an agreement.”
The Prince led the way along unfamiliar corridors. They were in the private part
of the palace and the surroundings, though crude by capital standards, dazzled
Walegrin. He bumped into the Prince when the latter stopped by a closed door.
“Now, don’t forget-we haven’t agreed to anything. No, wait-give me your sword.”
Feeling trapped, Walegrin unbuckled his sword and handed it to the Prince.
“He’s arrived, Tempus,” Kadakithus announced in his most innane voice. “Look, he
gave me a present! One of his steel swords.”
Tempus looked around from a window. He had some of the god’s presence to him.
Walegrin felt distinctly outclassed and doubted that Kitty-cat could do anything
to help him. He doubted that even the metal boss in his pouch could help him
free Thrusher or Illyra.
“The steel is Sanctuary’s secret, not Kilite’s?” Tempus demanded.
“Of course,” the Prince assured him. “Kilite will never know. The entire capital
will never know.”
“All right, then. Bring him in,” Tempus shouted.
Five Stepsons crowded into the room, a hooded prisoner with them. They sent the
man sprawling to the marble floor. Thrusher pulled the hood loose and scrambled
to his feet. A livid bruise covered one side of his face, his clothes were torn
and revealed other cuts and bruises, but he was not seriously hurt.
“Your man-I should have let my men have him. He killed two last night.”
“Not men!” Thrusher spat out. “Whoresons; men don’t steal women and leave them
for the rats!”
One of the Stepsons moved forward. Walegrin recognized him as the one who had