‘I must kill him. I cannot … live in the same world and … breathe the same
air with one who … shamed me so … and still call myself a man.’
For a moment, Razkuli swayed as if speaking had drained him of all energy, then
he carefully lowered himself onto a bench, propping his back against the wall.
‘I must kill him,’ he repeated, his voice steadying. ‘Even if it means fighting
you.’
‘You won’t have to fight me, my friend.’ Zalbar sat beside him. ‘Instead accept
me as a partner. Tempus must be stopped, and I fear it will take both of us to
do it. Even then we may not be enough.’
The swarthy Hell Hound nodded in slow agreement. ‘Perhaps if we acquired one of
those hellish weapons that have been causing so much trouble in the Maze?’ he
suggested.
‘I’d rather bed a viper. From the reports I’ve heard they cause more havoc for
the wielder than for the victim. No, the plan I have in mind is of an entirely
different nature.’
The bright flowers danced gaily in the breeze as Zalbar finished his lunch.
Razkuli was not guarding his back today: that individual was back at the
barracks enjoying a much earned rest after their night’s labours. Though he
shared his friend’s fatigue, Zalbar indulged himself with this last pleasure
before retiring.
‘You sent for me. Hell Hound?’
Zalbar didn’t need to turn his head to identify his visitor. He had been
watching him from the corner of his eyes throughout his dusty approach.
‘Sit down, Jubal,’ he instructed. ‘I thought you’d like to hear about my
investigations.’
‘It’s about time,’ the slaver grumbled, sinking to the ground. ‘It’s been a week