and-death decisions.”
A cloud passed over Saliman’s expression. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I
don’t share many of your emotions. I helped you build your web of power in
Sanctuary; helped you select and hire the hawkmasks who were so casually
butchered in the raid. I, too, want revenge- though I know I’m not the one to
engineer it. You are, and I’m willing to risk everything to keep you alive until
that vengeance is complete.”
“Alive like this?” Jubal challenged. “How much charisma does a cripple have?
Enough to rally a vengeful army?”
Saliman averted his eyes. “If you cannot regain your power,” he admitted, “I’ll
find another to follow. But first I’ll stay with you until you’ve reached your
decision. If there’s anyone who can inspire a force it’s you-even crippled.”
“Then your advice is to let Stulwig do his work?”
“There seems to be no option-unless you’d rather death.”
“There is one,” Jubal grinned humorlessly, “though it’s one I am loathe to take.
I want you to seek out Balustrus, the metal-master. Tell him of our situation
and ask… no, beg him to give us shelter.”
“Balustrus?” Saliman repeated the name as if it tasted bad. “I don’t trust him.
There’re those who say he’s mad.”
“He’s served us well in the past-whatever else he’s done,” the slaver pointed
out. “And, more important-he’s familiar with the sorcer-ous element in town.”
“Sorcery?” Saliman was genuinely astounded.
“Aye,” Jubal nodded grimly. “As I said, I have little taste for the option, but
it’s still an option nonetheless . . . and perhaps better than death or