10 – Aftermath by Asprin, Robert

“Life to you,” Crit said cautiously, keeping rein contact with his horse’s mouth with one hand and his other on the crossbow he could shoot without disengaging from its saddle hook.

“And the rest, as follows,” said the other man whose helmet, on the pile of stones, was of an ancient style from far to the west. “I’m looking for Tempus.”

“You’ve found his first officer.” Old habits died hard. “I’m holding the bag here till he returns.” Everything about this fighter screamed trouble; the fact that he was looking for the Riddler didn’t mitigate that: whoever Tempus wanted for his sortie, he’d already contacted.

“You’ll do, then.”

“Thanks. Do for what?”

“I’m offering my services- Tempus needs a little help here, I was told.” The man was Crit’s height but somewhat heavier, in his middle years, scarred enough by war and wind and sun to prove him mortal. His head was broad and strong and resembled, more than anything else, a human version of the helmet he’d set on the piled stones. The red-brown eyes in that face held Crit’s implacably, and the Stepson had the unmistakable impression that he was being judged.

“He’s not here, I said.”

“But the problems are, and you’re short-handed, so they say up at the guild hostel.”

“Who sent you?” Bluntly put. If this fighter was a mere, as he said, the guild records could tell him something about the man he was looking at -if Crit needed to know any more.

A quirked smile that showed no teeth. “Your need, for certain-and the Riddler’s. The Storm God, if you like.”