joined him on his wood-framed cot in blessed shadow. Both sat then, silent, as
day filled up the room, stealing away their hiding place. Elbows on knees, Niko
thanked him for coming. Tempus suggested that under the circumstances a bier
could still be made, and funerary games would not be out of order. When he got
no response, the mercenary’s commander sighed rattlingly and allowed that he
himself would be honored to perform the rites. He knew how the Sacred Ban-ders
who had adopted the war name “Stepsons” revered him. He did not condone or
encourage it, but since they had given him their love and were probably doomed
to the man for it-even as their original leader, Stepson, called Abarsis, had
been doomed-Tempus felt responsible for them. His instructions and his curse had
sent the gelded warrior-priest Abarsis to his death, and such fighters as these
could not offer loyalty to a lesser man, to a pompous prince or an abstracted
cause. Sacred Bands were the mercenaries’ elite; this one’s history under the
Slaughter Priest’s command was nearly mythical; Abarsis had brought his men
to Tempus before committing suicide in a most honorable fashion, leaving
them as his parting gift-and as his way of ensuring that Tempus could not
just walk away from the god Vashanka’s service: Abarsis had been Vashanka’s
priest.
Of all the mercenaries Rankan money had enabled Tempus to gather for
Prince/Governor Kadakithis, this young recruit was the most singular. There was
something remarkable about the finely made slate-haired fighter with his quiet