Page 148 of Play of Shadows

I drew from its scabbard the first two inches of the rapier Shariza had insisted I begin wearing. ‘In case no one warned you, I’ve had the memories of a hundred-year-old duellist who’s an even bigger arsehole than you running around my head, and they tell me a bow is a shitty weapon to bring to a bar fight.’

The man sighed. ‘Why do swordsmen always obsess about the bloody bow?’

I would have sworn his hand never moved, but when next I looked down, the tip of an arrow was pressed firmly at my crotch.

‘After all, it’s the arrow that kills you,’ the archer informed me.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Rhyleis said cheerfully, setting down a pitcher of ale and three mugs on the table. ‘I see introductions have already been made.’

I let go of the hilt of my rapier and buried my head in my hands. ‘Saint Zaghev-who-sings-for-tears, Rhyleis, must youalwaysbea pain in my arse?’

‘Zaghev is one of the dead ones,’ said the man at the other table, placing his arrow back in its quiver and sliding over on the bench to join me. ‘He’s been replaced by Eloria-whose-screams-draw-blood. I’m told she’s worse than Zaghev ever was, though in all fairness, neither can hold a candle to Rhyleis, who is, in fact, a pain ineveryone’sarse.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ I muttered, taking a swig from the mug she’d put in front of me– only to spit half of it out when I finally noticed what the archer was wearing.

‘You’re a Greatcoat!’ I sputtered.

‘Well, after a fashion.’ The fellow pulled down the collar of his leather coat to reveal a fur lining. ‘I’m a Rangieri now. It’s kind of like a Greatcoat, only. . . well, actually, I haven’t figured out the difference yet.’

Rhyleis leaned over and whispered conspiratorially – assuming conspiratorially meantas loudly as humanly possible– ‘Brasti’s not exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver, if you get my meaning.’

‘BrastiGoodbow?’ I carefully set the mug down to keep from spilling the rest onto my lap. ‘Brasti-the-King’s-Arrow? Brasti who took down a thousand armoured knights with a hundred half-trained archers? Brasti who slew the new god who’d come to enslave Tristia with nothing but a stone tied to an arrow?’

The bearded man’s grin grew so wide that I’d swear every one of his very white teeth was gleaming in the candlelight. ‘Yes!’ he bellowed aloud, slamming a fist on the table and sending spilled beer everywhere. ‘At long fucking last!’ He threw an arm around my shoulder. ‘Oh, you and I are going to be great friends indeed!’

Rhyleis rolled her eyes. ‘For the love of all the saints dead and alive, Damelas,whydid you have to say those things?’

‘He’sfamous– haven’t you heard the stories? The songs?’

‘Songs?’ Brasti asked, wide-eyed. ‘There aresongsabout me?’He removed his arm and clasped his hands together in prayer to Rhyleis. ‘Sing me one, I beg you!’

The suffering on her face was palpable. ‘Have you any idea, Veristor, how much work the Bardatti have had to do to suppress those damned nursery rhymes?’

‘Aha– Iknewit.’ Brasti jabbed a finger at the Troubadour. ‘All this time, you and fucking Falcio and Kest and everyone else has been making out as if nobody’s ever heard of me, when in factI’mthe most beloved hero in all of Tristia– admit it.’

‘I never said “most beloved”,’ I muttered.

‘If we could get to the business at hand?’ Rhyleis interjected, ignoring the Greatcoat’s prodding. ‘You know, dark forces at work, enemies hiding in the shadows and so forth?’

Brasti snorted. ‘What else is new? This is Tristia. Things are always going to shit.’ He reached over and grabbed the wooden case from the chair, shoved the pitcher and mugs aside and set it on the table. ‘Nonetheless, the last thing I need is the new First Cantor of the Greatcoats up my arse, so I’d best give you this, then I can be on my way.’

‘What is it?’ I asked.

Rhyleis shocked me by reaching over and taking my hand. ‘An invitation, Veristor. A call to honour your family’s past and help us protect our nation’s future.’

Brasti carefully flipped open the three polished brass clasps and slowly opened the lid, as if this was part of some ancient ritual. When I leaned closer to look inside the case, I shared the archer’s reverence.

The dark brown leather was enthralling to behold– the perfect smoothness of it, the glint of the oils making it supple and waterproof, even the faint impressions where the bone plates had been sewn inside to protect against an enemy’s blade. The coat was folded so that only the top three buttons were visible. The buttons were covered in black leather, but I knew eachone concealed a gold juror coin, meant to pay those who were recruited to uphold a magistrate’s verdict.

Neither of my grandparents had allowed me to examine their coats– it had been something of a superstition with them– but I knew there were dozens of pockets inside, containing the tricks and traps the wearer needed to defend their own life and to enforce their judicial verdicts.

‘It’s. . . exquisite,’ I breathed, my fingertips itching to stroke the leather.

Brasti smiled, evidently pleased by my reaction, and shared a look with Rhyleis. ‘Damelas Chademantaigne,’ he began formally, ‘on the instruction of Chalmers, First Cantor of the Order of Travelling Magistrates, and on behalf of King Filian the First, I hereby name you to the Greatco—’

‘No—’ a voice shouted.

I was more than a little surprised to discover it was mine.

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