The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

within sight of the sea, with a glass of wine in his hand.
    He was not even sure which part of the city he was in. Ro Weir was peculiar among the great cities of Ro in that its population consisted of many Karesians and Kirin, men who were more alarmed by the presence of the hounds than the native Ro. He suspected that the foreign presence in the city was mostly of the criminal variety – Karesians who, for whatever reason, could not return to Karesia.
    He had been here for over a month and had successfully lost himself in the criminal culture of the city’s port side, a near-slum called the Kirin Tor. He had reluctantly thrown his black armour into the sewer that ran the length of the city and had made an effort to conceal both his face and his kris knives. The wave-bladed weapons were too distinctive in Tor Funweir, causing jagged wounds that an astute observer would quickly link to one of Jaa’s faithful. He disliked having to conceal his presence and found subversion in general to be distasteful, but the Thief Taker was nothing if not pragmatic. He was in a foreign city that had willingly submitted to hound occupation under the guidance of a treacherous enchantress, and Dalian Thief Taker, greatest of the wind claws, believed himself to be the only servant of Jaa that could stop her.
    ‘I’m doing my best, lord,’ he said to the air, addressing the Fire Giant, ‘but this window ledge is rather narrow and I am not as thin as I was.’ He hoped that Jaa would hear him and cushion any fall to the cobbles below. I won’t doubt or fear, lord, but I still dislike heights.
    The spell of the Seven Sisters was strong. They had fooled the faithful into believing that they spoke the will of the Fire Giant. The Thief Taker had been framed for the death of a fellow wind claw. But, he thought, he had never been the kind of man to hide, and he hoped he was harder to kill than the enchantress and her thralls realized. Dalian had stowed away on one of the hound barges and travelled with them from Kessia. The faceless armies of Karesia numbered many thousand – he judged at least thirty – though they were spread out and chaotically organized. I am one man against an army, lord. I hope they are ready.
    At a sound from within he crouched down against the stone wall the better to see through the dirty window. Saara’s office was part of Duke Lyam’s private rooms. She had somehow convinced the Ro noble that allowing an occupation force of hounds was a wise idea and, even now, small packs moved throughout Tor Funweir carrying out the Seven Sisters’ bidding. The enchantress effectively ruled the city.
    ‘My Lady Saara,’ said a deep voice from within, ‘we await your orders.’
    As the speaker moved into his eyeline, Dalian recognized Turve Ramhe, a whip-master and Saara’s second in command. The hound commander was standing in black plate armour and wore an expression of disgust on his scarred face. Next to him stood a dark-haired woman in her early thirties. She wore identical armour and carried a two-handed scimitar across her back: Izra Sabal, a sadistic whip-mistress whom Saara had put in charge of maintaining order in Ro Weir. Both the visitors to Saara’s chamber were unswervingly loyal to the Seven Sisters. They mistakenly believed that they were the highest authority of Jaa’s will.
    ‘Turve, Izra, please sit,’ Saara said in her lyrical voice. ‘Would either of you like refreshment?’
    The hounds declined. Dalian watched them sit down awkwardly in wooden chairs barely big enough to contain them in their armour.
    ‘Ro Weir is secured, my mistress,’ Izra growled out of the corner of her mouth. Her jaw was slightly out of place. ‘We have not had to immolate anyone for several days.’
    Dalian’s lip curled. His gaze was drawn over the roofs of buildings to the knight marshal’s office where several hundred charred wooden stakes could be seen. The hounds were not accustomed to civil disobedience and would