Bloodforged by Nathan Long Page A

cockroaches. In the taverns, strutting dandies toasted the duke and his great victory over Chaos, while in the streets, weary watchmen guarded barricades behind which whole neighbourhoods had been evacuated because of the spectral horrors that had risen from the bloody cobbles during the Chaos attacks, and which had not yet been laid to rest. In the squares, wild-eyed priests of Ulric and Ursun prophesied doom at every hand, while boys with rouge on their cheeks and girls wearing their corsets on the outside of their dresses laughed at them and sang rude songs.
    Music was everywhere. Every tavern and kvas parlour had a singer or a group performing for the crowd. Raucous drinking songs rattled the windows of crowded inns. Sharp-faced poets sang scathing satirical ballads to groups of laughing students. Refugees crooned sad lullabies while rocking their hollow-cheeked children to sleep. Even on quieter streets, Ulrika heard snatches of wild melodies on the wind – a strummed lute, a drunken flute, the haunting keening of a mournful violin. In a dark courtyard, she saw a barefoot young refugee girl dancing to some song only she could hear, as silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
    And the musical madness seemed to reach even the highest ranks. As Ulrika moved through the crowds, she heard that the ruler of Praag, Duke Enrik, a distant cousin of hers, was putting on a victory concert at the Opera House in a week’s time. It was to be the social event of the season. Ulrika found it offensive. It was indeed a great thing that the hordes had retreated, but to claim one’s armies had defeated them and won a valiant victory when in reality the invaders seemed to have destroyed themselves with infighting and then retreated in the face of a brutal Kislev winter, was exaggeration on a grand scale.
    Ulrika shook her head. From the duke to the lowliest beggar, the people of Praag seemed to her like drunks dancing on the edge of a precipice, and putting on blindfolds so they couldn’t see it. Had the city always been like this? She didn’t remember such wild merrymaking going on before. But of course, when last she had been here, it had been in the middle of a crippling siege. Perhaps, after the fear and horror of the long, terrible winter, Praag had only gone mad with relief.
    Finally she arrived at the place she had been edging towards since she left Chesnekov’s camp – the White Boar Inn. It had been inevitable she would come, but even as she’d headed for it, she had dragged her feet, and spent more time than was necessary watching the passing parade. At the same time, though her hunger had grown ever more insistent, she had put off feeding to come here, wanting to see the business to the finish before she did anything else.
    The White Boar had been where she and Felix and Max and the Slayers had spent all their time while waiting out the siege. It had been here that she had fallen out of love with Felix, and into love with Max. It had been in a room above the taproom that she had nearly died of plague before the wizard had used his powers to drive the illness from her body. If her old companions were anywhere in Praag, they would be here. Just a few more steps, and she could be reunited with them.
    She hesitated on the threshold, wondering again if that was what she wanted. Would they welcome her? Would they fear her? Would they attack her? Was she ready to fight them if they did?
    A burst of harsh laughter came from within the tavern. She thought she heard a deep dwarfish guffaw amidst it. They were here. Knowing it, she almost turned around and walked away, but then she straightened. With the hordes not returning, she had lost one of the reasons she had journeyed to Praag. She wouldn’t give up on the other out of fear. Thrusting out her jaw, she pushed open the door and stepped in.
    The taproom was just as she remembered it, dark, smoky and filled with soldiers, mercenaries, and the women who made their living from them.