Slipping beneath the sour fumes were others, dearer: a fire gone to coals, the flowered perfumes of women, the hard sweat of men, and hounds-breath, grass-sharp. Unbidden, he saw the image of his queen at her loom, his son playing with toy spear and shield. He choked back a lump in his throat. Sorrow must wait. Flete stood at Aelfric’s side, his sword unsheathed, his breath no heavier than at the foot of the cliff. Was Flete a god? It might be no boon. The gods were fickle, dashing down the mighty to raise another for a time. Powerful, yes, but faithless if one listened carefully to the words of the skalds. Deceitful too, if Flete had hidden a divine nature from him. A hall door cracked open. A man stepped from the darkness within and relieved himself. He caught Flete’s knife in the throat, making no more than a gurgle as he slumped to the ground, breathing his life-blood. Aelfric drew Sunburner from his cloak, bringing day to the night. He dashed through the door, his blade charring. The cobbled little streets that led off the main road through Andleburg echoed as she strode along the narrow pavement. Away from the traffic, she could hear the voices of children playing in the courtyards behind the front doors of the apartment buildings. Cafes and delicatessens along the road offered traditional Swiss food until late at night, their aroma mingling in the afternoon air. Old men sat outside, sipping beer as they played dominoes or simply watched the world go by, the distinctive smell of Gauloise hanging in the air as the occasional dog ferreted around underneath the tables. Lauren hurried along, walking quickly, anxious to get the medical examination over as quickly as possible.She entered, confirmed her name with the young receptionist and, moving the copy of Bild off so that she could sit down, took a seat in the corner, concerned that she was the only schoolgirl in the reception area. She clasped her hands tightly together over her crossed legs, well aware that.
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