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'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 ma
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.
Loudmouthed bullies were nothing new in the army, but Tempus was a breed apart. As a devout believer in discipline and law, Zalbar was disgusted and appalled by Tempus's attitudes and conduct. What was worse, Tempus did have the prince's ear, so Zalbar was powerless to move against him despite the growing rumours of immoral and illegal conduct.
The Hell Hound's brow furrowed as he reflected upon the things he had heard and seen. Tempus openly used krrf, both on duty and off. He was rapidly building a reputation for brutality and sadism among the not easily shocked citizens of Sanctuary. There were even rumours that he was methodically hunting and killing the blue-masked sell-swords employed by the exgladiator, Jubal.
Zalbar had no love for that crime-lord who traded in slaves to mask his more illicit activities, but neither could he tolerate a Hell Hound taking it upon himself to be judge and executioner. But he had been ordered by the prince to allow Tempus free rein and was powerless to even investigate the rumours: a fine state of affairs when the law-enforcers became the lawbreakers and the lawgiver' only moved to shelter them.
A scream rent the air, interrupting Zalbar's reverie and bringing him to his feet, sword in hand. As he cast about, searching for the source of the noise, he remembered he had heard screams like that before ... though not on any battlefield. It wasn't a scream of pain, hatred, or terror but the heartless, soulless sounds of one without hope and assaulted by horror too great for the mind to comprehend.
The silence was completely shattered by a second scream and this time Zalbar knew the source was the beautifully gardened house. He watched in growing disbelief as the gardener calmly continued his work, not even bothering to look up despite the now frequent screams. Either the man was deaf or Zalbar himself was going mad, reacting to imaginary noises from a best-forgotten past. Turning to Razkuli for confirmation, Zalbar was outraged to find his friend not only still seated but gri
'Now do you see why I was willing to pass this spot by?' the swarthy Hell Hound said with a laugh. 'Perhaps the next time I offer to lead you won't be so quick to exert your rank.'
'You were expecting this?' Zalbar demanded, unsoothed by Razkuli's humour.
'Of course, you should be thankful it didn't start until we were nearly finished with our meal.'
Zalbar's retort was cut off by a drawn out piercing cry that rasped against ear and mind and defied human endurance with its
length.
'Before you go charging to the rescue,'' Razkuli commented, ignoring the now fading outburst of pain, 'you should know I've already looked into it. What you're hearing is a slave responding to its master's attentive care: a situation entirely within the law and therefore no concern of ours. It might interest you to know that the owner of that building is a ...'
'Kurd!' Zalbar breathed through taut lips, glaring at the house as if it were an arch-enemy.
'You know him?'
'We met once, back at the Capitol. That's why he's here ... or at least why he's not still there.'
'Then you know his business?' Razkuli scowled, a bit deflated that his revelations were no surprise. 'I'll admit I find it distasteful, but there's nothing we can do about it.'
'We'll see,' Zalbar a
'Where're you going?'
'To pay Kurd a visit.'
'Then I'll see you back at the barracks.' Razkuli shuddered. 'I've been inside that house once already, and I'll not enter again unless it's under orders.'
Zalbar made no note of his friend's departure though he did sheathe his sword as he approached the house. The impending battle would not require conventional weapons.
'Ho there!' he hailed the gardener. 'Tell your master I wish to speak with him.'
'He's busy,' the man snarled, 'can't you hear?'
'Too busy to speak with one of the prince's personal guard?' Zalbar challenged, raising an eyebrow.
'He's spoken to them before and each time they've gone away and I've lost pay for allowing the interruption.'
'Tell him it's Zalbar...' the Hell Hound ordered, '...your master will speak with me, or would you like to deal with me in his stead?'
Though he made no move towards his weapons Zalbar's voice and stance convinced the gardener to waste no time. The gnome-like man abandoned his chores to disappear into the house.
As he waited Zalbar surveyed the flowers again, but knowledge of Kurd's presence had ruined his appreciation of floral beauty. Instead of lifting his spirits, the bright blossoms seemed a horrifying incongruity, like viewing a gaily coloured fungus growing on a rotting corpse.
As Zalbar turned away from the flowers, Kurd emerged into the daylight. Though it had been five years since they had seen each other, the older man was sufficiently unchanged that Zalbar recognized him instantly: the stained dishevelled dress of one who sleeps in his clothes, the unwashed, unkempt hair and beard, as well as the cadaverously thin body with its long skeletal fingers and pasty complexion. Clearly Kurd had not discontinued his habit of neglecting his own body in the pursuit of his work.
'Good day ... citizen,' the Hell Hound's smile did not disguise the sarcasm poisoning his greeting.
'It is you,' Kurd declared, squinting to study the other's features. 'I thought we were done with each other when I left Ranke.'
'I think you shall continue to see me until you see fit to change your occupation.'
'My work is totally within the limits of the law.' The thin man bristled, betraying, for a moment, the strength of will hidden in his outwardly feeble body.
'So you said in Ranke. I still find it offensive, without redeeming merit.'
'Without redeeming...' Kurd shrieked, then words failed him. His lips tightened, he seized Zalbar by the arm and began pulling him towards the house. 'Come with me now,' he instructed. 'Let me show you my work and explain what I am doing. Perhaps then you will be able to grasp the importance of my studies.'