men in that he knew his failing.
Wen laughed, his voice cracked in what Renir knew was the throat of one accustomed to the harsh smoke of seer’s grass. It changed minds, Renir knew, and not for the better. That would explain the red-rimmed eyes, and perhaps the permanent leer fixed on his face.
“I’m as reliable as rock. I will stand.”
“Well, then that’s the introductions over with. Whose round is it?” asked Bourninund.
“I’ll stand this one, and pay up what you owe. I have money in abundance,” said Wen. He drew a pouch from his belt and tipped the contents out on the table.
The silence was sudden.
Hundreds of tiny, cut rubies tumbled across the wooden table. Shorn was the first to react.
“Put them away, man! You’ll have every thief in the city trying to cut our throats!”
Wen barked a laugh and scooped the rubies back into the pouch. “The wages of death, my friend. I have saved every one. It is only fair that the dead should pay our passage north. They know their own kind.”
Renir wondered if the man thought he was dead, and if he was some strange assassin who only accepted payment in rubies.
“We’ll take the money where we can get it, thank you, Wen,” said Drun, ever polite. “But I think one should be sufficient to cover the remainder of our bill.”
“Very well. I will save the rest. The Seafarers have a liking for baubles, too. Although I don’t know why. It’s not like there’s any use for gems in the ocean.”
“You do know why,” said Shorn, “Don’t pretend like you’re some fool who’s never left home.”
“Every man is a fool, student, but I left home many years ago. I know it well. I remember the day I left, and every day before it.”
Shorn ignored him. He had heard the tale of the weapons’ master’s exile many times during his tutelage. It was a sad tale, but Shorn would not let it have unmanned him as it had his old teacher.
But then, perhaps Shorn had his own bane. Every man of war was beset by ghosts. It was just that Wen communed with his, whereas most warriors merely pretended they could not hear the babble of the slain on their shoulder.
Renir took a seat next to Drun, and beckoned the barmaid with a gesture. He studiously avoided looking at Wen, and glanced round the tavern. There was not much to see. It was early yet, and few men in Pulhuth had the time or the money to spare to spend all day drinking.
He was fortunate indeed.
As the older men discussed their journey, Renir watched them and held his council. Once, when his journey had begun, he would have tried to lighten the mood. Now he knew he would have only done so to alleviate his own discomfort. He was a different man now, but still, somewhere deep inside, there was a core of innocence and decency that could not be tarnished by the trials he had already born, and the hardships yet to come.
But he was not blind. There was some tension that Renir could not fail to notice, and fresh wounds on Wen’s bare upper arms. He came to the obvious conclusion that the two men had fought, and not with fists, but he could see none of the animosity that was so often evident in Shorn’s manner. It was as though Shorn was resigned to the fact of Wen accompanying them on their journey north, and had set aside any thoughts of revenge on the giant warrior.
It must have been some fight, thought Renir. From what he knew of Shorn, it would not have gone easy. And for this man to have trained him…the ground must have shook.
Renir felt it was up to him to steer the conversation into more friendly waters. Perhaps if he got to know Wen better he would feel less apprehensive about the man.
“And where do you come from, Wen?” he asked as a convenient gap opened in the conversation. “You have a strange accent, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“I come from a distant land, boy. Far from here, across the endless seas. People on Lianthre call it the fourth continent. We call it Makref. It means ‘land of sand’. It is a largely barren land, peopled with strange creatures much like the Protectorate that you flee, and human people, like me. It is there that I learned to kill, and there I learned to enjoy it. But that is all I will say. There is plenty of time to get to know one another on the journey to the north.”
Suddenly, Renir realised, there was nothing he would like to do less.
“But more of you, Renir. You are haunted are you not?” Wen looked at him sideways. Or perhaps it was just the set of his face.
Renir was forced to re-evaluate the man. Only the Bear and Drun knew of his strange nightly visitations. He obviously saw much with his bloodshot eyes.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Of course it is. Death is my business. We are both haunted, are we not, Renir Esyn? I know more of you than you think. The dead do not reserve their meanderings to your mind, boy.”
Bourninund, while not a wise man, saw enough shock on Renir’s face to stir him into action.
“Perhaps we should be moving on,” he said, with a careful smile to the others. “There’s tavern’s a’beckoning, and I’ve got a thirst that needs to be slaked. There’ll be plenty of time for chat tonight, but I’m tired of this place. I need to say goodbye to the city if we are to leave tomorrow. What say you all?”
“As good a plan as any, Bear,” said Renir, tearing his gaze away from Wen’s seeking eyes. It was almost as difficult as tearing his eyes away from a fresh corpse. There was a certain morbidity about the man.
Chapter Twenty-One
They made their way slowly to the Long Pig. It was a tavern of great repute, and popular among the wealthier denizens of the city, but it was not selective in its crowd. If you could afford to drink there, you were welcome.
None of the men were attired in finery, and all but Drun were armed. It was not unusual for men to go armed around the city. It was a dangerous place to walk without a steely friend at your side. However, most settled for gentleman’s weapons, such as narrow swords for fencing in the well-to-do districts, or sharp daggers in the seedier districts.
In the docks, you were lucky if you just got clubbed.
They entered the tavern and took a seat. It was still early in the evening, but there was a fair crowd gathering. The working day was over, and there were plenty of patrons taking up positions for the night. The night was balmy, and would be short now that summer had arrived. Renir felt his sweat from the walk cooling in the shadowy interior of the tavern, and was grateful for the coolness.
The first thing that Bourninund noticed was a fat barmaid. She was happy and rotund…a rolling pin kind of woman. Renir sighed and pulled the Bear over to their table.
Bourninund ignored Wen’s questioning gaze as the woman came over. Wen asked for a chicken — everyone else asked for ale and stew. It was still early in the day and they needed fuel to drink until late, which they fully intended to do.
Wen glared at Renir over a chicken leg, tearing the meat with sharp, stained teeth. Another sign of a seasoned smoker. Renir wondered that his teeth hadn’t fallen out yet, for they were certainly sour, and now, close across the table from the madman, Renir could smell the taint of Kun on his breath.
It would soon become busy, and Renir was glad for a table near the bar. On this, the fifth day of the week, most people were paid. Harlots would be working the tables within a few hours. It was common for the ladies to work a certain tavern, and they made most of their income for the week on the last day. They could have been fine, or tarnished — in the moody light of the Long Pig it was impossible to tell. Renir guessed the shoppers wouldn’t be examining their wares by the light of day, either.
He turned his gaze back to Wen.
The big man was barely resting. Whereas Shorn gave the impression of nonchalance in a tavern, never letting his guard down, but always seeming to be relaxed and carefree, Wen was the exact opposite. Every muscle in his huge chest stood taut. His face was strained, his discomfort in being in such surrounds evident. He glared at the
