From force of habit he moved through the maze of streets, keeping an eye open for trouble, looking for the opportunities he would once have needed to seize in order to live. There was a purse he might have lifted if he was quick enough. Its owner was a wealthy merchant haggling with a vendor for some spices, his bodyguards seemingly immersed in staring at a girl across the way. It was such an easy dip that Rik’s instinct for self-protection tingled. Looking around he saw that two more men watched from an archway on the far side of the street. They were quick, sharp men too and he would not have wanted to take his chances fleeing from them.
One of them noticed Rik looking at him, and grinned menacingly. Rik kept walking past stalls and booths around which crates were piled high, heading slowly downhill towards the docks, and becoming aware even as he did so that he was being followed.
His pursuers were not all men. One was a beggar woman carrying a baby. He had seen her a few streets back. That was unusual — such beggars usually kept to their own territories and did not stray. After that, he noticed that a man garbed in the most nondescript brown clothes always seemed to be ahead of him. Once alerted he noticed other faces he was sure he had seen before. In Sorrow he might have risked diving into the back alleys and giving them the slip, but he did not know his way around here well enough, and he was sure they would know the locality far better than he did. Worse than that, heading off the main thoroughfares might give them the chance to grab him, or stab him or whatever it was they planned to do. As long as he kept to the crowded streets, the chances of that were minimised.
Somebody must be watching the embassy. Did they know who he was or did they routinely follow anyone who departed from the place? The latter would argue for a huge pool of available manpower and an observer who was prepared to spend a lot of money to keep Asea’s people well observed. Malkior and the Council would both have those. He told himself not to jump to conclusions. It could be anybody.
At least at the moment they had shown not the slightest trace of any inclination to harm him. He could not rely on that though. He needed to find some way back to the embassy that did not leave him vulnerable. The simplest way would be to find some of the Foragers who were out and about in the city, and have them provide cover on the way back. He recalled the names of some of the taverns the soldiers favoured. Most were conveniently located near the embassy compound but some were down by the docks.
Of course that would be the most predictable move he could make. It would be the thing his pursuers would expect. He searched for other solutions. If he broke into a run somebody was sure to raise the hue and cry, and assume he had stolen something. That could lead to him being dragged down and beaten, or carted off to jail or the stocks. Neither alternative was appealing.
He could call for a cab or a sedan chair. That would provide him with some protection against abduction unless his pursuers bought the operators off, or had some connection with the authorities. He lengthened his stride and clutched at his sleeves to make sure his weapons were there. At least he still had those he told himself, wishing he had thought to ask Weasel and the Barbarian to accompany him.
He noticed a tall figure striding towards him. It took him a few moments to realise that it was Lord Malkior. He felt as if he had just walked into the jaws of a huge trap, oiled by the extraordinary wealth of the Dark Empire.
The Sardean noble was not dressed according to his station today. He looked much more like a prosperous merchant, wrapped in thick furs, head covered in a fur hat, flanked by two enormous flat faced bodyguards. He moved directly up to Rik.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said.
“I am sure this is a surprise only to one of us,” said Rik.
“Please, I had enough fencing with words last night with the delightful Asea. It is early and I would much rather not strain my wits. I am never at my best with a hangover.”
Looking into his clear eyes, Rik doubted the Terrarch had a hangover. He seemed bright, alert, and ready for anything.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Last night we discussed the fact that you could, if you chose, enlighten certain associates of mine about the events at the Serpent Tower.”
“Perhaps.”
“There were other things hinted at as well. It might be in your best interests to discuss them too. In either case, you will find myself and my friends extraordinarily generous to those who help us.”
“What about those who choose to do otherwise.”
“I am a very bad enemy to have, my young friend.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“What do you have to lose by talking to us?”
“My life, I suspect.”
“I am sure you are starting to suspect that it may already be forfeit. Asea will not be leaving Harven. Whether you will be capable of doing so is in your hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tamara intimated to me that you had discussed the possibility of aiding us in bringing the arch-traitoress to judgement back in Morven, before the events at the Serpent Tower.”
“I am not so sure Asea is a traitor.”
Malkior smiled his easy smile. “She has seen to your rise in the world. I can understand how that has increased your faith in her. I assure you I can do the same. And I am on the side that is most likely to win this war.”
“I do not see your armies in Kharadrea. I have not heard that you were winning many victories.”
“We have not yet committed our legions, but we will.”
“You are showing your age, Lord Malkior. The modern term is regiment.”
“Indeed. I thank you for the lesson in terminology.” There was coldness in his voice that told Rik that he understood that Rik was against him. He shrugged his shoulders, like a merchant making one final resolution to try and sway a reluctant customer.
“Legions or regiments, the words are unimportant. What is important is their strength, and ours is infinitely greater than Talorea’s.”
“That has yet to be proven.”
“It will be. Not even Talorea can fight a war on two fronts and hope to win. Not if Koth himself commanded its armies.”
Rik considered Malkior’s words. They could mean only one thing. “You have made a pact with the King of Valon.”
“In the spring he will attack Talorea’s western borders. We shall attack its Eastern ones. No help will be forthcoming from Selenea against its traditional enemies.”
“Because the Quan will stop them.”
“I see Asea has given you a more than basic education in the geography and politics of our time.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I would prefer to have you on my side. I have sentimental reasons for that. I have never had a son.”
The force of the words was like a knife driven into Rik’s ribs. He looked at the Terrarch standing in front of him, wondering what to say. One thing sprang immediately into his mind.
“Did you kill my mother?” The words were nasty, his tone more so.
“This is not the place to talk about such things,” said Malkior.
“I cannot think of a better one at the moment,” said Rik. He had no intention of going anywhere with the Terrarch if he could help it. Malkior shook his head as he would at a self-indulgent child. He reached out and touched Rik’s hand. An explosive shock of pain passed up Rik’s arm. He had never felt anything like it, agony so great that he could not open his mouth, could not scream. It was as if the marrow of his bones had caught fire and his blood had become filled with burning brimstone.
He collapsed face forward into the cold snow. The last thing he heard was Malkior calling for a sedan chair and a doctor to come and help the man who had collapsed.