transgressors when their offence was far less certain.’
Now it was Jubal who averted his eyes in discomfort. ‘We’ve tried,’ he admitted,
‘Tempus seems exceptionally hard to down. Some of my men went against my orders
and used magical weapons. The result was four more bloody masks to his credit.’
The Hell Hound could hear the desperate appeal in the slaver’s confession.
‘I cannot allow him to continue his sport, but the price of stopping him grows
fearfully high. I’m reduced to asking for your intervention. You, more than the
others, have prided yourself in performing your duties in strict adherence to
the codes of justice. Tell me, doesn’t the law apply equally to everyone?’
A dozen excuses and explanations leapt to Zalbar’s lips, then a cold wave of
anger swept them away. ‘You’re right, though I never thought you’d be the one to
point out my duty to me. A killer in uniform is still a killer and should be
punished for his crimes … all of them. If Tempus is your murderer, I’ll
personally see to it that he’s dealt with.’
‘Very well.’ Jubal nodded. ‘And in return, I’ll fill my end of the bargain
Kurd will no longer work in Sanctuary.’
Zalbar opened his mouth to protest. The temptation was almost too great – if
Jubal could make good his promise – but, no, ‘I’d have to insist that your
actions remain within the law,’ he murmured reluctantly. ‘I can’t ask you to do
anything illegal.’
‘Not only is it legal, it’s done! Kurd is out of business as of now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Kurd can’t work without subjects,’ the slaver smiled, ‘and I’m his supplier