For a fleeting moment, something akin to sympathy flashed in the Hell Hound’s
eyes as he shook his head.
‘You’re wrong, Jubal,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve already paid the price for doing
business in Sanctuary. It isn’t your life, it’s your soul… your humanity.
You’ve exchanged it for gold, and in my opinion, it was a poor bargain.’
Their eyes met, and it was Jubal who averted his gaze first, unsettled by the
Hell Hound’s words. Looking away, his glance fell on the body of Mungo – the boy
he had admired and thought of bringing into his household – the boy whose life
he had wanted to change. When he turned again, the Hell Hound was gone.
BLOOD BROTHERS
by Joe Haldeman
Smiling, bowing as the guests leave. A good luncheon, much reassuring talk from
the gentry assembled: the economy of Sanctuary is basically sound. Thank you, my
new cook … he’s from Twand, isn’t he a marvel? The host appears to be rather
in need of a new diet than anew cook, though the heavy brocades he affects may
make him look stouter than he actually is. Good leave … certainly, tomorrow.
Tell your aunt I’m thinking of her.
You will stay, of course, Amar. One departing guest raises an eyebrow slightly,
our host a boy-loveri We do have business.
Enoir, you may release the servants until dawn. Give yourself : a free evening
as well. We will be dining in the city. • And thank you for the excellent
service. Here.
He laughs. Don’t thank me. Just don’t spend it all on one woman. As the servant
master leaves, our host’s bluff expression I fades to one of absolute