muscles before running her finger through her cropped hair.
Coran didn’t smile with the rest of the Brotherhood, the more unusual of whom were still being helped out of the barrels used to smuggle them into Byora.
They were being unpacked in the storeroom of Lell Derager, the Farlan’s agent and pet wine merchant. The cheerful middle-aged merchant and his two most trusted men were releasing them one by one from the half-dozen fake barrels they had escorted into the city.
Once she’d stretched, Ebarn noticed that Coran was still staring at her, and she turned away with a slight sneer on her face. The white-eye had never been popular with women, not even the whores on whom he spent most of his money. He’d never acquired the skill of treating one as a colleague.
Coran rubbed his hands together as though warming them up. ‘My fingers have gone numb with all those sparks — didn’t know what I was touching.’
‘We’ve heard you say that before,’ called Ebarn, ‘and not even the goat-herder believed you then!’
While the rest of the Brotherhood smirked, Doranei’s face remained set and stony. Coran ignored the taunting and made his way over to Doranei. He gripped his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye, his expression grave. They all knew Sebe and Doranei had been as close as birth-brothers, and his loss wasn’t just that of a comrade. Doranei gave a glum nod of thanks and thumped Coran on the back in reply before pushing past him.
‘You must be Daken,’ he said to the other white-eye, who was eying him appraisingly.
The mercenary nodded as he tugged his enormous axe from the barrel and swung it up onto his shoulder.
‘The answer to your question is this: you didn’t put up with Telasin for nothing. While the restrictions have been lifted, there’ll have been half-a-dozen folk watching the gate and taking note of anyone unusual coming in.’
‘Well, we’re in now,’ said the mercenary battle-mage, Wentersorn, as he emerged from his own barrel and immediately sidestepped away from Daken. The white-eye hadn’t had the opportunity yet to live up to his reputation, but the Mad Axe still clouted Wentersorn around the head every time he came within reach. ‘I take that as a good sign, so how’s about we find us some whores to celebrate my homecoming?’
‘Fucking mercenaries,’ Doranei sighed. ‘Does keeping a low profile mean nothing to you?’
Wentersorn scowled and pointed at Daken. ‘He’s my commander, not you.’ He gave Daken a hopeful look, not a kindred spirit, but at least a common interest. The white-eye’s appetite for women was said to surpass even Coran’s.
‘Much as I’d love to agree with the ugly little shit and go get me some,’ Daken said, ‘we don’t need the trouble.’
He lifted his shirt to reveal a mass of blue tattoos and pointed to the largest, a woman’s head and upper torso in profile. Her mouth was twisted into a cruel smile and her fingers ended in sharp claws. As Doranei watched the smile widened a shade and her fingers briefly stroked the line of Daken’s pectoral muscle.
‘Litania does love to join in,’ Daken said. He pointed to a series of scars just below his navel, adding, ‘And she’s a biter.’
Doranei coughed to cover his surprise and forced himself to tear his gaze from the Aspect of Larat inhabiting a man’s skin. ‘Well, if that’s settled, have your men find bunks in there.’ He pointed to a wide door on his left. ‘That storeroom’s been cleared; it’s cramped, but it’ll serve for tonight. Food and beer will be provided. Daken, do you have a second-in-command?’
The white-eye jabbed a thumb towards a bald man with bronze earrings and a pair of scimitars. ‘Brother Penitence there.’
‘Brother Penitence?’ Doranei and Derager gasped in unison, both sounding dismayed.
‘Aye, he’s a cleric — Mystic o’ Karkarn to be exact!’ Daken gave a laugh at their expressions. ‘Hah, look at the pair of ya; we ain’t completely dumb, I just wanted to see your faces at his name.’
‘I realise the name would be unwise in these troubled times,’ the Mystic of Karkarn said in a surprisingly cultured voice. Many of their number were former soldiers, and most barely educated. ‘Considering the way so many cults have abused the office of the Penitency in recent months I am willing to give it up for the time being. My birth name was Hambalay Osh; that is what you may use instead.’
‘What’s a mystic’s involvement here?’ Doranei demanded. ‘I can’t believe you’re being