Hejun grunted. ‘I was beginning to suspect him and the dead bitch.’
‘Dead bitch?’ Rucket’s eyes were wild as she looked round. ‘He makes love to a dead bitch?’
‘One freak accident-’ Tehol began.
‘If you shaved your head,’ Shand said to Rucket, sputtering with rage, ‘we’d all see how truly ugly you are!’
The guard was looking alarmed. People at other tables gestured madly at the serving staff.
‘Worked hard on that one, did you?’ Rucket asked. ‘Tehol, what’s all this about stealing their man? They were sharing one man? Is he still alive? Still sane? Did he volunteer at the Drownings?’
‘You want to see me work hard?’ Shand rose to her feet, reaching for the knife at her side.
‘Oh, how pathetic,’ Rucket said. ‘Here, compare that with my rapier here.’
‘Get her!’ This from Rissarh, as she launched herself across the table. It collapsed beneath her a moment later, but she had managed to wrap her arms about Rucket’s thighs. The Chief Investigator made a strange squealing sound as she was pulled over. The rapier sprang free and slapped hard against Shand’s out-thrust wrist, sending the knife spinning. Hejun then snagged Rucket’s sword-arm and twisted the weapon loose. A finely polished boot shot up to strike Hejun in the belly. She groaned and sagged.
Tehol pulled Bugg back a step. ‘I think you were right about this not being a good idea.’
Grunts, meaty thuds and flying fists. Fleeing patrons, the yowl of a cat in the kitchen.
Tehol sighed. ‘We should go. But first, arrange with the manager four bottles of fine wine, for when they’re finished beating on each other. I predict that by dawn they will all be fast friends.’
‘I’m not sure of that-’
‘Nonsense, Bugg, it’s the way of things. Come on, before they turn on us.’
Not surprisingly, the bodyguard led the way out of the courtyard.
Outside, Tehol brushed imaginary dust from his hands. ‘All in all, a fine evening, wouldn’t you say? Now, we should see if we can scrounge some firewood – or at least something that burns – on our way home. Roast cat beckons.’
The crashing sounds from the restaurant courtyard suddenly increased.
Tehol hesitated. ‘I’m tempted by the sounds of firewood production in there.’
‘Don’t be a fool, master.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. Lead us on, Bugg. Home.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Expectancy stands alone And crowds the vast emptiness This locked chest of a chamber With its false floor the illusory Dais on which, four-legged carpentry of stretcher- bearers, crouches the throne Of tomorrow’s glory when The hunters come down From the cut-wood gloom Stung hard to pursuit The shadows of potentates And pretenders but he holds Fast, the privileged indifference That is fruitless patience Expectancy stands ever Alone before this eternally Empty, so very empty throne.
Hold of the Empty Throne Kerrulict
ASHES SWIRLING ON ALL SIDES, THE RIVER A SNAKE OF SLUDGE spreading its stain into the dead bay, the Nerek youth squatted at the edge of the sacred land. Behind him, the others sat round their precious hearth and continued arguing. The youth knew enough to wait.
Consecrated ground. They had huddled on it whilst the sorcerous storms raged, destroying the village of the Hiroth, flattening the forests around them, and the fires that burned for days afterwards could not lash them with their heat. And now the cinders had cooled, no more sparks danced in the wind, and the bloated bodies of dead wild animals that had crowded the river mouth had broken loose some time in the night just past, drawn out to the sea and the waiting sharks.
His knife-sharer came to his side and crouched down. ‘Their fear holds them back,’ he said, ‘and yet it is that very fear that will force them to accept. They have no choice.’
‘I know.’
‘When you first spoke of your dreams, I believed you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Our people have not dreamed since the Letherii conquered us. Our nights were empty, and we believed they would be so for all time, until the last Nerek died and we were no more a people. But I saw the truth in your eyes. We have shared the knife, you and I. I did not doubt.’
‘I know, brother.’
The eldest of the Nerek called out behind them, a voice harsh with anger, ‘It is decided. The two of you will go. By the old paths, to make your travel swift.’
Youth and knife-brother both rose and swung round.
The eldest nodded. ‘Go. Find Hull Beddict.’
