blade. ‘I helped him out, once or twice, that’s all.’
‘That is good,’ the youth across from him approved. ‘Then we will not have to
fight over him. And, too, we could work a certain bargain, service for service,
that would make me happy and you, I modestly estimate, a gentleman of ease for
at least six months.’
‘I’m listening,’ said Shadowspawn, taking a chance, commending his knife to its
sheath. The short sword too, he handled, fitting it in the scabbard and drawing
it out, fascinated by the alert scrutiny of Abarsis the Stepson’s six
companions.
When he began hearing the words ‘diamond rods’ and ‘Hall of Judgement’ he waxed
uneasy. But by then, he could not sec any way that he could allow himself to
appear less than heroic in the pale, blue-grey eyes of Stepson. Not when the
amount of money Stepson had offered hung in the balance, not when the nobly
fashioned sword he had been given as if it were merely serviceable proclaimed
the flashy mercenary’s ability to pay that amount. But too, if he would pay
that, he would pay more. Hanse was not so enthralled by the mercenaries’
mystique to hasten into one’s pay without some good Sanctuary barter.
Watching Stepson’s six formidable companions, waiting like purebred hunting
dogs curried for show, he spied a certain litheness about them, an uncanny
cleanliness of limb and nearness of girded hips. Close friends, these. Very
close.
Abarsis’s sonorous voice had ceased, waiting for Hanse’s response. The
disconcertingly pale eyes followed Hanse’s stare, frank now, to his companions.