Part 25 (1/2)

Skilgannon accepted the offer. The concoction was delicious, and he felt fresh energy flow through his tired body. Some time later s.h.i.+vas returned. 'Now you look better, young man.

Good, is it not?'

'Wonderful. Could I have another?'

'You could - if you want to find yourself singing sweet songs and dancing on my table.

Trust me, one is enough. Now, I have some smoked fish for breakfast, with a side order of onion bread. Both are delicious. Especially with three eggs, whisked with b.u.t.ter and seasoned with a little pepper.'

Smoke from the riots was now drifting across the water. 'You'd think the city would have seen enough bloodshed,' muttered s.h.i.+vas.

'Starvation brings out the worst in people,' said Skilgannon.

'I suppose it would. I shall fetch you some breakfast.'

After s.h.i.+vas had gone Skilgannon's thoughts returned to the Old Woman. If she truly knew the location of the Resurrectionists he would be foolish to ignore her summons. Idly he fondled the locket round his neck. Do you really believe, he asked himself, that Dayan can be returned to life through a fragment of bone and a lock of hair? And supposing that she can, what will you do? Settle down with her on some smallholding and raise sheep?

She is ... was . . . a Naashanite aristocrat, raised in a palace, with a hundred servants to furnish all her needs. Would she live happily on a dirt farm? Would you? You were a general. The most powerful man in Naashan. Would you be content as a farmer, a tiller of soil?

Skilgannon drained the last of his tisane.

s.h.i.+vas returned with his breakfast and Skilgannon ate mechanically, the exquisite flavours wasted on him, as his mood darkened.

Druss wandered into the tavern and sat opposite him. 'Sleep well, laddie?' he asked.

'Well enough,' answered Skilgannon sharply, feeling his irritation mount.

'Not a morning person, I see.'

'What does that mean?' he snapped.

'Beware of the tone, boy,' said Druss softly. 'I like you. But treat me with disrespect and I'll bounce you off these walls.'

'You'll trip over your guts the moment you try,' hissed Skilgannon. Druss's eyes blazed.

Then he saw the empty tankard. Lifting it to his nose he drew in a deep breath.

'Drinking makes you disagreeable, you said. How do narcotics affect you?'

'I don't take them.'

'You just did. Most men who sip s.h.i.+vas's tisanes merely sit around with happy grins on their faces. You, it seems, slide in the opposite direction. I'll have some water brought out for you. Drink it. We'll talk when the opiates have worn off.'

Druss left the table and walked into the kitchen. A serving girl brought a jug of water and a large blue cup. Skilgannon drank deeply. A mild headache began at his temples. He saw Druss leave the kitchen and climb the stairs.

Suddenly tired, Skilgannon leaned forward, resting his head on his arms. Colours swirled before his eyes. He found himself staring at the blue cup. Light from the window was gleaming upon its glazed surface. Skilgannon closed his eyes. The bright s.h.i.+mmering blue remained in his mind, swirling like the ocean. His thoughts drifted free, skimming across the blue like a seabird - flowing back to the day when blood and horror tore into his life, changing it for ever.

It had begun so well, so innocently. Sashan was holding his hand as they walked in the park at dusk. They had strolled together to the market, and eaten a meal at a riverside tavern. It had been a good day. Spies no longer watched the house, and Skilgannon had begun to believe that his plan had succeeded. The festival was only a week away now, and soon he would take Sashan from the city to seek her destiny among the mountain tribes.

This thought was disturbing, and caused his stomach to tighten.

'What is wrong, Olek?' she asked him, as they pa.s.sed a gus.h.i.+ng fountain.

'Nothing.'

'You are gripping my hand more tightly.'

'I am sorry,' he said, loosening his grip. The only time they touched was when they were outside. Skilgannon enjoyed these walks more than any other pleasure he had ever experienced.

Night was falling as they approached the park gates. Two men with fire buckets were moving along the walkways, lighting the tall, bronze lanterns which lit the paths.

Skilgannon saw an old woman sitting on a bench. 'You wish your fortunes told, young lovers?' she asked. Her voice grated on Skilgannon. She was extraordinarily ugly, and her clothes were ragged and filthy. He was about to refuse her offer when Sashan released his hand and moved to sit beside the crone.

'Tell me my future,' she said.

'There are many futures, child. Not all are written in stone. Much depends on courage, and luck, and friends. Even more depends on enemies.'

'Do I have enemies?' asked Sashan, the question sounding innocent. Skilgannon was growing ill at ease.

'We should go, Sashan. Molaire will be angry if the meal goes cold.'

'Molaire will not be angry, Olek Skilgannon,' said the old woman. 'I promise you that.'

'How is it you know my name?'

'Why would I not? The son of the mighty Firefist. Did you know that your father is now a demiG.o.d among the Panthians?'

'No.'

'They wors.h.i.+p courage above all else, Olek. You will need all the courage your blood line can supply. Do you have such courage?'

Skilgannon did not answer. There was something about the crone that chilled him.

'What about my fortune?' asked Sashan.

'You have the courage, my dear. And to answer your question, yes, you have enemies.

Powerful enemies. Ruthless and cruel men. One in particular. He needs to be avoided for now, for his stars are strong, and his standing high. He will cause you great pain.' She looked up at Skilgannon. 'And he will break your heart, Olek Skilgannon, and burden you with guilt.'

'Let's go,' said Skilgannon. 'I need to hear no more of this.'

'I still haven't been told my fortune,' said Sashan. 'I have enemies, you say. Will I defeat them?'

'They will not defeat you.'

'Enough of this nonsense!' snapped Skilgannon. 'She knows nothing, save my name. All else is valueless. Strong enemies, broken hearts. It means nothing.' Fis.h.i.+ng a small silver coin from his pouch he dropped it in the crone's lap. 'This is all you desire. Now you have it. Leave us be.'

She pocketed the coin, then looked up at Skilgannon. There was no-one close by when she spoke, and her words lanced into him. 'Your enemies are closer than you think, Olek. The Empress is dead. Your friend Greavas has suffered the most terrible of fates. And the young princess sitting beside me is in mortal danger. You still wish to talk of nonsense?'

The words burned into Skilgannon, stunning him. He stood very quietly, staring at her.