Jachad already knew: she carried no weapons of any kind, not even a knife.
‘If you don’t want our money, then why did you come?’ Faroth demanded. Jachad saw him angrily fingering the handle of the sword stuck through his sash. It had only a rag for a scabbard. ‘We’ve risked our lives just to meet you here. This had better not be some Nomas swindle. Or a trap.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ Meiran repeated, ‘but you do have something I want.’
‘What is that?’ Faroth asked sharply, voicing the question that had been plaguing Jachad for weeks.
‘After the Dead Ones are gone,’ said Meiran, ‘I’ll tell you then.’
‘You can’t possibly expect me to agree to that. Tell me what you want, and if it’s in our power to give it, it’s yours.’
Meiran hesitated. Here was the moment, the reason she had come back.
Warmth tickled in Jachad’s palms and little flickers of nervous white and blue flame fizzed across his knuckles.
‘Not now,’ Meiran said finally. ‘After.’
‘But that’s ridiculous.’ Faroth’s voice had risen; his composure was beginning to crack. ‘You could ask for
anything
– you could ask for the whole city, or for something we don’t even have. What then? You’ll come back with an army and kill us all?’
‘If you want this enough you’ll risk that possibility.’
At that moment the curtain across the doorway flapped aside and a Shadari with a round, florid face hopped into the tavern. ‘Patrol,’ he panted as everyone’s eyes swung in his direction.
As Elthion blew out the lamp – it was past curfew, and the tavern was supposed to be closed – they all heard the rhythmic crunch of booted feet on the road. Jachad held his breath. The footsteps approached. The moment lengthened. He waited for the sound of the footsteps to grow softer.
Instead, a surprised cry was followed by sandals slapping the ground, then more cries, more running, and the long scrape of swords being drawn.
‘Damn!’ swore Faroth, leaping towards the door. ‘I told them to stay hidden.’ He snatched up the child and swung him behind the bar. ‘Wait here, Dramash.’
‘Don’t be afraid,’ Jachad whispered to the child, when he saw him peeking around from around the corner. When he turned back around he saw Meiran flicker past them all and dash out into the street like a shadow.
‘She’s not even armed!’ Faroth exclaimed impatiently as all four Shadari men tried to get through the doorway at the same time to help their comrades.
‘I don’t think that matters,’ replied Jachad, grinning in spite of himself. He followed them out into the street.
And into chaos. Shadari were running everywhere, and a few were already dead, or dying on the ground. He noticed sadly that the majority of the rebels were very young, very old, too ugly to serve in the temple, or had some kind of injury or deformity that had exempted them from service in the mines. Despite their numbers, they didn’t look like they could take a bone away from a hungry dog, much less take their city back from the Norlanders. On the other hand, two Norlander soldiers had thrown down their capes and were lunging nervously atanyone who came within their reach. The Shadari could have overpowered them easily if they’d had the slightest notion of how to organise themselves.
Meiran wasted no time. She kicked the first guard squarely in the chest with a sideways leap that knocked him down on his back and left him wheezing for breath.
When the second guard came running at her from across the street, she sidestepped him and tripped him as he ran by her. As he fell she grabbed his shoulders and brought her knee up hard against the side of his head, then snatched the sword from his loosened grip.
The first Norlander scrambled up again and rushed at Meiran with his sword aimed at her heart. She swept his thrust aside with a neat flick of her borrowed blade, then matched him blow for blow through a rapid exchange that left
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