At last he raised his head. Emin had to struggle to retain his composure as he finally saw the young white-eye’s face, not just the many gruesome scars, but the pain in his eyes.
‘We did,’ Emin agreed calmly, offering his hand to Isak and slowly standing. The white-eye didn’t take the hand, but he followed Emin’s movement. ‘It was an honour to do so,’ the king continued, looking up at Isak.
Isak’s cheek twitched at the word ‘honour’ but he looked Emin in the eye all the same. ‘There is no honour in my shadow,’ he said sadly, ‘only daemons.’
‘We may need daemons soon enough, my friend. There is terrible work ahead of us. I pray you bring us the answers we need.’
‘Prayers,’ Isak agreed mysteriously, ‘I bring prayers - but it’s the prayers you hold that we need.’
Emin frowned. ‘I’m not sure my prayers will be welcome — in fact, I’m quite certain they’re not.’
‘It’s the prayers you hold,’ Isak repeated.
As he straightened a little, his unfastened cloak swung open to reveal the unmistakable hilt of Eolis, tucked through his belt, and a small leather bag, which Isak was holding.
The shape of the bag made Emin hesitate, and almost unconsciously he touched a similarly shaped item hanging from his own belt. He gestured to the open door.
‘Come. We need to speak more, and in private.’
Isak, Mihn, Coran, the witch and Legana followed Emin inside, but Doranei held back. Veil gave him a questioning look, but he ignored it and after a moment his Brother indicated the door be shut behind them.
Doranei didn’t speak, but reached into a pouch and pulled out his leather cigar case. Veil produced an alchemist’s match and held it up. When the initial burst of black smoke had subsided, Doranei put the cigar to the flame and drew on it until it was alight.
‘The presence of great men,’ Doranei said at last, looking at the top of the keep. He’d stayed here once, as part of the king’s retinue.
It was an unlovely construction, built by a local tyrant three hundred years previously, more for practical reasons than for architectural elegance. Once it was open to the elements; now it was partly roofed-over, and there were long banks of shutters on two sides of the square to allow light in.
‘Had enough of it at last?’ Veil said. There was no condemnation in his voice.
Doranei still scowled, even as he agreed. ‘Never meant to get into it in the first place.’
Veil chuckled. ‘Aye, the master-thieves in the Brotherhood always laughed at you for never looking where you put your feet. Sure you can keep out of things so easily?’
Doranei watched the lamp-light in the highest room grow brighter. ‘I got to try.’
The sight of Morghien recovering some of his old passion had sparked an ache in Doranei’s heart. I just want to do my job again, serve my king. All this ‘grand scheme of things’ is beyond me; I’m just a simple Brother. Can’t I leave it to someone else again?
He sighed and puffed away at his cigar, the distraction greatly welcome.
But how do I go back to a time before I called lords ‘friend’ and vampires something more? he wondered.
Above the keep the clouds raced, indistinct, looming shapes in a darkening sky. The breeze freshened, carrying a scent too faint to recognise, and yet it put him in mind of the peppery smell of a summer storm . . . but left him uneasy, in the way the promise of rain didn’t.
‘What do you think he’s going to say?’ Veil asked after a long while.
‘I don’t even care,’ Doranei said sulkily. ‘They can tell me to kill, or to steal, for the good of the nation, and that’s my duty. They can’t make me want to get more involved.’
‘Could be worse,’ Veil said cheerily. ‘Cedei had to spend the day keeping General Daken busy and out of the way. I tell you, that bugger can sniff trouble out better’n a dog after a bitch on heat. The king’s kept this from him, as you might guess - last thing we need is two bloody white-eyes gettin’ under each other’s skin.’ He plucked the cigar from Doranei’s unresisting hands.
The pair stood together for a quarter-hour or more, sharing the cigar as Veil patiently stood guard and his friend, eyes half-closed, stared into the night sky. The sounds of the army camp had returned to normal: the clatter of cooking pots and bellowed orders