Commando asks for a list of warrants against their enemies; Jubal’s proxy asks
for warrants against Downwinders and merchants; citizens from the jewelers’
quarter demand warrants against Jubal’s lot and half the Commando; everyone
wants warrants on the Stepsons-“
“Any word from the Stepsons’ Commander?”
“Straton presented his warrant-“
“Hoxa!” Molin looked up from his writing table without moving his head.
“No, Lord Torchholder. There’s no reply from Tern-pus.”
The enmity between the priest and the not-quite-immortal commander of the
Stepsons had never been expressed in words. It was instinctive and mutual on
both sides but now, because Kadakithis had admitted that Tempus was the real
father of the tantrum-throwing godlet in the nursery, Molin needed Tempus and
Tempus was incommunicado somewhere along Wizardwall.
Torchholder was not, however, allowed the luxury of contemplating the myriad
disappointments around him. The door from the antechamber burst open to admit
the unhappy figure of his wife, Rosanda.
“I knew you were in here-sneaking around like vermin -avoiding me.”
A wife had never been part of Molin’s dreams for the future-and certainly not a
wife like Brachis had foisted off on him. It was not that the priests of
Vashanka were celibate; they had problems enough without such unnatural
strictures. Simply put, it was the custom of Vashanka’s priests-priests, after
all, of the Divine Rapist-to choose rather more casual liaisons among the many
Azyunas the temple housed in their cloisters. No Vashankan ever voluntarily