‘What are you talking about?’ asked Hirad.
‘Well, my dear friend, in the hours that we have been apart, not only have you shed that revolting sweaty leather stuff you wear for talking to dragons, but you have obviously had a scented bath. This is truly a momentous occasion.’ Sirendor leaped on to the nearest table, shouting, ‘Ladies, gentlemen, Talan. The foul-smelling barbarian has had a bath!’ There was laughter and the odd cheer. Hirad even saw Denser smile before the mage, dressed in voluminous black shirt and trousers, returned to stroking his cat and gazing into the fire as he sat in an armchair close to the flames.
‘You can bloody talk, mighty mouth,’ said Hirad, pointing a finger at Sirendor. ‘Just look at yourself. Your clothes must beg questions about which sex you prefer to fiddle with your balls. Your future bride will be heartbroken.’
‘Are you calling me a poof?’ asked Sirendor.
‘That’s right.’
Sirendor pouted and looked down at himself. Embroidered knee-length moccasin boots, laced up the front, gave way to a pair of billowing gold-trimmed brown trousers into which was tucked a huge purple open-necked lace and silk shirt. On his belt was his short sword, and a gem necklace rested on a bed of chest hair.
‘Maybe you’re right.’ Sirendor jumped lightly to the floor of the inn, which had filled quickly as word spread of The Raven’s party, and swept his mug of ale into his hands.
Denser stood up from his seat, leaving the cat lounging by the fire, and weaved his way through a crowd towards the quartet. Ilkar picked up his drink, turned and walked away.
‘I don’t think those two are going to be friends,’ said Sirendor.
‘Not much gets past you, does it?’ returned Hirad, a broad smile on his face as he watched the approaching Xeteskian.
‘Denser.’ The Unknown acknowledged the Dark Mage with a nod.
‘Getting busy in here,’ observed Denser, lighting his pipe.
‘Is red wine all right?’ Sirendor picked up a bottle.
‘Fine.’ Denser watched as Sirendor poured. ‘Thank you.’ He took a sip and raised his eyebrows. ‘Not bad.’
‘ “Not bad”?’ echoed The Unknown. ‘That’s a Blackthorne red, my friend. Expensive speciality of The Rookery.’
‘I’m not much of an expert.’ Denser shrugged.
‘Clearly. You’re on the cheap stuff then.’ The Unknown turned and scanned briefly along the racks to his left, then picked out a bottle and stood it on the bar top, fishing in his pocket for a corkscrew.
He paused, looking out past his friends to the crowded bar. Here he was, the other side of the counter, and he felt comfortable. It was a simple feeling but he felt good. Very good. But behind all his comfort lurked an abyss he wouldn’t let himself see into.
‘This is the life, eh?’ he said, stripping the cork from the bottle and gazing out over the thickening sea of goblets, faces, colours and smoke. He charged a fresh glass. ‘This muck, Denser, from Baron Corin’s yards, is your wine. Try not to choke.’
‘I’ve got a proposition for you,’ said Denser suddenly.
‘Oh yeah? More opportunities to be burned alive, is it?’
Denser stared at Hirad. ‘Not exactly. Will you hear me?’
‘If you want, but you’re wasting your time,’ said The Unknown.
‘Why?’
‘Because we retired a couple of hours ago. I’ve taken a new job as a barman.’ Hirad and Sirendor both laughed. Denser’s face briefly betrayed both panic and confusion as he tried to work out whether they were serious or not.
‘Even so . . .’ he said.
‘Go on, then.’ Sirendor leant back against the bar, his elbows resting on it. Hirad did likewise, with The Unknown between them, resting on his arms on the wooden counter and fiddling with a corkscrew.
‘The amulet we recovered is not the only one,’ said Denser.
‘Now there’s a surprise.’ Sirendor turned his head to his friends.
‘Look, I’ll be honest, we are developing a new attack spell that we want to be ready in the event of any Wesmen invasion. There are three more pieces we need to complete our research, and I, that is, Xetesk, want The Raven to help me get them.’
None of them said anything for a time as Denser studied their faces. Eventually, The Unknown straightened.
‘We did wonder why you paid us so much for seeing you back here,’ he said. ‘We also agreed that we wouldn’t work for Xetesk again. Take some Protectors.’
Denser shook his head. ‘No. Protectors are just muscle. I need brain for this sort of recovery work.’
‘And The Raven are - were - a fighting team. We’ve never done recovery work and we aren’t about to start now,’ said Sirendor.
‘But it’s not even a long-term commitment. And the pay will be on the same basis as today.’
The Unknown leant back on the bar top. ‘Another set of five per cents, eh?’
‘I can’t promise it’ll be as easy.’ Denser half smiled at Hirad.
‘Bugger me, but I’d like to see one of your tricky jobs.’
‘Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean the bodyguarding was easy.’
Sirendor’s face broke into a wide grin. He straightened and dusted himself down.
‘Denser, a couple of years ago, we’d probably have bitten your hand off for that kind of money. But right now, I for one am no longer interested. I mean, we’d have trouble spending it. Sorry, old son, but retirement has one very clear advantage.’ He turned and punched Hirad on the arm. ‘See you later.’ He strode off towards the main door, through which a stunning woman had walked with two men. She wore a shining blue cloak and pushed the hood back to loose a mass of curling red hair.
She saw Hirad first and waved. He and The Unknown returned the greeting. Then she began moving towards Sirendor. The two met, embraced and kissed, the warrior ushering her to a table on the right of the bar, close to the back room.
The Unknown placed a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses on a tray.
‘Time for the barman bit, I think.’
‘Yeah.’ Hirad turned back to Denser. The Dark Mage’s face was neutral but his eyes betrayed his disappointment and concern. ‘Had it been up to me, I’d have taken your money. We should be taking bastards like you for every penny we can get.’
‘I’m flattered. Was that the last word on the subject, do you think?’
Hirad breathed out. ‘Well, The Unknown was interested, no doubt about it, and I’m pretty sure the boring brothers would tag along. Your problems are Sirendor, who is in love but can’t marry till he stops fighting, and Ilkar, who hates everything you stand for.’
‘Apart from that, no problem.’ Denser lit his pipe.
‘Tell you what, you work on Sirendor and play up the short time the job’ll take and all the money he’ll earn for his bride and all that. I’ll try Ilkar. I reckon he might want to come along if he knows it’s a spell you’re developing. It’ll be difficult, though.’
‘And if you can’t persuade him?’
‘Then it’s no go. The Raven never work apart.’
‘I see.’
‘Good. Right, where is he then?’ Denser indicated the centre of the bar. Ilkar was talking to the cloth merchant, Brack, and a couple of decent-looking women. ‘I could get my leg over if nothing else,’ Hirad said, then shouted, ‘Hey, Ilks! Need more drink?’ Ilkar nodded. The barbarian picked up a jug and shouldered his way through the crowded inn.
‘Hirad, good to see you.’
‘You never were a good liar, Brack. Drink?’ The merchant held up his goblet. Hirad filled it and Ilkar’s. ‘I need to borrow Ilkar for a moment, ladies, but I promise we’ll be back very soon.’ Ilkar looked askance at the barbarian but allowed himself to be led in the direction of the bar. Hirad saw Denser standing at Sirendor’s table and was surprised to see Larn get up and follow the Dark Mage over to the fire. The man must have extraordinary powers of persuasion - he was not sure that he’d have been so lucky so soon after the two lovers had sat down.