FIVE

 

THRILL OF THE KILL

 

The pirates lunged into their first attack with great gusto. Krystos stood on the bridge of The Crystal Rose, watching them immerse themselves in blood lust. They had easily caught up with the small, single masted merchantman, and now the pirates swarmed her decks, hacking down the unfortunate traders.

So far Leonado had seen no need to aid their progress with magic or Darkfire’s assistance. Krystos dreaded that moment. He had felt the sword’s power only the once, and the memory of it sent an icy shiver down his spine.

Krystos had only killed one man in his life. The feel of the dagger grinding through flesh and bone had churned up his insides with revulsion. The terrified look upon his victim’s face, and that awful, awful gurgle as he gasped for breath would never leave him. Krystos felt the bile rising in his throat as though it had only happened yesterday. Killing a gull was one thing, ramming the big black sword through a man another.

“I picked wisely, my dear Krystos. They’ve taken as well to pirating as they did sailing,” Leonado said form beside him.

Krystos grunted. They had proved themselves capable seamen. He had no trouble commanding them either, Leonado making it clear right from the start who their captain was.

Before them men fell dying, their screams grating against Krystos’s ears.

“Damn! We’re losing men,” Leonado cursed, pointing into the melee. “I think ye’d better go to their aid. I don’t wish to pay another visit to Prison Isle again so soon.”

“Surely one or two won’t matter, seeing ye’re able to command the wind to aid our progress,” Krystos replied, as another pirate was flung overboard.

“That’s three, dammit!”

“All right. All right. I’m going.” Krystos left the bridge and ran down the stairs. He jumped upon the deck of the merchantman, and unsheathed Darkfire. The black blade pulsed with anticipation, drawing in the light around it. Krystos barely even had to think about who to kill first. The dark sword found its mark, jerking his hand forward. The blade rammed though the back of a man battling valiantly with a beserker pirate. He might have had a moment to realize what had happened before he dropped to the ground, a great gaping wound gushing blood in his back.

Instead of the expected revulsion, Krystos felt a sizzle of satisfaction burn though him. He almost moaned from the sexual intensity of it.

A man spring into his path, outrage contorting his features. “Serpon take ye, you blagguard!” he cried. “That was my brother.”

“Then die at his side,” Krystos bellowed, the word brother enraging him so much his vision turned red. Once again Darkfire guided his hand. With a hefty sweep the black sword slid easily through flesh and bone. The man fell, almost cut entirely in half. Consuming the blood of her second victim, Darkfire seemed to pulse faster, her ecstasy shuddering through Krystos, intensifying to the point of sexual release. Even in the arms of his willing lover, he’d never felt such mind-numbing passion. It was almost too much too bear, and yet the sword’s desire to sate its blood lust continued to burn, leading him on.

Leonado watched Krystos wielding Darkfire, regret and jealousy clenching his stomach into knots. The sword had done something to him. One only had to look at his enraptured face to know that some kind of bond had been formed, something far deeper than what the handsome captain would ever feel for him.

What’s happening between them, Dragonfire? He demanded of his tutor, but for once, the voice inside his head remained obstinately silent. Damn you, Dragonfire. What do you want of me?

To free me from my prison, of course, came the ominous reply. I do believe the battle is won. Go and take your booty. You’ve both done very well.

Thank you, your Lordship, Leonado retorted ungraciously, but Dragonfire’s previous words filled him with dread. Krystos had been right to question Dragonfire’s motives. Leonado felt as though he was getting too firmly embroiled in his teacher’s quest. When he’d left Scarthe, he never thought he’d now be pirating, let alone enjoying it. Was the deep satisfaction he felt at having bested the merchantman his own or Dragonfire’s? He feared he was loosing touch with himself under his teacher’s persuasion.

In the captured ship’s hold they found magnificent silks, the best wine and brandy to he had, and an entire casket of pearls.

“We shall make a tidy profit with this, and fine new clothes to boot,” Leonado remarked, Dragonfire and Darkfire for the moment forgotten. He shook out a roll of bright blue silk, threaded with gold.

Krystos had to admit the goods were of exceptional quality, almost as fine as the silks he’d worn back home. The wine, too tasted good, filling him with a heady warmth. It felt normal, so unlike the unnatural fire Darkfire had sent surging through his loins. And yet, like a drug, he already longed to experience it again.

“Let’s distribute a cask to the crew as payment for their excellent work,” Leonado said, hefting a box of bottles with the aid of magic. “And there be enough linen and denim to make them new clothes too.”

Krystos saw no problem with this, eager to see his new crew look respectable. He took a bottle back to his cabin to savor it in quiet solitude. But this wasn’t to be. Leonado joined him a short time later.

“I desire to be alone tonight. Leo,” he said as the sorcerer sat down on the bed beside him.

Krystos could have sworn Leonado looked hurt. “I just want to ask ye one thing,” the wizard said. “What happened between ye and Darkfire today?”

“We enjoyed ourselves, just like Dragonfire wanted,” he answered simply.

“Ye appeared enraptured.”

“Perhaps I was, but she did all required of her.”

“Aye, but how does it work between you and the demon?”

“Ye’re the mage. You figure it out. I’m tired, Leo. Leave me be.”

Leonado realized he would get nothing more out of the captain tonight. No answers to his questions, and no pleasure in his big, soft bed. He stalked from the room, letting the door slam behind him with a satisfying bang.

 

The Minka River started as a trickle, but soon turned into a small creek, then widened to a series of rapids and waterfalls. Alecsis had to dismount often to lead Windrider across craggy embankments.

A road had been marked on his map, but after his encounter with the hostile villagers, Alecsis was reluctant to follow a path that might lead him into another settlement. He wanted to reach Scarthe with as little incident as possible.

Eventually it became impossible to avoid the numerous settlements flanking the river, and the urge to sleep in a bed grew. Now that the river was a meandering expanse of water, he often spotted barges travelling along it.

He rode into Linkana about an hour before sunset. Following the river road, he became part of the traffic heading to and from the docks. Linkana was the largest town Alecsis had come across so far, its houses made of brick and slate. Some were several stories high, and a great stone fortress stood perched on the hillside overlooking the town. It was surrounded by stern gray walls. Somebody obviously saw the need for protection, Alecsis thought, staring up at the tall central tower with its thin slitted windows.

A row of warehouses lined the foreshore, and horse-drawn carriages and carts were as abundant as people on foot. The well-to-do traveled in sedan chairs, their bearers almost as gaily dressed as their masters. Merchants mingled with the workers, and everyone moved in an orderly fashion. In this sea of humanity, Alecsis was cast little more than curious glances as he rode by. He noticed something else.

The further south he traveled, the paler people’s complexions became. But they were still much darker and shorter than him. The weather had also grown milder, and as the sun slid over the horizon, he slipped on Jenkano’s black cloak to keep the evening chill at bay.

He eventually came across an inn, knowing it to be a lodging house by the sign out the front advertising bed and breakfast. The notice also boasted the best ale in town, and all-night entertainment for a minimal fee. The two-storey brick building overlooked the water, the scent of the river mingling with the various foodstuffs being distributed to the warehouses.

Alecsis found the stables around the back, and for a few extra coins the young groom agreed to feed and water Mageye as well. The dog knew to stay close to Windrider, and Alecsis left them to enter the inn’s tap-room, a large, smoke-filled chamber, with several rows of wooden benches and tables. Most were occupied by burly wharfies who had finished work for the day. A group of sailors huddled around a table in the corner. They reminded Alecsis of his near-drowning, but he could recall no individual with whom he had sailed.

As always his inability to remember anything before that day depressed him, and he strode across the dusty floor, trying to portray an air of confidence he did not feel. Although conversation did not cease entirely, he felt numerous pairs of eyes follow his progress. His face was probably smudged by the days on the road, but his fair hair and green eyes could not be disguised. A short, fat man with more hair on his face than on his head stood behind the bar, his dark eyes assessing Alecsis.

Several serving wenches scurried out from the swinging doors, carrying trays of steaming food. Alecsis’s stomach growled noisily. Certain the entire room had heard the rumble a faint blush crept to his cheeks.

“Ye have come for dinner, I presume?” the obese barman queried dryly.

“Aye,” Alecsis answered. “And a bed for the night. I have money.” He placed a hand against Jenkano’s purse, making the coins inside jingle against each other.

The bar-tender’s wary expression lifted. Obviously money was more important to him than Alecsis’s unusual appearance.

“For twenty Dacans I can give ye my best room, roast dinner, and refills of ale. The evening’s entertainment is extra, whatever the ladies see fit to charge ye.”

Because Alecsis had no idea what an evening of entertainment involved, he agreed to the room, food and drink. He felt weary and grimy, and longed for a clean, comfortable bed. The fat man gave him a key with the number two marked on it.

Alecsis placed his purse on the bar, and began counting out twenty coins. They varied in size, but a chubby hand scooped them up before he had the opportunity to work out if they were of different denominations. Alecsis didn’t let it concern him unduly. There seemed to be plenty left.

The bar-tender filled a metal tankard from one of the large wooden kegs behind him, and set it down on the counter in front of Alecsis. “A girl will bring your meal over.”

Picking up the mug, Alecsis found an unoccupied bench in a dimly-lit corner. Once he sat down, the general hubbub in the room increased. Occasional glances still slanted in his direction, but Alecsis ignored then, and turned his attention to his drink. As he brought it to his lips, its strong alcoholic odor wafted over him. Jenkano had never drunk the like, but Alecsis was certain he had smelt such liquid before. When he took a sip, however, he realized he had never savored ale before. The fiery brew burned down his throat, making him cough noisily. He set the tankard down to await his meal.

It was brought to him by a slender young woman clad in the same demure blue gown and white apron as the rest of the serving wenches. She refused to meet his gaze as she set the steaming plate down in front of him, and darted away the moment she dropped the accompanying utensils beside it. Although this was an inn constantly frequented by strangers, her unfriendliness made Alecsis feel even more of an outsider.

For the first time he found himself wondering how he would be received in Scarthe. If the hostility he had encountered thus far was anything to go by, he would have a difficult time gaining acceptance as Lorenso’s apprentice. He could be making this journey for nothing, but where else did he have to go? At least it gave him purpose and a goal... for now.

The meal tasted delicious. The succulent steak was accompanied by vegetables and crispy baked potatoes. If nothing else, the people in this establishment knew how to cook.

He devoured everything on his plate, and then returned his attention to the tankard of ale, determined to become accustomed to it. If every other man in the room could guzzle it by the gallon-full, surely he could handle a single mug.

After a few sips, he realized what the great attraction was; not its flavour. That remained as fiery as ever, but the warming after-effects. A soothing mellowness settled in his stomach, and he grew pleasantly light-headed as he drained the mug.

It also made him unsteady on his feet. Unlike the wharfies and sailors, he wasn’t used to drinking large quantities of alcohol. Alecsis decided to remain seated for the time being.

Soon a new group of women filed into the tavern. Their full, floor-length gowns were brightly coloured - and very revealing. Alecsis caught sight of enough cleavage to make him goggle, but he thought their heavily made-up faces detracted from their beauty. He soon realized they were dressed like this on purpose. They mingled with the men, preening and cavorting, eventually luring some out of the tap-room. They didn’t do this for nothing. Alecsis saw coins change hands and disappear into well-concealed purses.

None of them approached Alecsis, and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Something bothered him about these women, and it wasn’t only to do with the over-enhancement of their endowments.

Eventually one did sidle up to him. Being older and more solidly built than the other women, she had been unable to lure any of the men away with her. As she drew closer, Alecsis realized why. Her heavy make-up covered a pockmarked face, and her dark eyes were filled with sadness. It was an emotion as familiar to him as the palm of his hand. He might not recall his life before the ocean, but certain feelings continued to creep up on him, filling him with despair. Somehow he suspected the dolphins had rescued him from a dark and dismal past. Perhaps it was just as well he had forgotten it.

“Ye must be feelin’ lonely, sittin’ ‘ere all by yerself,” the sad-eyed dame crooned, sliding a flabby arm across his shoulders. “My, yer a big boy, aren’t yer?”

With a rustle of skirts, she slipped into his lap. She might be old and none too pretty, but the feel of her soft, warm body pressed against his had the same effect as watching the women in the rice field.

“Ye do want company. I can feel it,” she went on in that same syrupy tone. To his amazement, he felt her hand squeeze his manhood. “What did ye do to yerself to get such pale hair and skin? It be truly amazing!” Her other hand toyed with his long locks, twirling them around her fingers.

“I bathe in bleach at every opportunity,” he said, and had to stop himself from sniggering at the ease with which he told that little lie. What amazed him even more was that she believed him.

“But why, honey-bun? What compels ye ta be so different?”

“Why be the same as everyone else?”

“And that cute accent. How’d ye come by that?

“Magic,” he answered.

Her eyes widened, and Alecsis remembered what Jenkano had told him about people’s suspicion of magic-users. “I jest. It merely be an impediment I have.”

Her wary expression eased. “So, tell me, does yer... er... not so little friend seek company tonight?” She squeezed his member again. “No impediments there, I see.”

“Um... What kind of company?” Alecsis asked, trying to keep his expression neutral. No mean feat when his entire body quivered with a maelstrom of desires. No dark thoughts rose to curtail his need this time.

“Depends on how much yer willin’ ta pay, me dear. I hear the rattle of coins. I suspect yer not a poor man.”

Alecsis opened his purse, and started dropping coins into her outstretched hand.

“Will that do?” he asked.

Again, the purse remained as full as when he had first picked it up. He was beginning to suspect it was as enchanted as his boots. They had been keeping his feet cool during the heat of the day and warm at night. He had accidentally let his axe slip while chopping wood for his fire. Expecting to lose several toes, the implement had simply bounced off the tough burgundy surface.

She smiled broadly, displaying uneven, dirty teeth. “More than adequately, me dear. More than adequately.”

“I hate ta put a damper on this exchange, but this dame is bleeding ye dry, me friend,” an authoritative voice declared from beside them.

Alecsis craned his neck to see a slim, but relatively tall man in his early forties. He had a handsome round face, and wore the attire of a farmer; plain brown tunic and matching breeches.

A young fellow of around thirteen or fourteen stood beside him. The boy was obviously his son. Like his father, he wore his straight brown hair at shoulder-length, something Alecsis had come to realize was not the current fashion. Most men kept their hair cropped very short, no doubt due to the temperate climate.

“I be in the middle of conducting business here. If ye require entertainment, some of the other girls’ll be back soon.” Alecsis’s plump companion glared at the newcomer.

The man frowned, his dark brows joining over his short, straight nose. “Nay, I need no entertainment, not at these exorbitant prices.” He turned his attention to Alecsis. “If ye really require urgent relief, there be prettier and cheaper girls at Madame Larana’s down the street.”

“How dare ye!” the woman fumed, jumping off Alecsis’s lap. Several coins scattered in her wake, but she managed to keep hold of most of them.

“Be a good girl, and clear off.”

She did as he urged, no doubt deciding the money she had salvaged was worth more than getting into an argument with someone almost twice her size.

“A strapping young man like you can do better than that ugly old tart.” he told Alecsis, as he slid into the unoccupied bench opposite. His slender son retrieved the scattered coins, and handed them to Alecsis before sitting down himself.

“Do you really bathe in bleach, sir?” he asked.

Alecsis and his father both laughed.

“What’s so funny?” the lad demanded.

“May I introduce myself. My name is Nikaro, and this is my son, Antano.”

“Alecsis,” he answered, accepting the outstretched hand.

“So, tell me how ye really came by your unusual colouring?” Nikaro asked.

“I was born this way, I guess.”

“Ye guess?”

“I lost all memory before a certain incident.” He found himself telling them how he came to Avion’s shore. He didn’t know why he felt so comfortable with them, but something told him he could trust the amicable, casual pair. He soon learned they were also journeying to Scarthe to join King Rostan’s army, but he thought it wise not to mention who he was going to see.

“Since my wife left me some six moons ago, I’ve had the overwhelming urge to give up farming,” Nikaro told him.
“Ye wanted to sell out long before then, Da,” Antano corrected.

“All right, I never wanted to be a farmer. Lynthia leaving me was a good thing. Never trust a woman, Alecsis. The whore should have proven that to you. And never own up to fathering their offspring - ”

“But Da - ”

“Except if they be like Antano,” he amended, reaching out to ruffle the lad’s hair.

“But they’re so warm, so soft,” Alecsis murmured.

“Bed them if you must, but be discrete. And always chose the ones who don’t demand money for their services. Ye’re less likely to catch something nasty that way.”

“My Da’s such a cynic,” Antano said. “She wasn’t such a bad Ma. Just because she burnt our dinner most nights didn’t make her a terrible person. And she didn’t run away. She went to stay with her mother ‘cause you wouldn’t stop complaining about her cooking...”

“Why didn’t you go then, hmm?” Nikaro countered.

“I couldn’t bear her cooking either.”

They all laughed.

When Nikaro suggested they travel to Scarthe together, Alecsis didn’t object. He liked the cheerful pair.

After a comfortable night in a clean bed wide enough to accommodate two, Alecsis woke refreshed and ready to tackle the final leg of his journey.

Father and son kept him amused with witty anecdotes, making the days pass quickly. Alecsis no longer went to sleep at night feeling lonely and mournful over Jenkano’s death. Knowing two good friends lay on the other side of the campfire comforted him. Mageye also liked the easy-going pair, often trotting along beside Antano, as though to protect him because he was the youngest.

Some nights they slept in inns, and because he was with Nikaro and Antano, Alecsis received fewer strange looks. People even talked to him, and gradually he became more comfortable with the language. Nikaro teased him about the way he pronounced some words, but Alecsis knew it was only in jest. Nikaro even explained to him what the whores did for their money. When Alecsis began asking about marriage, Nikaro decided to include his son in the conversation.

“This be for your ears too, Tano, so don’t go riding ahead,” he said, as they cantered along a tree lined road not far from the border of Scarthe Province. They had spent the night at a boarding house in Braythe, a large, fortified town several days north of their destination. Orchard groves flanked both sides of the road. The occasional farmhouse could be seen through the rows of trees. The weather had grown cooler, but the days were still warm enough to wear nothing more than a loose smock or shirt.

“I know all there is to know ‘bout coupling,” the lad called back, but he slowed his bay gelding nevertheless.

“And how did ye learn that, listening at key-holes, no doubt?”

“How did ye guess?” He sped up again, and Nikaro dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks in pursuit. Alecsis laughed as he watched them disappear through the trees. Something told him he had never shared such warmth with his sailing companions. This togetherness was as alien to him as the pleasures his body could bring him. At least now he knew it wasn’t wrong or sinful. Jenkano said it was as natural as eating and sleeping. And yet... something dark continued to stir in that forgotten part of his mind...

A shriek drew him up sharp. It sounded like Antano, but it wasn’t a yelp in response to a cuff across the ears. Alecsis spurred Windrider into a gallop, and rode straight into a flurry of fighting. Nikaro kept two sword-wielding riders at bay with his axe, and Antano was trying to dodge the arching sweeps of a sword from a third. Two more waited behind them, ready to charge if their companions should falter.

Alecsis immediately unsheathed his own blade. He couldn’t recall ever having fought in a real battle, but he knew his friends’ lives depended on his practice sessions with Jenkano.

The five men smelled as though they hadn’t bathed in months. Scraggly beards covered their haggard faces, and their horses looked mangy and underfed. Their weapons were old, one man’s sword so rusty, Alecsis wondered what could possibly be holding it together.

“Even as three you’re outnumbered. Just give us your money and we’ll let you ride on,” the one fighting Nikaro yelled.

“Never!” The swarthy farmer retaliated with a swing of his axe. He missed, almost coming off his horse from the momentum of his wide-angled swipe.

“Your life, then!” the highwayman screeched, bringing his sword down. It cut through Nikaro’s upper body with a sickening wet squelch, slicing him open from shoulder to navel. Bright red blood gushed forth in its wake. With a groan, the farmer slipped from his horse, crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

Antano’s scream echoed through Alecsis’s head, and a blazing anger he didn’t know he possessed raged through his body. He charged the killer with his sword upraised. With a single thrust he ran the man through. He turned to the next one, nimbly countering his attack, and dispatched him in the same fashion, his entire body trembling with hatred for these unjust creatures. As he watched the man fell, he caught sight of Mageye clinging to Antano’s attacker’s leg, teeth embedded in his flesh. Then Antano exacted his own revenge, decapitating him with a swing of his axe.

“Behind you!” the boy yelled.

Alecsis turned to see one of the remaining two charge at him, his sword aimed directly at his heart. He swung his own blade up, knocking the attacker’s sword from his hands. It spun away, and Alecsis unseamed him the same way his companion had dispatched Nikaro. He too slipped lifelessly from his horse.

The last man backed away, guiding his mount into the trees, then followed the path already taken by the other riderless horses.

Alecsis stared in stunned horror at the carnage, his fury as spent as a sail without wind. You did this, he told himself. You killed them. And yet he felt no remorse. They had struck first, greed their only motive.

He slid from Windrider’s back and saw Antano drop to the ground beside his father’s prone body. Alecsis felt tears sting his own eyes. He had already lost one friend. Now another lay dead before him. Misery wrenched his heart, but he fought against it. He had to be strong for Antano’s sake.

As he trudged on lead-like legs to the mourning lad, he heard the sound of hooves in the distance. Still holding his bloody sword, he turned, preparing to ward off another army of attackers, but the men who rode into view didn’t look like renegades. They were all dressed alike, in pale blue surcoats over shining platemail, their protective helmets gleaming in the bright midday sunshine.

“Company halt!” their leader commanded, raising one arm. They came to a thundering stop only metres from where Alecsis stood. He counted fifteen, and knew he wouldn’t stand a chance if they decided to cut Antano and himself down.

“What happened here?” the same man asked.

“Five men attacked my friends and I. His father is dead.” He motioned to Antano still bent over his father. “As you can see the boy and I killed four of them. The other escaped into the woods.”

“Seek him out.” the leader ordered, motioning for several men to leave the main group and follow the direction Alecsis had pointed out. Then he turned back to Alecsis. “Where are you headed?”

“To King Rostan’s court, sir,” Alecsis answered, still not certain if they meant to kill him. “To serve His Majesty in any way I can.”

The leader lifted the visor of his helmet, and Alecsis caught sight of friendly brown eyes. He sighed in relief. They weren’t going to do away with him after all. “I think the king will find a job worthy of ye young man. I am Sir Sumon, First Knight of King Rostan’s army. And who might you be?”

Alecsis introduced himself with a bow. The gleaming knight deserved no less. “The lad is Antano. I hope ye can recommend a good position for him as well. He and his father were so looking forward to their new lives at Scarthe.”

“Of course. Go comfort your friend. We’ll not be leaving until the villain is caught.”

By this stage Antano was hysterical in his misery. His sobbing simply would not ease, no matter how many soothing words Alecsis murmured into his ear.

“What’ll I do? What’ll I do? I cannot live without him!” he wailed.

“Ye can and ye will, in time,” Alecsis reassured him, holding him close. “T’will be hard at first. Remember I lost my friend too, the one who lived alone in the forest.”

“But he wasn’t your father,” Antano sobbed.

“That’s right. I probably lost him a long time ago, but ye’re not alone. You still have me. I shall look after you.”

“But what if you die too? Then who will I have?”

“Ye’ll make other friends. That was the whole idea of coming to Scarthe, was it not? To learn new skills, make a fresh start. Besides, I’m more resilient than you think. Ye’ll be stuck with me for some time yet.”

Antano’s weeping finally ceased, and they both scrambled to their feet as the soldiers returned with their quarry.

“I want to kill him,” Antano hissed.

“You shall witness his hanging in the square when we arrive in Scarthe,” Sir Sumon told him. “We have been after this band of renegades for weeks now. They have stolen from travelers of this road for much too long. Thanks to you, their reign of terror is over.” He turned to his men. “Dispose of these bodies. We don’t want other travelers coming across them.”

When they were ready to leave, Sir Sumon urged Alecsis and Antano to ride at the front of the column with him. The highwayman, his hands tied in chains, was surrounded by armed soldiers at the back of the group. Nikaro’s body was transported in a cart purchased from an obliging farmer who lived nearby. He would be given a hero’s burial once they reached Scarthe. A scout rode into the town ahead of them to inform His Majesty how the highwaymen had been vanquished.

Alecsis caught his first glimpse of Scarthe from the hillside overlooking it. Nestled at the foot of the Mirion Ranges, the town looked serene, the whitewashed buildings contrasting with the lush greenness of the mountains.

Like most settlements he had come across, it was a mixture of old and new. The well-to-do lived in two-storey mansions surrounded by abundant gardens nearest the castle. It was by far the largest fortress Alecsis had seen. Four massive white towers jutted into the cloudless sky, and a wide moat surrounded its outer walls.

They were welcomed into the town with cheers and shouts of joy. Women and children threw flowers at Alecsis and Antano. The positive attention helped draw the lad out of his melancholy, and for the first time since Nikaro’s death Alecsis saw him smile.

“I could get used to this,” he said.

“Not I,” Alecsis replied, as a shower of mulit-coloured petals settled in his lap. “I did not come here to be a hero.”