he had learned the axiom that Mind is unlimited and self-controlled, but all
other things are connected; that nothing is completely separated off from any
other thing, nor are things divided one from the other, except Mind.
The sorcerers put it another way: they called the consciousness of all things
into service, according to the laws of magic.
Not philosophy, nor theology, nor thaumaturgy held the answer for Tempus; he had
turned away from them, each and all. But he could not forget what he had
learned.
And none of the adepts like to admit that no servitor can be hired without
wages. The wages of unnatural life are unnatural death.
He wished he could wake up in Azehur, with his family, and know that he had
dreamed this impious dream.
But instead he came to Amoli’s whorehouse, the Lily Garden. Almost, but not
quite, he rode the horse up its stairs. Resisting the temptation, he reflected
that in every age he had ever studied, doom-criers abounded. No millenium is
attractive to the man immured in it; enough prophecies have been made in
antiquity that one who desires, in any age, to take the position that Apocalypse
is at hand can easily defend it. He would not join that dour Order; he would not
worry about anything but Tempus, and the matter awaiting his attention.
Inside Amoli’s, Hanse the thief sat in full swagger, a pubescent girl on each
knee.
‘Ah,’ he waved. ‘I have something for you.’ Shadowspawn tumbled both girls off
of him, and stood, stretching widely, so that every arm-dagger and belted
sticker and thigh-sheath creaked softly. The girls at his feet stayed there,