by J B Drake
Marshalla frowned. “You don’t trust her.”
“No.” Anieszirel shook her head.
“Even after all she did?”
“Marsha, if someone told you, right after you left that storehouse, that Anise would be looking to betray us, would you have believed them?”
Marshalla fell silent at this.
“Precisely. You see me as a friend, and I cherish that greatly, but to the world, I am, and will always be, a monster.”
“So are vampires.”
“Marsha…”
“I’m just saying.”
“This needs to remain secret.”
“Even though she shared something that could see her dead?”
Anieszirel paused as she stared at the girl before her. There was more to this.
“Why do you want to tell her so badly?”
Marshalla shrugged. “It’s not fair to keep her in the dark.”
“Marsha…”
“What?”
“Why?”
Marshalla stared back in silence for a spell, as if weighing her words, but before long, she spoke up once more.
“We could use her when we go rescue Anise.”
“Could we?”
“Yes,” Marshalla nodded. “And the more she knows, the more inclined she’d be to come with us.”
“I’m all you’ll need, Marsha.”
“It didn’t feel that way tonight.”
“What did you say?”
Startled, the young girl sat back, a hand rising to her lips.
“Marsha, what did you mean by…”
Just then, movement in the corner of her eye silenced the chronodragon, and as she turned, she saw the doors handle twist. With but a thought, she let go of the sound barrier before the door.
“Ah, that felt good,” Amala sighed as she swung the door open.
As the silver-haired vampire ran her fingers through her hair, Anieszirel turned back to Marshalla. The young girl was staring at her bowl once more.
“Ah, so they brought it,” Amala continued, drawing all eyes to her.
Smiling, Marshalla nodded.
“All nice and full, then?”
Again, Marshalla nodded.
“Good,” Amala nodded, then began smoothing her hair with her hands.
“So, how are we going to get Anise back?” Marshalla said.
Stopping, the vampire sighed and stared at Marshalla in silence.
Anieszirel stared from one to the other as the weight of the silence grew.
“Marsha, shall we be honest with each other?” Amala asked at last.
Slowly, Marshalla nodded.
“Do you truly think Anise is still alive?”
“Of course she’s alive! They were after the both of us, remember?”
“Marsha, we have no idea whose men those were, or where they took Anise. And we have no idea what they want with her, or you for that matter.”
“But—”
“No buts. Were I Anise, my priority would be keeping them away from us. I would be doing everything in my power to lead them astray, praying that we’re on our way out of this accursed place.”
“But—”
“If we go after her, and we get caught—”
“We won’t get caught,” Marshalla interjected. “We have you, and Ani!”
“Forgive me,” Amala replied, turning to stare square at Anieszirel, “but your shade friend here was unable to stop Anise from being taken in the first place. She’s of no use to us in this.”
“Amala!”
“Let her speak,” Anieszirel said, her gaze upon the day-walker.
“We’re outmatched, Marsha,” Amala continued, turning to Marshalla, “and that’s the gods’ honest truth. The only sensible play is to leave while we can. Anise herself said we should depart. We must leave now, and trust that she will do what needs to be done.”
“Meaning what, precisely?”
“Marsha, this is no time to be naïve.”
“I’m not abandoning her.”
“Then, her sacrifice will be in vain.”
Desperate, Marshalla turned to Anieszirel, and as the chronodragon stared back, Marshalla couldn’t help but smile. Taking a deep breath, Marshalla turned to Amala. Amala was staring at her, but it was Anieszirel who spoke up next.
“You’re a coward, day-walker,” the chronodragon said in a voice as calm as it was soft.
Amala giggled. “Insults? You truly think they’ll—”
“Yes, we’re outmatched, but that’s only if we face them head-on.”
“So, what, we—”
“Use the shadows, yes. Subtlety is your strongest suit, is it not? And yet you would run.”
“I owe no allegiance to you, shade.”
Anieszirel smiled. “No, you don’t. But Marsha owes an allegiance to Anise, and I to Marsha. We will go after her, and we will free her. With or without you.”
“She will die, shade,” Amala replied. “They will both die. And their blood will be on your hands.”
Anieszirel’s smile grew. “Is that how you intend to salve your conscience? Convince yourself it was all my fault? And what if we succeed? Will you still say it was all my doing, I wonder?”
Placing her hands upon her hips, Amala gritted her teeth as she stared hard at Anieszirel.
“And just what do you propose, shade?” she said.
“Why do you keep calling her shade?” Marshalla frowned.
“Well, what is she, then?”
“We know who took her,” Anieszirel continued before Marshalla could draw breath. “A patron of the Jackdaws, someone who controls an army.”
“Weighton,” Marshalla nodded.
“Who?” Amala frowned.
“Weighton, Amala,” Anieszirel replied.
Amala shrugged. “So you know his name. Congratulations. Good for you. Do you know anything else? Anything of actual use? Like where he is, or why he’s after Anise and Marsha?”
Anieszirel shook her head.
“I don’t know where he is…” she said.
“You don’t say!”
“…but I know who does.”
“What?” Marshalla said as she sat ramrod straight.
Anieszirel nodded at her. “Yes, I know how to find Anise,” then, she turned to Amala, “but we need your help. I’m not known for my subtlety, and you’ve clearly proven yours.”
Amala shook her head. “I’m not throwing my life away for you.”
“I’m going with her, Amala,” Marshalla said.
“No, you are not!”
The steel within the vampire’s words surprised even Anieszirel, but as the chronodragon turned to Marshalla, a deep smile parted her lips. Marshalla was glowering, and Anieszirel knew full well what that meant.
“You don’t control me, Amala,” Marshalla growled. “I go where I damn well please.”
“Good luck changing her mind,” Anieszirel muttered.
Amala stared from one to the other before turning to face Anieszirel. “She’s going to die out there, and it’ll be all your fault, you do realise that, don’t you?”
“So, come with us,” Anieszirel replied, “save her from my hubris.”
The vampire that was Amala stared at each in turn some more, then sighed and sat upon the bed, her gaze upon Anieszirel.
“So, what’s your brilliant plan, then?”
*******
Sitting on her bed of hay, Anise let her eyes wander about the walls of her little cell as she’d done a thousand times since being bundled inside. Each time, she’d sought a means of escape, but each time, she’d found none. From the enchantments upon the bars of her cell to the wards and palings woven into the stone, it was clear magic would be of little help.
Turning, she stared once more through the bars at the guards by the dungeon’s entrance. Three in total, they were seated around a worn wooden table, their faces clearly lit by the light of the many torches lining the walls of the dungeon. Calling out to them was pointless, the prison
er that had been in the cell to her right had done so without pause to no avail. Even when he was dragged away kicking and screaming, he’d pleaded to those same three men. None had so much as blinked. Once, she’d thought about using a charm spell to draw them to her cell, but that was before she’d taken a good look at the wards about her.
“What a fine mess this is,” she sighed, then sat back upon her bed till her back was to the wall, and let her eyes wander once more.
Just then, the sound of jangling keys reached her ears, followed by that of a heavy iron lock being turned, and as she stared, she watched as the heavy dungeon door swung open.
“Sir!” the three guards cried, springing to their feet as an elderly human man walked in.
The old man nodded in silence at the guards, then turned to her.
“Is that our new guest?” the old man said.
“Yes, sir,” one of the guards replied.
“Hrm.” The man nodded, then made his way towards Anise.
Anise watched him approach in silence, but as she watched, the Archmage felt the hairs on the back of her neck slowly stand tall. She wasn’t afraid of the human, there seemed no reason to be, and yet, something about him had her ill at ease. Before long, the elder man stood before the bars of her cell, then crossed his arms behind him.
“Good evening…Grace, is it?”
“It’ll do,” Anise replied.
The old man smiled. “Very well.”
There truly was something amiss about the old man, something…wrong.
“I trust you’ll forgive the state of your current quarters,” the man continued, “with a reputation like yours, it was prudent to take measures.”
Anise smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of little old me, are you?”
The old man smiled. “Afraid? No. Merely…cautious.”
As he spoke, Anise ran her gaze about her captor’s face. She could see nothing untoward. He looked just like she would expect of an elderly human. But her ill-feeling remained.
“Since you have yet to ask my name, I take it you know who I am?”
Anise nodded. “Daniel Weighton.”
The old man smiled. “I see my reputation precedes me.”
“Not especially.” Anise shrugged. “You own the Jackdaws, and the Jackdaws were who came after me.”
A deep frown twisted the elderly man’s lips. “Believe me when I say I wish I had nothing to do with those worthless sots.”
“What do you want with me?”
The old man smiled. “You’re such a contradiction, Grace. From your reputation, I’d expect you to be far more adept with blades than with spells, but from what my men have gathered of tonight’s events, well…”
Anise held her peace and stared at the man.
“Some of them think it was your young friend who summoned the phantom that fought for you. But I’m not so sure. To command such a creature would require a deep understanding of some truly powerful summoning spells, and your young friend doesn’t strike me as an arcane savant, what with her timid behaviour tonight, which then makes me wonder, why did you let the Jackdaws think she was your protector?”
“What do you want with me, human?” Anise replied.
The old man fell silent and stared at Anise. There was warmth in his gaze, and a sadness Anise felt sure was for her.
“You were sent here to learn the fate of Agril Flutterfoot,”
“Are you asking or telling?”
The old man smiled. “Did your employer tell you why?”
Anise shook his head. “He didn’t tell, I didn’t ask.”
“And you weren’t curious?”
“I’m not paid to be curious.”
“Quite,” the man smiled, but his smile was brief. “Would you care to grace me with your employer’s name?”
“And why in the world would I do that?”
“Because I’d like to meet him.”
“Hrm,” Anise smiled, “he’s not the meeting type.”
“My dear,” the man continued, taking a couple more steps forward, “I can assure you, I…”
An awkward silence fell upon the pair as the man stared at Anise with a gaze that was as puzzling as it was unsettling.
“What are you…?” Anise began, but fell silent as the man ran his gaze slowly about her.
There was a fierceness in his gaze now, one that filled her with true and palpable dread. Then, the old man stretched out his hand and whispered a string of arcane words.
Springing forth, her eyes going wide, Anise moved to speak, to demand the human explain himself, but at that moment, a most peculiar feeling overcame her. It was like an itch on the inside of her skull. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ceased.
“What did you just do?” Anise demanded.
The old man stared at Anise, the fire in his gaze growing with each passing moment.
“How long have you been on the road?” he asked.
“What did you—”
“How long?” he thundered, his words reverberating about the dungeon.
Anise held her peace and stared at the man.
At last, the old man’s gaze softened. “How long?”
“What did you do to me?” Anise asked instead.
The old man shook his head. “You’re tainted, my dear.”
“What?”
“Your soul, it’s been touched by a demon whose power is beyond your comprehension.”
Anise stared hard at the man, but the colour was gone from her cheeks.
“The taint isn’t strong enough to cause you lasting harm…” the old man continued.
“Lasting harm? What lasting harm?”
“…but it shows someone’s used that demon’s power on you. Protection spells perhaps, fuelled by the demon’s power…”
“What are you talking about?”
“ …two or three weeks ago at most.”
“Human, you’re making no sense.”
As the silence returned, and Weighton held Anise in a pained gaze, the Archmage felt a cold hand wrap its fingers about her heart.
“Tell me about your young friend,” the old man said.
At those words, the dread coursing through the Archmage began climbing up her throat.
“Does she know a boy named Terril?”
Fighting the urge to swallow, Anise stared on as her throat tightened.
“She does, doesn’t she?”
Still, Anise kept her peace.
The old man nodded. “The phantom was summoned by her, wasn’t it? She must’ve siphoned some of Tien’razul’s power somehow.” Then, the old man frowned. “But then, why run? If she had the power to summon such a creature, why not fight by its side?”
Anise could only stare.
“Unless all she knew were protection spells,” the old man continued, staring into the ether as he spoke.
“Human,” Anise said, finally finding her voice, “I have no idea of what you speak.”
The old man stared at her once more. “Where do you fit into all this, Grace? Why are you here?”
“Did you not hear me? You’re not making sense.”
The silence returned, but it was fleeting.
“There’s no gnome, is there?” the old man said. “The girl hired you. And Terril sent her. But to what end? And why now?”
The old man’s gaze bore into Anise, and she held it with all the calm she could muster.
“It’s your friend I must talk to,” the old man added, “not you.”
“I want everyone out looking for that girl,” he barked as he spun to face his the guards. “I want her alive, no matter the cost.”
“Yes, sir!” the three guards cried in unison before one of them hurried out to relay his master’s orders.
The old man turned back to Anise. In the silence that ensued, the pair stared hard at each other, till at last, the old man spun about to his guards once more.
“Bring her. It’s time she met the real Terril Philpott.”
�
�Wait, what?” Anise said as she darted to her feet.
As the gate swung open, Anise found herself rooted where she stood, her eyes upon the old man.
Weighton turned to face her once more. “Do you not wish to know where Terril came from? What he truly is?”
The Archmage’s mouth ran dry, as her heart beat loudly in her chest.
“Lead on,” she said at last.
And with a nod, the human that was Daniel Weighton turned on his heels and marched towards the dungeon door, Anise and the other two guards in tow.
*******
With a grunt, Lucius closed his front door, then closed his remaining good eye as he bowed his head, a sigh escaping his lips. His outstretched hand was all that kept him from collapsing upon his door, and even that meagre task taxed him greatly.
“Stupid bastard,” he growled. “Stupid, arrogant bastard.”
His entire body felt like a herd of elephants had danced upon him for the better part of the afternoon. But even so, he was one of the lucky few and he knew it.
“Lucky indeed.”
Sighing once more, the pirate spun about, stopping to stare at the mirror close beside him.
“Damn,” he muttered, then raised a gentle hand to his left eye.
He knew his injuries were dire, but still, he was not prepared for what he saw. His left eye was completely closed, the area around its lid swollen to a size larger than a child’s fist, and with a colour that matched the split upon his swollen lip, yet only a shade lighter than the large swelling upon his jaw.
“Damn you, Byron,” he glowered. “Damn you to all the hells.”
But he knew curses would avail him little. He had to flee, all the Jackdaws had to. And the sooner he was gone from Kirsk, the better. Straightening, the pirate dragged his aching body to his bedchamber, and closing the door behind him, wandered over to his dresser before pulling his travelling bag out from under it and throwing it upon the bed.
“Going somewhere?”
With a cry, Lucius spun about, and as his gaze fell upon the utterer, his eye went wide as all self-control threatened to leave him.
“Oh, gods,” he whispered, “Marybelle.”
A slow smile parted the young girl’s lips. “You remembered my name, how nice.”
Licking his lips, Lucius began to back away from the red-haired girl.
“Now, look, you,” he stammered, “what happened tonight was none of me business, you hear? It was Byron’s doing. He was the one who—”