natural and unnatural peril. He hadn’t swom to stand by Strat, shoulder to
shoulder, until death separated them if it must, only in cases where it was
convenient, or magic wasn’t involved, or Strat was behaving as a rightman ought,
or the problem didn’t involve an urban war zone and the possibility of being
roasted alive.
The oath was binding, under any circumstances.
Watching the fiery tornado, like nothing he’d ever seen but the waterspouts of
wizard weather or the cyclone that had fought in the last battle on Wizardwall,
he was trying to determine whether it had a pattern to its burning and its
wriggling, whether the lightning spewing from the cloud above was dependable as
to target or random, and in general just how the hell he was going to get in
there.
Because Strat was in there. Everything pointed to it; Randal was sure of it; no
ransom demands had come forth from the PFLS. His orders were to fetch Strat and
Kama.
Kama could wait until all the hells froze over and Sanctuary sank into the sea,
for all he cared. He’d had an affair with Tempus’s daughter, true: he was
willing to pay for his indiscretion, not complaining. But Strat was his partner
Strat came first.
If they’d had arguments, then that was normal-they’d have them again… over
women especially. It went with pairbond, and he’d beat Strat silly if he had to,
to win his point. As soon as he had the porking bastard back where he could pull
rank, they’d settle things.
But you couldn’t settle anything with a dead man, unless he became undead like