Twenty,’ said Balka, grinning.
‘You don’t like people knowing you’re rich enough to drink it,’ observed Angel. ‘It would tarnish the image. Man of the people.’
‘Rich? I’m just a poor tavern-keeper.’
‘And I’m a Ventrian veil-dancer.’
Balka nodded and filled his goblet. ‘To you, my friend,’ he said, draining the drink in a single swallow, wine overflowing to his forked grey beard. Angel smiled and pushed back his hood, running his hand across his thinning red hair. ‘May the gods shower you with luck,’ said Balka, pouring a second drink and downing it as swiftly as the first.
‘I could do with some.’
‘No hunting parties?’
‘A few – but no one wants to spend money these days.’
‘Times are hard,’ agreed Balka. ‘The Vagrian Wars bled the treasury dry and now that Karnak’s upset the Gothir and the Ventrians I think we can expect fresh battles. A pox on the man!’
‘He was right to throw out their ambassadors,’ said Angel, eyes narrowing. ‘We’re not a vassal people. We’re the Drenai and we shouldn’t bend the knee to lesser races.’
‘Lesser races?’ Balka raised an eyebrow. This may surprise you, Angel, but I understand that non-Drenai people also boast two arms, two legs and a head. Curious, I know.’
‘You know what I mean,’ snapped Angel.
‘I know – I just don’t happen to agree with you. Here, enjoy a little quality wine.’
Angel shook his head. ‘One drink is all I need.’
‘And you never finish that. Why do you come here? You hate people. You don’t talk to them and you don’t like crowds.’
‘I like to listen.’
‘What can you hear in a tavern, save drunkards and loud-mouths? There is little philosophy spoken here that I’ve ever heard.’
Angel shrugged. ‘Life. Rumours. I don’t know.’
Balka leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on the table. ‘You miss it, don’t you? The fights, the glory, the cheers.’
‘Not a bit,’ responded the other.
‘Come on, this is Balka you’re talking to. I saw you the day you beat Barsellis. He cut you bad – but you won. I saw your face as you raised your sword to Karnak. You were exultant.’
‘That was then. I don’t miss it. I don’t long for it,’ Angel sighed, ‘but I remember the day, right enough. Good fighter was Barsellis, tall, proud, fast. But they dragged his body across the arena. You remember that? Face-down he was, and his chin made a long, bloody groove in the sand. Could have been me.’
Balka nodded solemnly. ‘But it wasn’t. You retired undefeated – and you never went back. That’s unusual. They all come back. Did you see Caplyn last week? What an embarrassment. He used to be so deadly. He looked like an old man.’
‘A dead old man,’ grunted Angel. ‘A dead old fool.’
‘You could still take them all, Angel. And earn a fortune.’
Angel swore and his face darkened. ‘I’d bet that’s what they told Caplyn.’ He sighed. ‘It was better when we fought hand to hand, no weapons. Now the crowd just want to see blood and death. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘What – politics? Religion?’
‘Anything. Just make it interesting.’
‘Karnak’s son was sentenced this morning: one year in exile in Lentria. A man is murdered, his wife falls to her death, and the killer is exiled for a year to a palace by the coast. There’s justice for you.’
‘At least Karnak put the boy on trial,’ said Angel. ‘The sentence could have been worse. And don’t forget, the murdered man’s father pleaded for leniency. Quite a moving speech, I understand – all about high spirits and accidents and forgiveness.’
‘Fancy that,’ observed Balka drily.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, come on, Angel! Six men – all nobles – all drunk, snatch a young married woman and try to rape her. When her husband attempts to rescue her he is cut down. The woman runs and falls over a cliff-edge. High spirits? And as for the murdered man’s father, I understand Karnak was so
moved by his pleas that he sent a personal gift of two thousand Raq to the man’s village, and a huge supply of grain for the winter.’