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the demon’s feet. Which has to be as
     close to personal heaven as a Gunni historian can imagine. If the historian does
     not remain too determinedly wedded to Gunni religious doctrine.
    Shivetya’s motives for refusing categorical declarations may stem from
     bitterness about his lot. By his own admission he has met most of the gods
     face-to-face. His recollections concerning them are even less flattering than
     those spicing most of Gunni mythology, where few of the gods are extolled as
     role models. Almost without exception the Gunni deities are cruel and selfish
     and untouched by any celestial sense of rajadharma.
    A tall black man stepped into the light cast by Baladitya’s lamps. “Learned
     anything exciting today, old-timer?” The copyist’s fuel expenses are prodigal.
    He is indulged.
    The old man did not respond. He is almost deaf. He exploits his infirmity to its
     limits. Not even Blade insists that he share routine camp chores any longer.
    Blade asked again but the copyist’s nose remained close to the page on which he
     was writing. His penmanship is swift and precise. Blade cannot decipher the
     complicated ecclesiastical alphabet, except for some of those characters it
     shares with the only slightly simpler common script. Blade looked up into the
     golem’s eye. That appeared to be about the size of a roc’s egg. The adjective
     “baleful” fit it well. Not even naive old Baladitya has ever proposed that the
     demon be delivered from the restraint guaranteed by the daggers nailing its
     limbs to the throne. Neither has the demon ever encouraged anyone to release it.
    It has endured for thousands of years. It has the patience of stone.
    Blade tried another approach. “I’ve had a runner come from the Abode of Ravens.”
    He prefers the native name for the Company’s base. It is so much more dramatic
     than Outpost or Bridgehead and Blade is a dramatic man fond of dramatic
     gestures. “The Captain says she expects to acquire the needed shadowgate
     knowledge shortly. Something is about to break loose in Khang Phi. She wants me
     to get cracking getting more treasure brought up. She wants you to finish
     finding everything out. She’ll be moving soon.”
    The copyist grunted. “He’s easily bored, you know.”
    “What?” Blade was startled, then angry. The old man had not heard a word.
    “Our host.” The old man did not lift his eyes from the page. It would take them
     too long to readjust. “He’s easily bored.” Baladitya cared nothing about the
     Company’s plans. Baladitya was in paradise.
    “You’d think we’d be a change that would distract him.”
    “He’s been distracted by mortals a thousand times before. He’s still here. None
     of those people are, except those remembered in stone.” The plain itself, though
     older and vastly slower than Shivetya, might have a mind of its own. Stone
     remembers. And stone weeps. “Their very empires have been forgotten. How much
     chance is there that this time will be different?”
    Baladitya sounded a little empty. Not unreasonable, Blade thought, considering
     the fact that he looked into the time abyss represented by the demon all the
     time. Talk about vanity and chasing after wind!
    “Yet he’s helping us. More or less.”
    “Only because he believes we’re the last mayflies he’ll see. Excepting the
     Children of Night when they raise up their Dark Mother. He’s convinced that
     we’re his last chance to escape.”
    “And all we got to do to get his help is skrag the nasty Goddess, then put his
     ass away for the long night.” The demon’s gaze seemed to drill right through
     him. “Nothing to it. Piece of cake, as Goblin used to say. Though the saying
     doesn’t make any literal sense.” Blade lifted his fingers to his eyebrow in a
     salute to the demon. Whose eyes seemed to be smouldering now.
    “God killing. That should be perfect work for you.”
    Blade was unsure if Baladitya had spoken or Shivetya had