either hand, where the distance was all in front of them … and into a place
which smelled of coals and hot metal and strange, musky incense.
The guide stopped, on his right. ‘Shadowspawn,’ a new voice said, a throaty
sigh, low, and to his left. He reached for the blindfold, hesitated. ‘Go ahead,’
the new voice invited him, and he pulled it down.
A robed and hooded form sat in this narrow marble hall – fine robes, in midnight
blue and bright silver, in deep shadow, beside a heating brazier. Hanse blinked
in the recent pressure on his eyes – the robes seemed to swell and sink in the
vicinity of the chest, and the right arm, the hand resting visible … it went
dark, that hand, and then, a deception of his abused eyes, went pale and young.
‘Shadowspawn.’ The voice too was clearer, younger. ‘You lost a friend last
night. Do you want to know how?’
That unnerved him, a threat on a level he understood. His hand fidgeted towards
his sheath-bearing wrist, his mind conjuring more and unblinded servants in the
shadows.
‘Ischade is her name,’ the voice ofEnas Yorl continued, rougher now … and was
the figure itself smaller and wider? ‘She’s also a thief. And she killed Sjekso
Kinzan. Do you want more?’
Hanse assumed a more careless stance, flipped the hand outward, palm up. ‘Money
got me here. Ifyou,want more of my time to listen to this, it costs.’
‘She’s in your own neighbourhood. That information might be worth even more than
money to you.’
‘What, this name of yours?’
‘Ischade. A thief. She’s better than you, Shadowspawn. Your knives might not