Tales From The Vulgar Unicorn

'Inside it, so the patrons of the Unicorn say, they sell weapons. Very special weapons. And the price is dear.'

'What has this to do with me?'

' Some folk who have gone in there have not come out. And some have come out and turned one upon the other, duelling to the death. Some have merely slain whomsoever crossed their paths. Yet, word is spreading, and Ilsig and Rankan queue up like brothers before its doors. Since some of those who were standing in line were hawk-masks, I thought it good that you should know.'

'I am touched, old man. I had no idea you cared.' He threw the copper coins to the storyteller's feet and reined the horse sideways so abruptly it reared. When its feet touched the ground, he set it at a collected canter through the crowd, letting the rabble scatter before its iron-shod hooves as best they might.

2

In Sanctuary, enchantment ruled. No sorcerer believed in gods. But they believed in the Law of Correspondences, and they believed in evil. Thus, since every negative must have its positive, they implied gods. Give a god an inch and he will take your soul. That was what the commoners and the second-rate prestidigitators lined up outside the Weaponshop of Vashanka did not realize, and that was why no respectable magician or Hazard Class Enchanter stood among them.

In they filed, men to Tempus's left, towards the Vulgar Unicorn, and women to his right, towards the tenement on the corner.

Personally, Tempus did not feel it wise or dignified for a god to engage in a commercial venture. From across the street, he took notes on who came and went.

Tempus was not sure whether he was going in there, or not.

A shadow joined the queue, disengaged, walked towards the Vulgar Unicorn in the tricky light of fading stars. It saw him, hesitated, took one step back.

Tempus leaned forwards, his elbow on his pommel, and crooked a finger. 'Hanse, I would like a word with you.'

The youth cat-walked towards him, errant torch-light from the Unicorn's open door twinkling on his weapons. From ankle to shoulder, Shadowspawn bristled with armaments.

'What is it with you, Tempus? Always on my tail. There are bigger frogs than this one in Sanctuary's pond.'

'Are you not going to buy anything tonight?'

'I'll make do with what I have, thanks. I do not swithe with sorcerers.'

'Steal something for me?' Tempus whispered, leaning down. The boy had black hair, black eyes, and blacker prospects in this desperadoes' demesne.

'I'm listening.'

' Two diamond rods from the lady who came out of the sea tonight.'

'Why?'

'I won't ask you how, and you won't ask me why, or we'll forget it.' He sat up straight in his saddle.

'Forget it, then,' toughed Shadowspawn, deciding he wanted nothing to do with this Hell Hound.

'Call it a prank, a jest at the expense of an old girlfriend.'

The thief edged around where Tempus could not see him, into a dapple of deepest dark. He named a price.

The Hell Hound did not argue. Rather, he paid half in advance.

'I've heard you don't really work for Kitty. I've heard your dues to the mercenaries' guild are right up to date, and that Kitty knows better than to give you any orders. If you are not arguing about my price, it must be too low.'

Silence.

'Is it true that you roughed up that whore who died tonight? That Amoli is so afraid of you that you do whatever you want in her place and never pay?'

Tempus chuckled, a sound like the cracking of dry ice. 'I will take you there, when you deliver, and you can see for yourself what I do.'

There was no answer from the shadows, just a skittering of stones.

Yes, I will take you there, young one. And yes, you are right. About everything. You should have asked for more.

3

Tempus lingered there still, eating a boxed lunch from the Unicorn's kitchen, when a voice from above his head said, 'The deal is off. That girl is a sorceress, if a pretty one. I'll not chance ensorcel-ment to lift baubles I don't covet, and for a pittance!'

Girl? The woman was nearly his own age, unless another set of diamond rods existed, and he doubted that. He yawned, not reaching up to take the purse that dangled over the lee of the roof, 'I am disappointed. I thought Shadowspawn could steal.'

The innuendo was not lost on the invisible thief. The purse was withdrawn. An impalpable something told him he was once again alone, but for the clients of Vashanka's Weaponshop. Things would be interesting in Sanctuary, for a good little while to come. He had counted twenty-three purchasers able to walk away with their mystical armaments. Four had died while he watched, intrigued.

It was possible that a career Hell Hound such as Zaibar might have intervened. But Tempus wore Vashanka's amulet about his neck, and, if he did not agree with Him, he would at least bear with his god.

The woman he was waiting for showed there at dusk. He liked dusk; he liked it for killing and he liked it for loving. Sometimes if he was very lucky, the dusk made him tired and he could nap. A man who has been cursed by an archmage and pressed into service by a god does not sleep much. Sleep was something he chased like other men chased women. Women, in general, bored him, unless they were taken in battle, or unless they were whores.

This woman, her black hair brushing her doeskin-clad shoulders, was an exception.

He called her name, very softly. Then again: 'Cime.' She turned, and at last he was sure. He had thought Hakiem could mean no other: he had not been wrong.

Her eyes were grey as his horse. Silver shot her hair, but she was yet comely. Her hands rose, hesitated, covered a mouth pretending to hardness and tight with fear. He recognized the aborted motion other hands: towards her head, forgetful that the rods she sought were no longer there.

He did not move in his saddle, or speak again. He let her decide, glance quickly about the street, then come to him.

When her hand touched the horse's bridle, he said: 'It bites.'

'Because you taught it to. It will not bite me.' She held it by the muzzle, squeezing the pressure points that rode the skin there. The horse raised his head slightly, moaned, and stood shivering.

'What seek you in there?' He inclined his head towards Vashanka's; a lock of copper hair fell over one eye.

'The tools of my trade were stolen.'

'Have you money?'

'Some. Not enough.'

'Come with me.'

'Never again.'

'You have kept your vow, then?'

'I slay sorcerers. I cannot suffer any man to touch me except a client. I dare no love; I am chaste of heart.'

'All these aching years?'

She smiled. It pulled her mouth in hard at its corners and he saw ageing no potion or cosmetic spell could hide. 'Every one. And you? You did not take the Blue Star, or I would see it on your brow. What discipline serves your will?'

'None. Revenge is fruitless. The past is only alive in us. I am not meant for sorcery. I love logic too well.'

'So, you are yet damned?'

'If that is what you call it, I suppose - yes. I work for the Storm God, sometimes. I do a lot of wars.'

'What brought you here, Cle-'

'Tempus, now. It keeps me in perspective. I am building a temple for Him.' He pointed to Vashanka's Weaponshop, across the street. His finger shook. He hoped she had not seen. 'You must not ply your trade here. I have employment as a Hell Hound. Appearances must be preserved. Do not pit us against one another. It would be too sour a memory.'

'For whomever survived? Can it be you love me still?' Her eyes were full of wonder.

'No,' he said, but cleared his throat. 'Stay out of there. I know His service well. I would not recommend it. I will get you back what you have lost. Meet me at the Lily Garden tonight at midnight, and you will have them. I promise. Just take down no sorcerers between now and then. If you do, I will not return them, and you cannot get others.'