Through a fit of sneezing he miserably endured, Randal hurried forward, saying,
“My lord commander, welcome, welcome.”
And the First Hazard, Cat, behind him, uttered a curse which bounced around the room in a gray and sickly pall until, once Tempus had dismounted, the Tros horse flattened its ears at the half-manifested ectoplasm and kicked it to pieces.
“Hazard,” said the Riddler to Randal, “and Hazard,” to Cat. “Would you leave us.
First Hazard? My wizard and I need to talk.”
“Your wizard” said Cat, still reflexively acting as powerful as he’d once been.
Then his color drained as he remembered his circumstances and put two and two together. “Oh yes, your wizard. I see, my lord Tempus. Dinner will be at sundown, if you’d grace us. I’m sure we can find some… carrots… for your… mount.”
Not a word about the desecration of the Mageguild by a horse, not a single additional attempt to regain control where all attempts were useless: Cat just chewed his lip.
Even though Randal’s eyes were already watering, he felt a deep and abiding sadness for the handsome young First Hazard, although in former times he had wished, more than anything, to be possessed of so fine a form and face and bloodline as the Rankan who scurried out of his own sanctum so that Randal and his commander could confer in private.
It was what you were, not how you looked, that mattered these days in Sanctuary.
And Randal was the only warrior-wizard in a town that soon would value warriors much more than wizards.
“You need me, commander?” Randal said, trying to speak clearly despite the clogging of his nose which proximity to the Tros horse was causing.