Sol stepped into range and cocked the cudgel for a blow to the legs. The merchant tried to protect himself with his hands.
‘Unknown, no! I can show you where you died. Where your body still lies. Please.’
It was an arrow to the heart of him. Sol froze and swallowed hard. The cudgel dropped from his hand. The fury drained from him and the strength left his legs. He sagged to his knees, supporting himself with a hand on the table top. His fingers rested on last night’s candle wax.
‘No one knows about that,’ he said, his voice a whisper, blood pounding in his head. ‘How can you know about that?’
‘Because I am Hirad, Unknown. I know how I look. The body is different but the soul is the same. And we need you. The Raven dead need you. You are our beacon. The rally flag on the battlefield. And we have to make a stand or we are all lost. The living and the dead.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Sol stared at the merchant, looking for the lie in his eyes. ‘A soul cannot return. You cannot be here.’
‘Think I want to be? It hurts, Unknown. Badly. Ilkar will be here soon enough, I’m sure. He’ll make you understand.’
Sol put his head in his hands. ‘This can’t be happening. Not really. I have… dreams.’
‘Told you.’
Sol snapped his head up. So like him, those words. So typical. The merchant was standing over him, offering a helping hand.
‘If you promise to hear me not hit me, I’ll help you up. We could have a glass of wine. Does Blackthorne still do that red of his? I wonder if I can taste it?’
The merchant wore a crooked smile. Sol glanced over at the picture of Hirad and shuddered. He allowed himself to be helped to his feet.
‘I have truly lost my mind.’ Sol gestured to a chair. ‘Pick it up and sit on it. I’ll get us a drink. While my back is turned, you have the option to leave. If I come back and find out you’re lying, I will kill you where you sit.’
‘I have missed your administrative guidance,’ said the merchant.
Sol jabbed a finger into his chest again. ‘Don’t push your luck.’
He blew out his cheeks and wiped a hand across his head on the way back to the bar. There were footsteps on the stairs. Diera appeared and treated him to a scowl as she tied on her apron. She looked beyond him into the inn.
‘Been rearranging the furniture, have you? Can’t say I like the upturned chair and broken glass look. What the hell has been going on? And who is that? We aren’t open yet.’
Sol stared at her for a moment, considering the lie that would best placate her. He dismissed every option. He plucked two pewter goblets from the bar top and wrapped his little finger around the neck of a stoppered bottle of wine. Half empty and not the good stuff.
‘He says he’s Hirad Coldheart, back from the dead.’
‘And you believe him?’ she asked. Sol said nothing. ‘My darling husband, where have you gone?’
Diera cupped her hands around his face. A single tear fell from her left eye. She sucked her lip, turned and walked out of the back door and into the yard, where the children still played.
Chapter 3
‘I take it the good Lady Unknown doesn’t believe me?’
Sol said nothing while he poured them each a goblet of wine. He sniffed his to make sure it was still drinkable and took a hearty sip. The Gresse red had a mellow flavour and a strong aftertaste.
‘Good with stew,’ he said.
‘I’ll remember that next time I’m cooking.’
Sol stared at the man. Young and proud-looking. Shoulder-length brown hair tied in a ponytail. Sharp green eyes stared back above a crooked nose and a mouth in which the teeth were starting to discolour. The wound in his left shoulder was deep. Deep enough to be fatal. Sol could see torn flesh and bone showing through the ripped clothing. He should have been pumping blood onto the inn floor. Sol was thankful for the mercy.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I’ll repeat it until you believe me, you know,’ said the merchant, eyes twinkling briefly. ‘You do believe me really, don’t you?’
‘Let’s just say I’ll listen to you. Give you a chance this side of doubt. But believe? What’s to believe?’
The merchant took a sip of wine and a look of almost beatific pleasure crossed his face. ‘Now that was almost worth coming back for.’
‘Almost?’
‘Another time, Unknown. But for now accept that returning from the dead isn’t all it might be.’
‘If you say so.’
Sol cursed himself, feeling drawn in already and wanting more. He wanted it to be true, that much he would readily admit.
‘Look, think about this logically.’
Sol laughed. ‘Logically? Now that is something very much in the Hirad mould. The ability to choose absolutely the wrong word at will. You appear at my door, sporting a wound that should have put you on the slab, and claim to be my friend returned from ten years dead. Logic? Please.’
‘All right not logic then, just what is in front of your eyes. Rely on what you know.’
‘I know Hirad Coldheart is dead. I am still counting the days, wishing it wasn’t true.’
‘And you also know that this wound has carved through my left collarbone and has torn nerve, sinew and artery. It’s a killing blow and you’ve seen enough to know one, right?’
‘Which means I’m looking at a fake of some sort. Because dead men cannot walk.’
‘Put your finger in, then. Give it a wiggle.’
The merchant demonstrated. Sol winced.
‘Isn’t that painful?’
‘It’s fucking agony.’
‘Well, stop it, then.’
‘Do you want a go?’
Sol stared at the merchant yet again. Memories thronged his mind and dragged to the fore emotions long- buried. Thousands of words that should have been said. Wrong body, wrong voice. An impossible return. And yet there in the cock of his head and the manner of his speech. So much familiarity.
‘It cannot be you,’ he said. ‘How can it be you?’
‘I take it you’ve had your fair share of fakes?’
‘You could say that,’ said Sol.
‘What people will do for a free drink, eh?’
‘They’re just the sad cases.’ Sol rubbed his nose. ‘It’s the ones that trade on my memories for profit. They make me angry.’
The merchant reached out and patted Sol’s hand.
‘Well you hide it very well.’
Sol burst out laughing. He refilled both their goblets. ‘Remember you’re still on probation here. Though I must admit, I’ve never seen anyone as convincing thus far.’
‘You’re telling me you’ve had others come to you like this?’
Sol nodded. ‘People claiming they were possessed by the spirits of one or other of The Raven fallen.’
The merchant straightened his shoulders, grimacing at the pain. ‘Recently?’ he asked.
‘Last four or so years… until I introduced the cudgel.’ Sol frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Anything very recent might not have been a fake.’
‘You mean I might have beaten the backside out of Ilkar or something?’
‘Ilkar’s rather confused living host, to be precise. We were trying a number of ways to get hold of you.’
