‘Will you say yea, then, friend of the Riddler? And become my friend, also?
These other friends of mine await only your willingness to embrace you as a
brother.’
‘I own,’ Hanse muttered.
Abarsis raised one winged brow. ‘So? They are members of a Sacred Band, my old
one; most prized officers; heroes, every pair.’ He judged Hanse’s face. ‘Can it
be you do not have the custom, in the south? From your mien I must believe it.’
His voice was liquid, like deep running water. ‘These men, to me and to their
chosen partners, have sworn to forsake life before honour, to stand and never
retreat, to fall where they fight if need be, shoulder to shoulder. There is no
more hallowed tryst than theirs. Had I a thousand such, I would rule the earth.’
‘Which one is yours?’ Hanse tried not to sneer, to be conversational, unshaken,
but his eyes could find no comfortable place to rest, so that at last he took up
the gift-sword and examined the hieratic writing on its blade.
‘None. I left them, long ago, when my partner went up to heaven. Now I have
hired them back, to serve a need. It is strictly a love of spirit, Hanse, that
is required. And only in Sacred Bands is a mercenary asked so much.’
‘Still, it’s not my style.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘I am. In your offer. Pay me twice that, and I will get the items you desire. As
for your friends, I don’t care if you bugger them each twice daily. Just as long
as it’s not part of my job and no one thinks I am joining any organizations.’
A swift, appreciative smile touched Abarsis. ‘Twice, then. I am at your mercy’