'Look, my friend,' Zalbar sighed, 'I've already had one of my men killed under scandalous circumstances. I don't want to answer for another incident particularly if it involves you. Can't you see Tempus is trying to goad you into a fight? - a fight you can't win.'
'No one lives that I've seen over an arrow,' Razkuli said ominously, his eyes narrowing on an imaginary target.
'Murder, Razkuli? I never thought I'd see the day you'd sink to being an assassin.'
There was a sharp intake of breath and Razkuli faced his comrade with eyes that showed a glint of madness. Then the spark faded and the small man's shoulders relaxed. 'You're right, my friend,' he said, shaking his head, 'I would never do that. Anger speeds my tongue ahead of reason.'
'As it did when you vowed blood-feud. You've survived countless foes who were mortal; don't try the favour of the gods by seeking an enemy who is not.'
'Then the rumours about Tempus are true?' Razkuli asked, his eyes narrowing again.
'I don't know, there are things about him which are difficult to explain by any other logic. Did you see how rapidly his leg healed? We both know men whose soldiering career was ended after they were caught under a horse - yet he was standing duty again within the week.'
'Such a man is an affront against Nature.'
'Then let Nature take vengeance on him,' Zalbar laughed, clapping a friendly hand on his comrade's shoulder, 'and free us for more worthwhile pastimes. Come, I'll buy you lunch. It will be a pleasant change from barracks food.'
Haakon, the sweetmeats vendor, brightened as the two soldiers approached him and waited patiently while they made their selections from his spiced-meat turnovers.
'That will be three coppers,' he smiled through yellowed teeth. 'Three coppers?' Razkuli exclaimed angrily, but Zalbar silenced him with a nudge in the ribs.
'Here, fellow...' the Hell-Hound commander dropped some coins into Haakon's outstretched hand, 'take four. Those of us from the Capitol are used to paying full value for quality goods -though I suppose that this far from civilization you have to adjust the prices to accommodate the poorer folk.'
The barb went home and Zalbar was rewarded by a glare of pure hatred before he turned away, drawing Razkuli with him. 'Four coppers! You were being overcharged at three!'
'I know.' Zalbar winked. 'But I refuse to give them the satisfaction of haggling. I find it's worth the extra copper to see their faces when I imply that they're selling below value - it's one of the few pleasures available in this hellhole.'
'I never thought of it that way,' Razkuli said with a laugh, 'but you're right. My father would have been livid if someone deliberately overpaid him. Do me a favour and let me try it when we buy the wine.'
Razkuli's refusal to bargain brought much the same reaction from the wineseller. The dark mood of their conversation as they had entered the bazaar had vanished and they were ready to eat with calm humour.
'You provided the food and drink, so I'll provide the setting,' Razkuli declared, tucking the wine-flask into his belt. 'I know a spot which is both pleasant and relaxing.'
'It must be outside the city.'
'It is, just outside the Common Gate. Come on, the city won't miss our presence for an hour or so.'
Zalbar was easily persuaded though more from curiosity than belief. Except for occasional patrols along the Street of Red Lanterns he rarely got outside Sanctuary's North Wall and had never explored the area to the northwest where Razkuli. was leading him.
It was a different world here, almost as if they had stepped through a magic portal into another land. The buildings were scattered, with large open spaces between them, in contrast to the cramped shops and narrow alleys of the city proper. The air was refreshingly free from the stench of unwashed bodies jostling each other in crowded streets. Zalbar relaxed in the peaceful surround . ings. The pressures of patrolling the hateful town slipped away like a heavy cloak, allowing him to look forwards to an uninterrupted meal in pleasant company.
'Perhaps you could speak to Tempus? We needn't like each other, but if he could find another target for his taunts, it would do much towards easing my hatred.'
Zalbar shot a wary glance at his comrade, but detected none of the blind anger which he had earlier expressed. The question seemed to be an honest attempt on Razkuli's part to find a corn-promise solution to an intolerable situation.
'I would, if I thought it would help,' he sighed reluctantly, 'but I fear I have little influence on him. If anything, it would only make matters worse. He would redouble his attacks to prove he wasn't afraid of me either.'
'But you're his superior officer,' Razkuli argued.
'Officially, perhaps,' his friend shrugged, 'but we both know there are gaps between what is official and what is true. Tempus has the Prince's ear. He's a free agent here and follows my orders only when it suits him.'
'You've kept him out of the Aphrodesia House...'
'Only because I had convinced the prince of the necessity of maintaining the good will of that House before Tempus arrived,' Zalbar countered, shaking his head. 'I had to go to the prince to curb Tempus's ill-conduct and earned his hatred for it. You notice he still does what he pleases at the Lily Garden - and the prince looks the other way. No, I wouldn't count on my influence over Tempus. I don't think he would physically attack me because of my position in the Prince's bodyguard. I also don't think he would come to my aid if I were hard-pressed in a fight.'
Just then Zalbar noticed a small flower garden nestled beside a . house not far from their path. A man was at work in the garden, watering and pruning. The sight created a sudden wave of nostalgia in the Hell Hound. How long had it been since he stood outside the Emperor's Palace in the Capitol, fighting boredom by watching the gardeners pampering the flowered grounds? It seemed like a lifetime. Despite the fact that he was a soldier by profession, or perhaps because he was a soldier, he had always admired the calm beauty of flowers.
'Let's eat there ... under that tree,' he suggested, indicating a spot with a view of the garden. 'It's as good a place as any.' Razkuli hesitated, glancing at the gardened house and started to say something, then shrugged and veered towards the tree. Zalbar saw the mischievous smile flit briefly across his comrade's face, but ignored it, preferring to contemplate the peaceful garden instead.
The pair dined in the manner of hardened, but off-duty, campaigners. Rather than facing each other, or sitting side-by-side, the two assumed back-to-back positions in the shade of a spreading tree. The earthenware wine-flask was carefully placed to one side, but in easy reach of both. Not only did the arrangement give them a full circle of vision to ensure that their meal would be uninterrupted, it also allowed a brief illusion of privacy for the individual a rare commodity to those whose profession required that every moment be shared with at least a dozen colleagues. To further that illusion they ate in silence. Conversation would be neither attempted nor tolerated until both were finished with their meal. It was the stance of men who trusted each other completely.
Although his position allowed him a clear view of the flower garden, Zalbar found his thoughts wandering back to his earlier conversation with Razkuli. Part of his job was to maintain peace among the Hell Hounds, at least to a point where their personal differences did not interfere with the performance of their duties. To that end he had soothed his friend's ruffled feathers and forestalled any open fighting within the force ... for the time being, at least. With peace thus preserved, Zalbar could admit to himself that he agreed wholeheartedly with Razkuli.