‘Been rearranging the furniture, have you? Can’t say I like the upturned chair and broken glass look. What the hell has been going on? And who is that? We aren’t open yet.’
Sol stared at her for a moment, considering the lie that would best placate her. He dismissed every option. He plucked two pewter goblets from the bar top and wrapped his little finger around the neck of a stoppered bottle of wine. Half empty and not the good stuff.
‘He says he’s Hirad Coldheart, back from the dead.’
‘And you believe him?’ she asked. Sol said nothing. ‘My darling husband, where have you gone?’
Diera cupped her hands around his face. A single tear fell from her left eye. She sucked her lip, turned and walked out of the back door and into the yard, where the children still played.
Chapter 3
‘I take it the good Lady Unknown doesn’t believe me?’
Sol said nothing while he poured them each a goblet of wine. He sniffed his to make sure it was still drinkable and took a hearty sip. The Gresse red had a mellow flavour and a strong aftertaste.
‘Good with stew,’ he said.
‘I’ll remember that next time I’m cooking.’
Sol stared at the man. Young and proud-looking. Shoulder-length brown hair tied in a ponytail. Sharp green eyes stared back above a crooked nose and a mouth in which the teeth were starting to discolour. The wound in his left shoulder was deep. Deep enough to be fatal. Sol could see torn flesh and bone showing through the ripped clothing. He should have been pumping blood onto the inn floor. Sol was thankful for the mercy.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘I’ll repeat it until you believe me, you know,’ said the merchant, eyes twinkling briefly. ‘You do believe me really, don’t you?’
‘Let’s just say I’ll listen to you. Give you a chance this side of doubt. But believe? What’s to believe?’
The merchant took a sip of wine and a look of almost beatific pleasure crossed his face. ‘Now that was almost worth coming back for.’
‘Almost?’
‘Another time, Unknown. But for now accept that returning from the dead isn’t all it might be.’
‘If you say so.’
Sol cursed himself, feeling drawn in already and wanting more. He wanted it to be true, that much he would readily admit.
‘Look, think about this logically.’
Sol laughed. ‘Logically? Now that is something very much in the Hirad mould. The ability to choose absolutely the wrong word at will. You appear at my door, sporting a wound that should have put you on the slab, and claim to be my friend returned from ten years dead. Logic? Please.’
‘All right not logic then, just what is in front of your eyes. Rely on what you know.’
‘I know Hirad Coldheart is dead. I am still counting the days, wishing it wasn’t true.’
‘And you also know that this wound has carved through my left collarbone and has torn nerve, sinew and artery. It’s a killing blow and you’ve seen enough to know one, right?’
‘Which means I’m looking at a fake of some sort. Because dead men cannot walk.’
‘Put your finger in, then. Give it a wiggle.’
The merchant demonstrated. Sol winced.
‘Isn’t that painful?’
‘It’s fucking agony.’
‘Well, stop it, then.’
‘Do you want a go?’
Sol stared at the merchant yet again. Memories thronged his mind and dragged to the fore emotions long-buried. Thousands of words that should have been said. Wrong body, wrong voice. An impossible return. And yet there in the cock of his head and the manner of his speech. So much familiarity.
‘It cannot be you,’ he said. ‘How can it be you?’
‘I take it you’ve had your fair share of fakes?’
‘You could say that,’ said Sol.
‘What people will do for a free drink, eh?’
‘They’re just the sad cases.’ Sol rubbed his nose. ‘It’s the ones that trade on my memories for profit. They make me angry.’
The merchant reached out and patted Sol’s hand.
‘Well you hide it very well.’
Sol burst out laughing. He refilled both their goblets. ‘Remember you’re still on probation here. Though I must admit, I’ve never seen anyone as convincing thus far.’
‘You’re telling me you’ve had others come to you like this?’
Sol nodded. ‘People claiming they were possessed by the spirits of one or other of The Raven fallen.’
The merchant straightened his shoulders, grimacing at the pain. ‘Recently?’ he asked.
‘Last four or so years . . . until I introduced the cudgel.’ Sol frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Anything very recent might not have been a fake.’
‘You mean I might have beaten the backside out of Ilkar or something?’
‘Ilkar’s rather confused living host, to be precise. We were trying a number of ways to get hold of you.’
‘A number?’
‘Two.’
Sol sighed. ‘If you are Hirad, I have to tell you your jokes have not improved.’
‘It’s important, Unknown.’
‘All right. But you’d better surprise me or it’s the cudgel and a trip face down along the river.’
‘Ilkar is much better at this stuff. Basically, we’ve been trying to get to you through your dreams but although if we got together we could sense you, all we could do was the equivalent of wave at you in the fog. You were always so close but just out of reach. And then, when the walls of the dimension started to fall, we started to try sending ourselves out and getting hold of bodies to speak for us. They were always of the living and I guess you just found possessed people annoying. But I thought I might as well give this a try. Y’know, finding someone freshly dead and using them. Didn’t have to wait too long in the north alleys to find a host.’ The merchant paused. ‘Are you getting this so far?’
‘What? Sorry. Just trying to work out how it is you could describe my vision to me.’
‘Because we sent it.’
‘Who?’
‘The Raven’s dead.’ The merchant stared into Sol’s eyes. Desperation and bottomless pain flooded out. ‘We need you, Unknown. They are come and we cannot stop them.’
Sol bit back on the threat of tears.
‘I’m losing my mind,’ he whispered.
‘No you’re not, Unknown. This is real.’
Sol’s vision was blurred. He wiped a hand across his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself. With Diera, it was too fraught. With this stranger, as natural as sunlight.
‘Don’t you know how much I want that to be true? Every day I walk past those paintings and I crave the company of the men and women I see. I want it so much I see movement within the frames. I crave our bond and to live by our code once more. The pride of standing in line with them. The sheer energy of our battle. The closeness that comes with facing death together day by day and living till morning yet again. The knowledge that any of them would die for me and that I would do the same for them. Things I can only embrace now when I sleep.
‘I want to tell them so much. About my joy that I can see my sons grow up; that I awake each morning and see my wife. That I am living everything I dreamed of but that it is just a puff of smoke rising from the embers of the life I had, and to which I can never return. That on some days, too many days, I wish I too had fallen that day. A hero to live on in the memory, not growing fat behind a bar and dreaming of glories past.’
The merchant was silent. He drained his glass. Sol did likewise and refilled them both. He cleared his throat and stood up, needing to fill his hands with something, anything. The Raven’s Rest felt a little gloomy. Apt in one sense but no good for the custom Sol expected through the door later. King or not, he still had an inn to run.