young, or so foolish, as he had lately come to think that he had been. And
, if thus the man, then his epoch, too, was freed of memory’s hindsightful
taint.
And the god and he were reconciled: This pushed away his curse and the shadow of
distress it cast ever before him. His troubles with the prince had subsided.
Zaibar had come through his test of fire and returned to stand his duty,
thinking deeply, walking quietly. His courage would mend. Tempus knew his sort.
Jubal’s disposition he had left to Kadakithis. He had wanted to take the famous
ex-gladiator’s measure in single combat, but there was no fitness in it now,
since the man would never be quick on his feet, should he live to regain the use
of them.
Not that the world was as ridiculously beautiful as was the arrogant summer
morning which did not understand that it was a Sanctuary morning and therefore
should at least be gory, garish or full of flies buzzing about his head. No, one
could find a few thorns in one’s path, still. There was Shadowspawn, called
Hanse, exhibiting unseemly and proprietary grief over Abarsis whenever it served
him, yet not taking a billet among the Stepsons that Tempus had offered.
Privately, Tempus thought he might yet come to it, that he was trying to step
twice into the same river. When his feet chilled enough, he would step out on to
the banks of manhood. If he could sit a horse better, perhaps his pride would
let him join in where now, because of that, he could only sneer.
Hanse, too, must find his own path. He was not Tempus’s problem, though Tempus