00.1 - The Blood Price by Dan Abnett, Mike Lee - (ebook by Undead) Page A

of the guardsmen slid from his saddle, a dagger gleaming dully in his
hand. Malus held out his bound wrists with a baleful glare, but the guardsman
paid the highborn no mind. The leather straps parted with an expert jerk of the
blade, and then a strong hand pulled Malus firmly from the saddle. The highborn
managed barely a single step before a sharp flare of pain in his thigh brought
him to his knees.
    The captain twisted in his saddle and reached back for a bundle of saddle
bags. “The young master made the acquaintance of most of the lower taverns last
night,” he said, tugging at the binding straps. “Cheated at dice, started a
fight with a gang of sailors and damned near gave us the slip. He’d made it
through the city gate and was a half-mile back to Hag Graef when we caught up to
him.” The captain tugged the bags free and dropped them beside Malus with a
weighty thud.
    Silar’s dark eyes widened in shock as the captain’s words sank in. “This is
outrageous!” he snarled. “You lowborn thugs can’t treat a highborn in this
fashion!”
    The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve got my orders, young sir,” he growled.
“And your master put a knife in two of my men when we tried to turn him back to
Clar Karond.” He glared down at Malus. “So here he is. Now he’s your problem.”
    With a nod to his men, the captain nudged his horse around and headed off
down the pier without a backwards glance. Silar stared helplessly after them,
one hand still gripping the hilt of his sword.
    “If you’re going to challenge them, be my guest,” Malus said darkly. “But
don’t expect any thanks from my father if you do.”
    The highborn’s voice brought Silar’s head around. “Your father’s thanks? What
has that to do with anything? I’m your sworn man—”
    Malus cut him off with a bark of laughter. “Bought and paid for by Lurhan of
Hag Graef,” he snapped.
    The young knight stiffened. “A highborn embarking on his hakseer-cruise
ought to have a retinue attending him,” he replied. “Your father wishes—”
    “Do not presume to tell me what my father wishes,” Malus shot back. “You’re
here because no self-respecting highborn back home would swear himself willingly
to my service, and it would reflect badly upon Lurhan if I went on this cruise
alone.” He shot a bitter look at the young knight. “The Vaulkhar of Hag Graef
must think of his image, after all. Now help me up, damn you!”
    Silar’s jaw bunched angrily at the highborn’s tone, but the young knight
leapt to obey. With an awkward heave and a clatter of armour he pulled his new
master to his feet. The two druchii were of a similar age, both at the cusp of
adulthood, though Silar stood a head taller than Malus and was broader across
the shoulders. The retainer’s articulated plate armour was old and plain but well
cared-for, its surface burnished and gleaming, and his twin swords were
unadorned and functional.
    Grimacing in pain, Malus eyed the young knight up and down. “Whose wargear is
that? Your grandfather’s?”
    “As a matter of fact, it is,” Silar answered sharply. “They aren’t much, but
they’ve seen their share of battles. Can my lord say the same for his?”
    Malus glanced down at his own harness. The armour was expertly made but
likewise devoid of ornamentation, its edges still gleaming with oil from the
armourers’ shop. “Like you, my wargear was provided for,” he muttered. Silar
made to reply, but the highborn cut him off with a raised hand. “Enough, Silar.
My head is pounding and my guts are tied in knots. Neither one of us wants to be
here, so let’s just call a truce and try to get through this damned cruise
without killing each other, all right?”
    “As my lord wishes,” Silar replied coldly.
    “Fine,” Malus said, and as Silar turned to gather up the highborn’s saddlebags the highborn quietly resolved to kill the young knight just as soon as he
possibly could. Lurhan