swords and our friend Tyrion is about to prove that by boring us all to death,’ said Orysian, rising to the bait.
‘As ever, jealousy is an ugly thing,’ said Tyrion. ‘I have seen you bore a few of your enemies with the sword. The last time I saw you fight I thought it was your intention to watch your opponent die of old age… and let us never forget that they were elves.’
‘It would still probably have been preferable for them than listening to your stories,’ said Orysian.
‘Then imagine what it would be like for them to listen to yours. Heroic tales of the number of courtesans you have kissed and bottles of wine you have drunk interspersed with stories of the cakes you have knifed to death.’
All of the others were laughing now. Even Orysian was amused and flattered to be singled out by the hero of the hour. Tyrion smiled at them all, having turned the mood to his own wishes. He kept it up all the way to the Golden Lion. He did not want to fight tonight. He had too much to think about.
Like a conquering army, Tyrion and his companions burst through the doors of the tavern.
‘Drink!’ Orysian shouted.
The Golden Lion was crowded. Glittering elven courtesans glided from table to table. Glowstones shimmered in chandeliers illuminating everyone. Servants carried goblets of hallucinogenic wine to gold-inlaid tables, or hookahs of Arabyan kif to those elves who desired it.
It was a vast place, furnished with articles from every corner of the globe, carpets from Araby and clockwork automatons from the Worlds Edge Mountains. Hanging from the ceiling was the huge skeleton of some aquatic monster harpooned by the tavern’s owner back when he was a simple sea captain, or so he claimed.
It lay on the edgy territory between the human quarter and the Great Dock. It had once been a warehouse as could be seen by its huge internal area, with an enormous ceiling and many landings looking down over the central pit. On these landings there were still the loading bay doors where hauliers had lifted cargoes into the warehouse.
Most of the serving wenches and staff were humans. That was increasingly the way with all menial labour in Lothern. Some of the great trading houses had even started using slaves as labourers in their warehouses, although technically it was still only permitted to sell slaves in Lothern for purposes of transhipment. There was no business in this world that could not be pursued in this greatest of port cities. The merchants of Lothern did not want to miss out on the slightest copper piece of potential profit.
Tyrion glanced around to see who else was present. The place had gone quiet for a moment when the patrons had noticed his entry. It pleased him that he was so well known here. The tavern’s owner came to greet him.
‘Prince Tyrion, I had heard you were back.’
‘News travels fast, Garion,’ said Tyrion.
‘In Lothern, always.’ The owner led them to a massive platform where they could stare down on the less wealthy and famous below. Drinks were brought. The most beautiful courtesans began to drift away from other tables towards their own.
Tyrion sipped his wine and studied his friends. They were a typical cross section of the young, outrageous and wealthy of Lothern at this moment in time; part of the new generation that had grown up over the past century as Lothern was transformed from a half-dreaming city into the hub of a global trading empire. They had the swaggering, piratical look of young merchants on the make. Many of them had captained ships to the far corners of the globe.
Here was Lucius, whose family had grown wealthy in spices and silks from Cathay and the Mystic East. He affected long flowing wizardly robes of the Cathayan upper echelons. It was intended as a joke, a parody of the self-importance of the mandarins but somehow it suited him.
Here was Kargan, who had made a fortune raiding the coasts of Naggaroth and the dark elf colonies. He was lean and scarred with a vulpine look to his features and two dark elf blades strapped to his sides. He hated the spawn of Naggaroth with a black passion that matched that of the druchii. He had lost a beloved sister to their slavers and was taking a lifelong revenge. Tyrion had made his first real gold shipping out with him and raiding the coasts of Naggaroth. Although he was very far