Lee rolled her eyes again, but waved them away. ‘Get some sleep, everyone,’ she told them. They all got up to go, leaving the two of them alone.
The servitor came back with a wet cloth that Cowl used to clean his face and hands. Lee watched, her hands tucked up under her armpits, leaning back in her chair. It occurred to her that the man’s nosebleed, or whatever it was, appeared far worse because of his near sickly paleness.
‘Notice anything strange about the storm?’ he finally asked, the cloth now pressed to his nose.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He snorted, then winced, cursing, and pressed harder on his face.
‘Why?’
‘Our friends are back.’
Lee poured herself a fresh glass of red wine. ‘Really? You mean the two you’ve been waiting for?’
‘Yeah. Them. Turns out that Dal Hon mage is the real thing. He’s damned strong.’ Cowl took the glass just as Lee finished filling it, and drank.
‘Hey! That was mine.’
Cowl tossed the rest back.
Lee gestured impatiently for a servitor. ‘So?’
‘Looks like it’s knife to knife for us. Him and me. Which is fine. I prefer it that way. No confusion as to the results, if you know what I mean.’
Lee took a fresh glass from the servitor and poured again. ‘Whatever.’ She eyed the fellow and hoped her disapproval was clear. ‘Listen, them and me, we got an understanding. You go after that Dancer fellow and they’ll think I’m behind it. I don’t want that kind of trouble.’
The damned assassin laughed again – wincing once more and holding his head. Once he’d regained his composure he waved her off as if dismissing her. ‘The only reason you’re still here is you’re too small to bother with. But…’ and he raised a hand as if to forestall any umbrage from her, ‘I take your point. I’ll make it clear that it’s personal and professional. Just between him and me.’
Lee was sceptical but let it lie. ‘Fine.’
He stood, pushing back his chair. ‘Thanks for the drink.’
She raised her glass to him. Here’s hoping you die, asshole.
*
After helping Urko carry Nedurian to a room, Cartheron went to the bar and pulled a tankard of weak beer, then slumped into a chair. The rest of the crew did likewise. It was quiet now, the only noise being Urko talking at a table with all those who hadn’t been outside, explaining, as best he could, what they’d seen.
‘So … they’re back?’ Tocaras asked.
‘Don’t know,’ Cartheron answered. He glanced to Surly at the bar. ‘They disappeared again.’ She stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, glaring at the air ahead of her. ‘So,’ he prompted, ‘what do we do?’
‘Carry on with the repairs,’ she said.
‘Are we gonna go?’ Urko asked. ‘He won’t want us takin’ his ship.’
Surly cast him her searing glare. ‘It’s our ship.’
Urko shrugged. ‘Yeah. But we promised to work for him.’
Surly’s lips turned down even further. ‘We’ll work for him from far away. Anyway, he’s gone again, isn’t he? Disappeared. Maybe gone for ever. We have to just assume—’
Grinner came thumping down the stairs.
‘How is he?’ Cartheron asked.
He nodded his assurances to everyone. ‘He’ll live. Just some kind of shock. Our, ah, patron’s magery doesn’t agree with him, apparently.’ He turned to Surly. ‘May I?’
She gestured him off. ‘Of course. Go ahead.’
He hurried out the door.
Of course, Cartheron thought, he’s worried about Hawl.
Shrift rose and went to the door as well. ‘I’ll take watch,’ she said, and stepped out.
‘Crust,’ Surly said from the bar.
‘Yes?’
She was still staring off ahead of her. ‘You have another moon.’
Cartheron nodded. Damned straight – after that display. Best to be careful. He shook his head. Who would’ve thought the little runt had that in him? Taming the Hounds of Shadow? He drank and shook his head again. By all the ancient powers above and below … who would’ve thought? ‘How long this time, I wonder, hey?’ he murmured aloud.
Surly just stared ahead, thinking furiously perhaps about what this latest revelation meant for her long-term plans.
‘Don’t know,’ Urko answered. ‘The locals say no one and nothing ever comes out of that place.’
Cartheron emptied his earthenware mug and sighed. Well, they had plenty of work to do, regardless.
*
Dancer found himself in darkness. Not the dark as of a moonless night, but a complete and utter black, as if he swam lost within a sea of elemental night.
‘Where are we?’ he asked of the blackness.
‘I’m not sure,’ Kellanved answered, sounding reassuringly close, but also completely spent and wrung out.
Understandably so. ‘Can’t you see?’ he asked.
‘No. Too dark.’
‘Well – make some light. Do your hocus-pocus magery.’
‘Can’t. There are no shadows here.’
‘You can’t make us a plain light?’ Dancer felt almost betrayed. ‘What kind of a mage are you?’
‘Not that kind. Ah!’ Above, a door had opened casting weak watery light, as of a sickle moon, down a set of stone steps. The feeble light was occluded, however, by the lumbering gigantic shape of an armoured colossus who came thumping down the steps.
Dancer drew his heavy parrying gauche once more, thinking, This is just not my night.
‘We are within,’ Kellanved called out. ‘Why dispute this now?’
The giant did not answer from within its obscuring full helm. It drew a blade fully as large as a two-handed sword, and held it in one gauntleted hand. It swung ponderously. Dancer and Kellanved evaded the blow. The blade rang on the stone-flagged floor.
‘Do something,’ Dancer hissed to his partner.
Kellanved held up his open hands. ‘I have nothing left.’
Snarling his frustration, Dancer threw himself at the colossus, striking low, but his blade rebounded from the giant’s mailed leggings. He evaded another sluggish blow and called, ‘This is not my strong suit!’
‘I have a plan,’ Kellanved answered, throwing a finger in the air. Dodging a straight up and down cut, the clashing iron raising sparks from the stones, Kellanved ran for the stairs.
Dancer watched him go almost with disbelief. ‘That’s your plan? Run away?’
Topping the steps, Kellanved called down, ‘A time-honoured tradition.’
Dancer easily evaded the ponderous guardian to follow his partner up the stairs. He found an empty hallway. From below came the heavy thumping of the giant, pursuing.
A panicked yell from Kellanved brought Dancer running up the hall to a small parlour, or salon, where flames crackled in a fireplace. Dim dirty windows hinted at early morning outside. Kellanved writhed on the floor, fighting something small and furry that was wrapped round his head yanking at his hair.
Dancer let his arms fall. ‘It’s that nacht thing. Your pet.’
Kellanved stopped wriggling. He struggled to his feet, dragged the thing round to study it. ‘Demon! Bad Demon!’
The thing let out an enormous belch and Kellanved flinched.