‘So what did Denser have to say?’
‘Seven hundred and fifty thousand, Ilkar. Three jobs. Short term.’ Ilkar shook his head. ‘You know something, Hirad, I’m surprised at you. And I’m disappointed that after ten years you don’t know me well enough not to ask.’
‘But—’
‘I’ve said all I have to say. I will not work for or with Xetesk. They cannot be trusted. I don’t care how much he is offering because it won’t be enough.’
Hirad chewed his lip. ‘Look, Ilkar, why not think of it as just taking even more money from them? Give it all to Julatsa if it bothers you, but I thought you’d want to keep your eye on what Xetesk is doing.’
Ilkar frowned. ‘What exactly is Denser asking us to do?’
Hirad beckoned him close.
The Unknown Warrior leant against the bar, happy to watch the evening go by while he sipped his excellent Blackthorne red. He shifted slightly, moving the elbow of his white shirt out of a puddle of liquid on the bar top.
Surveying the bar, he could have stepped ten years back in time. Talan and Richmond - the boring brothers as Hirad liked to call them - were sitting together saying nothing to anyone and running their fingers around the rims of their goblets. Hirad and Ilkar were standing a few yards away. They were talking alone and intently. He smiled and shook his head, took another sip from his glass and refilled it from the bottle on the bar.
His eyes eventually came to rest on the fireplace and the pair sitting in armchairs either side of it, talking to each other. His smile faded. Denser. The mage’s head was largely hidden by the wings of his chair but he could see the cat and the inevitable hand stroking its back. The sooner he was gone, the better. The Unknown hated feeling he was being lied to.
Sirendor, it appeared, was on good form. His eyes were bright in the firelight and his clothes made him a focus of attention for more than one of the women in the room. Indeed, The Unknown could see one eyeing him up now. She was standing near the door. Lucky bastard. He never had to work at it. They just fell at his feet then into his bed. He wondered if Sana knew just how envied she was. At the moment, though, she was looking a little irritated as she sat with her bodyguards at the table Sirendor had recently abandoned.
The woman by the door started moving towards the fireplace. She had long auburn hair pinned back away from her eyes but bouncing about her neck, one side of which carried a black mark. Her tall, slim figure was tied into cloth trousers, dark shirt and tight leather jerkin. A deep red cloak was fastened about her neck. The Unknown shook his head. The attraction of Sirendor was seemingly irresistible whether his betrothed was present or not, and he found himself feeling a little envious. No, very envious.
Turning past a knot of market tradesmen clashing their tankards together and roaring a toast, the woman’s eyes crossed The Unknown’s and the warrior’s blood ran cold. Inside a pale face with full lips and an exquisite nose, those eyes were flat, dark and brimful of malice. His gaze switched automatically to her hands and he caught a glint of steel. There were two men sitting by the fireplace, and cool certainty told The Unknown the woman had no interest in Sirendor Larn.
‘Oh, dear Gods,’ he muttered. He loosened his short sword in its scabbard, ducked under the bar top and began pushing his way through the throng.
‘Sirendor! Sirendor, guard yourself now!’ he yelled. He flicked a gaze to the woman, who was breasting her way quickly towards the fireplace. ‘Sirendor. To your left, dammit, your left.’ Sirendor looked over at him frowning as someone moved in front of him. ‘Out of my bloody way! Sirendor, woman, red cloak, red-brown hair, long, to your left.’
The Unknown’s heart was racing. He sensed a change in the atmosphere in the bar, saw the woman, dagger now in hand, moving swiftly towards her quarry. She was close. She was too close, and Sirendor, looking about him with his hand straying to his sword hilt as he rose from his chair, hadn’t seen her.
The Unknown wasn’t going to make it. The assassin was almost on Sirendor. ‘Stop her, Sirendor. For God’s sake, let me through!’
And at the last, Sirendor, standing squarely in front of Denser, saw the assailant. As she attacked, he blocked the blow with his arm, the dagger slashing his sleeve and biting into his flesh. In the next instant, The Unknown’s blade crashed through the woman’s shoulder. She died instantly, dropping to the ground without a sound, blood spraying into the fire, where it hissed.
The room fell instantly silent. People moved aside as Hirad, Ilkar, Talan and Richmond hurried over to the fireplace. Sirendor was sitting down again, his hand up by his face and shirt rolled back to reveal the cut. It was deep and bleeding well.
‘Thanks, Unknown, I didn’t see her. I - What is it?’
The Unknown was kneeling by the woman’s body and had picked up her dagger by its hilt, examining the blade.
‘No! No no no, shit!’ he said and rubbed his free hand across his head.
‘Unknown?’ asked Hirad.
The Unknown looked briefly at the barbarian. There were tears standing in his eyes. He shook his head and turned back to Sirendor.
‘I’m sorry, Sirendor. I was too slow. I’m sorry.’
‘Will you tell me what the hell you’re talking about, Unknown?’ Sirendor smiled, then gagged suddenly. ‘Gods, I don’t . . .’ He turned aside and vomited into the fire. ‘I’m cold,’ he said. His voice was quiet, weak. His eyes, suddenly red, turned scared to Hirad, who pushed The Unknown away and crouched by his chair. ‘Help me.’
‘What’s happening?’ Hirad’s heart was thumping in his chest. ‘What is it?’ He felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘He’s poisoned, Hirad. It’s a nerve toxin,’ said The Unknown.
‘Get a healer, then!’ Hirad shouted. ‘Get one now!’ The hand merely tightened its grip.
‘It’s too late. He’s dying.’
‘No he isn’t,’ grated Hirad.
Sirendor turned a sweat-covered face to his friend and smiled through the shivers coursing his body, tears falling on his cheeks.
‘Don’t let me die, Hirad. We’re all going to live.’
‘Keep calm, Sirendor. Breathe easy. You’ll be all right.’
Sirendor nodded. ‘It’s so cold. I’ll just . . .’ His voice faded and his eyes slipped shut.
Hirad grabbed Sirendor’s face with both hands. It was hot and slick with sweat.
‘Stay with me, Larn. Don’t you leave me!’
Sirendor’s eyelids fluttered open and his hands covered Hirad’s. They were so cold the barbarian flinched.
‘Sorry, Hirad. I can’t. Sorry, Hirad.’ The hands slipped to his sides, his eyes closed and he died.
Chapter 6
‘Who was she?’ Sana’s eyes bore into Hirad’s, imploring him to help her understand. They were standing in the main bar just outside the back room; the Mayor and two bodyguards sat at a table near the door to The Rookery.
Sana was calm now but her red eyes and white face were the remnants of a tempest. The Raven had lain Sirendor on the table in the back room and covered him with a sheet. Sana had burst in and torn the sheet from him, screaming at him to wake up, to come back, to open his eyes, to breathe. She’d pumped at his heart, she’d raked the hair from his forehead, she’d kissed him long on his lips, she’d clung to his hands.
And all the while, Hirad had stood near by, half of him wanting to pull her away, the other half wanting to help her. To shake the life back into Sirendor, to see him smile. But all he did was stand there watching, fighting back his tears, his whole body quivering.