‘“Forgive me. I presumed you’d be wed. A woman of your age—”
‘“I beg your pardon?”
‘“He doesn’t look too well,” one of the militiamen said, eyes on me.
‘“He doesn’t feel too fucking well either,” I confessed.
‘“You just drank an entire bottle of vodka, Gabriel,” Chloe scowled.
‘“Who are you, my mama?”
‘“I wish to God I were. I’d have taught you not to make an arse of yourself in public.”
‘“In life, always do what you love.”
‘The rest of Chloe’s comrades had joined the growing commotion on the commonroom floor. The Ossian lass with the slayerbraids was standing beside Chloe, one hand close to her many blades. The dandyboy stood behind her, that mop of ash-white hair hanging over his eyes. I had the almost irresistible urge to brush it the fuck out of his face.
‘The handsome one was at the bar, chatting up the serving lass.
‘“Good Frère,” the bishop said to me. “We should dine in my home. How long will you be staying with us? Have you missive from Pontifex Gascoigne?”
‘“Why would I have a letter from that tubby shitstain?”
‘Chloe elbowed my ribs to shush me. “Bishop Du Lac, apologies, but the good brother is not in Dhahaeth on His Holiness’s business. He’s leaving with us in the morning.”
‘The dandyboy piped up. “No, he’s not.”
‘“Dior.” Chloe turned to the lad. “Please let me handle this.”
‘“He’s not coming with us.”
‘“Do you even know who he is?”
‘“I don’t care who he is.”
‘“Dior, this is Sir Gabriel de León.”
‘A gasp washed over the commonroom. I felt a tremor roll among the militiamen, the bishop looking at me with renewed wonder as he made the sign of the wheel.
‘“The Black Lion …”
‘“This man has killed more coldbloods than the sun itself,” Chloe explained. “He’s a sword of the empire. Knighted by Empress Isabella’s own hand. He’s a hero.”
‘The boy dragged on his cigarelle, looked me up and down. “Hero, my shapely arse.”
‘“Dior—”
‘“He’s not travelling with us.”
‘“Damn right I’m not,” I growled.
‘“See? He doesn’t even want to come.”
‘“Damn right I don’t.”
‘“And what need have we for a drunken pig anyway?”
‘“Damn ri—wait, what the fuck did you say?”
‘“You’re a drunken pig.” The boy puffed up in his fancy coat and blew smoke in my face. “And we’ve as much need of you as a bull has of tits.”
‘“Fuck you, you little shitgrubber,” I growled.
‘“Ah. A rapier wit to boot.”
‘“Speaking of boots, perhaps you fancy one of mine up that so-called shapely arse?”
‘“You’re not wearing any, monsieur.”
‘The Sūdhaemi priest chuckled into his beard. “Touché.”
‘“Who the fuck asked you, god-botherer?”
‘“Enough!” The bishop stomped his polished heel. “Everyone not directly involved in town business will vacate this establishment, immediately! Alif, clear this room at once!”
‘The man beside the bishop nodded, and the soldiery set about rousting the clientele. The townsfolk grumbled, but the militiamen cared little. And then one of the soldiers reached towards that smart-mouthed dandyboy, and sudden hell broke loose.
‘The Ossian lass seized the soldier’s wrist. Twisting him about smoothly, and with a swift kick to his arse, she sent the man staggering into his fellows. “Dinnae touch him.”
‘Predictably, the militiamen reached for their cudgels. But quick as snakes, the clanswoman slung that battleaxe off her back, beautiful and gleaming. Monsieur Ladykiller over by the bar was suddenly standing atop it, a crossbow slung off his back. And Chloe drew that silversteel longblade faster than I’d ever seen a nun move.
‘“No closer,” she warned, blowing a rogue curl out of her eyes.
‘“I am bishop of this parish, and my word is law!” Du Lac bellowed. “Lay down your blades, or by Almighty God, there will be blood!”
‘Patrons ducked beneath tables as the soldiers drew their steel. The familiar threat of violence hung in the air, hammering in my veins with the bloodhymn, the vodka’s fire, the adrenaline in my still-grumbling belly. This whole scene was headed south of heaven quicker than a back-alley wristjob.
‘So, with a sigh, I picked up my fallen sword and drew it.
‘The blade’s song rang in the air. Everyone in the room fell still, eyes on the weapon in my hand. Unreadable glyfs were etched down its length, the dark starsteel glinting like oil on water. Its edge was curved, its point jagged, half a foot missing from the tip. The beautiful woman on the hilt held her arms wide, silvered, ever smiling.
‘“The Ashdrinker …” the rake breathed.
‘They know us, Gabriel, came her voice in my head. The b-blade that cleft the dark in twain. The man the undying feared. They r-remember us … e’en after all these years.
‘I turned a slow circle among the mob, making certain everyone was still.
‘Ye hast the look of hammered shite, by the by.
‘“Shut up,” I whispered.
‘The bishop’s face was shining with sweat. “I said nothing, Chevalier.”
‘“Keep it up, then.” I glanced at Chloe, then back to the militiamen’s blades. “Mayhaps you and your friends have outstayed your welcome, S?ur Sauvage.”
‘“Mayhaps.” She nodded, backing towards the door. “Where’s your horse?”
‘I scoffed. “I’m not going with you.”
‘“But, Gabriel …”
‘“Ah, splendid.” The bishop smiled, mopping his lip with a kerchief. “This rabble are of no consequence. I bid you come to my home, Chevalier, we have mu—”
‘“I’m not going with you either, god-botherer.”
‘“But …” Du Lac glanced among his men. “Where, then, will you go?”
‘“I’m going to fucking bed.”
‘The room broke into sudden babble.
‘“But, Chevalier, the Dead grow in numbers every d—”
‘“Our meeting isn’t just by chance, Gabriel, this is God’s w—”
‘Damn ye, Gabriel, listen to h—
‘“Shut up!” I roared, squeezing the sword’s grip.
‘Silence rang in the commonroom, and blessedly, inside my head.
‘“I already lost one old friend today, Your Grace,” I warned the bishop. “And I’m apparently taking it rather badly. So I’d advise you and your men to let this one go in peace.” I glanced into sad, pretty eyes. “But that’s as far as I stretch for you, Chloe.”
‘“Gabe—”
‘“Chevalier—”