Free The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign by Tom Lloyd Page B

woman’s.
    ‘Thank you,’ she managed.
    ‘For what?’ Isak asked.
    ‘For bringing me to safety, you fool,’ she managed, again forcing her lips into her semblance of a smile. Disengaging her hand from Mihn’s, she gave the small northerner an affectionate pat on the cheek. ‘You are lucky to have such a loyal friend; I believe he would follow you anywhere.’
    Isak’s face fell. ‘Don’t say that - it might be the Dark Place he ends up visiting.’ He looked at Mihn, whose face was calm, the image of a man at peace in the Land. Rarely did the failed Harlequin give away much, but surely he’d have thought about what horrors he would face if he stayed at Isak’s side.
    How is it I’m served by a man whose qualities surpass my own so completely? Isak wondered, not for the first time.
    A sharp pain in his wrist brought him back to the present. He looked down and saw Xeliath had jabbed her thumbnail into the skin, leaving a red mark. ‘Stupid boy,’ the hazel-skinned white-eye growled before switching to Yeetatchen and spitting a dozen or so angry words.
    Without pausing to think, Mihn translated for Isak. ‘You claim I have a problem with prophecy? You, a fulcrum of history, should know better than to speak so carelessly.’
    Isak was stung by the admonishment in her voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a moment of silence. ‘All I meant was that such a thing would be too much to ask of any man, no matter how loyal.’
    ‘Too late,’ Xeliath replied, closing her eyes. ‘It is said.’
    Isak looked at Mihn but the man just shook his head. ‘We all have our parts to play.’
    ‘What if I have to ask something monstrous?’ Isak asked in dismay. ‘You accept the burden too easily!’
    ‘I am proud to serve you, whatever you ask of me,’ Mihn replied with rare openness. While he had the colouring of a Farlan, his hair and eyes even darker brown than most in Tirah, Mihn lacked the sharp, pronounced features of the tribe; his were small and neat, every edge smoothed off, every expression minimal.
    ‘Is my part simply to ask things of others, then?’ Isak said softly.
    Mihn blinked. ‘In that, I do not envy you. I am glad I merely serve.’
    ‘Mihn, you don’t even carry a proper weapon! You never wear armour, I’ve already asked too—’
    He raised a hand to cut his lord off mid-sentence. ‘I will do what I must. You should too.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘For now, we should let Xeliath sleep.’

CHAPTER 5
    In the lee of a tall warehouse in the southernmost district of Tirah, two men waited uneasily as midnight passed into the new day. They kept close to the building that bore a reputable clothier’s name and watched the small door at the other end of the warehouse. It led to a watchman’s room, that much was apparent, but as yet neither of them had any idea why a man with a Lomin accent had cornered the smaller of them three weeks before and arranged for them to be waiting here, at this time, on this night. A silver crescent each had been enough to make it clear the offer of a job was serious, but they suspected their next payment would require rather more than just their presence at a certain time and place.
    They were dressed as common travellers, with only long knives at their hips despite the mystery and late hour. The Ghosts would be asking serious questions of people walking the streets armed for battle - there were so many noblemen, hurscals and liveried soldiers in Tirah for the new duke’s coronation that anyone without the protection of a title had to tread carefully.
    ‘I don’t like the look of this.’
    The taller of the two looked at his comrade, sighed and reached into a pocket for his tobacco pouch. ‘Nothing not to like yet, Boren.’
    ‘You reckon?’ Boren’s sceptical look earned only a short laugh. The sound echoed back from the high brick walls surrounding them and instinctively Boren looked around to see if anyone was coming to investigate. Aside from their