'What's in it for me?' she demanded, holding her ground as he began to head towards her.
'You'll get a silver level for your trouble, how about that?'
'Up front.'
'Piss on you,' he snapped, stopping a sword-length away from her. 'You'll get a copper house if it'll stop you whining and nothing more till I meet your boss.'
She didn't argue the point. He could still hurt her if he wanted. 'Fine, this way,' she said sulkily.
He fell in beside her, one of his longer strides to two of her brisk little steps. After half a minute she cleared her throat and spat the phlegm on a doorstep. 'So where's that copper then?'
'Gods, your name isn't Legana, is it?'
She made a disgusted sound and skipped two paces ahead of him, forcing Doranei to catch her up. 'Gimme the coin and you find out.'
Doranei was surprised at the size of the tavern. It had clearly once been a warehouse, with staff quarters on one side and the owner's round the back. Fat pitch'blackened beams melted into the gloom of night, leaving panels of white-washed brick appearing to hover in the air. Silhouetted against a thin veil of moon-lit cloud were two stone gargoyles, hunched on the corners of the tavern front and peering down at the entrance.
There was a sudden break in the cramped streets past the tavern-the fissure the locals called Cambrey's Tongue. The smooth ripple of scorched black earth, the only undeveloped ground in Burn, extended a good hundred yards downslope. Doranei had only ever seen it in spring, when the seeds that drifted down from the mountain burst into rare and lovely wildflowers.
To Doranei's surprise the girl didn't break and run for the door, shouting for Vasca, but walked in, bold as brass, through the double-width oak door. She was pulling off her coat before she'd even crossed the threshold. Walking to the bar she cast a meaningful glance back at Doranei for the benefit of the fat man propping it up.
The mood in the room changed immediately as Vasca heaved himself up off his elbows and started forward. Doranei flexed the fingers of his left hand under his cloak and tightened them into a fist. He stepped forward to meet the big man as he unhooked a club from his belt.
Vasca wasted no time in swinging at Doranei's ear, hard enough to crack the Narkang man's skull, but Doranei checked his stride and jerked his head back just in time. After that, Vasca barely saw him move.
Grabbing the doorman's wrist, Doranei pulled him off-balance and swung a low punch up into the man's exposed ribs. When his steel-backed gloves connected Vasca gave a pig-like grunt of pain, but Doranei hadn't finished. He tugged Vasca round and smashed a knee into his kidneys. The doorman's legs turned to jelly but Doranei was already swinging back around and a loud crack rang around the tavern as his right forearm smashed across Vasca's nose. The man fell to the floor.
Doranei spun around on instinct, bringing his sword up, just in case anyone had slipped behind him, but everyone in the room was frozen to their seats, staring aghast. He lowered his sword a little. There was a table of soldiers by the left-hand side wall.
'A little dramatic, don't you think?' said a voice to his left. 'I don't recall you being much of a fan of the theatre.'
Doranei nearly dropped his sword when he saw who'd spoken: sitting at a table of his own in the corner, lounging like an idle young nobleman, was Prince Koezh Vukotic. The vampire was the only person not drinking out of a clay pot, and Doranei found himself hoping it was just red wine he could see though the cut-glass.
Koezh was dressed in anonymous grey travelling clothes, his only jewellery a gold signet ring on a chain around his neck. There was an indulgent smile on the vampire's lips, but Doranei had grown used to being mocked by members of that family. If Vorizh Vukotic had turned up and laughed at the state of his boots, Doranei was pretty sure he'd just sigh and shake his head, refusing to rise to the bait. Almost sure, anyway.
He sheathed his sword and stepped around the supine Vasca, who gave an involuntary snort as the blood began to run up his nose, then whined like a beaten dog at the pain. Doranei looked at his young guide, who flinched away when he pointed towards the kegs behind the bar, and walked to join the ruler of the Vukotic tribe. Koezh's eyes flickered momentarily around the room and their audience obediently turned their attention elsewhere. By the time Koezh invited him to sit, the conversations at every table had resumed.
Doranei pulled the chair out and sat, not bothering to remove his cloak. He doubted it would be long before Koezh dismissed him and he would have to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. They sat facing each other in silence. After a half-dozen heartbeats a pewter tankard of beer was placed in front of Doranei. Divested of her outdoor clothes, Doranei saw his guide was a fragile-looking little thing with auburn curls and a thin face. Twelve winters, no more, he judged. In Koezh's presence her face was expressionless, her demeanour muted.
Good thing too; no matter how bad your attitude is you'd have to be a fool not to sense his power.
'Aren't you going to say something?' Koezh said once the girl had gone. 'A delight to see you again? I've missed you? That jacket really brings out your eyes?'
'Don't even know what to call you,' Doranei muttered, wondering what exactly he'd got himself into. Koezh had tolerated him, but nothing more than that – and Doranei was horribly aware that he was the only person in the city not under Koezh's control who knew his identity. Added to that was his mission: to pry into the secrets of Vorizh, Koezh's younger brother.
'How about Osten?' Koezh replied with a smile, 'I'm sure my sister would approve. Shall we get our business out of the way before we start reminiscing?'
'Business?'
Koezh leaned forward and Doranei felt his entire body tense involuntarily.
'You are not drinking your beer,' the vampire pointed out, indicating the tankard. He spoke the local dialect in a precise, slightly stilted manner, a blend of thick Menin consonants and elongated Litse vowels. Doranei might be more fluent than Koezh, but in comparison he sounded like a dockworker.
The King's Man coughed, trying to smother a nervous laugh. Koezh was not a particularly large man, but there was an aura
surrounding him, and that filled Doranei with dread. The sapphire eyes didn't blink as he reached for the beer and took a long swig. A second reduced the tankard to half-full and finally calmed his jangling nerves. Shame there isn't a shot of brandy in this, he thought.
'Business then,' he said for the second time that evening, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'Want to tell me what you're doing here?'
'Not really,' Koezh smiled. 'You?'
'Perhaps.'
The smile widened a shade further than Doranei would have liked. 'Progress, then.'
'I was looking for your sister.' Doranei said cautiously.
'That is not your reason for being here. As much as I would like to dismiss you as a foolish little boy, you have not tracked her down to play the love-sick puppy.'
'Is she here?'
'In the city,' Koezh conceded, 'but busy this evening. Shall I pass on a message?'
'I have questions I need to ask of her.'
'She is a little old for romantic gestures.'
Doranei hiccoughed at the thought and needed another gulp of beer before he continued, 'You remind me of King Emin.'
'Does that mean you will perform tricks at my command?'
Doranei's eyes narrowed as Koezh's voice hardened. 'Is that what you think of me?'
'Only that you are more brittle and grim now than on that magical night we shared at the theatre.' Koezh leaned back in his chair, one elbow propped on the armrest while sipping his wine delicately. 'Keep your temper under wraps, puppy,' he said lazily.
Good point, Doranei thought, wrong person to get into a pissing contest with. 1 should have left as soon as I saw he was alone here.
'I'm sorry. Today has been a little strange.'
Koezh looked at him enquiringly. 'Stranger than the usual company you keep? Do tell.'
Doranei thought of the half-blind Farlan woman with a shadow's handprint on her throat and a God's blood in her veins. Mortal-Aspect of a dead Goddess. 1 don't want to know what would happen if they met. 'I cannot, not
