could want to know, so that the thief’s eyes slid away, sick and mistrustful,
when Tempus would chance upon him in the Maze.
But even then, Tempus’s break with divinity was not complete. Hopefully, he
stood as Vashanka in the recreation of the Ten-Slaying and Seduction of Azyuna,
thinking to propitiate the god while saving face – to no avail. Soon after,
hearing that his sister, Cime, had been apprehended slaying sorcerers wantonly
in their beds, he had thrown the amulet of Vashanka, which he had worn since
former times, out to sea from this very shore – he had had no choice. Only so
much can be borne from men, so much from gods. Zaibar, had he the wit, would
have revelled in Tempus’s barely hidden reaction to his news that the fearsome
mage-killer was now in custody, her diamond rods locked away in the Hall of
Judgement awaiting her disposition.
He growled to himself, thinking about her, her black hair winged with grey, in
Sanctuary’s unsegregated dungeons where any syphilitic rapist could have her at
will, while he must not touch her at all, or raise hand to help her lest he
start forces in motion he could not control. His break with the god stemmed from
her presence in Sanctuary, as his endless wandering as Vashanka’s minion had
stemmed from an altercation he had over her with a mage. If he went down into
the pits and took her, the god would be placated; he had no desire to reopen
relations with Vashanka, who had turned His face away from His servant. If
Tempus brought her out under his own aegis, he would have the entire