Toll the Hounds

Chaur dropped down from the crate and came over. He patted her on the head with a sticky hand and then hurried off into the yard.



‘But you’ve lived through so much.’



‘And you haven’t? Gods below, you were an officer in the Red Blades. What you did in Aren-’



‘Was just me avoiding a mess, Scillara. As usual.’



‘What are we talking about here?’



His eyes shied away. ‘I’m not sure. I suppose, now that Cutter’s left you…’



‘And Duiker’s too old and Picker’s a woman and that’s fun but not serious-for me, at least-I’ve found myself in need of another man. Chaur’s a child, in his head, that is. Leaving… you.’



The harsh sarcasm of her voice stung him and he almost stepped back. ‘From where I’m standing,’ he said.



‘Well,’ she said, sighing, ‘it’s probably what I deserve, actually. I have been a bit… loose. Wayward. Looking, trying, not finding, trying again. And again. From where you’re standing, yes, I can see that.’



‘None of that would matter to me,’ Barathol then said. ‘Except, well, I don’t want to be just another man left in your wake.’



‘No wonder you’ve devoted your life to making weapons and armour. Problem is, you’re doing that for everyone else.’



He said nothing. He simply watched her, as, she realized, he had been doing for some time now. All at once, Scillara felt uncomfortable. She drew hard on her pipe. ‘Barathol, you need some armour of your own.’



And he nodded. ‘I see.’



‘I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep. Still, it may be that my waywardness is coming to an end. People like us, who spend all our time looking, well, even when we find it we usually don’t realize it-until it’s too late.’



‘Cutter.’



She squinted up at him. ‘He had no room left in his heart, Barathol. Not for me, not for anyone.’



‘So he’s just hiding right now?’



‘In more ways than one, I suspect.’



‘But he’s broken your heart, Scillara.’



‘Has he?’ She considered. ‘Maybe he has. Maybe I’m the one needing armour.’ She snorted. ‘Puts me in my place, doesn’t it.’ And she rose.



Barathol started. ‘Where are you going?’



‘What? I don’t know. Somewhere. Nowhere. Does it matter?’



‘Wait.’ He stepped closer. ‘Listen to me, Scillara.’ And then he was silent, on his face a war of feelings trying to find words. After a moment, his scowl deepened. ‘Yesterday, if Cutter had just walked in here to say hello, I’d have taken him by the throat. Hood, I’d have probably beaten him unconscious and tied him up in that chair. Where he’d stay-until you dropped by.’



‘Yesterday.’



‘When I thought I had no chance.’



She was having her own trouble finding words. ‘And now?’



‘I think… I’ve just thrown on some armour.’



‘The soldier… unretires.’



‘Well, I’m a man, and a man never learns.’



She grinned. ‘That’s true enough.’



And then she leaned close, and as he slowly raised his arms to take her into an embrace she almost shut her eyes-all that relief, all that anticipation of pleasure, even joy-and the hands instead grasped her upper arms and she was pushed suddenly to one side. Startled, she turned to see a squad of City Guard crowding the doorway.



The officer in the lead had the decency to look embarrassed.



‘Barathol Mekhar? By city order, this smithy is now under temporary closure, and I am afraid I have to take you into custody.’



‘The charge?’



‘Brought forward by the Guild of Smiths. Contravention of proper waste disposal. It is a serious charge, I’m afraid. You could lose your business.’



‘I don’t understand,’ Barathol said. ‘I am making use of the sewage drains-I spill nothing-’



‘The common drain, yes, but you should be using the industrial drain, which runs alongside the common drain.’’This is the first I have heard of such a ihing ‘



‘Well,’ said a voice behind the guards, ‘if you were a member of the Guild, you’d know all about it, wouldn’t you?’



It was a woman who spoke, but Scillara could not see past the men in the door way.



Barathol threw up his hands. ‘Very well, I am happy to comply. I will install the proper pipes-’