running a rough thumb down her tear-ribboned cheek.
Then that s the way it has to be, Imrana.
But they ll they ll hunt you down.
He snorted. Yeah, they ll try. I ve been hunted by steppe ghouls and starving wolves, Imrana. I think I can handle the Yhelteth City Guard.
And for one crazy moment, he wished he was back out there on the steppe once more, back under that great icy sky with staff lance and ax and knives at hand, and nothing more complicated to worry about than some pack of howling hungry creatures on the horizon who d ill-advisedly decided they wanted a piece of him.
Instead of which
This fucking city.
He nodded once more at Brin, looked once more at Imrana standing there. Then he turned and headed back out into it.
CHAPTER 31
You could hear the yelling from twenty yards off down the alcoved and colonnaded corridor. As they approached, Ringil glanced sideways and saw Archeth pull a face.
Worse than you thought it d be? he asked her.
Yeah. But then she shrugged. No. No, I suppose not.
Fucking merchants, eh?
You will keep your seat! came through the door at full pitch. A young, unseasoned voice, trying for command and fraying at the edges. Ringil made it for Noyal Rakan. He d eavesdropped on the young Throne Eternal captain earlier in the week, and had to agree with Shanta. He wasn t the man for this job.
Nice arse, though.
They reached the door. Stood wordless, looking at each other. The storm raged on within, Rakan s attempt to close down debate by now pretty much washed away in the waves of revolt. One heavily accented, bass voice trampled down the Throne Eternal captain s commands. Behind that, other speakers with more homegrown Tethanne vied for mastery undeterred. Archeth looked at Ringil s face and saw a cold smile wash across his eyes but barely touch the crooked line of his mouth.
Well, here we go, he said.
He reached down with a showy flourish of sleeves, laid hands on the ornate handles of the double doors. He turned each handle sharply and shoved inward. The doors hinged smoothly back, letting out a waft of stale, body- heated air and the surf of raised voices. a fucking choirboy!
That s exactly right, you shame! Shame! no intention of
Gentlemen!
To Archeth, it didn t seem as if Ringil had raised his own voice by much, but it stilled the room like a battle clarion. There was an almost comical nature to the way the company froze, heads twitching around to the door and the figure that had just come through it. Half of the assembled worthies were on their feet around the table, caught in furious mid-gesture, the others slumped in their chairs with lordly disdain. Rakan, looking beleaguered, headed the table with another equally young Throne Eternal by his side, but the focus of the room was Shendanak big, broad-shouldered, and these days swinging a belly like a saddlebag under his robes. Shendanak, who still affected the knotted hair and iron talismans of a youth and a heritage he d left three decades and a thousand miles behind. Shendanak, who wore the jagged scar on his forehead like some diadem of rank and covered his big, cut-up hands with savagely wrought steel and silver rings.
Shendanak, who spoke first. Full-body swivel, straight in.
And who the fuck are you?
Ringil met his eye and dropped into Majak. Want me to show you?
It backed the other man up a scant couple of heartbeats. But Shendanak matched the language shift and came right back.
Oho and which Skaranak bum-boy s mouth did you steal that shit out of?
Ringil let the smile seep out onto his face. Said nothing.
Shendanak bristled, spat out an oath. Don t you grin at me, boy!
The rest of the room had puddled into quiet around this, the new confrontation. At the corner of his vision, Ringil saw a palpable relief course over Rakan s features. Closely followed by mortification at the way the balance had shifted away from him. He d blurt something out in a moment, and it probably wouldn t help.
Well? Shendanak s eyes measured Ringil for an early grave.
Ringil kept his smile. Felt the tug of the scar tissue in his cheek, the soft-tugging weight of the dragon-tooth dagger in his sleeve. The matter of a moment to clear the blade, leap the table and open that prodigious belly like a millet sack let Shendanak look and find that knowledge floating there in Gil s gently smiling gaze.
Share hearth and heart s truth, he recited softly. Break bread and sup under a shared sky. Or would you rather not?
It was as if a wind off the steppe blew in through the open door behind him. The locking power of the formal phrasing, the cold touch of the double-edged offer. Back in the day, Egar told him once, way it was between the Ish and us, you d hear that shit about as often just before it really kicked off as you would before everyone sat down to share meat. No one old enough to remember those days will piss on the norms if they can help it.
No, I mean it, scar-face. Voice slower and quieted a little this time, because Shendanak, possibly for the first time in years, was suddenly facing something he wasn t sure how to measure. Who the fuck are you, really?
Ringil kept his gaze nailed to the other man s eyes.
The warmth of my fire, he said quietly, is yours.
Like arm-wrestling the hulking, confident guy who hasn t understood how muscle works. Ringil felt the moment bend and then break, like cheap metal. Felt the tension go out of the other man in a gush, felt the arm go down.
As grateful kin the words came grudgingly out of Shendanak s throat I take my place.
Good. Ringil inclined his head, made a courtly gesture at the seat the other man wasn t using. Then why don t you take that place, brother. Be still, keep counsel, and we can deal with these city dwellers in a manner more appropriate to the horsemen they have forgotten how to be.
What exactly are you two jabbering about? snapped a well-fed face farther down the table.
Ringil didn t switch his gaze, didn t need to. He kept his tone cold but mannered, dropped back into Tethanne. That need not concern you, my lord Kaptal.
That s where you re wrong, my northern friend. This not from Yilmar Kaptal himself, but another, less heavily jowled individual seated at his side. Menith Tand leaned his spare, gray-maned countenance forward and made an inclusive gesture around the table. Whatever is said in this room concerns us all. We are here, all of us, in good faith, to underwrite a venture of imperial charter. No one said anything about partisan allegiances or League mercenaries.
Shendanak snorted. Fucking partisan, is it? Fucking prick.
I m a little surprised to see you uncomfortable with League mercenary involvement, my lord Tand. Ringil took a couple more steps into the room. Made the space his own, as if the Ravensfriend still hung on his back. Do you not hire such men in great numbers to bring your slaves down from the north?
Tand grinned mirthlessly back. Yes. And many of them with accents and Tethanne far worse than yours. But they all answer to me for their coin. Who do you answer to, my friend?
Archeth cleared her throat. Gentlemen and lady, may I present to you his lordship Ringil of the Glades House Eskiath in Trelayne, once ranked knight commander in the alliance armies and decorated hero of the victory at Gallows Gap.
Low muttering around the table, like the scurry of rats. Ringil saw Noyal Rakan stiffen and murmur something to his aide. Elsewhere, in querying tones, he caught the words hero, dragon, and faggot in about equal
