portrait. There would be no surprises until Randal walked through the door at
midnight-then there would be surprises enough for gods, priests, witches,
soldiers and mages alike.
KEEPING PROMISES
Robin W. Bailey
A horse careered insanely along the Governor’s Walk, heedless of the cold,
drizzling mist that treacherously slicked the paving stones. Its breath came in
great steaming clouds. It made the corner onto the Avenue of Temples at a speed
that threatened to unseat the two cloaked riders on its back.
From the shadowed steps of the Temple of Ils a small, lithe figure leaped into
the road. There was the glint of metal in its clenched fist. With a wild shout
the figure flung out its arms. The horse whinnied in terror, reared, and crashed
to a stop.
The rider in the saddle answered with a curse, swung downward with a sword, and
made a swift end of the attacker on the ground.
“More behind and coming fast!” the second rider warned, wrapping arms even more
tightly about the first rider. “Go, damn it!”
Again, the horse raced onward, past the park called the Promise of Heaven where
half-starved women sold their bodies for the price of a lean meal. The beast
wheeled to the right and down a street between two dark and immense edifices. A
set of massive iron gates loomed.
The first rider jerked sharply on the reins, threw a leg over the mount’s head,
and jumped to the ground. The second rider slid backward over the damp, lathered
rump, stumbled, then sagged to the pavement.
A hood was flung back; a pommel smashed against the unyielding barriers. A voice