visited by a god, nor an archmage, nor even a demon, but by a creature morestrange: as the chariot emerged fully from the miasma around it and the horsessnorted and plunged, dancing in place, and the wheels screeched to a halt,Tempus saw a hand raise to a brow in a greeting of equals.

The greeting was for him, not for Theron, who cowered with wide eyes. The faceof the man in the chariot smiled softly. The eyes resting upon Tempus so fondlywere as pale and pure as cool water. And as the vision opened its mouth tospeak, the god-din in Tempus's ears subsided to a rustle, then to whispers, thento contented sighs that faded entirely away when Abarsis, dead Slaughter Priestand patron shade of the Sacred Band, wrapped his blood-red reins casually aroundthe chariot's brake and stepped down from his car, arms wide to embrace Tempus,whom Abarsis had loved better than life when the ghost had been a man.

There was nothing for it, Tempus realized, but to make the best of thesituation, though seeing the materialization of a boy who had sought anhonorable death in Tempus's service wrenched his heart.

The boy was now a power on his own-a power from beyond Death's Gate, true, but apower all the same.

"Commander," said the velvet-voiced shade, "I see from your face that you stillhave it in your heart to love me. That's good. This was not an easy journey toarrange."

The two embraced, and Abarsis's upswept eyes and high curved cheeks, his youngbull's neck and his glossy black hair, felt all too real-as substantial as thesplinters that had somehow gotten under Tempus's fingernails.

And the boy was yet strong-that is, the shade was. Tem-pus, stepping back,started to speak but found his voice choked with melancholy. What did one say tothe dead? Not "How's life?" surely. Certainly not the Sacred Band greeting....