neither glory nor honor and his commissions thus far had been pedestrian-like
duty at the Sanctuary garrison: the antithesis of honor and glory. “I will be
known,” he resolved after a moment’s thought. “While I’m alive I’ll be
respected. When I’m dead I’ll be memorialized-“
“You’re already known, lad, or have you forgotten that? You have rediscovered
Enlibar steel. You don’t dare show your face because of it. How much honor and
glory do you think you’ll need before you can walk the streets of Ranke? Twenty
five swords? Fifty swords? Do you think they’ll believe you when you tell them
we made the steel with bits of an old Wrigglie necklace? Eh?”
Walegrin stood up. He paced a circle around the seated cripple. “I will succeed.
I’ll succeed now or die.”
With a quick, invisible movement of his crutch, Balustrus brought Walegrin
sprawling into the dust. “It is impolite to speak to the back of my head. Your
fortunes have changed, and could change again. The Empire has never given you
anything-and will not ever give you anything. But the Empire means nothing to
Sanctuary.
“There is power here, lad, not glory or honor but pure power. Power you can use
to buy all the honor and glory you want. I tell you, Walegrin- Jubal’s not
coming back. His world’s ripe for taking.”
“You’ve said that before. So Jubal rots under his mansion. How many bloodied
hawkmasks have been nailed to the Downwind bridge? Even if I were tempted,
there’s nothing left.”
“Tempus is culling the ranks for you. The wiserones are safe, I’m sure. They’ve