with his disquieting eyes. Roxanne turned her back on him and swaggered into the Temple of the Abomination.
A dim crimson glow filled the huge stone hall, radiating in some obscure fashion from a broken stone altar. The hall stretched away into the distance, and the ceiling towered impossibly high above her. She moved slowly forward, her sword held out before her. There was a sluggish movement of shadows, but nothing came out of the gloom to challenge her. Roxanne curled her lip disappointedly. Faint scuffing sounds behind her spun her round, but it was only Veil, leading Hardcastle and Wulf into the Temple. Roxanne went back to join them.
Hardcastle looked briefly about him, and did his best to look unimpressed. 'All right,' he growled finally. 'We're here. Now tell me why I've come all this way to a deserted Temple when I could be talking with Beings of real Power.'
'Gently, Cameron,' murmured Wulf. 'You don't know what you're dealing with here.'
'And you do?' said Veil.
'I think so, yes,' said Wulf. 'You're one of the Transient Beings, aren't you?'
Veil laughed delightedly. It wasn't a healthy sound. The echoes seemed to go on forever in the great hall.
'What the hell's a Transient Being?' said Roxanne.
'An abstraction given shape and form,' said Wulf. 'A concept clothed in flesh and blood and bone. They have Power beyond reason, for their birth lies in the Wild Magic, and once summoned into the world of men they cannot easily be dismissed.'
Roxanne frowned at the slender figure wrapped in grey before her. 'You mean he's a God?'
Veil laughed, but when he spoke his voice was subtly different, as though something else spoke through him. 'The Lord of the Gulfs has been asleep for centuries, and it will be some time before he can physically manifest him-self in this world again. For now, he needs a host to walk in the world of men.'
Hardcastle scowled unhappily. 'What kind of Being are you?'
The light around them grew subtly darker, like sunset fading into night. Here and there in the gloom, pale sparks of light appeared, growing quickly into transparent human shapes. Soon there were hundreds of ghosts glowing palely in the great hall, drifting endlessly back and forth as though in search of something they could no longer remember. All of them were hideously shrivelled and emaciated, reduced by some awful hunger to nothing more than flesh-covered skeletons with distended bellies and wide, agonized eyes. More and more appeared until they filled the hall from end to end, and then without warning they turned upon each other, tearing ravenously at their ghostly flesh with frenzied hands and teeth. They ate each other with desperate haste, screaming silently at the horror of what they did, but the broken bones and ripped flesh brought no end to their hunger.
'I have had many names but only one nature,' said the Being through Veil's voice. 'Call me Hunger. Call me Famine.'
The ghosts were suddenly gone, and the gloom in the Temple of the Abomination was still and quiet once again.
'The Lord of the Gulfs has more power than you could ever dream of,' said Veil. 'They drive me out again and again, but I always come back. Serve me, and my power is yours.'
'Serve you?' said Wulf. 'How?'
'Bring me followers. The more who worship me, the greater my power will become. They will feed me with their devotion, and my influence will spread across the land, as it did before. My host must be protected. I cannot be destroyed by the living or the dead;that gift was given to me at my creation;-but my host is always; vulnerable.'
'Can you destroy my enemies?' said Hardcastle.
'Of course.'
'Then you've got a deal; whatever you are.'
'Excellent,' said the Lord of the Gulfs. 'But this host has done all it can. It had enough power to raise me, but not enough to sustain me. As a sign of good faith, you must provide me with a new host.'
'Take me,' said Wulf. 'Let me share your power. I have enough sorcery to contain you until we can find you a new host.'
Veil looked at him, and then smiled suddenly. 'Very well, sorcerer. If that's what you want.'
Hardcastle frowned at Wulf. 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?'
'Of course I'm sure,' muttered Wulf. 'Don't rock the boat.'
The Grey Veil grinned widely, the smile spreading and spreading until the mouth cracked and broke, splitting the cheeks and opening up the face to show the bones and muscle beneath. The face sloughed off like a mask, and the muscles turned to dust and fell away. The eyes sank back into the sockets and disappeared, leaving only a grinning skull. Dust fell out of the gray robe in streams, and then it crumpled and fell limply to the floor. The jaw fell away from the skull in one silent laugh, and then they too were gone and there was only dust and an empty gray robe. A wind rose up out of nowhere and blew the dust away.
Wulf put an unsteady hand to his mouth and shook his head slightly. His eyes were glazed, as though he was listening to a faint voice very far away. Hardcastle looked at Roxanne, and then back at Wolf.
'I'm all right, Cameron,' said Wulf quietly. He lowered his hand slowly and smiled at Hardcastle. 'He really wasn't very bright, for a God. He hasn't been awake long, and he wasn't nearly as strong as he thought he was. I've got him, held securely within my wards, and all his power is mine. Adamant doesn't know it yet, but the election is yours, Cameron. No other sorcerer can stand against me now. Let's go.'
The wooden door swung open, and Hardcastle and Wulf went back out into the Street of Gods. Roxanne looked round the deserted hall one last time and then followed them out. She put away her sword, and wondered if there'd be time to stop for dinner any time soon.
Chapter Six
TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES
The afternoon dragged slowly on towards evening as Adamant led his party through the bustling streets of the High Steppes, making speeches, addressing gatherings, and generally beating the drum for Reform. The crowds were thicker than ever as even those who'd been working spilled out onto the streets to make the most of the unofficial holiday. Street traders sold out their wares, closed their stalls, and joined the celebrations. Conjurers and mummers provided traditional entertainments, innkeepers ran low on stock and began hauling dusty bottles from off the back shelves, and fireworks splattered the darkening sky.
Adamant finally took a break from the crowds, who were more interested in partying than politics, and led his people into the more upmarket sections of the Steppes. He was looking for personal endorsements and promises of funds. What he got were kind words, good wishes, and vague promises. When anybody could be bothered to speak to him. Adamant declined to be disheartened, and pressed on with unfailing enthusiasm.
And along the way two new members joined his party and walked along with him: Laurence Bearclaw and Joshua Kincaid.
Bearclaw was a big man in his late forties, with broad shoulders, and a barrel chest that was slipping slowly towards his belt. He first won fame by killing a bear with nothing but a knife, and he still wore the animal's claws on a chain around his neck to prove it. His shoulder-length hair was still jet-black because he dyed it regularly. He'd served in a hundred different campaigns as a freelance mercenary, and he'd come away with credit and scalps from all of them. He didn't really give much of a damn for Reform, but he liked Adamant, and the idea of supporting the underdog appealed to him.
Kincaid was an average-height man in his mid-forties, with a shock of butter-yellow hair and icy blue eyes. He was muscular in a lean kind of way, didn't smile much, and was even more dangerous than he looked. He'd made his reputation by fighting in the infamous Bloody Ridges campaign alongside the legendary Adam Stalker. He was famous throughout Haven, and moderately well-known outside it. There were several broadsheets and songs telling of his heroic deeds, all of them written by Kincaid under an assumed name. Like his friend and sometime fighting companion Bearclaw, Kincaid wasn't what you'd call political. But it had been too long since his last campaign, and he was bored sitting around waiting for a call to action that never came. He hated just sitting around; it make him feel old. If nothing else, working with Adamant was bound to supply enough material for a new broadsheet.
The afternoon wore on, and took its toll from all of them. Adamant seemed as full of bounce and vinegar as ever, but some of his party were beginning to wilt under the strain. Dannielle in particular seemed to be having an
