be, at least it promised to be magnificent. Lalo sighed, wondering who
would paint the murals within – probably some eminent artist from the capital.
He sighed again. If he had gone to Ranke it might have been himself, returning
in triumph to his birthplace.
But that consideration forced his attention back to the edifice that loomed
before him, its shadows somehow darker than those of the other buildings, and
the job that he had come here to do.
Terrors coiled like basilisks in the corners of his mind. His legs trembled. A
dozen times during his journey across the town they had threatened to buckle or
turn in the opposite direction, and the wine had been sweated out of him long
ago.
Enas Yorl was one of the darker legends of Sanctuary, although, for reasons
which the episode in the Vulgar Unicorn had amply illustrated, he was rarely
seen. Rumour had it that the curse of some rival had condemned him to the
existence of a chameleon. But that was said to be the only limit on his power.
Had the sorcerer’s offer been some perverted joke, or part of some magical
intrigue? I should take the gold to Cilia, he thought, it might be enough to buy
us places in an outward-bound caravan …
But the coin was only a retainer for a service he had not yet performed, and
there was no place he could flee that would be beyond the reach of the sorcerer.
He could not return the money without facing Enas Yorl, and he could not run
away. Shaking so that he could hardly grasp the intricately wrought knocker, he
let it fall upon the brazen surface of the door.