Betrayal by Fiona McIntosh Page B

followed the man, relieved to escape the woman’s horrible laugh.
    He caught up. ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Don’t mention it. She’s revolting but she does that to everyone she can, so don’t be flattered.’
    ‘I’m not. My name’s Tor Gynt, a traveller.’
    ‘Pleased to meet you, Tor. I’m Petyr, town slut.’
    He took some delight in watching Tor’s shock.
    ‘Well, come on, Tor, don’t be such a prude. I need a bath; so do you by the look and smell of things.’ With a wrinkle of his nose he walked ahead.
    The sounds of men’s voices increased in volume as Tor rounded a stone pillar behind the undressed Petyr. The bath was huge, surrounded by massive murals of naked people cavorting through forests which reached up high into the vaulted ceiling. He was staring. Petyr was saying something to him which he missed.
    ‘I said are you coming in, handsome, or do youplan to stare at naked men instead?’ Petyr called as he floated on his back.
    ‘Don’t call me handsome.’ Tor was irritated.
    ‘Why ever not, you fool? When did you last look in the mirror? You are handsome and such a strong build! Ah, but I see you are not comfortable with it yet. Well, you will be, my friend, you will be.’ Petyr waded off, amused.
    Tor took time to scrub himself properly using one of the gritty cubes of soap left in pots around the baths. He realised it had been days since he had last bathed. Tor relaxed into the warmth. When Petyr returned Tor mentioned the impressive architecture and concept of the public baths.
    ‘Do you want help washing your hair?’ Petyr’s green eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, had a roguish glint.
    Mortified at Petyr’s suggestion, Tor threw several handfuls of water over his own head before striding to the steps and getting out. He grabbed his linen and wrapped it quickly around himself.
    Petyr stepped out. ‘You seem very edgy, Gynt. I won’t bite.’
    ‘Look, thanks for your company. Perhaps we’ll see each other around.’ He sounded so polite he wanted to bite his tongue out.
    ‘I doubt we move in the same circles, Gynt, but I’m told you didn’t finish the job you were picked for last night with Eryn. How disappointing.’
    Petyr had finished drying himself and was stepping neatly into his clothes. Tor had stopped dancing on one foot to clamber into his breeches.
    ‘You know Eryn?’
    ‘Like a sister.’
    ‘Then you’d know where I can find her?’
    ‘I might.’
    ‘Petyr, please will you tell her I’m sorry. It was nothing to do with her.’ He finished dressing.
    ‘Farewell, Tor. Perhaps I’ll mention it, but then again, perhaps I won’t. Nice talking with you.’ He tossed his towel into a nearby basket and walked away.
    ‘Wait!’
    Petyr turned back. Tor flipped his own towel into the basket.
    ‘I’m at The Empty Goblet.’
    Petyr laughed. ‘That fits.’ Then he was lost in the crowd of men headed towards the main doors.
    Tor sat down on the narrow stone ledge which ran the perimeter of the walls. Feeling gloomy he began to pull on his boots and it was only then that he saw the note which had fallen inside. His spirits lifted when he realised it was from Eryn. Her writing was atrocious but he managed to work out that she seriously wished she had stuck with the ardent, carrot-haired farmer last night.
    He intended to make good with her if he could. But right now it was time to return to Cloot and find out more about his strange friend.

7
Dreamspeaker
    The Empty Goblet was a hive of activity as Cyrus and his company made preparations to depart Hatten. The men were eager to leave: they had been on routine patrols through the middle towns of the Kingdom for many weeks.
    Cyrus was as popular with his soldiers as he was with the Tallinese who made him welcome wherever he travelled. Curiously though, despite women flocking to him, it was whispered that he never involved himself in liaisons. His wife, a beautiful, fragile creature, had died giving birth to his son a decade