who do business with me. We both acknowledge the corruption in our world. Hell
Hound. The difference is that, unlike yourself, I don’t try to protect the world
– I’m hard-pressed to protect myself and my own.’
Zalbar set down his unfinished drink. ‘I’ll leave your mask and cloak outside,’
he said levelly, ‘I fear that the difference is too great for us to enjoy a
drink together.’
Anger flashed in the slaver’s eyes. ‘But you will investigate the murders?’
‘I will,’ the Hell Hound promised, ‘and as the complaining citizen you’ll be
informed of the results of my investigation.’
Tempus was working on his sword when Zalbar and Razkuli approached him. They had
deliberately waited to confront him here in the barracks rather than at his
favoured haunt, the Lily Garden. Despite everything that had or might occur,
they were all Army and what was to be said should not be heard by civilians
outside their elite club.
Tempus favoured them with a sullen glare, then brazenly returned his attention
to his work. It was an unmistakable affront as he was only occupied with filing
a series of saw-like teeth into one edge of his sword: a project that should run
a poor second to speaking with the Hell Hound’s captain.
‘I would have a word with you, Tempus,’ Zalbar announced, swallowing his anger.
‘It’s your prerogative,’ the other replied without looking up.
Razkuli shifted his feet, but a look from his friend stilled him.
‘I have had a complaint entered against you,’ Zalbar continued. ‘A complaint
which has been confirmed by numerous witnesses. I felt it only fair to hear your