The Raven rode through Korina’s East Gate as the sun began to be lost behind some of the City’s few tall buildings. Where some were stopped and questioned, if not searched, The Raven were, as always, simply waved through to the crowded cobbled streets of Korina’s late afternoon trading.
‘Now that’s an advantage of being us,’ remarked Sirendor. ‘And there aren’t as many as you’d think.’ Denser said nothing.
Shortly after their entry into the City, Gresse and his men made their goodbyes and headed south towards the offices of the Korina Trade Alliance and the tightly guarded apartments the Barons found it necessary to maintain.
Korina was the Capital City of Eastern Balaia, boasting a stable population of somewhere around two hundred and fifty thousand, which swelled to as many as three hundred thousand at festival and principal trading times. Most of the latter were dictated by the arrival of merchant fleets from the lands to the east and south of the Northern Continent. Korina sat at the head of the River Kour estuary and had developed safe deep-water ports that attracted southern traders away from the shorter but less profitable journey to Gyernath.
The City was characterised by its sturdy sprawling low buildings, a legacy of the high winds and hurricanes that periodically swept along the estuary as the season changed from winter to the warmer weather of spring. In three places, connected by streets packed with businesses and shops, inns and eating houses, brothels and gambling dens, markets bustled with life every day of the week.
Beyond the triangle, and closer to the port, heavy industry boomed, clanged, fired, sawed and moulded, producing goods for home and across the seas. And in every gap between the places of entertainment, trade, officialdom and work, people lived. Some in squalor, some in luxury undreamed of by those who saw nothing but the dirt on their hands, and most in a state of perpetual shift on a line between the two.
Slowing their horses to trotting pace, The Raven moved towards the western market on the north side of which sat The Rookery. The streets were full of people, carts and animals; and mixed with them, the fresh, foul and fetid smells blew with the noise of the City on a steady inshore breeze. Stalls, wagons, hand baskets and shoulder-slung trays offered everything from fine cloth shipped in from the distant elven southern lands; through pottery, iron and steel wares forged and cast in the foundries and kilns of Korina and Jaden; to meats, vegetables and pastries prepared in kitchens scattered all over the City, some clean, many squalid and filthy. The barrage of trade was held in the single language of hard currency, and everywhere, silver and bronze glinted in the reddening sunlight as it changed hands.
Mercifully, much of the traffic was moving in the opposite direction to their travel as the trading day waned. But the cobbled market square itself was packed with stalls between which The Raven had to pick. Speech was pointless and The Unknown led them in single file towards The Rookery and the quiet of the inn’s back room that was their sanctuary after battle.
Tomas’s son, Rhob, a youth forever in awe of the mercenaries, took their horses to the stables and the saddle-stiff companions went inside.
‘Hello, boy!’ Tomas’s shout greeted The Unknown from behind the bar. It was what the innkeeper always called him, saying that ‘Unknown’ made him sound like a stranger. The Rookery was perhaps a quarter full, reflecting the time of day. It was a large inn, thirty tables spread widely around a low-roofed, oak-pillared room. The bar was directly opposite the door and ran in a quarter-circle from right to left, finishing by doors to kitchens, back room and the upstairs. On the right was The Rookery’s open fire. Books ranged over the walls on three sides and reds and greys complemented the lanterns to give a warming atmosphere.
‘Hello, Tomas.’ There was a weariness in The Unknown’s tone.
‘Go straight through,’ said Tomas, a tall, balding man in his late forties. ‘I’ll bring in some wine, ale and coffee. Maris is just firing the ovens. I—’ He frowned, stopped speaking, his eyes flicking over The Raven, pausing briefly on Denser, then moving on. The Unknown nodded, walked to the bar and laid a hand on Tomas’s arm.
‘There’ll be a party in here tonight. We have much to celebrate, much to remember and Ras to mourn.’
Nothing more was said and The Raven filed past Tomas into the back room, each man nodding or smiling his greeting.
Three things characterised the back room: the Raven symbol and crossed short swords above the fireplace; its long banqueting table set with seven places which stood by large double doors in the far wall; and its exquisitely sewn soft chairs and sofas. It was into these that The Raven sank, their grateful sighs giving way to silence.
Denser hesitated. There were ten seats in all. Eventually he moved to a plainer, red-upholstered chair nearest the unlit fire.
‘Not there.’ Talan’s voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Ras sat there. Sit on Tomas’s sofa if you must. I expect he won’t mind.’
Denser sat.
‘Now then,’ said The Unknown, turning to the Dark Mage. ‘First things first. How long before we are likely to see payment?’
‘Well, as I explained to Ilkar, the amulet is primarily a research tool and we won’t be looking to sell it for some months. However, we will set a minimum price and I can advance you five per cent of that figure, say two hundred thousand truesilver?’
The Unknown glanced quickly around The Raven. There were no dissenters.
‘Good enough. Our money is lodged in the Central Reserve. Your payment needs to be made there within a week.’
Denser stood. ‘It’ll be there tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a bath.’ He made to leave; The Unknown stopped him.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘I hadn’t given it any thought.’
‘Get Tomas to make up a room. There’ll be no charge.’
‘That’s very good of you. Thank you.’ Denser seemed a little confused, though he smiled.
‘And if you’re up to it, come to the party. You financed it, after all. Main bar, dusk.’ Denser nodded. ‘Just one more thing. Ilkar? A ForeTell, please.’
Ilkar nodded, the ghost of good humour touching his face as he stood up and walked over to Denser.
‘What do you need?’ asked Denser.
‘Not much,’ said Ilkar. ‘It’s a very general spell, single trait only. I’m merely looking for honesty. When I touch you, just answer the question I ask yes or no.’
Ilkar closed his eyes and uttered a short incantation. His right hand made a pass in front of his eyes, mouth and heart before he placed it on Denser’s shoulder.
‘Will two hundred thousand truesilver be deposited in The Raven account at the Central Reserve within a week from today?’
‘Yes.’
Ilkar opened his eyes and then the door. ‘See you later.’ Denser left. Ilkar pushed the door shut and glared at The Unknown Warrior. ‘Anything else you want us to give him? The freedom to use Julatsan blood to replenish his mana, perhaps?’
The Unknown said nothing.
‘I don’t trust him,’ said Hirad.
‘Why do you suppose he’s staying here?’ asked The Unknown.
‘No, it’s not the money,’ said Hirad. ‘The ForeTell says he’ll pay that. There’s much more. Like why he agreed to pay us so much so readily. Let’s face it, we’d have done the job for two thousand each.’
‘Why do you suppose he’s staying here?’ repeated The Unknown. ‘If he’s involved us in anything, I want to know where he is. That, Ilkar, is why I want him downstairs tonight.’
‘You expecting trouble?’ asked Talan.
‘No.’ The Unknown leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. ‘But even so, short swords should be worn, and not just out of respect for Ras.’
‘It’s only now, isn’t it?’ Ilkar had pulled the cork from a bottle of wine and poured himself a goblet.