by Lloyd, Tom
Hain pointed at a patch of ground between them and the animal pens. ‘That’s the spot,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t believe we’re even tryin’ this,’ the huntsman moaned with a shake of the head. ‘You’re goin’ t’get us killed, settin’ snares for a damn dragon!’
‘Shut up and get back there for the rest,’ Hain hissed, trying to keep from raising his voice. ‘We know they’re not going to hold it.’
The huntsman said nothing more as he handed over the cables and made his way back to the doors. Hain watched him for a moment, wondering if the man was right, then he shook himself. It didn’t matter if the huntsman was right or not; he had orders to carry out. He bent to the task of separating out the cables on the grass, trying to put to one side the ridiculousness of the idea - even though it was partly of his devising.
‘Let’s hope the beastmasters are right about dragons being similar enough to wyverns,’ he muttered, ‘otherwise looking stupid’s going to be the least of our problems.’
He peered up at the sky, which was lightening with every passing minute, though dawn was still a way off. The beastmasters had said there was no way of predicting when the dragon would be active and away from its lair, but darkness would prove no barrier to its eyesight. Hain’s best bet was to work alone and quietly, as soon as it was light enough for him to be able to see the dragon approaching.
So get a bloody move on, he ordered himself, and started to cut the turf. Whether it works is someone else’s problem.
A knock came at the door of the orphans’ chamber. The Duchess of Byora looked up from her breakfast and watched blearily as Sergeant Kayel crossed over to the door and opened it a fraction. Mornings had always been precious to Natai. Whether or not her husband, Ganas, had risen with her, she had cherished these precious few hours before official duties took over. It was a fair indulgence, she thought; no matter the problems the day might bring, she was always better prepared, both in temper and perspective, having spent some time with her young wards first.
Natai looked around. The orphans’ chamber was conspicuously lacking in one detail: orphans. Only Ruhen was present, together with his painfully thin nurse, Eliane, who was sitting in the furthest corner of the room. The rest were absent, as were the nurses who tended to them, and Natai felt a flicker of anger - until her gaze returned to Ruhen, sitting happily at her side. This morning he was playing with an old quill, drawing elegant spirals on a battered piece of parchment. She tilted her head to look at the page; the shapes looked almost like writing from a far-distant place.
‘Ruhen, dear, would you draw something for me?’ she asked on a whim.
‘Yes, Mother,’ the boy replied solemnly, looking up at her through his long lashes. The ache in her head softened as he smiled, and the shadows wove patterns in his eyes.
So beautiful, she thought dreamily, so beautiful, and so clever.
She moved her hand to stroke the line of his jaw and tuck an errant lock of long brown hair behind his ear to stop it falling over his face. Ruhen’s cheek dimpled a fraction and Natai felt a flutter of pleasure in her belly.
How foolish I was to think him so young when he first came to me- No, he has been here for years, of course. I am his mother, I gave birth to him. I remember the pain, the first clench of labour as Ganas and I went on our Prayerday trip . . .
Her thoughts tailed away into nothing. Remembering was hard, so hard, and so painful. She was Ruhen’s mother, and that was all that mattered. He gave her joy by his mere presence, and in time she would be proud to watch him grow into a prince, to rule all of the Circle City.
‘Your Grace?’ A deep voice interrupted her reverie, making her flinch. She looked around vaguely until she realised it was Sergeant Kayel who was talking.
‘Yes? Yes, what is it?’ She frowned. ‘Did someone bring a message?’
‘They did, your Grace,’ Kayel replied. He heaved his large frame into a chair and dropped his elbows heavily on the table.
Natai pursed her lips. Her bodyguard should not eat with his mistress, should he? She wished for a moment she could remember ... She watched him drop a handful of letters on the table and pick up several hardboiled eggs in his scarred hands.
‘Strangely enough,’ Kayel continued after filling his mouth with one egg, ‘the letters ain’t for you, your Grace. One is for me.’
‘Who would write to you? Who are the others for?’ She caught sight of Ruhen, holding out his hand for the one of the eggs Kayel had.
‘You want one?’ Kayel offered an egg to the little boy, but not close enough for Ruhen to take it. ‘What do you say, then?’
‘Now,’ Ruhen said with a firmness that made Natai tense. Kayel chuckled and leant over, extending his reach until the boy could take it from him.
Natai relaxed again. A boy must have a father, she reminded herself. Ganas was a sweet man, but he was weak. Kayel is a better influence for my little prince.
‘Anyways,’ Kayel continued, one cheek bulging, ‘the other letters are for Aracnan and the Jesters. The seal is Menin, General Gaur’s own.’
‘What does he want with you?’
Kayel smiled and a knife seemed to magically appear in his fingers. He picked up the letter and ran the blade under its seal. He unfolded the letter, held it up to the light and read it out loud.
‘Sergeant Kayel, you are cordially invited to join Lord Styrax the morning after tomorrow at dawn for a hunt. Attendance is mandatory for all subjects loyal to the new ruler of the Circle City.’
‘Well, you must not refuse him then,’ Natai said suddenly. ‘To do so would give grave offence.’
‘Hunting though? You invite noblemen hunting, not men like Raylin mercenaries, men like me!’ Kayel thought for a moment before giving a cough of laughter. ‘Hah, damn it, of course! Can’t really refuse him now can I? Not when it was your idea for the hunt in the first place. You take noblemen if you’re hunting for deer. You take Raylin and the like if you’re going after larger game.’
‘My idea?’
‘Yes, your Grace. You were the one who asked him to free us from the beast preying on the folk of Ismess. He’s gathering warriors and adventurers together to hunt a dragon; Piss and daemons, but I wouldn’t miss that fun for all the money in Coin. And when nobles go hunting, there’s always business to be talked over afterwards. So I wonder what it is he wants - and who else is invited? ’ His face fell slightly. ‘Giving Aracnan the good news might not be a bundle of fun.’
‘His wound still ails him?’
Kayel gave her a contemptuous look. ‘He’s an immortal who is slowly dying, driven mad by pain while the rot in his shoulder goes deeper into the bone. Ailing don’t really cover it.’
‘Library,’ Ruhen said, putting his pen down.
‘That’s right dear, soon you’ll be able to go to the Library of Seasons again and see the funny men with wings,’ Natai said.
‘Aye,’ Kayel agreed pensively, brushing the back of one thumb with the edge of his dagger. ‘A prince needs a suitable education now, don’t he?’
A small drop of blood fell onto the letter, but only Ruhen paid it any attention. He watched the bright spot run down the paper, his eyes dancing with delight.
‘This Menin occupation has become tiresome,’ Zhia announced, slipping her arms from the sleeves of her dress and letting it fall about her ankles. ‘There are altogether too many curious faces on the streets, even at night.’
The naked vampire ignored the bedroom’s chilly air and carefully unwound her plait to leave her hair falling freely about her shoulders. Doranei turned slightly so he could see her slim body silhouetted in the faint daylight creeping around the door. He felt a familiar stirring of lust banish the fog of sleep and for a while he just enjoyed the sight of her, every movement graceful and neat.
‘Where did you go?’ he asked eventually, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘I didn’t hear you leave.’
Zhia’s sharp teeth flashed white in the twilight. ‘I didn�
�t want to wake you.’ With a twitch of her fingers the blanket lifted off Doranei’s body and the cold air rushed in. As Doranei instinctively curled up Zhia slid sinuously into his arms. By the time the blanket dropped down again his body was tightly wrapped around hers, his lips on the nape of her neck as Zhia pushed against his chest.
‘You went to feed?’ Doranei said softly in her ear, breathing in the delicate perfume she wore.
‘I did. A girl has needs even you cannot satisfy,’ Zhia purred, reaching back around his waist to pull him tighter against her. As he kissed her again she took his hand and pressed it against her chest, hard enough to make him wince.
Doranei didn’t say anything more. He might not like it, but he was a professional killer; what right had he to pass judgment on her Gods-imposed curse?
‘How are you going to spend the day?’ she asked eventually.
He sighed. ‘I have the usual errands to run. I can’t afford to let our agent here out of the safe house, he’s too easily recognised and Ilumene will have people looking for him.’
‘Then an evening of drinking in Coin? That disguise would suit you better if you had a beautiful lady to accompany you.’
Doranei gave a noncommittal grunt. Even washed, shaved and dressed in fine clothes he hadn’t managed to attract the right friends in the cardhouse; bringing Zhia in would complicate matters in other ways. His usual method of intelligence-gathering - befriending soldiers, cooks and servants - had been precluded now a traitor comrade was overseeing security at the Ruby Tower.
He was hoping the merchants of Coin and the minor nobility of Eight Towers would tell him enough instead, but it was hard to lay the groundwork in fraught times like these, when he didn’t look like he belonged. Zhia did, but she wore a dark allure like a mantle, and Doranei was noticeable enough already.
‘Ashamed to be seen in public with me?’
‘Don’t be foolish.’ He kissed her, and added, ‘If you could make yourself look a little less beautiful, confident and terrifying all in one go, then I’d have no argument. But I already attract too much attention, and you, my love, you dominate any room you enter.’
She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingertips as gently as a butterfly. ‘You grieve for Sebe. When you drink, you glower, and frighten those around you. However delicate your touch, you still resemble a white-eye looking for something to kill; that’s what they notice in Coin.’
‘It isn’t so easy to throw off,’ he growled.
‘I know that, pretty one,’ Zhia continued in a conciliatory tone, ‘but it is a detail you must address. There’s enough grief around that folk will understand it. Wear something to explain your mood and their suspicion will be allayed.’
‘You think that’ll be enough?’
‘I don’t know; you won’t tell me what information you are seeking.’ There was an edge of hurt in her voice that made Doranei want to immediately apologise, but he suppressed the feeling.
‘Do we need to have this conversation again? I’m not your pet to be indulged, and we’re not on the same side in this war.’
‘Those are not sufficient reasons to mistrust me. I can provide you with a plan of the Ruby Tower, of the duchess’ security arrangements - whatever you want. Lady Kinna is still under my control, and her access is unrestricted.’
‘They are all the reasons I have,’ Doranei said, knowing he sounded petulant, ‘and besides, my orders are clear enough.’
‘Your king does not trust my motives; I understand that, but do you honestly believe I would give you false information or betray your plans to the shadow? Do you believe I would ever put you in danger?’
‘Zhia — Of course I don’t, but this is how things must be. Can we — ’ he broke off to stroke her back, and whispered, ‘Zhia, can we please talk of inconsequential things instead?’
She heard the tired edge in his voice and, knowing how exhausting an emotion grief was, she didn’t push matters further. Zhia gently kissed each of his callused knuckles before using his hand to cup her face. ‘As you wish, pretty one. We will talk of the children we will never have instead; of the life we will never lead. I require a minimum of two girls - I remember having a sister most fondly.’
‘At least two?’ Doranei winced at the thought. ‘Just one with her mother’s smile would be trouble enough for me.’
‘You would rule them without ever realising it,’ Zhia said with laughter in her voice, ‘as their father, the proud merchant, comes home after a long day to a great clatter of feet as his adoring women rush to greet him.’
‘Merchant? What would I sell?’ Doranei asked in surprise, unable to imagine himself doing anything so safe - or so legal. ‘My entire life’s been in the king’s service.’
‘This is the life we will not lead,’ Zhia reminded him. ‘Your father was a soldier in King Emin’s conquest, but he wanted a better life for his son and so he apprenticed him to a wine trader. You, in turn, are so filled with pride when young Manayaz announces he intends to join the Kingsguard, you cannot resist giving him your blessing.’
He frowned. ‘Manayaz? Even in your homeland, boys can’t have been called that since the Great War. Your father rather coloured most folk against the name.’
‘Manayaz,’ Zhia said with finality. ‘He will have his father’s size and his mother’s speed. No bully will take exception to his name more than once.’ She pulled Doranei’s hand tighter against his chest. ‘He will be a fine older brother to little Sebetin, the one whose smile melts the hearts of even his fierce gaggle of sisters.’
‘Sebe,’ Doranei whispered, ‘named for their favourite uncle, who still manages to get me into daft scrapes when we’re both old, rich and fat.’
‘The very same; who wakes early when he comes to visit and drags the children out with the dawn so we can have these few quiet moments together. These moments that mean as much to me as anything - these moments that last as we grow old together and watch our children make all the same mistakes we did when we were young.’ Zhia smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Except the ones involving jumping off buildings or petting guard dogs; they’ll have the sense not to do those.’
‘What fools we are,’ Doranei said bitterly. ‘You, who doesn’t grow old; I, who’ll not survive to do so.’
‘It is not too late for you,’ Zhia said with a shake of the head. When she tried to continue, however, she felt the words catch in her throat. Neither of them could believe that; it wouldn’t matter what she said.
They lay together in silence until sounds began to emanate from elsewhere in the building and the tavern servants started their day. With the quiet broken Doranei eased himself away from Zhia, who let him go and watched while he dressed. Her eyes were closed when he bent to kiss her forehead and only opened again when the door clicked shut behind him.
CHAPTER 8
Low shafts of sunlight pushed between the trees as the witch of Llehden walked towards the lake. It was early enough to be crisp and cold still - two hours after dawn, and the sun hadn’t yet warmed the frost off the rusty bracken. The witch wore a wolfskin cloak, fastened at the throat by a bronze stag’s head clasp that looked incongruous with the rest of her clothes, and in her arms was a large, awkward-shaped bundle. Occasionally the bundle would wriggle, prompting the witch to shift her hold a little and whisper soothing words.
At the end of the path the trees opened up and afforded her a view across the still water. The other side of the lake was punctuated by rampant clumps of reeds standing higher than a man, beyond which stretched the long, undulating expanse of Tairen Moor. Several villages bordered the moor, but the only people you would ever find on the moor were travellers using the single road and the few peat-diggers and herdsmen who lived there.
The witch headed for the cottage on the lake’s shore. The sound of chopping wood rang out from the trees behind as she left the path, but stopped when she called loudly, ‘Grave Thief!’
As she reached the cottage door Mihn appeared fro
m around the corner, sweat-slicked and red-cheeked from his exertions in the cold morning air.
‘Good morning,’ he called, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘You have something for us?’ he added, when he noticed the bundle in her arms.
‘For your patient.’
Mihn smiled faintly and came around to open the door for the witch. ‘I am glad to hear it. He is not much better since you last visited. The man is still there, but he is hiding deep inside.’
They entered, and the witch lost no time in crossing to where Isak was lying. He was not so tightly curled up as before, and it looked as if he had reacted slightly to the sunlight shining through the door, but he was a far cry from the arrogant, ebullient youth she had first met.
