But when he was halfway to the other man, his intention clear enough, the day
barman reached out a hand to stay him. “I’d not, were I you, sir. That’s Lalo
the Limner, who drew the Black Unicorn that came alive in the Maze and killed so
many. Just let the scribbler be.”
“As far as I know, I’m alive already, man,” Niko said, knowing that his accursed
temper had already slipped its bonds and that things would doubtless get worse
before he got it in check again. “And I don’t like having my picture scrawled on
anything-walls, doors, hearts. Maybe I’ll turn the tables and draw my sign on
that fat, soft belly….”
By then, the little, rat-faced limner was scrabbling up, running for the door,
his sketching board under his arm. Niko didn’t chase him.
He went back to his table and sat there, digging in the wood with the point of
his blade the way Janni used to do, thinking of the meeting he’d had and wanted
to forget with a dead thing happy to fight beyond mortal battles at the bidding
of the necromant, wondering if he should-or could-find a way to put Janni’s soul
to rest despite its assurance that it was content enough as it was. Did it know?
Was it really Janni? Did the oath they’d sworn still obtain when one respondent
wasn’t a man any longer?
Niko didn’t know. He couldn’t decide. He tried not to drink too much, but drink
dulled the picture in his mind’s eye, and at nightfall he was still sitting
there, trying unsuccessfully to get thoroughly drunk, when the priest known as
Torchholder happened to come in with others of his perfumed breed, all with