Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘One of the best tenderloins I’ve eaten in Middle Fork.’ This was the first time Hoyt had ever tasted it, anywhere in Eldarn – but it was undeniably delicious.

‘Are you celebrating something?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I just enjoy good food. It’s my one vice.’

She laughed, and to his surprise, Hoyt found he desperately wanted to hear it again.

‘Do you want to know what my vices are?’ she asked.

His hand started to shake. ‘No-’

‘Why not?’ Her seductive manner was difficult to resist; Hoyt moved his hand to keep it from rattling the plates. He enjoyed the charade of being a wealthy man, and he hoped she was enjoying her role as the temptress, but it hadn’t taken him long to know who she really was.

‘Because I am too busy tonight to spend time on silly pursuits.’

‘Since when is love silly?’

‘Since the very first time it was mistaken as love by someone – probably a man – in the throes of lust.’ His hand had stopped trembling now and he deliberately picked up his fork and speared a piece of meat, then popped it into his mouth and savoured the taste.

‘What a negative outlook on human emotion.’ She reached across the table and took his hand, and in spite of himself he felt his heart race. Perhaps there was something to be said for a full-blown case of raging lust. She toyed with his fingers, almost absentmindedly. ‘You need a strong woman to take you to heights of pleasure you will remember for the rest of your life.’

‘Ah, now I understand.’ He withdrew his hand. A half-aven of pleasure followed by two hundred Twinmoons of wishing I could recapture it, even once. Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound like a terribly appetising offer.’

Her food arrived, and as she sorted out coins from her purse, the barman tried to steal a clear look down her tunic.

A withering glare from Hoyt sent him on his way. ‘You ought to close that up. People kill for that much silver.’

‘I’ll be all right.’ She slipped it back inside her tunic. ‘You realise my offer doesn’t have to be just one night.’ As much as Hoyt wanted to feel the woman’s fingers entwined with his again, he kept his hands busy with his cutlery.

‘Ah, but it would be, wouldn’t it?’

‘What makes you say that?’ Her voice had dropped again and Hoyt felt it resonate in his bones, stirring him from within. He wanted to clear the table and take her right there, in the tavern – but that was what she wanted him to feel; she had been manipulating him from the start. His body responded to his desire, playing into her hands.

Hoyt smiled, it had been a thoroughly enjoyable game – and now he had to end it.

He leaned in close to her, enjoying the triumphant smile that crossed her lips. ‘Because, my dear, you are a thief,’ he whispered, enjoying even more the sudden change of expression. ‘Your entire persona screams I am a thief, louder than if you were standing on top of this building, screaming it out to all of Middle Fork. You have a knife tucked into a hidden sheath in your boots, which in turn are tough but more importantly, silent. You’re wearing a tight-fitting skirt, but I would guess your loose-fitting tunic has sleeves filled with all sorts of nasty sticking and stabbing devices. Your hair is short – quite attractive, I would add – but short enough to stay out of your way when you’ve tucked it beneath a hood or a mask. You have exceedingly strong hands and fingers, a quick wit, and three scars on your face that I very much doubt came from playing chainball with your older brothers. You are obviously not a prostitute, and obviously not a businesswoman, but you’re carrying enough silver to buy much of Middle Fork.

‘So unless you’re a Malakasian general’s wife holidaying in the southern territories, amusing yourself with a bit of local colour, you’re a thief. Probably quite a good one.’

A brief look of horror passed over her face, replaced almost immediately by a look of fear. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, unobtrusively sliding one hand beneath the table.

Hoyt liked her other voice much better. ‘I am the one who is going to break that hand if you don’t keep it up here where I can see it.’

She complied, and he added, ‘Good. Thanks. You should have listened when I asked you to go away, but I guess I was about the only target here – and I did enjoy the seduction routine; you’re very good at it.’

‘Pissing demons,’ she said, staring at him. Without looking down, she stabbed a piece of meat and bit it off the blade, then chewed slowly. ‘You’re a thief,’ she said finally.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Hoyt. I’m from Southport.’

Knowing she had been bested, at least on this occasion, she smiled. ‘I’m Ramella. I’m from Landry.’

‘A pleasure, Ramella of Landry.’ Hoyt offered to pour her a goblet of wine, but she took the flagon from him and helped herself.

‘You must have done well today.’ She gestured towards the meal.

‘Ramella,’ Hoyt decided to take the risk, ‘I have had one of the most glorious days of my life, and I will be completely honest with you, I don’t have a heavy purse, but I do have enough for this meal, and a bit left for my room upstairs. If you actually meant what you said, I would be very happy to take you up on your offer – we have, after all, moved beyond that awkward “getting to know you” phase, so why not?’

Ramella leaned back in the chair, sipping her wine and fiddled with the leather thong tied loosely about her neck. Nothing dangled from it, no charms, jewellery or icons; it was just a leather tie, but Hoyt couldn’t take his eyes off the way the leather strip caressed the soft skin above her tunic.

Smiling her seductive grin, Ramella leaned forward, and gestured for him to do likewise. As he did so, Hoyt could feel her breath on his cheeks, could smell the heady aroma of wine and venison. He held his breath, not wanting to cloud the air with anything but her scent. He waited, expecting her to kiss him and praying she wasn’t about to knife him beneath the table.

When she spoke, he was confused – her words were nowhere in the long list of possible replies to his invitation.

Ramella of Landry leaned across the table, breathing pungent fumes into Hoyt’s face, and said, ‘I think he’s coming out of it.’

‘I think he’s coming out of it,’ Hannah repeated, working some of the stiffness from her shoulder. The querlis had helped – Hoyt rewrapped it each morning with a new poultice – but her arm remained immobile. She felt stronger, though, and was desperate to try going without her shoulder wrapped or her arm in a sling.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Alen said, ‘and it worked blazingly fast. Great rutting lords, but this is a remarkable substance.’

Hoyt blinked to clear his eyes. Instead of a beautiful thief, Alen and Hannah were staring back at him. Hannah’s shoulder was wrapped, and he recognised his handiwork. Cold, confused, and utterly surprised to find them here, outside, he asked, ‘Where’s Ramella?’

Alen laughed. ‘I’d like to know that, too, Hoyt. You never mentioned her before. She sounded quite intoxicating.’

Hoyt thought his head might crack open. ‘Is she here? Where are we?’

Hannah sat beside him. ‘We’re in Malakasia, north of the Great Pragan Range and moving towards Welstar Palace. Do you remember any of that?’ There was a concerned look in her eyes.

In a rush, everything came back to him: their journey, the forest of ghosts, the pouch of bark Churn had found on the Malakasian corpse – and his crazy decision to test it out. As his memories washed over him in a wave, he started to tremble. Hannah put her good arm around him, and he revelled in the warmth of her touch.