And now! Now there were the Rankans who swaggered and Prince Kadakithis who
really did not but who ruled, governed; and Tempus-0 ye gods, there was Tempus!
and his mercenary friends, who swaggered-and nothing was simple.
Now a god had spoken to Hanse-Hanse!- and then another, and Hanse had rather
they just kept to themselves. The business of soldiers was killing and the
business of Prince-Governors was ruling and killing and the business of gods was
godding and the business of one smallish dark thief of thieves’ world was
thieving.
But now Shadowspawn was agent for gods.
Sword clanged on sword and well-guided blade slid along brilliantly interposed
blade with a screech as loud as the grinding of a personal ax. That shrill
ugliness was punctuated by a grunt chorused from two throats.
“Stopped me again, Stealth,” one combatant grunted, stepping back and twitching
his head sharply to the side. Sweat crept like persistent oil from his black mop
under the blood-red sweat-band and into his eyebrows. He jerked his head to send
it flying; the gesture carried all the constant impatience of youth.
“Barely,” the other man said. He was bigger though not much older and in a way
his face was more boyish than that of his opponent, who had for years cultivated
a mean, menacing look he knew made him look older, and dangerous. The bigger man
was fair in contrast to the other. His hair was as if splashed or streaked with
silver so that it was cinerous.
“I own it, Shadowspawn: you are good and you are a natural. Now. Want to work a