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‘We will.’
The four made their way out of the tavern. Parlyn watched them leave and then turned to see Skrael glaring at her.
‘Yes,’ she snapped, ‘it’d be easier, wouldn’t it?’
‘Sir?’
‘If they were the shits you wanted them to be.’
‘Not just me, sir. You called us out this night, to do some hunting.’
‘I did. Turns out, we were hunting the wrong enemy. I’ll accept that, with humility. You might try the same. Now, is that a coin there in the blood?’
He looked down at the table. ‘It is.’
‘Slip it into her mouth and close up that jaw, if you can. Silver eases the ghost.’
Skrael nodded. ‘So they say.’
He collected up the coin and studied it for a moment. ‘Barkeep says this one was Sharenas’s. Paying for the drink, I suppose.’
Parlyn had heard the same. It seemed an odd thing to do. She wondered about the conversation between those two officers, and how it could have led to what had happened here. She wondered, too, how Hunn Raal had known.
The sound the head made when Skrael pulled it free triggered in Parlyn an old memory from her childhood. Out behind the house where the wagon ruts ran down into that dip in the road. Mud that could pull your boot right off if you weren’t careful.
We used to think it was bottomless, that mud, enough to suck you right down, swallow you whole.
Yes, that’s the sound.
Left behind on the tabletop, blood and strands of hair. An empty tankard.
Well, I guess we’re not all going up on report after all. There’s a bright side to everything. And when Raal catches up to Sharenas, why, we’ll see her swing.
Skrael moved past her, the sack clutched in both hands. He grimaced. ‘Heavier than I expected, sir. Where to?’
‘Put it down by the door. We’ll wait for Bortan and Feled with the stretcher.’
She heard him cross the room, but did not turn. He’d pocketed the silver coin, she had seen. But the night was nearly done, and she was past caring.
EIGHT
THE TWO HORSEMEN RODE OUT THROUGH THE THINNING FOREST. The day was cold, the sky clear but dull, as if hidden behind a veil of soot. They were slumped in their saddles, the horses walking, and, as ever, the two men were engaged in conversation.
‘A most high court, a most select education, and see what it brings us, Dathenar.’
Dathenar rolled his broad shoulders beneath the heavy cloak. ‘Every bridge is but an interlude, Prazek,’ he said. ‘The arc and the span held more worth than we imagined on that dread night of our faltering. We should have stood fast at our station, scowling in each direction. Back to back, and so facing all manner of dire threat.’
‘Dire threat indeed,’ Prazek said, nodding. ‘The treacherous wind, gusting so foul and portentous.’
‘The unleavened night, bitter as black bread.’
‘Fend us, too, Dathenar, from wretched imagination all our own, and the venal thoughts of irate commanders, prone to dancing on our bones. And if we still be clothed around our precious sticks, muscle and gristle bound to honourable purpose, well, that is faint distinction.’
‘You speak ill of Silchas Ruin?’
Prazek worked with his tongue at something stuck between his teeth, somewhere near the back, and then said, ‘I’ve seen white crows with softer regard, and indeed am known to fashion a pleasant disposition from their glittering beads.’
Dathenar reached up and rubbed at his bearded jaw. ‘You liken us to carrion, and our lord’s brother to the winged arbiter of every battlefield. But bleached of hue, you say? In war, I wager, every field is aflutter with black and white. Foe and friend, all those hostile comments and unpleasant looks, and laughter the kind to make you shiver. In all, a misanthropic place, ill suited to civil debate.’
