The Grave thief

CHAPTER 22

Doranei leaned forward, his eyes on Legana. The woman gave no sign of noticing him; she was looking around the room like a blind woman, instinctively turning at each small sound. At her side was the priest, Antil, fussing over her like a lover.

The thought stopped Doranei in his tracks. A bitter bubble of laughter welled up in his throat and he had to cover it with a cough.

Oh you poor bastard if you've fallen for her, he thought. Martyrs to our own hearts, we are.

The room was lit only by a single candle, at the priest's urging. Doranei had to strain his eyes to see what Legana had written on the slate.

— Where am I?

'Somewhere safe,' Sebe replied from the doorway, 'we ain't taking you to your wine merchant tonight.'

They were in a private room over the safest-looking tavern he'd been able to find. There were three sets of bunks fixed to the wall, four stools and a table too light to barricade the door with. The landlord had taken one look at the four of them and doubled his standard rate. It was money they could ill-afford to spend, but Doranei knew they had to get off the street as quickly as possible. If worst came to worse, he could always steal more. A childhood among criminals had many benefits.

'Tell us what happened,' Doranei interjected. 'What's that on your throat?'

Legana made no response other than to turn to the priest. Antil wilted under the combined glare of the three killers. Like most priests of Shotir, Doranei noticed, the man had worry-lines on his luce and more fat than muscle under his robe — and right now he found himself in a different Land to the one he normally inhabited.

Most likely he was ready to collapse in nervous exhaustion.

'I found her in my bedchamber,' Antil began, colouring at the sound Sebe made from his position at the door. They'd rigged a tripwire as the bottom to catch anyone charging in, but Sebe was standing guard all the same.

'She had been thrown through the window when the Temple of Alterr exploded.'

Doranei blinked 'It did what now?'

'You haven't heard about that?'

'Not that it had bloody exploded!' Doranei said with a disbelieving laugh. 'We've only been here a couple of days, just enough to hear about the Clerics' Rebellion and general chaos. Someone mentioned a damaged temple, but nothing as drastic as that.' He looked at Sebe, who nodded his agreement.

'I don't really know much more, other than whatever Legana met in there was powerful enough to kill a Goddess — and to break half the bones in Legana's body as an afterthought.'

'Goddess? Which one?'

'The Lady,' he said sadly.

Both men gasped in shock. Nothing had prepared them for that. Doranei assumed the rumours meant a minor Aspect — but the Lady was almost within the Upper Circle!

'So Legana lived while a major Goddess died?' He didn't bother to hide his scepticism; something about this didn't make sense.

The pale-skinned woman nodded.

'But how? I've seen you fight — and you're damn good — but when a Goddess dies nothing mortal gets out of the room alive. Come to think of it, if you broke so many bones, how are you walking around?'

'Ah,' Antil piped up, 'I helped there a little — but she was touched by the Lady, and a residue of that power remains.'

'But she's just a devotee!'

'Oh.' The priest shut his mouth with a snap and looked down.

'What?' Doranei demanded irritably.

Legana gave him a predatory smile. Her sight was still vague and unfocused, but she was following the sound of his voice well enough. For the first time since they'd bumped into her she looked like the woman he'd known in Scree, controlled and confident. Doranei had found it so unnerving to see her walk to the tavern with uncertain, jerky steps that he had eventually moved ahead to scout the road so he didn't have to watch. The fiery-tempered Farlan agent and he had never been friends exactly, but he'd admired her powerful grace and purpose. To see a peer so vulnerable and damaged left his hands trembling, and his throat burning for a drink.

Legana scribbled on her piece of slate and held it up to him.

— Mortal-Aspect.

'Piss and daemons,' Doranei breathed, ignoring the high priest's expression. 'I never even heard of… Merciful Death! And Fate's dead? Does that make you-?' He let out a sigh of relief when Legana shook her head.

'What about Ostia?' he asked awkwardly, his fear mounting. Oh Gods, please no, don't let it have been Zhia who did this.

Again Legana shook her head, but her expression became grave. She wrote again on the board, — Talk alone.

It took a little persuading to get Antil to leave her side, but once they were alone Doranei dragged his stool close beside Legana so he could see the slate.

— Aracnan, she wrote.

Doranei frowned. He knew the name, and the reputation, but he hadn't expected to hear it in this context. 'Do you know why?'

She shook her head, her grey-and-coppery tresses falling over her eyes.

'Can you guess? What was he doing in the temple? You must have walked in at just the wrong time — I had no idea Aracnan was so powerful that he could kill a God at all, but not even Death would choose lightly to fight the Lady.'

— Pretend ritual, summoning.

'Pretend?' Doranei scratched the stubble on his cheek as he thought. 'Making it look like a priest was summoning a daemon? Doesn't matter whether you believe it or not, it stirs up trouble. Either one more reason to consider the clerics enemies, or confirmation that someone's trying to discredit them.'

— Who profits?

Doranei shrugged. 'Depends what the priest was like, what position he held in the city.' Powerful, ear of the duchess.

'Could be bloody anyone then; might be trying to replace him as an influence, undermine the duchess, damage the reputation of the cults within the city — or could be something entirely personal for all we know.'

— Azaer?

He scowled and wiped the name out with his sleeve. 'Hope not. Gives the shadow far greater scope if one if its followers is strong enough to kill a God.' Doranei looked around, checking the room once again for mirrors, relieved that he hadn't missed any.

— Why are you here?

'To find you, in a manner of speaking.'

— Zhia?

'The king sent me,' he said hurriedly. 'I need to speak to her on his behalf.'

— Not here yet.

Doranei looked Legana full in the face, and only then did he realise her eyes had changed colour. Where they had once been the normal Farlan deep brown, now they were a brilliant dark green, deep pools in which a man could lose himself. It wasn't the only change in her appearance, just the one that most obviously marked her as linked to Fate. How had she described herself, Mortal' Aspect? He'd never heard of such a thing, and most likely that was a bad sign. When the Gods were involved, change would surely come only under the most extreme of circumstances.

Legana was as beautiful as ever, but now her alabaster skin, seamed hair and green eyes made her look strangely terrifying. And now he was close enough to notice a series of lumps at the base of her throat where the shadowy handprint was, almost like a necklace underneath the skin.

'Gods, what happened there?' he breathed. Without thinking he reached out to touch the bumps, only to have Legana flinch away. Red-faced, he started muttering his apologies.

— My business, she wrote.

'Of course, sorry.' He shook his head at his own foolishness. 'Do you mind-? I'm sorry, but I've just realised I don't know who I'm talking to anymore. Are you an agent of the Gods? Of Lord Isak, still? How do you know Zhia isn't in the city? You cannot still be standing in her shadow after becoming Mortal-Aspect of the Lady?'

Her shoulders fell and she looked at the ground for a few heartbeats, her expression unreadable, until she wrote on the slate.

— Alone now.

'What about Lord Isak?'

— Need to send message.

Doranei nodded. 'Sebe can do that for you — he can take it to your wine merchant at least. What do you need to tell him?'

— News of Menin, Aracnan, lost contact Zhia, injured. 'Where is Zhia?'

— Following. 'You don't know where she's been?'

Legana shrugged, the movement causing her to wince in pain. Her head sagged forward a little and Doranei realised she was trembling as the hand holding the chalk wavered uncertainly.

He gently took the slate from her and said softly, 'You're exhausted. You need to sleep.'

She didn't respond at first and he repeated himself, louder. This time she gestured her agreement and allowed him to help her up. Without complaint from the former assassin, Doranei slipped an arm around her waist and half-carried her to one of the beds. She

managed to slide herself back until she was leaning against the wall

and she sat there, breathing hard, while Doranei fetched her slate and arranged a blanket over her.

He risked a smile. 'What a change! You'd have broken my arm if I'd done that in Scree.'

— Still can.

'I'll take your word for that,' Doranei said, sitting on the side of her bed. He felt suddenly feeble, like a heartsick old man. 'I didn't expect any of this when I signed up.'

Legana watched him, motionless for a moment before writing her reply. — Poor baby.

Doranei frowned at her. There was more than a spark of the old Legana left, that prickly, savage woman he'd met in Scree. As she wrote on the slate the strokes were quick, merciless slashes across the surface. — You are not broken.

He could see the anger radiating out from those emerald eyes, stripping away the scars on his soul. 'Gods, woman,' he muttered angrily, 'no wonder people think you're a pitiless bitch.' He stood,

hut as he started to walk away he remembering something. 'Business

then; how do I find Zhia?'

Legana didn't reply beyond closing her eyes but Doranei, now irritated, gave her a rough nudge on the leg, then another. The third time she opened her eyes again and glared at him, but he stood resolute until she reached for her slate.

— Coin, Rose Fountain Square, blue door.

'She's there?'

A shake of the head.

Doranei thought for a moment. 'She's expecting you to be there, with her vampire friend — what was his name, Mikiss? Did you kill him?'

A nod.

'So Zhia will probably be able to tell you're not there, which will make her suspicious. So I need to pay someone to watch the house and give her a message when she snatches them.'

Now he had an idea of what he was going to do next, Doranei felt some of the weight lift. He headed for the door. 'I'm off to check out this house first. You've got some strange sort of luck around your shoulders for us to run into you like we did, so maybe it'll rub off on me enough to last the evening. If you flutter your eyelashes at Sebe while I'm out, he'll probably take that message for you.'

As he closed the door behind him he heard something thud into it and turned to see the tip of a knife blade protruding through the wood. He grinned and went downstairs to fetch the other men.

Outside it was dark and quiet. The streets were close to empty, the night-time chill more than enough to drive most people inside. He checked his weapons out of instinct. There were enough armed men on the streets that he didn't think he'd look out of the ordinary to a patrol, and looking a soft target was almost as good an idea as borrowing the high priest's robe.

Overhead the clear sky was a dark blue, fading to black towards the western horizon where a spray of stars were visible. The Hunter's Moon was at its height ahead of him, its pale light inviting him on. Below that were the tiers of the city, the wealthier districts looking down on the rest from the mountain side while the concave cliff of Blackfang itself towered over all of them, a sheer black wall of jagged teeth. He touched the sword grip under his coat and hurried on.

He's visited the city before and found his way to the Rose Fountain without difficulty. Getting into the district hadn't proved a problem; fortunately Zhia, true to form, had chosen rooms in an unremarkable corner of the quarter, a good area but far from any likely excitement. As he'd passed the gates to Eight Towers, he had seen the guards there, Ruby Tower soldiers as well as the By or an Guard.

In Coin too the streets had an armed presence, but they were not restricting movement. Most were liveried private companies employed by the district's bankers, and their instructions were to make their presence known and to discourage any potential excitement. Doranei knew they'd be no trouble unless he started taking an interest in the wrong house.

Where the road widened to bulge around the Rose Fountain stood three tall stone-faced buildings: a pair of silversmiths and what he guessed was a lending house occupying the ground floors. On the other side were the more expensive homes, half-hidden by elms and eight-foot-high stone walls.

Doranei slowed his pace as he reached the fountain and fumbled for a copper coin — a house, they called them in Byora, but it looked like any other copper piece he'd ever used. There were two men watching idly, standing guard at the side of an open gate that led into a courtyard. Most importantly for Doranei's purposes, they stood like men who were bored, leaning on their halberds with glazed expressions. Rather than watch from the shadows, a risky idea when there were guards posted everywhere, he might as well hide in plain sight.

'Need all the luck I can get these days,' he called to the guards, gesturing towards the fountain.

'Din't you 'ear?' one replied. 'Luck's in short supply these days.' He was the younger of the two, the best part often winters younger than Doranei.

Doranei cocked his head. 'Hear what?'

'They say the Lady's no more,' the guard replied in a smug voice. 'Bloody Gods bin arguin' among thesselves and she got killed. That's luck fer you — bad luck, hey?'

'Shit, really?' Doranei took a step towards them, his face a picture of shock. The guard grinned, pleased to have had such a dramatic effect while his older comrade watched them in taciturn silence.

'Aye, that's what they're sayin'. Where you bin that you've not 'eard nuffin?'

'Riding on the slowest bloody wagon-train I ever seen,' Doranei sniffed. 'Haven't heard nothing 'cept mules and drivers farting for weeks.' He patted his coat theatrically. 'There were benefits though, I'll tell you.' He pulled out a battered leather case from a coat pocket. 'Convoy carried tobacco for the main part — you can be damn sure I'm gonna make friends with any man transporting a hundred boxes of cigars!'

Doranei gave a hopeful little look at the guards, then through the archway. 'Got a fire going anywhere?'

The younger guard's grin became wider. 'Got a spare coupla them cigars?'

'Hah, didn't say I wanted a smoke that bad,' Doranei replied good-naturedly, watching the older guard carefully. The man was scrutinising his every movement, he'd be suspicious of any excess generosity. 'These things cost half a day's work each.' He paused. 'Tell you what though, maybe you could do me a favour as trade.'

'You walk careful now,' the older guard rumbled suddenly. 'It's a cold night an' I'm in no mood to smack someone around, but we got a job to do here, so you want to watch what you say next.'

'Nothing like that; I'm no thief,' Doranei protested, holding his hands out. 'I was asked to do something by the wagon-master, but the man's a fucking criminal and I wouldn't trust him further than I could throw the grease-haired bastard. I never been to Byora before, don't know whether what he's asked is going to make me money or get my throat cut.'

Doranei could see the man weighing up the situation. He waited; the eagerness on the younger guard's face was plain, so he'd let the older one work it out for himself.

'Fine,' the guard said eventually, hefting his weapon to point it at Doranei. 'Yanai, you go get that daft girl to fetch you a taper from the kitchen.' He nodded to Doranei. 'You try anything stupid while he's gone and you'll get this right through you, understand?'

He smiled and nodded, ignoring the impulse to step back, out of range of the halberd, while Yanai scampered off.

'Name's Kirer,' he said conversationally. 'You?'

Sergeant Loris,' the older man replied.

Ah, one of those, Doranei thought. Insists on his rank even though he's just a fucking guard. And Loris? Good Litse name that one, but his looks don't back it up. The guard had a thick face and small features: thin lips and small hooded eyes. All cheeks and forehead, this one, like a child's head that got inflated.

'So, Sarge,' Doranei continued, maintaining a harmless grin, 'know the city well, d'you?'

'Well enough,' he grunted.

'So what would you say to this job I've been offered? I'm to buy two bags of Queen's Favour — whatever in Ghenna's name that is — from a house near here. I talked one of his drivers into a good deal and he reckoned I could do it twice.'

'Queen's Favour? I've heard of it,' Loris said cautiously. 'It's a herb, gathered from the mountain slopes.'

'So it's just a medicine? No problem then-'

Loris grinned at Doranei's naivete. 'Not exactly "no problem", son. Witches and whores Use it to kill babies in the womb, get rid of the unwanted. Gathering or buying Queen's Favour is banned, so he better be paying you well for the risk you're taking.'

Yanai returned carefully carrying a smouldering taper. Doranei handed them each a cigar, cut off the tip of his with his knife and lit up. 'Man's been sent to buy Queen's Favour,' Loris said to his colleague. He rested his halberd against his shoulder and bit off the tip of his cigar and spat it out. He brought the taper to it and drew deeply until it was glowing, then raised it in a toast and gave Doranei an appreciative nod. 'Good smoke, this. Thanks, friend.'

'Queen's Favour, eh? Bad game that one,' said Yanai, trying to copy the deft way Doranei had prepared his smoke. 'So what're you doing 'ere?'

'This is where I was sent to buy it.' Doranei indicated the blue door Legana had told him about.

'Nah, not in Coin,' Yanai said with a laugh. 'You wanna go to Burn for that shit. These parts is respectable; a man don't last long peddlin' Queen's Favour 'ere.'

'This is where he sent me,' Doranei insisted. 'Said to ask for Nai the Mage, funny'looking man with odd-sized feet.'

Neither name nor description elicited anything from either man.

'Mage, eh?' Loris puffed out his cheeks. 'Didn't realise it had a use in magic too.'

"ere, reckon thass why that bloody kid was 'anging round 'ere?' Yanai said to Loris suddenly. 'Some brat checkin' out the square coupla times a night for the last week now,' he explained to Doranei.

'Could be watchin' out fer customers mebbe, or pr'aps be in the pay of one o' the Burn gangs that sells Queen's Favour and don't like the competition.'

'And tonight?'

'Came past, mebbe an hour ago? Don't 'ang around long when we're 'ere, she knows she'll get a beatin' if we grab her. Just 'ad a look up the windows on that side and carried on past.'

Doranei nodded. The inhabitants of Coin wouldn't appreciate a potential thief being allowed to case the houses here, but the guards weren't going to waste too much time catching a girl if they didn't think she was going to cause a problem. 'Be back tonight?'

'Fair chance — you c'n only be sure she'll be 'ere at sunset though, she's always through round 'bout then.'

Might be worth, my while to catch her then, even if you two can't be bothered, Doranei thought, drawing long on his cigar.

Tobacco was a spy's friend. King Emin had told him that, years back. He didn't much care for the habit himself, but he recognised its importance and smoked just enough to ensure he didn't look out of place with pipe or cigar. Soldiers were the same the Land over: simple men, more often than not, with too much time on their hands. They'd rarely refuse the offer of a smoke, and once their guard was down they'd gossip worse than any knitting circle.

The King's Men of Narkang didn't have to play court games; King Emin had aristocrats to do that. The information Doranei got came from footmen, guards and kitchen-hands. He'd spent half a year when he was twelve winters getting slapped from one end of The Light Feathers' kitchen to the other, and that experience had served him well countless times since. As Sebe put it, make friends with a cook who doesn't know anything useful and you still get a meal for your trouble.

Monkey-faced little bugger will do anything for food, he added to himself, smiling inwardly.

He raised the cigar in a sort of half-salute to the two guards. 'Right, I best be clearing off. Don't want people to think I'm messing in anything illegal, don't sound like the regiments have much sense of humour these days.'

'Aye, you're right enough there,' Loris agreed. 'Glad we're well out of it over here. The city's going to shit so fast Kiyer herself can't wash the streets fast enough. Take the bastard's money and find yourself a pretty young tart for the night instead. You clear out of sight and he won't bother doing much about it, and the regiments will care about as much as a magistrate.'

Doranei grinned. 'You could be right there. I left my stuff with the wagon'inaster, but six quarters will sort that out with change to spare. Teach him for being a crap judge of character.'

He made his excuses and left; the guards didn't mind — talking to a passing stranger to ensure he wasn't going to cause trouble was one thing, gossiping for too long smacked of shirking duty. Doranei made his way back to a crossroads he'd scouted out earlier: anyone coming from Burn would pass this junction, even if they were taking an oblique route. He didn't think he'd need much luck to identify the young girl Yanai had been talking about, but he would need to avoid a scene — she was certain to be armed, with so many bored soldiers and mercenaries on the streets.

'She comes only after sunset,' he mused as he watched the glistening frost on the rooftops. 'Looking for Mikiss or Nai, or Zhia herself? Can't be an informant for the duchess or she'd be watching the door all day too.'

He was leaning against the trunk of an ancient creeper that covered a high courtyard wall and reached up the wall of the adjoining house to the rooftop. Though leafless, the ragged mess of tangled stems made a curtain dense enough to make Doranei near-in visible as he waited.

At the end of the wall, on the corner of the main street, a dozen or so long strips of white ribbon tied to the creeper fluttered in the brisk evening breeze — small offerings to Sheredal, Spreader of the Frost, he guessed. The owner of the house was probably elderly, and with this chill wind the ground in winter would very quickly become icy, a real threat to the elderly and infirm. However good High Priest Antil and his portly band of healers might be, a bad fall could easily be fatal. From what Doranei had seen on his travels, ribbons on a wall was as close to a shrine as Sheredal ever got, and the only image he had even seen of Asenn's gentle Aspect was part of a carved frieze in Narkang. King Emin had commissioned it: a strange collection of minor Gods and Aspects that summed up the king's whimsical nature perfectly; the image of Sheredal was a bent old woman with jagged, spiky hair and long, crooked fingers. She had looked sad and lonely, stuck between more noble Gods, but as far as Doranei knew, she was entirely the product of the artist's mind.

But that doesn't matter, not now. That's how half of Narkang imagines the Spreader of the Frost these days. 1 think he commissioned the piece to give some of us a lesson in the power of belief.

Doranei's vigil didn't last long. None of the few passers-by noticed him standing there. He spotted a hunched figure trudging up the road, bundled up in a tatty sheepskin coat made for someone much larger, and realised immediately this was the girl the Yanai had spoken of.

He'd taken the precaution of filling a pocket with small stones earlier. He flung one at the girl as she reached the centre of the square and it thwacked harmlessly against the coat, stopping her dead, just as he'd intended. She looked around in puzzlement. The street was empty in both directions, and she had been so intent on watching where she was going that she'd not seen him emerge from the ivy to throw the stone.

'Sorry,' he called; assuming most thieves and murderers in By or a didn't start by apologising to their victims. She turned towards the sound and peered forward. He took a step out into the street and waved.

'What you do that for?' she asked angrily. Her voice was high and rough, and even with Doranei's imperfect command of the dialect he could tell she was from the poorest part of the city. She sounded younger than her height implied.

'So you wouldn't take fright.'

The girl checked behind her in case someone was creeping up on her, but she was still alone, other than the strange man now talking to her. She tensed, ready to run.

'What you want then?'

'One thing first,' he said, holding up a hand to stop her questions. 'My aim's good with stones, better with a knife.'

'So?'

'So,' he said, trying to sound as un-threatening as possible, 'I've got less friendly ways of stopping you in the street.' As he spoke he produced a knife from his sleeve and spun it in his fingers so it was ready to throw.

The girl froze, about to run, but Doranei knew she didn't want to turn her back on him. 'There's guards in the next street and they'll come runnin' if I scream.'

'Yeah, I've met them. One old, one young. Neither think much of you, and you better believe I can take them both.'

'What you want?' She was clearly confused. Doranei had threatened her, but he hadn't yet taken a step closer. He wasn't so close that he could be certain of hitting her, or catching her on foot, but she knew that'd be a dangerous gamble to take.

'To talk to someone.'

'Can't afford a whore?'

Doranei laughed. 'You remind me of a woman I know. Her mouth's got her in trouble all her life; if she weren't one of the toughest bitches I ever met she'd have died years back.' He sniffed. 'Point is, you keep talking like that and you better be trained to kill as well as her, get me?'

The girl hesitated, then gave a quick nod.

'I can't hear you.'

'Yes, sir,' she replied in a sullen voice.

'Good. Now just listen. I don't care about you, and you'll get in no trouble for talking to me. You were going to Rose Fountain Square to check one of the buildings there again — any movement, any lights showing, that sort of thing-just like you've been ordered to.'

A longer pause, then another nod.

'Good, least you're not lying to me. Now, I'm guessing you work for someone in Burn or Wheel, right? You'll be taking me back with you. I think they want to talk to me.'

'She won't like it,' the girl answered, 'she's gotta bad temper on her. Most likely she'll get Vasca to break our heads.'

'Who's Vasca?'

'Doorman.'

'Brothel? Tavern?'

'Both.'

Doranei put the knife away. 'He wouldn't get a punch in,' he said confidently, taking a step towards her.

'Now who got too big a mouth?' she demanded.

He shrugged. 'Doesn't matter if you believe me. He's no friend of mine and if I have to break his face to talk to whoever wants that door watched, that's fine by me.' He clapped his hands together with forced jollity and then pulled his cloak tight around his body. 'It's getting pretty cold out here though, so if you want to argue further let's do it walking in the right direction.'

'What's in it for me?' she demanded, holding her ground as he began to head towards her.

'You'll get a silver level for your trouble, how about that?'

'Up front.'

'Piss on you,' he snapped, stopping a sword-length away from her. 'You'll get a copper house if it'll stop you whining and nothing more till I meet your boss.'

She didn't argue the point. He could still hurt her if he wanted. 'Fine, this way,' she said sulkily.

He fell in beside her, one of his longer strides to two of her brisk little steps. After half a minute she cleared her throat and spat the phlegm on a doorstep. 'So where's that copper then?'

'Gods, your name isn't Legana, is it?'

She made a disgusted sound and skipped two paces ahead of him, forcing Doranei to catch her up. 'Gimme the coin and you find out.'

Doranei was surprised at the size of the tavern. It had clearly once been a warehouse, with staff quarters on one side and the owner's round the back. Fat pitch'blackened beams melted into the gloom of night, leaving panels of white-washed brick appearing to hover in the air. Silhouetted against a thin veil of moon-lit cloud were two stone gargoyles, hunched on the corners of the tavern front and peering down at the entrance.

There was a sudden break in the cramped streets past the tavern-the fissure the locals called Cambrey's Tongue. The smooth ripple of scorched black earth, the only undeveloped ground in Burn, extended a good hundred yards downslope. Doranei had only ever seen it in spring, when the seeds that drifted down from the mountain burst into rare and lovely wildflowers.

To Doranei's surprise the girl didn't break and run for the door, shouting for Vasca, but walked in, bold as brass, through the double-width oak door. She was pulling off her coat before she'd even crossed the threshold. Walking to the bar she cast a meaningful glance back at Doranei for the benefit of the fat man propping it up.

The mood in the room changed immediately as Vasca heaved himself up off his elbows and started forward. Doranei flexed the fingers of his left hand under his cloak and tightened them into a fist. He stepped forward to meet the big man as he unhooked a club from his belt.

Vasca wasted no time in swinging at Doranei's ear, hard enough to crack the Narkang man's skull, but Doranei checked his stride and jerked his head back just in time. After that, Vasca barely saw him move.

Grabbing the doorman's wrist, Doranei pulled him off-balance and swung a low punch up into the man's exposed ribs. When his steel-backed gloves connected Vasca gave a pig-like grunt of pain, but Doranei hadn't finished. He tugged Vasca round and smashed a knee into his kidneys. The doorman's legs turned to jelly but Doranei was already swinging back around and a loud crack rang around the tavern as his right forearm smashed across Vasca's nose. The man fell to the floor.

Doranei spun around on instinct, bringing his sword up, just in case anyone had slipped behind him, but everyone in the room was frozen to their seats, staring aghast. He lowered his sword a little. There was a table of soldiers by the left-hand side wall.

'A little dramatic, don't you think?' said a voice to his left. 'I don't recall you being much of a fan of the theatre.'

Doranei nearly dropped his sword when he saw who'd spoken: sitting at a table of his own in the corner, lounging like an idle young nobleman, was Prince Koezh Vukotic. The vampire was the only person not drinking out of a clay pot, and Doranei found himself hoping it was just red wine he could see though the cut-glass.

Koezh was dressed in anonymous grey travelling clothes, his only jewellery a gold signet ring on a chain around his neck. There was an indulgent smile on the vampire's lips, but Doranei had grown used to being mocked by members of that family. If Vorizh Vukotic had turned up and laughed at the state of his boots, Doranei was pretty sure he'd just sigh and shake his head, refusing to rise to the bait. Almost sure, anyway.

He sheathed his sword and stepped around the supine Vasca, who gave an involuntary snort as the blood began to run up his nose, then whined like a beaten dog at the pain. Doranei looked at his young guide, who flinched away when he pointed towards the kegs behind the bar, and walked to join the ruler of the Vukotic tribe. Koezh's eyes flickered momentarily around the room and their audience obediently turned their attention elsewhere. By the time Koezh invited him to sit, the conversations at every table had resumed.

Doranei pulled the chair out and sat, not bothering to remove his cloak. He doubted it would be long before Koezh dismissed him and he would have to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. They sat facing each other in silence. After a half-dozen heartbeats a pewter tankard of beer was placed in front of Doranei. Divested of her outdoor clothes, Doranei saw his guide was a fragile-looking little thing with auburn curls and a thin face. Twelve winters, no more, he judged. In Koezh's presence her face was expressionless, her demeanour muted.

Good thing too; no matter how bad your attitude is you'd have to be a fool not to sense his power.

'Aren't you going to say something?' Koezh said once the girl had gone. 'A delight to see you again? I've missed you? That jacket really brings out your eyes?'

'Don't even know what to call you,' Doranei muttered, wondering what exactly he'd got himself into. Koezh had tolerated him, but nothing more than that — and Doranei was horribly aware that he was the only person in the city not under Koezh's control who knew his identity. Added to that was his mission: to pry into the secrets of Vorizh, Koezh's younger brother.

'How about Osten?' Koezh replied with a smile, 'I'm sure my sister would approve. Shall we get our business out of the way before we start reminiscing?'

'Business?'

Koezh leaned forward and Doranei felt his entire body tense involuntarily.

'You are not drinking your beer,' the vampire pointed out, indicating the tankard. He spoke the local dialect in a precise, slightly stilted manner, a blend of thick Menin consonants and elongated Litse vowels. Doranei might be more fluent than Koezh, but in comparison he sounded like a dockworker.

The King's Man coughed, trying to smother a nervous laugh. Koezh was not a particularly large man, but there was an aura

surrounding him, and that filled Doranei with dread. The sapphire eyes didn't blink as he reached for the beer and took a long swig. A second reduced the tankard to half-full and finally calmed his jangling nerves. Shame there isn't a shot of brandy in this, he thought.

'Business then,' he said for the second time that evening, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'Want to tell me what you're doing here?'

'Not really,' Koezh smiled. 'You?'

'Perhaps.'

The smile widened a shade further than Doranei would have liked. 'Progress, then.'

'I was looking for your sister.' Doranei said cautiously.

'That is not your reason for being here. As much as I would like to dismiss you as a foolish little boy, you have not tracked her down to play the love-sick puppy.'

'Is she here?'

'In the city,' Koezh conceded, 'but busy this evening. Shall I pass on a message?'

'I have questions I need to ask of her.'

'She is a little old for romantic gestures.'

Doranei hiccoughed at the thought and needed another gulp of beer before he continued, 'You remind me of King Emin.'

'Does that mean you will perform tricks at my command?'

Doranei's eyes narrowed as Koezh's voice hardened. 'Is that what you think of me?'

'Only that you are more brittle and grim now than on that magical night we shared at the theatre.' Koezh leaned back in his chair, one elbow propped on the armrest while sipping his wine delicately. 'Keep your temper under wraps, puppy,' he said lazily.

Good point, Doranei thought, wrong person to get into a pissing contest with. 1 should have left as soon as I saw he was alone here.

'I'm sorry. Today has been a little strange.'

Koezh looked at him enquiringly. 'Stranger than the usual company you keep? Do tell.'

Doranei thought of the half-blind Farlan woman with a shadow's handprint on her throat and a God's blood in her veins. Mortal-Aspect of a dead Goddess. 1 don't want to know what would happen if they met. 'I cannot, not yet.'

'Then tell me what you want to ask my sister.'

Doranei hesitated, He knew perfectly well that whilst they may have been allies of sorts in Scree, that meant nothing now. The Vukotic family were enemies of the Gods and nothing would ever change that, just as no amount of good works would bring them redemption.

'I wanted to ask about your brother.'

'Vorizh?' Koezh sounded genuinely surprised for a moment there. 'What do you want with him?'

'We've heard a rumour,' Doranei said hesitantly, 'of a journal belonging to him.'

Koezh took another sip of wine, all the while looking at Doranei through narrowed eyes. 'A journal? You remember my brother is quite mad, don't you?'

'We do. And that is why I've come to ask why someone might want to read it.'

Koezh pursed his lips. 'All sorts of fools — we are a somewhat notable family, after all.'

'Do you know of this journal?' Doranei suddenly felt the air grow cold around him, the shadows lengthen.

'No. But I will tell you this,' Koezh said softly, his dark eyes gleaming. 'Be careful when you pry into the past. The Great War saw horrors you cannot even comprehend. Some secrets are best forgotten.' He leaned forward. 'You have finished your beer — it is time you left.'