‘Then just say the truth.’
‘The truth? I wish I knew. I think about her all the time, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.’
‘You think about her?’
‘Yeah, I do.’
‘But you don’t know if you love her?’
‘I have to be honest with you; she told me about… you know, her visions.’
‘Did she? I didn’t think she was going to.’
‘She laid it all out for me, about how she’d seen a vision of us together in the future. I guess she thought it would help explain her actions, but…’
‘But what?’
‘Come on. Visions of the future? You’re joking, right?’
Corthie shrugged. ‘If that’s what she saw, then that’s what’s going to happen.’
‘You believe it?’
‘My other sister can do it, so why not Kelsey? Did you think she was just making it up to ensnare you?’
‘Maybe.’
Corthie shook his head. ‘She was devastated by that vision; it broke her heart. Imagine being told who you’re going to end up with, when you don’t even like the person.’
‘I don’t have to imagine; that’s what happened to me. Wait a minute, she doesn’t like me?’
‘She thought you were an arrogant arsehole. At least, she did when I last spoke to her. I have to warn you; if you treat her badly, I will break you in two.’
‘But we’ve no idea if we’ll ever find her again.’
‘You still don’t get it – if she saw you together, then it will happen. Right now, you’re as good as immortal. Whatever happens tonight, you won’t die.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in fate or destiny any more.’
‘This is completely different. It’s not fate, more an inevitability. It used to drive my other sister crazy. These visions are a curse.’
Van sipped his vodka. ‘You Holdfasts are insane. And anyway, if you believe all that, then why are you so full of despair? You said before that everything was hopeless. It can’t be that bad, not if you know your sister is alright.’
‘I’m glad Kelsey’s alive, but I wasn’t in the vision, nor was Aila. I could die tonight.’
Van glanced round at the other tables. ‘Judging by the amount of stares we’re getting, there’s a decent chance of that happening. We should get out of here.’
‘But this is a port town. They must be used to seeing strangers.’
‘Not any more. The only foreigners they’ve seen around here recently are Banner soldiers. This is not my first time in Kinell; I was posted here a few years back, as part of a peace-keeping operation when the locals rose up against the rulers of Alea Tanton. It wasn’t a full scale war, but it got quite nasty.’
Corthie frowned. ‘Now you tell me.’
Two sailors got up from a crowded table and walked over to them, while their comrades watched.
‘Lads,’ said one; ‘enjoying yourselves?’
‘Aye,’ said Corthie.
‘Good, good. Now drink up, and get out.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re not welcome here,’ growled the other sailor, his features tight as if he was having difficulty controlling his temper.
‘My friend is right,’ said the first sailor. ‘You’re either Banner soldiers or spies, and we don’t like either in our tavern.’
‘You hate the ruling gods, do you?’ said Corthie.
The second sailor opened his mouth, but his colleague stopped him. ‘We’re not saying that; we’re not falling for that old trick. Just finish your drinks, and leave.’
Van nodded. ‘No problem. We’ll be on our way in a moment.’
‘No, we won’t,’ said Corthie; ‘we’re staying put. No one tells me where I can and can’t drink. Now, would a spy say that?’
The tavern stilled.
‘You’re a big lad,’ said the first sailor, ‘but there are thirty boys in this tavern. You sure about those odds?’
Corthie shrugged. ‘Bring it on.’
‘Wait!’ said Van. He glanced at Corthie. ‘Shut up. Look,’ he said, turning back to the sailors; ‘my friend here has had a little too much to drink. We’ll take your offer and leave; we don’t want any trouble.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Corthie; ‘I quite fancy some trouble.’
An older man approached, his empty hands raised. ‘Please, take this outside.’ He pointed at Corthie. ‘And you’re barred. I knew you were no good the moment you walked in.’
‘They’re Banner scum,’ shouted one of the sailors from the table. ‘Everyone in this tavern remembers what it was like when they occupied this city.’
Van stood, and the second sailor swung a fist at him. Van dodged back a step, and the blow glanced off the side of his face. The rest of the sailors in the tavern got to their feet, shouting. Corthie finished his drink and felt for his battle-vision. It was still weak, but it gave him a rush to feel it course through him. A sailor aimed a punch at him, and he raised his hand and grabbed the fist as it was about to connect with his face. He pulled the sailor’s arm towards him, then brought it down against the edge of the table, breaking it. Two other sailors attacked him from the side, raining blows down onto him, and he rose to his feet, a broad smile on his face, and waded into the fight.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Corthie and Van were staggering along the wharf. Corthie’s fists were bruised and cut, and blood was coming from a wound on the side of his face, but he hadn’t felt as good in a long time. Next to him, Van wasn’t quite as happy. One of the sailors had clubbed him over the head with a bottle. It hadn’t broken, but a large bump was forming on the top of his skull, and he scowled in pain as they made their way past the rows of house boats.
‘That was great,’ said Corthie.
Van said nothing.
‘And you did alright,’ Corthie said to him; ‘you’re not too bad in a fight, well, at least until that guy battered you over the head. You should have got out of his way.’
‘There’s something wrong with you, Corthie.’
‘Why, because I like a fight? It was weird; normally I
