“But I am not skilled with a sword!-Lord of Shadows,” he added.
That fortunate fact was not to be his succor as he hoped. Fight a god!
Shadowspawn? Hanse? No no, he wanted only to fly from here and lose himself in
that cess-warren called the Maze, forever!
But: “There is one in Sanctuary who is more than expert with the sword and the
business of killing, and he allows that he owes you. With him now are those who
are skilled at teaching use of the sword, and they are his liege-men, Hanse.
Hanse: use him. He will see to your instruction, and with pleasure. You shall
learn prodigiously and surprise them, for I shall be there with you, Hanse who
are the Chosen of Ilsig.”
Now Hanse was propping himself with both hands on a high-backed chair, and at
last Eshi took notice.
“We are cruel, brother! Shadowspawn-seat yourself.”
Shadowspan obeyed with gratitude and alacrity. He almost collapsed into the
chair. He took a very deep breath, let part of it out, and was able to form
words by letting them ride the breath: “But … uh … then what?”
“You will know, Hanse.”
Then Shadowspawn twitched away at a sound beside him. He looked at the floor
beside his chair, at what had only just appeared there, and could not possibly
be there. Clinking, dripping, running water, were the bags off the saddle of a
dead man named Bourne. Hanse’s saddlebags, from the deeps of the well just
outside! The ransom of the Savankh, which he had stolen for little purpose other
than his own ego and pride-which had soared, then. The ransom Prince Kitty-cat