letting the rabble scatter before its iron-shod hooves as best they might.
2
In Sanctuary, enchantment ruled. No sorcerer believed in gods. But they believed
in the Law of Correspondences, and they believed in evil. Thus, since every
negative must have its positive, they implied gods. Give a god an inch and he
will take your soul. That was what the commoners and the second-rate
prestidigitators lined up outside the Weaponshop of Vashanka did not realize,
and that was why no respectable magician or Hazard Class Enchanter stood among
them.
In they filed, men to Tempus’s left, towards the Vulgar Unicorn, and women to
his right, towards the tenement on the corner.
Personally, Tempus did not feel it wise or dignified for a god to engage in a
commercial venture. From across the street, he took notes on who came and went.
Tempus was not sure whether he was going in there, or not.
A shadow joined the queue, disengaged, walked towards the Vulgar Unicorn in the
tricky light of fading stars. It saw him, hesitated, took one step back.
Tempus leaned forwards, his elbow on his pommel, and crooked a finger. ‘Hanse, I
would like a word with you.’
The youth cat-walked towards him, errant torch-light from the Unicorn’s open
door twinkling on his weapons. From ankle to shoulder, Shadowspawn bristled with
armaments.
‘What is it with you, Tempus? Always on my tail. There are bigger frogs than
this one in Sanctuary’s pond.’
‘Are you not going to buy anything tonight?’
‘I’ll make do with what I have, thanks. I do not swithe with sorcerers.’