he shifted and his gaze caught Tempus's and held: "The message is: the globes ofNisibisi power must be destroyed; all the gods will rejoice when it is done.Destroyed in Sanctuary, where there are tortured souls of yours and mine to bereleased. The favor is: grant Niko's wish in a matter of children ... yours andOurs."

Ours? There was no mistaking the upper-case tone Abarsis had used-a tonereserved for deific matters and one word 'spoken by the dead High Priest ofVashanka who had come so far to utter it. Liking the smell of things less andless, Tempus took a step backward and sat upon the table's edge, thinking, Forthis, he comes to me. Wonderful. Now what?

For Tempus, who could refuse a god and obstruct an arch-mage, knew, looking atAbarsis, that he could refuse this one nothing. It was an old debt, a mutualresponsibility stretching far beyond such trifles as life and death. It was amatter of souls, and Tempus's soul was very old. So old that, seeing Abarsis yetyoung, yet beautiful in his spirit and his honor in a way Tempus no longer couldbe, the man called the Riddler felt suddenly very tired.

And Tempus, who never slept-who had not slept since he had been cursed by anarchmage and taken solace in the protection of a god three centuries past-beganto feel drowsy. His eyelids grew heavy and Abarsis's words grew loud, echoingunintelligibly so that it seemed as if Theron and Abarsis spoke together in someroom far away.

Just before he collapsed on the table, snoring deeply in a sleep that would lastuntil the weather broke the following day, Tempus heard Abarsis say clearly,"And for you, Tempus, whom I love above all men, I have this special gift... notmuch, just a token: on this one evening, my lord, I have haggled from the godsfor you a good night's rest. So now, sleep and dream of me."