Free Moon's Artifice by Tom Lloyd Page A

bandages.’
    ‘You’d trust her over a Great House’s finest doctors ?’
    Enchei shrugs. ‘I’ll do it myself.’
    ‘Yourself ?’ Narin looks around at the bodies of their attackers. He is reminded of how quickly Enchei killed them, the quick efficiency with which he made corpses of six killers. ‘How are we even alive ?’
    ‘Told you I was a soldier,’ Enchei says gruffly. ‘Was a damn good one, ’cept the bit about taking orders from fools.’
    ‘And you learned to wrap wounds too ?’
    ‘In war men get hurt quite a lot.’
    Enchei looks the nobleman up and down and for the first time Narin does so properly. The man they’ve saved is not typical of his countrymen ; he’s short and rotund with a thick neck and lighter skin than most Wyverns. Without warning the tattooist grabs Narin’s hand and uses it to take the place of his own. That done he begins to strip off the nobleman’s once-grand jacket to reveal the plain linen shirt beneath.
    ‘Why ?’
    ‘Why ? All those weapons lying around. Bound to be an accident o’ some sort.’
    ‘Why dress it yourself ? Why take his jacket off ?’
    The tattooist’s eyes seem to shine now, each tiny vein of his iris edged in light. ‘Make him less obvious.’
    In his dream Narin hears the words echo distantly as Enchei begins to fade into the dark shadows behind – all except his eyes, which remain bright and terrifying.
    ‘Why ?’
    ‘He’s been castrated,’ he hears Enchei say as his view begins to recede and he finds himself in front of the narrow, whitewashed house belonging to Enchei’s midwife friend. ‘You realise how that’s seen where he’s from ? He’ll be disgraced, for this and running up debts. Those were enforcers I’m sure, out to punish a man who couldn’t pay, given what they’ve done.’
    ‘You want to hide it,’ Narin says as the door opens and a wizened face peers and ushers them in, the darkness enveloping them all.
    ‘Might as well try, give the man a chance. Without that he’s done – most likely he’ll kill himself through shame and his family’ll forget he was ever one of ’em. I ain’t saying this’ll work ; you need to find his steward or manservant, hope they’re loyal and competent enough to keep the secret.
    ‘He’ll be the best friend you ever have,’ Enchei says from somewhere in the dark. ‘Forever thankful – and in this life that’s worth as much as gold.’
    Narin woke with the dawn. Grainy, feeble light slipped through the angled slats of the window shutters along with a damp breath of wind. He scowled and rolled over to face the open doorway that led into the main room. A moment of panic gripped him, but then he heard the soft exhalation and relaxed again. The goshe was still there ; he hadn’t woken and fled in the night.
    He eased himself up off the floor where he’d spent the night, barely sleeping, while his unconscious guest remained in the bed next door. A sharp ache behind his eyes blossomed as soon as he moved ; his limbs were sluggish and heavy with fatigue. Unsteady for a moment until he found his balance, Narin straightened and stretched his arms up to brush the whitewashed ceiling, slowly tilting to each side to work the stiffness from his back. He grimaced at the twinge in his right shoulder when his arm was fully extended and rolled it in slow circles to work the discomfort out. A nagging injury from the dachan court, his shoulder hadn’t enjoyed a night on the wooden floor.
    Narin crossed to a small washstand and scrubbed away the greasy feeling on his face, blinking at the reflection in his small mirror as though not recognising himself. Once his brain had caught up, Narin wiped a cloth over his chest and armpits. The damp chill raised goosebumps over his skin until he turned away again, swinging his arms to shake off the last vestiges of sleep.
    Opening the window shutters, Narin stared out across a city rendered ethereal and alien by the blanket of mist. The familiar lines