‘This sword,’ Gaur said, holding out the weapon Amber had won. ‘Taken from Lord Chalat’s dead fingers, it is Elven-made — I believe in your tongue it is named Golaeth.’
Amber could see Arlal’s shoulders stiffen, but the Elf made no effort to reach for the weapon.
‘It is perhaps a relic of my people, but it is a poor thing compared to Eolis. It is not enough to kill a God.’
‘He is no God, only one touched by the divine,’ Gaur pointed out. ‘It will be no different to killing one of the Chosen.’
‘I need more.’
Gaur looked over at Amber briefly, who had nothing to contribute beyond meeting Gaur’s look and looking stern, and hoping his slight nod would add to the impression of compromise. ‘What do you need?’ the beastman asked.
‘Arrows to kill him, Golaeth if they fail to. The helm and its weight in rubies as final payment.’
‘Rubies?’
The Elf gave a curt nod, but no explanation, and Amber realised suddenly he did have a contribution to the conversation.
‘For making bloodrose amulets,’ the major said, his eyes on Arlal. ‘It’s said they’re composed of rubies.’ One of the mages healing him had mentioned it — Lord Chalat had been thought to wear such an amulet, though nothing had been found on his body. They were created by the Elven warrior orders and used instead of physical armour. Clearly some such orders remained.
‘Our friend here has plans of his own back home,’ Amber went on, watching as Arlal’s eyes narrowed enough to prove him right. ‘With Golaeth, enough rubies to make several bloodrose amulets and Aryn Bwr’s helm, he may find power and supporters enough for a coup.’
‘That, human,’ Arlal spat, ‘is not your concern.’
‘It is not,’ Gaur agreed, ‘but the price is acceptable. Inform Lord Larim of your requirements and he shall ensure the arrows are made.’
He held the sword out and this time Arlal took it and slipped the ancient copper-bladed weapon from the sheath to inspect it. Like many magical weapons it was oversized, too big to be of any real use without its imbued power. It would have looked comical in the hands of the slender Arlal but for the ease with which he moved it through the air. It was a straight, double-edged blade coming to a short point, and as Arlal ran reverential fingers down the flat Amber saw four complex swirling runes briefly glow orange.
‘Agreed,’ Arlal said finally, sheathing it again. He flicked the clasp of his cloak so that it fell from his right shoulder and he could attach the scabbard to his baldric; in a few moments the sword had disappeared, the cloak returned to position, and gorget and scarf restored. ‘You require method or time?’ he asked.
‘As long as it happens before the end of summer, dead will do.’
Arlal murmured agreement and left with Chade hard on his heels.
When the sound of footsteps had receded, Amber turned to the general. ‘How heavy is the helm then?’
‘Not heavy.’
‘Light as a bloody feather, I’d guess,’ the major said, his amber eyes flashing with laughter.
‘Close,’ Gaur admitted with a twitch of a furred cheek that could have been a smile, although with tusks protruding up to his nose it was hard to tell. ‘He may get one small amulet from them.’
‘Pretty and stupid,’ Amber commented as he eased himself upright again, ‘just how I like ’em.’
‘Thank you, Major,’ the beastman replied gravely. ‘Time for you to get back to your duties, I think.’
Daken reached out and grabbed the nearest King’s Man by the scruff of the neck. ‘What d’ya mean, they lifted the restrictions on entry? I’ve just spent a fucking hour in that there damned barrel! And with Telasin bloody-Daemon-Touch with me!’ he added, pointing at the man now clambering out of the same smuggler’s barrel. ‘When he farts, it smells like the bastard Dark Place — and I had to put up with that for nuthin?’
‘Could’ve been worse,’ Coran called, clambering out of his own and gesturing to the woman behind him, ‘Sparks kept comin’ off Ebarn the whole bloody journey.’
Daken released the man and turned to watch Ebarn, the Brotherhood’s dark-haired battle-mage, who was clambering her way out with a scowl on her face. She was a few winters older than Doranei, and a veteran of King Emin’s war against Azaer.
‘You learn to keep your fucking hands to yourself,’ she growled, ‘and that’ll stop happening.’ Once she was standing upright again Ebarn groaned and flexed her