madness had been agony when he’d reached out to Grisat’s mind. In his dreams the shadows had muted that touch, dampened the pain of Aracnan’s lingering presence. It was only later the terror had seeped into his bones as a figure of shadow with eyes of emptiness stared through his soul.
The door opened and a woman stood in the doorway. She wasn’t dressed for this part of town; her voluminous dress was of fine green cloth, and it reached the top of high, well-polished boots. Grisat blinked at her as the woman inspected the room, a slight curl of distaste on her lips. A plain grey cloak hung from her shoulders, open enough to see a matched pair of daggers belted to her waist and a fat necklace he guessed was a push dagger.
Mebbe she knows this part of town well enough after all.
Grisat gulped down half of the remaining beer and scowled at it again. The taste wasn’t improving with familiarity. Without looking at the woman he slid two silver coins to the far side of the table. She made no sign of noticing, but went to the bar and ordered herself a drink, casually inspecting the other drinkers there while she waited for it.
Satisfied there was nothing unusual, the woman headed towards a free table, changing direction at the last minute to sit on his left, a seat that gave her the best view possible of the rest of the room. As an idle gesture she flipped one of the coins over so the king’s head was face down and slipped the second in her pocket.
From that she produced a blank coin like the one tormenting Grisat — ground down and scored with a knife so a circle was scratched on one side and a cross on the other. She didn’t place it on the table, just turned it around in her fingers to show him both sides and returned it to her pocket.
‘I was expecting someone else,’ she said coolly, one hand resting on a dagger grip. ‘Who’re you?’
‘Someone sent to pave the way. He’ll be following soon enough.’
‘When I least expect it?’
Grisat grimaced. This woman was far too like Ilumene for his liking; he recognised the calculating eyes of a professional killer, the fondness for knives.
She picked up the small glass of cloudy liquor she’d ordered and knocked it back in one. ‘Orders for me?’
‘Package for me?’ he countered.
She looked at him appraisingly for a long time. Grisat did his best to ignore her scrutiny and knocked back the last of his beer. Seeing his shudder the woman flashed him a predatory smile. ‘Next time, ask for something stronger.’
‘Next time it’ll be him sittin’ here.’
She nodded and reached into a pocket in the inside of her cloak. ‘Good.’ She drew out a flat leather pouch two hand-spans across and put it on the bench beside him. Grisat heard the clink of metal links within. ‘It was expensive,’ she said, touching the package with one finger. ‘Silver isn’t cheap these days, nor are mages. Remind him that when you see him.’
‘You get paid for this?’
She smiled. ‘Handsomely. You one of those who found themselves in too deep before they knew they were even in anything?’
Grisat didn’t reply. The fact that he wasn’t the first, or likely the last, did nothing to cheer him. ‘Your orders,’ he began gruffly. ‘Alert your agents to be ready; get them to join up to a useful part of the army or something, if they aren’t there already. How many knives can you muster?’
‘Depends how good they need to be.’
‘Endgame quality.’
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. ‘I hadn’t realised. If we’re that deep in I’ve maybe five besides me good enough for our friend with the beautiful scars.’
‘Use the best four.’
She nodded. ‘Simple kills?’
‘Each is carrying something the master wants. Securing it is the highest importance, but it’ll never leave their sides, so most likely they’ll need to kill to take it. They’ll need to have time to escape or hand off the prizes.’
‘The targets?’
Grisat counted off on his fingers. ‘The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn, Count Vesna. An illusionist, Camba Firnin. Some friend o’ the king called Morghien. General Lahk of the Farlan Ghosts. A Brotherhood battle mage called Fei Ebarn. High Mage Tomal Endine. You also need to surveil High Mage Ashain and the scryer, Tasseran Holtai — both likely to be somewhere near Moorview — for when your friend joins you.’
‘That’s a bastard of a list.’
‘If it was easy, you wouldn’t have been brought into play. You and yours have been kept back exactly for this sort of job. For each success you can name your price.’
She raised an eyebrow at that. ‘Don’t think you know our friend so well after all. He doesn’t tend to take kindly to that sort of thing.’
Grisat shrugged. ‘Special case, this one. He knows the value — ’less they ask for something stupid, he’ll be good for it.’
‘That should prove an incentive. I’ll get to work,’ the woman said, smiling. ‘Do I tell them as soon as possible, or a particular day?’
‘They take the opportunities they find.’ With that Grisat rose to leave, the package slipped under his own coat. Before he walked away he hesitated. The woman looked up warily, her hand again on her dagger.
‘Those who get in too deep without noticing — you ever seen one get out alive?’ he asked in a quiet voice.
She gave a cough of surprise, pity and wonder mingling on her face. ‘The reluctant ones? No. That might change with the end in sight, but my advice is to accept it. You look like a mercenary, right? Well embrace the cause and enjoy your pay — there’s no quitting and our friend prefers an agent who needs him, not just fears him. Expensive whores, drugs, jewels — doesn’t matter what, if you’re his all the way and you lose the hangdog face, he’ll not piss you away so easily.’
She looked down and flicked her empty glass with her finger nail. ‘Send the barman over on your way out.’
CHAPTER 20
Lord Fernal sat alone in a dim study, picking at the plate of cold meat and cheese sitting on a table beside him. The window shutters were open and he watched the last of the daylight recede in the east, slivers of light gleaming on the drifting river that cut across his view. The fields and hedgerows were already dark, but his predator’s eyes caught the small movements of rabbits on the fringes of the human domain. He watched them moving warily, ears twitching at each shout and laugh from the banquet hall nearby, but not driven from their grazing by the clamour.
A knock came on the door. Fernal sighed and called for them to enter. A liveried guardsman announced Duke Lomin, but the nobleman was already inside the room before Fernal nodded his assent.
‘My Lord,’ Duke Lomin said, ‘your absence has been noticed at the banquet.’
Fernal turned in his seat to face the bearded soldier. ‘Noticed? I would hope so; I am their lord after all.’
‘The new arrivals were all keen to toast your health.’
‘Really?’ Fernal asked wearily, ‘and after that I’m sure they’d be commending your lineage, Duke Lomin.’ The man coloured and Fernal held up a hand. ‘I’m sorry. The insult was not aimed at you but your peers.’
‘Whatever their feelings, you should come down. You have called them here, after all, and have given little reason for so many to assemble.’
‘Is their lord’s will not enough?’
‘Not for long,’ Lomin said. ‘My Lord, why are we all here? There’s no insurrection to put down, no threat of invasion from the south — if anything, the army should be heading north to the coast to face down the Yeetatchen raids.’
‘The fact that you don’t believe Ruhen is a threat does not alter my policy, Duke Lomin,’ Fernal said with a growl.
