Free The Bloodstained God (Book 2) by Tim Stead Page A

business?”
     
    “Alas I am not here to trade,” Narak replied.
     
    “No, of course not. Nobody comes to Isan Panyerasna to trade, but it is a shame to allow an opportunity for profit to pass you by, no? Perhaps I can tempt you with food. Will you join my party for the evening meal? My cook is an artist.”
     
    “That I can believe,” Narak said, and the fat man laughed again. He glanced at Narala and saw her nod. “I would be pleased to accept.”
     
    “And you must bring Narala,” the merchant went on. “She is a considerable adornment, as well as telling the most amazing stories.”
     
    “I shall.”
     
    The merchant bowed, a polite bow from the neck only that multiplied his chins, and led his retinue away, puffing and sweating.
     
    “He is a dangerous man,” Narala said when he was out of earshot. “He is cousin to one of the Sei, and trades on it heavily.”
     
    “A useful ally?”
     
    “Perhaps, but he is not famous for his loyalty.”
     
    “He knows you by name. You have spoken before?”
     
    “He sought me out when he heard that I was here on behalf of a northern lord. He thinks there may be some advantage to it. I dare not speak of your true nature, Deus, because they fear magic here. They kill those who practice it.”
     
    “So you have explained. I learned that lesson, Narala. I will not risk their enmity.”
     
    They walked in silence for half a minute, and they were nearly back to their guest residence when Narala spoke again.
     
    “The herald, Deus, why did you choose that one?”
     
    “It was the boatmen. Of all the boatmen his were the most disciplined, showed the most respect.”
     
    “He was poorly dressed, Deus. He looked like a beggar.”
     
    “As do I; certainly when compared to the likes of your merchant. I tried to look at the man, Narala. He looked a serious and honest individual.”
     
    “And the copper coin? It seemed an insult, but he took it well.”
     
    “He was not eager for the commission. I assumed that he did not need the money, even that he might see gold as an offence to his dignity.”
     
    Narala nodded, but he did not think she saw things as he did. The herald had been more than a herald, of that he was certain. He had been a man of consequence, but not proud. How that was, or whether it had been a good idea to select such a man to carry his message he could not have said for certain, but it seemed so.

6. A Pig and a Basket of Hazelnuts
     
    Cain sat at a desk in his apartments above the Seventh Friend, pen in hand, ink bottle open, and tried to force ideas from his head. He had drawn a map, a map of the White Road, on a sheet of parchment, but it served little purpose. It was a simple enough plan, and already quite comfortably in his head. He stared at it. There were two necks in the pass, the scree slopes, the brushwood and stunted trees that littered the floor, the curve of the pass that hid one end from the other. It was so simple that he could see no advantage, no plan that could make it defensible.
     
    Sheyani had sat by him for a while, playing her pipes, and their magic had made it seem possible, but after a few hours she had asked him to stop, to take a break.
     
    “It has been eight days, Sheyani,” he had replied. “In six I must give Narak his answer, tell him how to defend the White Road.”
     
    “You are a clever man, Sheshay,” she had replied. “I know it. But cleverness is like a night star. It burns brighter for not being looked upon.”
     
    Cain had ignored her. In a way he knew that she was right, but her Durander way of always having an apposite pithy saying irritated him ever so slightly, and he stared at the useless map ever more fiercely.
     
    She had been gone ten minutes when he gave up. It was never going to come; not like this. And he preferred her company to that of a sheet of parchment and his own desperation. He pulled himself up out of his chair and scratched the stump of his right hand, which had taken