stop her.’ The voice roughened further. ‘But you’re good and you’re smart. I’ve
heard so. From – no matter. I have my sources. I’m told you’re extraordinarily
discreet.’ He moved the fingers, a gesture sideways. ‘Darous, give him the
amulet.’
The blind man drew something from the heart of his robes; Hanse’s eyes darted
nervously from the wizard he was trying to watch to that distraction, a gold
teardrop that spun and dazzled on a chain.
‘Take it,’ Enas Yorl said. A degree rougher yet. A sigh like the sea, or like
hot iron plunging into water. ‘This Ischade – steals from wizards. Steals spells
and suchlike. Her own abilities are small in that regard… but she made a
mistake once, and the spell on Ischade is nothing small or harmless. A man who
shares her bed, shall we say? – discovers that. He dies … of no apparent
cause. Like your friend Kinzan. Like a number of others I know of. The curse
affects her humour. Imagine – to pursue lover after lover and kill them all. If
I hire you, Shadowspawn, you might be glad of such protections as I offer you.
Take it.’
‘Who says I’m to hire?’ Hanse looked unhappily from servant to master. The hand
which now peeped from the shifting robe was woman-delicate. ‘Who says that a
dozen Sjeksos are any of my concern? I’m my concern. Me. Hanse. I don’t have any
interest in Sjekso. So I just stay out of the whole business. That’s what
interests me.’
‘Then you’ll run, will you, and find some safer place to steal.’ The voice
ground like rocks tumbling. ‘And you’ll ignore my gold and protection. Both of