"I am not a man, Rena. I am a Terrarch." She recoiled a little, as if fearing she had offended him. He could not quite get used to that fear in her. He would never hurt her. Yet he knew her fear was well-founded. Some Terrarchs would have had her horsewhipped for making such a suggestion. Not that long ago, she could have been put to death for it. This world was a cruel place for humans, he thought. He looked at his missing hand. It could be a cruel place for Terrarchs too.
He reached out with his good hand and drew her to him. Her lips met his. She led him slowly to the bed.
Rik parried Karim's blow and riposted. The southerner blocked the attack easily. He looked calm and fresh and not the slightest discomposed. Rik's shirt was soaked with sweat, his breath came in laboured gasps, and his hand shook from fatigue. They had been practising for an hour and it was beginning to tell on Rik. Karim was garbed all in black, and a scarf obscured the lower portion of his face. He showed no sign of any fatigue. He was barely breathing heavily.
Karim's return blow sent the sword spinning from his hand. "Your mind was elsewhere, Master Rik," he said.
"You are right," Rik admitted. He had found it best to be honest about such things with Karim. The southerner was an expert judge of his state of mind, at least when it came to the crossing of blades. He glanced around the courtyard of the Palace. A number of Terrarch officers watched them, a few Terrarch ladies as well.
"You can’t afford to be distracted when swords are involved, Master Rik. If this had been a real fight you would have been a dead man."
"That would be true of any real fight I had with you, Karim."
"True, Master Rik. For the moment at least — but you are young, you are quick and you have a great deal of promise. Already you are better than many men with a blade. Someday I hope you will be a master."
"You are very kind to say so, Karim."
"Forgive me for contradicting you, but kindness is not part of my nature. Truthfulness is. I would not say such a thing if it was not true. Some men are natural killers — you are one of them. It is as if you were born to wield a sword. I suspect you would be good with almost any weapon you picked up, and better than good with those you practiced with."
Rik frowned. He thought of what Asea had told him of his Shadowblood heritage, that he was a born assassin from a line of born assassins. She supposed his ancestors to be a clan of beings created by a Prince of Shadow to be his personal killers. She wanted him to be hers. He supposed he already was. Of course, she was prepared to pay him well for this. She was already doing so, but her patronage was dangerous. Just being a Shadowblood was punishable by death, if you were discovered. It was yet another thing that gave her enormous leverage over him.
"I am glad you think so," he said.
"I know so," said Karim. There was even a hint of warmth in his normally chill voice. Rik decided to ask the Southerner the question that had been on his mind for a while.
"How did you come to Lady Asea's service — if you don't mind me asking?"
"I do not. The Lady told me you would ask me this, and she told me I should answer you if I wished."
"Do you wish?"
"It is a tale for another time," said Karim. "But someday I will tell you."
Rik noticed that a tall, heavily built man had entered the courtyard. He was dressed as an engineer, and he had a set of rolled up plans underneath his arms. He looked around politely and waited to be recognised. He was a human with the dark swarthy features of a Mazarean. His beard and moustache were imperfectly dyed. None of the Terrarchs present paid him any attention so he hailed a servant.
"Benjario has business with Lady Asea," the man said in a self-important voice. Rik felt his interest being piqued. The big man had been around to see Asea several times before, always clutching masses of rolled up parchment, inscribed with diagrams and odd notations. At first he had suspected sorcery, but now he wondered if it might not be something different. Benjario was a name he had heard before. He was the madman who believed that one day all men would be able to fly. What possible business could he have with Asea?
Rik decided that he would make a point of finding out in the not too distant future, but right now he had an appointment to meet with Weasel and the Barbarian. He wanted to see them both for old times’ sake and to find out what they were up to. If anybody could give him some idea of what was going on in this city, they could.
The Foragers were not billeted among palaces but in an older part of the city, the ancient part that predated the construction of the Imperial capital. It had been built when humans still ruled the world and by-passed by the slum clearances that had made way for the new mansions of the Terrarch aristocracy. The tenements surrounding Rik were high, the streets narrow. The whole area was squalid and crowded and full of uniformed men, and those who could always be counted on to appear in their wake: camp followers, whores, moneylenders, merchants of the sleazier sorts, card-sharps, pawnbrokers, beggars and minstrels.
The smell was the familiar one of Rik's childhood, a mixture of human and animal dung, unwashed bodies, food cooking on street braziers, cheap perfume, incense and wood-smoke. The raucous calls of vendors and bar-girls cut through the hubbub of barter and chatter. He smiled. He felt like he was coming home. No one paid him the slightest attention for he had changed out of his Terrarch finery and back into his old green tunic and a set of patched brown britches. He did not want to attract the attention of every pick-pocket and street-robber in the quarter. He carried only enough money for the evening's entertainment. He had left his sword behind, relying on the bayonet thrust in his belt and the knife in a hidden sheath in his sleeve for protection.
He paused occasionally to haggle with a street vendor for outrageously over-priced skewers of food that tasted like cat when he bit into it. It wasn't the food he was interested in. He talked mostly just to get a feel for the area and directions to the Foragers’ billet. This turned out to be a massive old mansion that had probably belonged to some merchant. Sardec, or whoever had picked it, had chosen it with an eye to defence. The place was walled and built round a courtyard. Its single arched entranceway could be barred shut and easily defended, always an important consideration when rioting was a strong possibility.
As he approached it, he saw a woman and his mouth went dry. It was Rena, the girl who he had gone with in Redtower what felt like a lifetime ago, and who had betrayed him to go off with Sardec. She was better dressed these days, but her lush beauty still affected him as strongly as ever. He fought down the urge to duck into a side alley and kept moving. He was damned if he was going to hide from her.
She carried a woven shopping basket and the same two girls who had accompanied her to the camp at Morven were with her now. No woman would walk these streets alone at this time of day. He noticed that Toadface and Handsome Jan were with them, chatting with the girls. Either they had been assigned to watch them, or were interested in the lasses, or both. Toadface looked over at Rik. Surprise showed on his ugly pock-marked face and he strolled over with the girls in tow.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said. "Or dressed like that. Decided that you've had enough of hob-nobbing with high born and run off to be a soldier?"
"Something like that. I've come to see Weasel and the Barbarian."
Handsome Jan admired his own profile in a fragment of mirror, pointing out the fineness of his cheek to one of the girls. She seemed to agree with him.
"Hello, Rik," said Rena. Her voice was low and husky. She watched him cautiously. Their last meeting had been none too friendly. He looked at her and cursed himself mentally. Why did his mouth feel dry? Why was his heart hammering loudly against his ribs? She should not have this power over him, but she did.