‘Of course, you should be thankful it didn’t start until we were nearly finished
with our meal.’
Zalbar’s retort was cut off by a drawn out piercing cry that rasped against ear
and mind and defied human endurance with its
length.
‘Before you go charging to the rescue,” Razkuli commented, ignoring the now
fading outburst of pain, ‘you should know I’ve already looked into it. What
you’re hearing is a slave responding to its master’s attentive care: a situation
entirely within the law and therefore no concern of ours. It might interest you
to know that the owner of that building is a …’
‘Kurd!’ Zalbar breathed through taut lips, glaring at the house as if it were an
arch-enemy.
‘You know him?’
‘We met once, back at the Capitol. That’s why he’s here … or at least why he’s
not still there.’
‘Then you know his business?’ Razkuli scowled, a bit deflated that his
revelations were no surprise. ‘I’ll admit I find it distasteful, but there’s
nothing we can do about it.’
‘We’ll see,’ Zalbar announced darkly, starting towards the house.
‘Where’re you going?’
‘To pay Kurd a visit.’
‘Then I’ll see you back at the barracks.’ Razkuli shuddered. ‘I’ve been inside
that house once already, and I’ll not enter again unless it’s under orders.’
Zalbar made no note of his friend’s departure though he did sheathe his sword as
he approached the house. The impending battle would not require conventional
weapons.
‘Ho there!’ he hailed the gardener. ‘Tell your master I wish to speak with him.’
‘He’s busy,’ the man snarled, ‘can’t you hear?’