would gladly take on that burden should Shadowspawn ever indicate a desire to
have help toting it.
His sister, Cime, however, was his problem, his alone, and the enormity of that
conundrum had him casting about for any possible solution, taking pat answers up
and putting them down like gods move seeds from field to field. He could kill
her, rape her, deport her; he could not ignore her, forget her, or suffer
along without confronting her.
That she and One-Thumb had become enamoured of one another was something he had
not counted on. Such a thing had never occurred to him.
Tempus felt the god rustling around in him, the deep cavernous sensing in his
most private skull that told him the deity was going to speak. Silently! he
warned the god. They were uneasy with each other, yet, like two lovers after a
trial separation.
We can take her, mildly, and then she will leave. You cannot tolerate her
presence. Drive her off. I will help thee, spake Vashanka.
‘Must you be so predictable, Pillager?’ Tempus mumbled under his breath, so that
Abarsis’s Tros horse swivelled its ears back to eavesdrop. He slapped its neck,
and told it to continue on straight and smartly. They were headed towards
Lastel’s modest eastside estate.
Constancy is one of My attributes, jibed the god in Tempus’s head meaningfully.
‘You are not getting her, 0 Ravening One. You who are never satisfied, in this
one thing, will not triumph. What would we have between us to keep it clear who
is whom? I cannot allow it.’
You will, said Vashanka so loud in his head that he winced in his saddle and the