Part 16 (1/2)

'It is not,' Gaur agreed, 'but the price is acceptable. Inform Lord Larim of your requirements and he shall ensure the arrows are made.'

He held the sword out and this time Arlal took it and slipped the ancient copper-bladed weapon from the sheath to inspect it. Like many magical weapons it was oversized, too big to be of any real use without its imbued power. It would have looked comical in the hands of the slender Arlal but for the ease with which he moved it through the air. It was a straight, double-edged blade coming to a short point, and as Arlal ran reverential fingers down the flat Amber saw four complex swirling runes briefly glow orange.

'Agreed,' Arlal said finally, sheathing it again. He flicked the clasp of his cloak so that it fell from his right shoulder and he could attach the scabbard to his baldric; in a few moments the sword had disappeared, the cloak returned to position, and gorget and scarf restored. 'You require method or time?' he asked.

'As long as it happens before the end of summer, dead will do.'

Arlal murmured agreement and left with Chade hard on his heels.

When the sound of footsteps had receded, Amber turned to the general. 'How heavy is the helm then?'

'Not heavy.'

'Light as a b.l.o.o.d.y feather, I'd guess,' the major said, his amber eyes flas.h.i.+ng with laughter.

'Close,' Gaur admitted with a twitch of a furred cheek that could have been a smile, although with tusks protruding up to his nose it was hard to tell. 'He may get one small amulet from them.'

'Pretty and stupid,' Amber commented as he eased himself upright again, 'just how I like 'em.'

'Thank you, Major,' the beastman replied gravely. 'Time for you to get back to your duties, I think.'

Daken reached out and grabbed the nearest King's Man by the scruff of the neck. 'What d'ya mean, they lifted the restrictions on entry? I've just spent a f.u.c.king hour in that there d.a.m.ned barrel! And with Telasin b.l.o.o.d.y-Daemon-Touch with me!' he added, pointing at the man now clambering out of the same smuggler's barrel. 'When he farts, it smells like the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Dark Place - and I had to put up with that for nuthin nuthin?'

'Could've been worse,' Coran called, clambering out of his own and gesturing to the woman behind him, 'Sparks kept comin' off Ebarn the whole b.l.o.o.d.y journey.'

Daken released the man and turned to watch Ebarn, the Brotherhood's dark-haired battle-mage, who was clambering her way out with a scowl on her face. She was a few winters older than Doranei, and a veteran of King Emin's war against Azaer.

'You learn to keep your f.u.c.king hands to yourself,' she growled, 'and that'll stop happening.' Once she was standing upright again Ebarn groaned and flexed her muscles before running her finger through her cropped hair.

Coran didn't smile with the rest of the Brotherhood, the more unusual of whom were still being helped out of the barrels used to smuggle them into Byora.

They were being unpacked in the storeroom of Lell Derager, the Farlan's agent and pet wine merchant. The cheerful middle-aged merchant and his two most trusted men were releasing them one by one from the half-dozen fake barrels they had escorted into the city.

Once she'd stretched, Ebarn noticed that Coran was still staring at her, and she turned away with a slight sneer on her face. The white-eye had never been popular with women, not even the wh.o.r.es on whom he spent most of his money. He'd never acquired the skill of treating one as a colleague.

Coran rubbed his hands together as though warming them up. 'My fingers have gone numb with all those sparks - didn't know what I was touching.'

'We've heard you say that before,' called Ebarn, 'and not even the goat-herder believed you then!'

While the rest of the Brotherhood smirked, Doranei's face remained set and stony. Coran ignored the taunting and made his way over to Doranei. He gripped his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye, his expression grave. They all knew Sebe and Doranei had been as close as birth-brothers, and his loss wasn't just that of a comrade. Doranei gave a glum nod of thanks and thumped Coran on the back in reply before pus.h.i.+ng past him.

'You must be Daken,' he said to the other white-eye, who was eying him appraisingly.

The mercenary nodded as he tugged his enormous axe from the barrel and swung it up onto his shoulder.

'The answer to your question is this: you didn't put up with Telasin for nothing. While the restrictions have been lifted, there'll have been half-a-dozen folk watching the gate and taking note of anyone unusual coming in.'

'Well, we're in now,' said the mercenary battle-mage, Wentersorn, as he emerged from his own barrel and immediately sidestepped away from Daken. The white-eye hadn't had the opportunity yet to live up to his reputation, but the Mad Axe still clouted Wentersorn around the head every time he came within reach. 'I take that as a good sign, so how's about we find us some wh.o.r.es to celebrate my homecoming?'

'f.u.c.king mercenaries,' Doranei sighed. 'Does keeping a low profile mean nothing to you?'

Wentersorn scowled and pointed at Daken. 'He's my commander, not you.' He gave Daken a hopeful look, not a kindred spirit, but at least a common interest. The white-eye's appet.i.te for women was said to surpa.s.s even Coran's.

'Much as I'd love to agree with the ugly little s.h.i.+t and go get me some,' Daken said, 'we don't need the trouble.'

He lifted his s.h.i.+rt to reveal a ma.s.s of blue tattoos and pointed to the largest, a woman's head and upper torso in profile. Her mouth was twisted into a cruel smile and her fingers ended in sharp claws. As Doranei watched the smile widened a shade and her fingers briefly stroked the line of Daken's pectoral muscle.

'Litania does love to join in,' Daken said. He pointed to a series of scars just below his navel, adding, 'And she's a biter.'

Doranei coughed to cover his surprise and forced himself to tear his gaze from the Aspect of Larat inhabiting a man's skin. 'Well, if that's settled, have your men find bunks in there.' He pointed to a wide door on his left. 'That storeroom's been cleared; it's cramped, but it'll serve for tonight. Food and beer will be provided. Daken, do you have a second-in-command?'

The white-eye jabbed a thumb towards a bald man with bronze earrings and a pair of scimitars. 'Brother Penitence there.'

'Brother Penitence?' Doranei and Derager gasped in unison, both sounding dismayed.

'Aye, he's a cleric - Mystic o' Karkarn to be exact!' Daken gave a laugh at their expressions. 'Hah, look at the pair of ya; we ain't completely dumb, I just wanted to see your faces at his name.'

'I realise the name would be unwise in these troubled times,' the Mystic of Karkarn said in a surprisingly cultured voice. Many of their number were former soldiers, and most barely educated. 'Considering the way so many cults have abused the office of the Penitency in recent months I am willing to give it up for the time being. My birth name was Hambalay Osh; that is what you may use instead.'

'What's a mystic's involvement here?' Doranei demanded. 'I can't believe you're being paid like a mercenary.'

Osh dipped his head to acknowledge the point. 'I am an old acquaintance of the king's; one who owes him a considerable favour and whose skills are the only way of addressing the balance.'

Doranei grunted. This was neither the time nor place to pursue the matter. 'Follow me,' he said, and led them up to a staircase. Coran, Daken and Osh followed him two floors up to an attic room that had two small beds and a table at the window. One of the beds was neatly made up, a man's possessions arranged with military precision on top. As Coran pa.s.sed it he kissed the knuckles of his right hand and touched them to the maker's mark on the guard of the dagger that lay there. The little-known but much admired weaponsmith provided most of what the Brotherhood carried.

Doranei headed for a seat at the window and took a moment to gaze out at the view across Breakale district to Eight Towers.

'What's the latest then?' Coran asked after a minute or two, interrupting Doranei's reverie.

'Apart from the lifting of restrictions?' he said. 'Only Lord Styrax killing a dragon.'

The white-eye whistled. 'Must've taken some doing.'

'Smacks of showin' off if you ask me,' Daken commented, perching carefully on one of the beds until he was sure it could take the weight of a white-eye.

'Maybe,' Doranei said. 'Whatever the truth, it sounds like he's won over more than a few by it. Folk here have never had such a powerful ruler and they're beginning to think it's better to be inside his empire reaping the benefits than outside trying to fight it.'

'Might have a point there,' Daken said with a grin. 'So we're goin' to be the ones fightin' it - folk call me mad; what's your excuse?'

'It's not our concern at the moment; we've only got one target in Byora.'

'Why? If not this season, then one comin' soon, Lord Styrax is goin' to want to add Narkang to his empire. Why not throw a few sails in the pond?'

Seeing both Doranei and Coran looking puzzled by the expression Daken explained, 'Sail-raptors? No? Ah well, type o' lizard; swims, eats ducks, scares the s.h.i.+t out of 'em. Anyways, why not try slow him up a bit?'

'You don't get to question the king's decisions,' Doranei replied, 'and we don't have the time or resources to set up something that'll catch a big-enough duck to make our lives worthwhile. The Menin can't move much further, they must be badly stretched as it is. If they don't stop to consolidate they'll lose the city-states they've taken and while they're doing that, we'll be invoking our agreements with the Farlan. Now, if you don't mind, let's return to the reason why we're here.'