him.
And he was still awake, later, when there came a gentle knock on his outer door.
Instant shock. Fear. Doubt. And then, trembling, he was at the vent asking the
question: ‘Who is it?’
The voice of Illyra answered softly, ‘I am here, Alten, as we agreed this
morning, to pay my debt in kind.’
Long pause. Because the doubt and shock, and the beginning of disappointment,
were absolutely intense. So long a pause that the woman spoke again: ‘My
blacksmith, as you call him, has gone to the temple of Ils and will not be back
until morning.’
On one level – the level of his desire – it had the ring of truth. But the
denying thought was stronger. Suppose this was Azyuna, forced by her shamed
brother-lover to make one more entrance into the home of the healer; so that the
brother could use some mysterious connection with her to penetrate hard walls.
Then, when death had been dealt, Ils would again be disgraced.
Thinking thus, a reluctant Stulwig said, ‘You are freed of your promise, Illyra.
Fate has worked once more to deny me one of the great joys of life. And once
more enabled you to remain faithful to that hulking monster.’
The healer uttered a long sigh; finished: ‘Perhaps, I shall have better fortune
next time.’
As he returned to his sheepskin he did have the male thought that a night when a
man made love to a goddess, could surely not be considered a total loss.
In fact-Remembering, suddenly, that the affair had also included embracing, in
its early stages, an Illyra look-alike, Stulwig began to relax. It was then that