been the final straws to’ break the Hell-Hounds’ spirit. The chance for
reassignment was now gone. The power structure in the capital was in a turmoil,
and the very existence of a few veterans posted to duty in Sanctuary was
doubtlessly forgotten. They were stranded under the command of the Prince, who
had no use for them at all.
Both practices and meetings had become more and more infrequent as individual
Hell-Hounds found themselves drawn into the ready maw of Sanctuary’s flesh-dens
and gaming bars. There were always free drinks and women to be had for a Hell
Hound, even when it became apparent to everyone in the town that they were no
longer a force to be reckoned with. Just having one of the Hell-Hounds on the
premises was a deterrent to cheats and petty criminals, so the bartenders and
madames bore the expense of their indulgences willingly.
The downhill slide had been slow but certain. The whores’ conversation he had
overheard served to confirm what he had suspected for some time … that the
Hell-Hounds had not only fallen from favor, they were actually held in contempt
by the same low-life townspeople they had once sneered at. Once-proud soldiers
were now a pack of pitiful barflies … and this town had done it to them.
Zalbar shook his head.
No. That wasn’t right. His own personal downfall had been started by a specific
action. It had started when he agreed to team up with Jubal in an effort to deal
with Tempus. It had started with the death of …
“Help me, Zalbar.”
For once, Zalbar’s nerves were under control. He didn’t even look around.