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still smell the coven-whore on him.
    “I’m frightened,” she whispered. “I do not understand why you saved me.”
    Her breath was warm and soft on the naked skin of his thigh. He felt her lips move as she talked softly, not wishing to displease him.
    “There is danger. You know this. The rune-spell could slip beyond my control as I ink it into your tattoo. It would burn your mind to a cinder. I have never had this happen to me.”
    “Why did you save me?” She repeated.
    The girl lay still as Khat began to ink the symbol into her skin using the stylus needle. His actions were steady and carefully. The tattoo was a powerful and permanent enchantment.
    “Because I wished to,” he replied.
    “Even though it has put your plans in jeopardy?”
    “I did not wish to give you to them. They sought to use their influence over me to make me do something I did not wish to do. I will not be played in such a matter. Ever. Better death than compromise.”
    “You never compromise?”
    “Not with humans. Sometimes one must in order to deal with other more powerful creatures. But never easily. I have not done something I did not wish to do since the Legion.”
    “You are a Legionnaire?”
    “I was for a time. It was a reward.”
    “A reward?” Her voice was incredulous. “A reward for what?”
    “For killing a man.”
    “The Legion is a punishment, not a reward. How could service in the Legion be a reward?”
    “I was in Primus at the time.”
    Despite the danger to herself if Khat’s hand faltered, the girl stiffened in surprise. She remembered her danger a heartbeat later and stifled her outburst. Khat had anticipated her reaction and held the stylus away from her neck. When she was still again he slowly lowered the needle back to her flesh.
    “I suppose being a slave-soldier is better than being a convict in Primus,” she said, choosing her words carefully.
    “The Centurions of Gomorrah rounded me and my street band off the docks during the food riots when I was eleven. They dumped me into Primus and left me to the mercy of the rape-gangs and the yard bulls. I had managed to smuggle a piece of wire inside with me. The first Happy Jack that tried to take me, I fell in his arms like I wanted it. He let his guard down, and I jammed it through his eye and into his brain. I didn’t sleep for the next two days, just stayed on the move through barrack billets and the open yards and the flesh pens, always moving one step ahead of the bulls and rape-gangs.”
    The slave girl remained silent and still for a short bit as Khat’s sure hand worked on her tattoo. Finally, she said, “Did they catch you?”
    “It might have been better if they had,” the corsair laughed.
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean I climbed and slid and ran over every square inch of that hell while they ran me down. I saw how fiefdoms had been carved out, how the inmates kept order. How Primus was like the Tiered City in microcosm. Strong utilized weak for power, for sex, for gain, for amusement. But the strong are not always the warriors or the slavers. Sometimes they are the Caliphs or wielders of thaumaturgies, or merchants, or politicians. Sometimes it is just a man with a blade. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t change the fact that no one will free you but you. You must be willing to free yourself, and to do that you, must be willing to face death.”
    “You could free me. You have that power.”
    “I do not have the time nor the inclination to petition the Slaver’s Guild on your behalf. By the time I’m finished here the Navigator’s House won’t want you free. You’ll be non-guildsman competition. I need you now for my plan to work.”
    “If you had let me go you’d have your primate.”
    “I don’t care. I wanted what I wanted and I won’t be manipulated by coven-whores and cutthroats.”
    “How did you escape them?”
    “Who?”
    “The rape-gangs.”
    “I became something worse.”
     

Chapter Eight
Ritual Night
     
     
    The