about Kurd's work failed to prepare him for the scene which greeted him when the pale man opened the door to his workshop. Half a dozen large, heavy tables lined the walls, each set at a strange angle so their surfaces were nearly upright. They were not unlike the wooden frames court artists used to hold their work while painting. All the tables were fitted with leather harnesses and straps. The wood and leather, both, showed dried and crusted bloodstains. Four of the tables were occupied.

'Most so-called medical men only repeat what has gone before...' Kurd was saying, '...the few who do attempt new techniques do so in a slipshod, trial and-error fashion born of desperation and ignorance. If the patient dies, it is difficult to determine if the cause was the original affliction, or the new treatment itself. Here, under controlled conditions, I actually increase our knowledge of the human body and its frailties. Watch your step, please...'

Grooves had been cut in the floor, running along beneath the tables and meeting in a shallow pit at the room's far end. As he stepped over one, Zalbar realized that the system was designed to guide the flow of spilled blood. He shuddered.

There was a naked man on the first table and when he saw them coming he began to writhe against his bonds. One arm was gone from the elbow down and he beat the stump against the tabletop. Gibberings poured from his mouth. Zalbar noted with disgust that the man's tongue had been cut out.

'Here,' Kurd announced, pointing to a gaping wound in the man's shoulder, 'is an example of my studies.'

The man had obviously lost control of his bodily functions. Excretions stained his legs and the table. Kurd paid no attention to this, gesturing Zalbar closer to the table as he used his long fingers to spread the edges of the shoulder wound. 'I have identified a point in the body which, if pressure like this ...'

The man shrieked, his body arching against the restraining straps.

'Stop!' Zalbar shouted, losing any pretence of disinterest.

It was unlikely he could be heard over the tortured sounds of the victim, but Kurd withdrew his bloody finger and the man sagged back on the table.

'Well, did you see it?' the pale man asked eagerly.

'See what?' Zalbar blinked, still shaken by what he had witnessed.

'His stump, man! It stopped moving! Pressure or damage to this point can rob a man of the use of his arm. Here, I'll show you again.'

'No!' the Hell Hound ordered quickly, 'I've seen enough.'

'Then you see the value of my discovery?'

'Ummm ... where do you get your ... subjects?' Zalbar evaded.

'From slavers, of course.' Kurd frowned. 'You can see the brands quite clearly. If I worked with anything but slaves ... well, that would be against Rankan law.'

'And how do you get them onto the tables? Slaves or not, I should think they would fight to the death rather than submit to your knives.'

'There is a herbalist in town,' the pale man explained, 'he supplies me with a mild potion that renders them senseless. When they awaken, it's too late for effective resistance.'

Zalbar started to ask another question, but Kurd held up a restraining hand. 'You still haven't answered my question: do you now see the value of my work?'

The Hell Hound forced himself to look around the room again. 'I see that you genuinely believe the knowledge you seek is worthwhile,' he said carefully, 'but I still feel subjecting men and women to this, even if they are slaves, is too high a price.'

'But it's legal!' Kurd insisted. 'What I do here breaks no Rankan laws.'

' Ranke has many laws, you should remember that from our last meeting. Few live within all of them and while there is some discretion exercised between which laws are enforced and which are overlooked, 1 tell you now that I will be personally watching for anything which will allow me to move against you. It would be easier on both of us if you simply moved on now ... for I won't rest while you are within my patrol-range.'

'I am a law-abiding citizen.' The pale man glared, drawing himself up. 'I won't be driven from my home like a common

criminal.'

'So you said before.' The Hell Hound smiled as he turned to go. 'But, you are no longer in Ranke - remember that.'

'That's right,' Kurd shouted after him, 'we are no longer in Ranke. Remember that yourself. Hell Hound.'

Four days later Zalbar's confidence had ebbed considerably. Finishing his night patrol of the city he turned down the Processional towards the wharves. This was becoming a habit with him now, a final off-duty stretch-of-the-legs to organize his thoughts in solitude before retiring to the crowded barracks. Though there was still activity back in the Maze, this portion of town had been long asleep and it was easy for the Hell Hound to lose himself in his ponderings as he paced slowly along the moon-shadowed street.

The prince had rejected his appeal, pointing out that harassing a relatively honest citizen was a poor use of time, particularly with the wave of killings sweeping Sanctuary. Zalbar could not argue with the prince's logic. Ever since that Weaponshop had appeared, suddenly, in the Maze to dispense its deadly brand of magic, killings were not only more frequent but of an uglier nature than usual. Perhaps now that the shop had disappeared the madness would ease, but in the meantime he could ill afford the time to pursue Kurd with the vigour necessary to drive the vivisectionist from town.

For a moment Kurd's impassioned defence of his work flashed across Zalbar's mind, only to be quickly repressed. New medical knowledge was worth having, but slaves were still people. The systematic torture of another being in the name of knowledge was...

'Cover!'

Zalbar was prone on the ground before the cry had fully registered in his mind. Reflexes honed by years in service to the Empire had him rolling, crawling, scrabbling along the dirt in search of shelter without pausing to identify the source of the warning. Twice, before he reached the shadows of an alley, he heard the unmistakable hisss-pock of arrows striking nearby: ample proof that the danger was not imaginary.

Finally, in the alley's relative security, he snaked his sword from its scabbard and breathlessly scanned the rooftops for the bowman assassin. A flicker of movement atop a building across the street caught his eyes, but it failed to repeat itself. He strained to penetrate the darkness. There was a crying moan, ending in a cough; moments later, a poor imitation of a night bird's whistle.

Though he was sure someone had just died, Zalbar didn't twitch a muscle, holding his position like a hunting cat. Who had died? The assassin? Or the person whose call had warned him of danger? Even if it were the assassin there might still be an accomplice lurking nearby.

As if in answer to this last thought a figure detached itself from a darkened doorway and moved to the centre of the street. It paused, placed hands on hips and hailed the alley wherein Zalbar had taken refuge.

'It's safe now. Hell Hound. We've rescued you from your own carelessness.'

Regaining his feet Zalbar sheathed his sword and stepped into the open. Even before being hailed he had recognized the dark figure. A blue hawk-mask and cloak could not hide the size or colouring of his rescuer, and if they had, the Hell Hound would have known the smooth grace of those movements anywhere.

'What carelessness is that, Jubal?' he asked, hiding his own annoyance.

'You have used this route three nights in a row, now,' the ex-gladiator announced. 'That's all the pattern an assassin needs.'

The Negro crime-lord did not seem surprised or annoyed that his . disguise had been penetrated. If anything, Jubal gave an impression of being pleased with himself as he bantered with the Hell Hound.

Zalbar realized that Jubal was right: on duty or off, a predictable pattern was an invitation for ambush. He was spared the embarrassment of making this admission, however, as the unseen saviour on the rooftops chose this moment to dump the assassin's body to the street. The two men studied it with disdain.

'Though I appreciate your intervention,' the Hell Hound commented drily, 'it would have been nice to take him alive. I'll admit a passing curiosity as to who sent him.'

'I can tell you that.' The hawk-masked figure smiled grimly. 'It's Kurd's money that filled that assassin's purse, though it puzzles me why he would bear you such a grudge.'

'You knew about this in advance?'

'One of my informants overheard the hiring in the Vulgar Unicorn. It's amazing how many normally careful people forget that a man can hear as well as talk.'

'Why didn't you send word to warn me in advance?' 'I had no proof.' The black man shrugged. 'It's doubtful my witness would be willing to testify in court. Besides, I still owed you a debt from our last meeting... or have you forgotten you saved my life once?'

'I haven't forgotten. As I told you then, I was only doing my duty. You owed me nothing.'

'... And I was only doing my duty as a Rankan citizen in assisting you tonight.' Jubal's teeth flashed in the moonlight.

'Well, whatever your motive, you have my thanks.'

Jubal was silent a moment. 'If you truly wish to express your gratitude,' he said at last, 'would you join me now for a drink? There's something I would like to discuss with you.'

'I... I'm afraid I can't. It's a long walk to your ... house and I '~ have duties tomorrow.' .

'I was thinking of the Vulgar Unicorn.'

'The Vulgar Unicorn?' Zalbar stammered, genuinely astonished. 'Where my assassination was planned. I can't go in there.'

'Why not?'

'Well... if for no other reason than that I am a Hell Hound. It would do neither of us any good to be seen together publicly, much less in the Vulgar Unicorn.'

'You could wear my mask and cloak. That would hide your uniform and face. Then, to any onlooker it would only appear that I was having a drink with one of my men.'

For a moment Zalbar wavered in indecision, then the audacity of a Hell Hound in a blue hawk-mask seized his fancy and he laughed aloud. 'Why not?' he agreed, reaching for the offered disguise. 'I've always wondered what the inside of that place looked like.'

Zalbar had not realized how bright the moonlight was until he stepped through the door of the Vulgar Unicorn. A few small oil lamps were the only illumination and those were shielded towards the wall, leaving most of the interior in heavy shadow. Though he could see figures huddled at several tables as he followed Jubal into the main room, he could not make out any individual's features.

There was one, however, whose face he did not need to see, the unmistakably gaunt form of Hakiem the storyteller slouched at a central table. A small bowl of wine sat before him, apparently forgotten, as the tale-spinner nodded in near-slumber. Zalbar harboured a secret liking for the ancient character and would have passed the table quietly, but Jubal caught the Hell Hound's eye and winked broadly. Withdrawing a coin from his sword-belt, the slaver tossed it in an easy arch towards the storyteller's table.

Hakiem's hand moved like a flicker of light and the coin disappeared in mid flight. His drowsy manner remained unchanged.

'That's payment enough for a hundred stories, old man,' Jubal rumbled softly, 'but tell them somewhere else ... and about someone else.'

Moving with quiet dignity, the storyteller rose to his feet, bestowed a withering gaze on both of them, and stalked regally from the room. His bowl of wine had disappeared with his departure.

In the brief moment that their eyes met, Zalbar had felt an intense intelligence and was certain that the old man had penetrated both mask and cloak to coldly observe his true identity. Hastily revising his opinion of the gaunt tale -spinner, the Hell Hound recalled Jubal's description of an informant whom people forgot could hear as well as see and knew whose spying had truly saved his life.

The slaver sank down at the recently vacated table and immediately received two unordered goblets of expensive qualis. Settling next to him, Zalbar noted that this table had a clear view of all entrances and exits of the tavern and his estimation of Hakiem went up yet another notch.

'If I had thought of it sooner, I would have suggested that your man on the rooftop join us,' the Hell Hound commented. 'I feel I owe him a drink of thanks.'

'That man is a woman, Moria; she works the darkness better than I do ... and without the benefits of protective coloration.'

'Well, I'd still like to thank her.'

'I'd advise against it.' The slaver grinned. 'She hates Rankans, and the Hell Hounds in particular. She only intervened at my orders.'

'You remind me of several questions.' Zalbar set his goblet down. 'Why did you act on my behalf tonight? And how is it that you know the cry the army uses to warn of archers?'

'In good time. First you must answer a question of mine. I'm not used to giving out information for free, and since I told you the identity of your enemy, perhaps now you can tell me why Kurd would set an assassin on your trail?'

After taking a thoughtful sip of his drink, Zalbar began to explain the situation between himself and Kurd. As the story unfolded, the Hell Hound found he was saying more than was necessary, and was puzzled as to why he would reveal to Jubal the anger and bitterness he had kept secret even from his own force. Perhaps, it was because, unlike his comrades whom he respected, Zalbar saw the slaver as a man so corrupt that his own darkest thoughts and doubts would seem commonplace by comparison.

Jubal listened in silence until the Hell Hound was finished, then nodded slowly. 'Yes, that makes sense now,' he murmured. .

'The irony is that at the moment of attack I was bemoaning my inability to do anything about Kurd. For a while, at least, an assassin is unnecessary. I am under orders to leave Kurd alone.'

Instead of laughing, Jubal studied his opposite thoughtfully. 'Strange you should say that.' He spoke with measured care. 'I also have a problem I am currently unable to deal with. Perhaps we can solve each other's problems.'

'Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?' Zalbar asked, suddenly suspicious.

'In a way. Actually this is better. Now, in return for the favour I must ask, I can offer something you want. If you address yourself to my problem, I'll put an end to Kurd's practice for you.'

'I assume that what you want is illegal. If you really think I'd...'

'It is not illegal!' Jubal spat with venom. 'I don't need your help to break the law, that's easy enough to do despite the efforts of your so-called elite force. No, Hell Hound, I find it necessary to offer you a bribe to do your job - to enforce the law.'

'Any citizen can appeal to any Hell Hound for assistance.' Zalbar felt his own anger grow. 'If it is indeed within the law, you don't have to...'

'Fine!' the slaver interrupted. 'Then, as a Rankan citizen I ask you to investigate and stop a wave of murders - someone is killing my people; hunting blue-masks through the streets as if they were diseased animals.'

'I ... I see.'

'And I see that this comes as no surprise,' Jubal snarled. 'Well, Hell Hound, do your duty. I make no pretence about my people, but they are being executed without a trial or hearing. That's murder. Or do you hesitate because it's one of your own who's doing the killing?'

Zalbar's head came up with a snap and Jubal met his stare with a humourless smile.

'That's right, I know the murderer, not that it's been difficult to learn. Tempus has been open enough with his beagging.'

'Actually,' Zalbar mused drily, 'I was wondering why you haven't dealt with him yourself if you know he's guilty. I've heard hawk-masks have killed transgressors when their offence was far less certain.'

Now it was Jubal who averted his eyes in discomfort. 'We've tried,' he admitted, 'Tempus seems exceptionally hard to down. Some of my men went against my orders and used magical weapons. The result was four more bloody masks to his credit.'

The Hell Hound could hear the desperate appeal in the slaver's confession.

'I cannot allow him to continue his sport, but the price of stopping him grows fearfully high. I'm reduced to asking for your intervention. You, more than the others, have prided yourself in performing your duties in strict adherence to the codes of justice. Tell me, doesn't the law apply equally to everyone?'

A dozen excuses and explanations leapt to Zalbar's lips, then a cold wave of anger swept them away. 'You're right, though I never thought you'd be the one to point out my duty to me. A killer in uniform is still a killer and should be punished for his crimes ... all of them. If Tempus is your murderer, I'll personally see to it that he's dealt with.'

'Very well.' Jubal nodded. 'And in return, I'll fill my end of the bargain Kurd will no longer work in Sanctuary.'

Zalbar opened his mouth to protest. The temptation was almost too great - if Jubal could make good his promise - but, no, 'I'd have to insist that your actions remain within the law,' he murmured reluctantly. 'I can't ask you to do anything illegal.'

'Not only is it legal, it's done! Kurd is out of business as of now.'

'What do you mean?'

'Kurd can't work without subjects,' the slaver smiled, 'and I'm his supplier - or I was. Not only have I ended his supply of slaves, I'll spread the word to the other slavers that if they deal with him I'll undercut their prices in the other markets and drive them out of town as well.'

Zalbar smiled with new distaste beneath his mask. 'You knew what he was doing with the slaves and you dealt with him anyway?'

'Killing slaves for knowledge is no worse than having slaves kill each other in the arena for entertainment. Either is an unpleasant reality in our world.'

Zalbar winced at the sarcasm in the slaver's voice, but was unwilling to abandon his position.

'We have different views of fighting. You were forced into the arena as a gladiator while I freely enlisted in the army. Still, we share a common experience: however terrible the battle: however frightful the odds, we had a chance. We could fight back and survive - or at least take our foe-men with us as we fell. Being trussed up like a sacrificial animal, helpless to do anything but watch your enemy - no, not your enemy - your tormentor's weapon descend on you again and again ... No being, slave or freedman, should be forced into that. I cannot think of an enemy I hate enough to condemn to such a fate.'

'I can think of a few,' Jubal murmured, 'but then, I've never . shared your ideals. Though we both believe in justice we seek it in different ways.'

'Justice?' the Hell Hound sneered. 'That's the second time you've used that word tonight. I must admit it sounds strange coming from your lips.'

'Does it?' the slaver asked. 'I've always dealt fairly with my own or with those who do business with me. We both acknowledge the corruption in our world. Hell Hound. The difference is that, unlike yourself, I don't try to protect the world - I'm hard-pressed to protect myself and my own.'

Zalbar set down his unfinished drink. 'I'll leave your mask and cloak outside,' he said levelly, 'I fear that the difference is too great for us to enjoy a drink together.'

Anger flashed in the slaver's eyes. 'But you will investigate the murders?'

'I will,' the Hell Hound promised, 'and as the complaining citizen you'll be informed of the results of my investigation.'

Tempus was working on his sword when Zalbar and Razkuli approached him. They had deliberately waited to confront him here in the barracks rather than at his favoured haunt, the Lily Garden. Despite everything that had or might occur, they were all Army and what was to be said should not be heard by civilians outside their elite club.

Tempus favoured them with a sullen glare, then brazenly returned his attention to his work. It was an unmistakable affront as he was only occupied with filing a series of saw-like teeth into one edge of his sword: a project that should run a poor second to speaking with the Hell Hound's captain.

'I would have a word with you, Tempus,' Zalbar announced, swallowing his anger.

'It's your prerogative,' the other replied without looking up.

Razkuli shifted his feet, but a look from his friend stilled him.

'I have had a complaint entered against you,' Zalbar continued. 'A complaint which has been confirmed by numerous witnesses. I felt it only fair to hear your side of the story before I went to Kadakithis with it.'

At the mention of the prince's name, Tempus raised his head and ceased his filing. 'And the nature of the complaint?' he asked darkly.

'It is said you're committing wanton murder during your off-duty hours.'

'Oh, that. It's not wanton. I only hunt hawk-masks.'

Zalbar had been prepared for many possible .responses to his accusations: angry denial, a mad dash for freedom, a demand for proof or witnesses. This easy admission, however, caught him totally off-balance. 'You ... you admit your guilt?' he managed at last, surprise robbing him of his composure.

'Certainly. I'm only surprised anyone has bothered to complain. No one should miss the killers I've taken ... least of all you.'

'Well, it's true I hold no love for Jubal or his sell-swords,' Zalbar admitted, 'but, there are still due processes of law to be followed. If you want to see them brought to justice you should have...'

'Justice?' Tempus laughed. 'Justice has nothing to do with it.'

'Then why hunt them?'

'For practice,' Tempus informed them, studying his serrated sword once more. 'An unexercised sword grows slow. I like to keep a hand in whenever possible and supposedly the sell-swords Jubal hires are the best in town - though, to tell the truth, if the ones I've faced are any example, he's being cheated.'

'That's all?' Razkuli burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. 'That's all the reason you need to disgrace your uniform?'

Zalbar held up a warning hand, but Tempus only laughed at the two of them.

'That's right, Zalbar, better keep a leash on your dog there. If you can't stop his yapping, I'll do it for you.'

For a moment Zalbar thought he might have to restrain His friend, but Razkuli had passed explosive rage. The swarthy Hell Hound glared at Tempus with a deep, glowering hatred which Zalbar knew could not be dimmed now with reason or threats. Grappling with his own anger, Zalbar turned, at last, to Tempus.

'Will you be as arrogant when the prince asks you to explain your actions?' he demanded.

'I won't have to.' Tempus grinned again. 'Kitty-Cat will never call me to task for anything. You got your way on the Street of Red Lanterns, but that was before the prince fully comprehended my position here. He'd even reverse that decision if he hadn't taken a public stance on it.'

Zalbar was frozen by anger and frustration as he realized the truth of Tempus's words. 'And just what is your position here?'

'If you have to ask,' Tempus laughed, 'I can't explain. But you must realize that you can't count on the prince to support your charges. Save yourselves a lot of grief by accepting me as someone outside the law's jurisdiction.' He rose, sheathed his sword and started to leave, but Zalbar blocked his path.

'You may be right. You may indeed be above the law, but if there is a god - any god - watching over us now, the time is not far off when your sword will miss and we'll be rid of you. Justice is a natural process. It can't be swayed for long by a prince's whims.'

'Don't call upon the gods unless you're ready to accept their interference.' Tempus grimaced. 'You'd do well to heed that warning from one who knows.'

Before Zalbar could react, Razkuli was lunging forwards, his slim wrist-dagger darting for Tempus's throat. It was too late for the Hell Hound captain to intervene either physically or verbally, but then, Tempus did not seem to require outside help.

Moving with lazy ease, Tempus slapped his left hand over the speeding point, his palm taking the full impact of Razkuli's vengeance. The blade emerged from the back of his hand and blood spurted freely for a moment, but Tempus seemed not to notice. A quick wrench with the already wounded hand and the knife was twisted from Razkuli's grip. Then Tempus's right hand closed like a vice on the throat of his dumbfounded attacker, lifting him, turning him, slamming him against a wall and pinning him there with his toes barely touching the floor.

.'Tempus!' Zalbar barked, his friend's danger breaking through the momentary paralysis brought on by the sudden explosion of action.

'Don't worry. Captain,' Ternpus responded in a calm voice. 'If you would be so kind?'

He extended his bloody hand towards Zalbar and the tall Hell Hound gingerly withdrew the dagger from the awful wound. As the knife came clear the clotting ooze of blood erupted into a steady stream. Tempus studied the scarlet cascade with distaste, then thrust his hand against Razkuli's face.

'Lick it, dog,' he ordered. 'Lick it clean, and be thankful I don't make you lick the floor as well!'

Helpless and fighting for each breath, the pinned man hesitated only a moment before extending his tongue in a feeble effort to comply with the demand. Quickly impatient, Tempus wiped his hand in a bloody smear across Razkuli's face and mouth, then he examined his wound again.

As Zalbar watched, horrified, the seepage from the wound slowed from flow to trickle and finally to a slow ooze - all in the matter of seconds.

Apparently satisfied with the healing process, Tempus turned dark eyes to his captain. 'Every dog gets one bite - but the next time your pet crosses me, I'll take him down and neither you nor the prince will be able to stop me.'

With that he wrenched Razkuli from the wall and dashed him to the floor at Zalbar's feet. With both Hell Hounds held motionless by his brutality, he strode from the room without a backward glance.

The suddenness and intensity of the exchange had shocked even Zalbar's battlefield reflexes into immobility, but with Tempus's departure, control flooded back into his limbs as if he had been released from a spell. Kneeling beside his friend, he hoisted Razkuli into a sitting position to aid his laboured breathing.

'Don't try to talk,' he ordered, reaching to wipe the blood smear from Razkuli's face, but the gasping man jerked his head back and forth, refusing both the order and the help.

Gathering his legs under him, the short Hell Hound surged to his feet and retained the upright position, though he had to cling to the wall for support. For several moments, his head sagged weakly as he drew breath in long ragged gasps, then he lifted his gaze to meet Zalbar's.

'I must kill him. I cannot ... live in the same world and ... breathe the same air with one who ... shamed me so ... and still call myself a man.'

For a moment, Razkuli swayed as if speaking had drained him of all energy, then he carefully lowered himself onto a bench, propping his back against the wall.

'I must kill him,' he repeated, his voice steadying. 'Even if it means fighting you.'

'You won't have to fight me, my friend.' Zalbar sat beside him. 'Instead accept me as a partner. Tempus must be stopped, and I fear it will take both of us to do it. Even then we may not be enough.'

The swarthy Hell Hound nodded in slow agreement. 'Perhaps if we acquired one of those hellish weapons that have been causing so much trouble in the Maze?' he suggested.

'I'd rather bed a viper. From the reports I've heard they cause more havoc for the wielder than for the victim. No, the plan I have in mind is of an entirely different nature.'

The bright flowers danced gaily in the breeze as Zalbar finished his lunch. Razkuli was not guarding his back today: that individual was back at the barracks enjoying a much earned rest after their night's labours. Though he shared his friend's fatigue, Zalbar indulged himself with this last pleasure before retiring.

'You sent for me. Hell Hound?'

Zalbar didn't need to turn his head to identify his visitor. He had been watching him from the corner of his eyes throughout his dusty approach.

'Sit down, Jubal,' he instructed. 'I thought you'd like to hear about my investigations.'

'It's about time,' the slaver grumbled, sinking to the ground. 'It's been a week - I was starting to doubt the seriousness of your pledge. Now, tell me why you couldn't find the killer.'

The Hell Hound ignored the sneer in Jubal's voice. 'Tempus is the killer, just as you said,' he answered casually.

'You've confirmed it? When is he being brought to trial?'

Before Zalbar could answer a terrible scream broke the calm afternoon. The Hell Hound remained unmoved, but Jubal spun towards the sound. 'What was that?' he demanded.

'That,' Zalbar explained, 'is the noise a man makes when Kurd goes looking for knowledge.'

'But I thought ... I swear to you, this is not my doing!'

'Don't worry about it, Jubal.' The Hell Hound smiled and waited for the slaver to sit down again. 'You were asking about Tempus's trial?'

'That's right,' the black man agreed, though visibly shaken.

'He'll never come to trial.'

'Because of thatT Jubal pointed to the house. 'I can stop...'

'Will you be quiet and listen! The court will never see Tempus because the prince protects him. That's why I hadn't investigated him before your complaint!'

'Royal protection!' The slaver spat. 'So he's free to hunt my people still.'

'Not exactly.' Zalbar indulged in an extravagant yawn.

'But you said...'

'I said I'd deal with him, and in your words "it's done". Tempus won't be reporting for duty today ... or ever.'

Jubal started to ask something, but another scream drowned out his words. Surging to his feet he glared at Kurd's house. 'I'm going to find out where that slave came from, and when I do...'

'It came from me, and if you value your people you won't insist on his release.'

TheslaverturnedtogapeattheseatedHellHound.'Youmean...'

'Tempus,' Zalbar nodded. 'Kurd told me of a drug he used to subdue his slaves, so I got some from Stulwig and put it in my comrade's krrf. He almost woke up when we branded him ... but Kurd was willing to accept my little peace offering with no questions asked. We even cut out his tongue as an extra measure of friendship.'

Another scream came - a low animal moan which lingered in the air as the two men listened.

'I couldn't ask for a more fitting revenge,' Jubal said at last, extending his hand. 'He'll be a long time dying.'

'If he dies at all,' Zalbar commented, accepting the handshake. 'He heals very fast, you know.'

With that the two men parted company, mindless of the shrieks that followed them.