Oh my. Kruppe met Meese’s eyes, noted the fear and alarm. ‘Meese, go to Coll at once.’
Pale, she nodded.
The crowd parted before her. Because, as the Gadrobi are wont to say, even a drunk known a fool, and, drunk or not, no one was fool enough to get in that woman’s way.
Picker’s sword lay on the table, its tip smeared in drying blood. Antsy had added his short sword, its blade far messier. Together, mute testaments to this im shy;promptu meeting’s agenda.
Bluepearl sat at one end of the long table, nursing his headache with a tankard of ale; Blend was by the door, arms folded as she leaned against the frame. Mallet sat in a chair to Bluepearl’s left, with all his nerves pushed into one jumpy leg, the thigh and knee jittering, while his face remained closed as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Near the ratty tapestry dating back from the time when this place was still a temple stood Duiker, once Imperial Historian, now a broken old man.
In fact, Picker was mildly surprised that he’d accepted the invitation to join them. Perhaps some remnant of curiosity flickered still in the ashes of Duiker’s soul, although he seemed more interested in the faded scene on the tapestry with its aerial flotilla of dragons approaching a temple much like the one they were in.
Nobody seemed ready to start talking. Typical. The task always fell at her feet, like some wounded dove. ‘Assassins’ Guild’s taken on a contract,’ she said, deliberately harsh. ‘Target? At the very least, me, Antsy and Bluepearl. More likely, all us partners.’ She paused, waiting to hear some objection. Nothing. ‘Antsy, we turn down any offers on this place?’
‘Picker,’ the Falari said in an identical tone, ‘ain’t nobody’s ever made an offer on this place.’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘So, anyone catch a rumour that the old K’rul cult has been resurrected? Some High Priest somewhere in the city wanting the old temple back?’
Bluepearl snorted.
‘What’s that supposed to tell us?’ Picker demanded, glaring at him.
‘Nothing,’ the Napan mage muttered. ‘I ain’t heard nothing like that, Pick. Now if Ganoes Paran ever comes back from wherever he’s gone, we could get ourselves a sure answer. Still, I don’t think there’s any cult trying to move back in.’
‘How do you know?’ Antsy demanded. ‘Can you smell ’em or something?’
‘Oh, not now,’ Bluepearl complained. ‘No more questions tonight. That Mockra’s chewed everything in my skull to pulp. I hate Mockra.’
‘It’s the ghosts,’ said Mallet in that odd, gentle voice of his. He glanced across at Bluepearl. ‘Right? They’re not whispering anything they haven’t been whispering since we moved in. Just the usual moans and begging for blood.’ His gaze shifted to the swords on the table before him. ‘Blood spilled here, that is. Stuff brought in from outside doesn’t count. Luckily.’
Blend said, ‘So try not cutting yourself shaving, Antsy.’
‘There’s been the odd scrap downstairs,’ Picker said, frowning at Mallet. ‘Are you saying that’s been feeding the damned ghosts?’
The healer shrugged. ‘Never enough to make a difference.’
‘We need us a necromancer,’ Bluepearl announced.
‘We’re getting off track,’ Picker said. ‘It’s the damned contract we got to worry about, We need to find out who’s behind it. We find out who, we throw a cusser through his bedroom window and that’s that. So,’ she continued, looking at the others, ‘we need to come up with a plan of attack. Information to start. Let’s hear some ideas on that.’
More silence.
Blend stepped away from the door. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she said.
Now they could all hear the boots thumping up the stairs, hissed protestations in their wake.
Antsy collected his sword and Bluepearl slowly rose and Picker could smell the sudden awakening of sorcery. She held up a hand. ‘Wait, for Hood’s sake.’
The door was flung open.
In strode a large, well-dressed man, out of breath, his light blue eyes scanning faces until they alighted on Mallet, who rose.
‘Councillor Coll. What is wrong?’
‘I need your help,’ the Daru noble said, and Picker could hear the distress in the man’s voice. ‘High Denul. I need you, now.’
Before Mallet could reply, Picker stepped forward. ‘Councillor Coll, did you come here alone?’
The man frowned. Then a vague gesture behind him. ‘A modest escort. Two guards.’ Only then did he note the sword on the table. ‘What is happening here?’
‘Picker,’ said Mallet, ‘I’ll take Bluepearl.’
‘I don’t like-’
But the healer cut her off. ‘We need information, don’t we? Coll can help us. Besides, they wouldn’t have set more than one clan on us to start and you took care of that one. The Guild needs to recover, reassess — we’ve got a day at least.’
Picker looked across at the councillor, who, if he didn’t quite grasp what was going on, now had enough for a fair guess. Sighing, she said to him, ‘Seems there’s someone wants us dead. You might not want to get involved with us right now-’
But he shook his head, fixed his gaze once more on Mallet. ‘Healer, please.’
Mallet nodded to a scowling Bluepearl. ‘Lead on, Councillor. We’re with ya.’
‘. . came upon Osserick, stalwart ally, broken and with blood on his face, struck into unconsciousness. And Anomander fell to his knees and called upon the Thousand Gods who looked down upon Osserick and saw the blood on his face. With mercy they struck him awakened and so he stood.
‘And so stood Anomander and they faced one another, Light upon Dark, Dark upon Light.
‘Now there was rage in Anomander. “Where is Draconnus?” he demanded of his stalwart ally. For when Anomander had departed, the evil tyrant Draconnus, Slayer of Eleint, had been by Anomander’s own hand struck into unconsciousness and there was blood on his face. Osserick, who had taken the charge of guarding Draconnus, fell to his knees and called upon the Thousand Gods, seeking their mercy before Anomander’s fury. “I was bested!” cried Osserick in answer. “Caught by Sister Spite unawares! Oh, the Thousand Gods were turned away, and so was I struck into unconsciousness and see there is blood on my face!”
‘“One day,” vowed Anomander, and he was then the darkness of a terrible storm, and Osserick quailed like a sun behind a cloud, “this alliance of ours shall end. Our enmity shall be renewed, O Son of Light, Child of Light. We shall contest every span of ground, every reach of sky, every spring of sweet water. We shall battle a thousand times and there shall be no mercy between us. I shall send misery upon your kin, your daughters. I shall blight their minds with Unknowing Dark. I shall scatter them confused on realms unknown and there shall be no mercy in their hearts, for between them and the Thousand Gods there shall ever be a cloud of darkness.”
‘Such was Anomander’s fury, and though he stood alone, Dark upon Light, there was sweetness lingering in the palm of one hand, from the deceiving touch of Lady Envy. Light upon Dark, Dark upon Light, two men, wielded as weapons by two sisters, children of Draconnus. Who stood unseen by any and were pleased by what they saw and all that they heard.
‘It was decided then that Anomander would set out once more, to hunt down the evil tyrant. To destroy him and his cursed sword which is an abomination in the eyes of the Thousand Gods and all who kneel to them. Osserick, it was decided, would set out to hunt Spite and exact righteous vengeance.
‘Of the vow spoken by Anomander, Osserick knew the rage from which it was spawned, and in silence he made vow to answer it in his own time. To spar, to duel, to contest every span of ground, every reach of sky, and every spring of sweet water. But such matters must needs lie upon calm earth, a seed awaiting life.