Shattered Dreams

by Ulff Lehmann

  “Meghan, aye.”

  “Beautiful lass! Congratulations!”

  A serving woman came and took their orders. The selection was limited due to rationing, and both settled for meat, bread, and turnips. When Drangar ordered milk, Rob frowned. “Still no booze?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll never touch another drop! Even if I didn’t kill her, alcohol makes me do strange things. I don’t ever want to go down that road again.”

  “Suit yourself,” the watchman said. “I’ll have an ale.”

  The woman left and returned shortly with their mugs. Rob looked at him and raised his drink. “To old friendships.”

  He returned the toast, “May we walk those dark paths together.” It was odd, he thought as their mugs clunked against each other. A month ago, he would have sat in his cabin in the wild, listening for wolves, the only two beings to talk to a dog and a horse. It had been a long time; he’d almost forgotten how to make conversation.

  Fortunately, Rob spoke after having a long pull from his tankard. “So, what will you do now?”

  He took a sip of milk, wiped his mustache, and brushed his hair back. “Honestly? Aside from talking to Hesmera’s friends, I have no idea.” Rob’s frown made him laugh. “This isn’t typical watch-work, mate. Any traces the assassins might have left are gone by now. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Tell me again of this dream of yours.”

  When he was done with his tale, Rob said, “We could try the house.”

  “Which house?”

  “That hovel you talked about.”

  “You know how tenants change in places like that. Same as with the booth on the marketplace. Any traces are long gone.”

  Before Rob could reply, their supper was served. The watchman sampled the meat. “Not bad, but…”

  “It needs more salt,” Drangar finished the sentence.

  “Indeed!”

  Both laughed, and Rob waved the waitress over and ordered the salt. Drangar had to admit the meat lacked some, helped himself to a bit, and then joined his friend in devouring the supper.

  Neither of them spoke. The former mercenary was lost in thought, trying to find any angle from which he could set out after the murderers. As he had told Rob, he couldn’t. Any traces were gone, which left him with only one possible solution. “I need to catch the next bastard who tries to kill me,” he muttered through meat and bread still in his mouth.

  Rob swallowed his mouthful and looked at him. “You’re crazy. No, wait, let me rephrase that: you’re fucking crazy!”

  “It’s the only way.”

  “You’re going to sit there and wait for some bastard to slide a knife into your gut?”

  Drangar shook his head. No, they wouldn’t come after him with a knife. He could barely remember what had happened in the Shadowpeaks, but knew the murderers were not keen on just killing him. There was more to it. “They won’t just knife me down, mate.”

  Rob took a pull from his beer and frowned. “What? They gonna slice and dice you first?”

  “No,” he replied, brushing back his hair. “They need me for some sort of ritual.”

  “Ritual? What the Scales are you talking about?”

  “They almost managed to off me, in the Shadowpeaks.” He tried to recall what had happened. “Poisoned me, then got me to a… a circle with a fire… only when the Chosen showed up did they slice me open.”

  “So, you intend to let them poison you again and then, while you’re under the venom’s effect, you try to capture them instead? Good, that’s gonna work!”

  “Of course not! I’ll need some people to ambush…” Drangar fell silent and looked across the room. There, at the other end of the taproom, sat Duasonh’s thief! “What the fuck is he doing here?” he growled.

  The bastard occupied a table with another man who had his back turned. From the look of his face, the youth had spent quite a while drinking, and Drangar was torn between staying where he was and ignoring the man, or shaking the bloody truth out of him.

  Rob turned to find out what he was looking at. “That’s the fellow who’s spying on you, eh?”

  “True enough,” he growled. As he rose from his chair, he felt his friend’s firm hand on his right arm.

  “Don’t, mate,” Rob hissed. “You can give the lad his thrashing later.”

  “I just want to ask the bastard some questions.”

  “You can ask him later; do you think he’d even remember his mother, judging from the mugs before him?”

  The thief looked rather pissed, Drangar had to admit. Even if he managed to grab and beat the man, he doubted the spy could be more senseless than he already was. He sat back down. “Bloody Scales.” He had no idea what the man was up to, but he was certain it didn’t bode well.

  CHAPTER 59

  Ealisaid sat on her cot and stared at the far wall. She had no idea if she could deliver the magic Baron Duasonh demanded. Certainly, she was proficient in casting illusions, but never before had she attempted to control a space as vast as the city’s defenses. Intent on the wall, she stood and headed for the door.

  In the corridor beyond a pair of guards still watched over her. She couldn’t blame the Baron for being cautious, it was only prudent, and part of her feared her victims’ families would still avenge the deaths, despite the verdict. It also reminded her she still was a prisoner. As her eyes adjusted to the dim corridor, she noticed to her delight that the guard on the left was the same man whom Kildanor had pointed out earlier, the one who had regarded her with such longing intensity. The cute one.

  “Join me for a moment,” she asked him.

  For a moment, the warrior glanced about like a cornered rabbit. Then he said, “Have I offended you, ma'am?”

  Shaking her head, Ealisaid stepped aside. He entered the room, frowned, took a step back, and looked at the far wall. “Where’s the cupboard? And the window?”

  She felt elated. The first success. Now for the difficult part. She had to maintain her focus. “Shake me, do anything to distract me.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Just do as I ask, please.”

  The warrior obeyed. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her, pinched her, and tickled her. She squirmed under his tickles, but her focus didn’t waver, the illusory wall remained.

  “Good! Now surprise me.”

  For a moment the guardsman just stood there, pondering what she wanted him to do. He blushed, frowned, started to say something.

  “Surprise me,” Ealisaid encouraged.

  He shrugged, and then he did surprise her.

  As she returned his kiss, the image of the plain wall vanished. The man had indeed done as she asked. For a moment she was unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand she had to continue with the illusions; on the other hand, she didn’t mind kissing him. She freed herself of the man’s lips, felt a blush creeping onto her face, and said, “Good, please stay. I have more testing to do.”

  The warrior stared. “More… testing?”

  “Yes.” Ealisaid looked about the room and thought she was ready for the next… test. She concentrated on the image of a small vale in the Shadowpeaks. When the picture was firm in her mind, she made the room change.

  Surprised, the warrior took a step back and looked around, but her hands remained on his waist. “What the Scales…” the man stammered.

  “Relax, we’re still in the room,” she said. If she could maintain the illusion while the guard kissed her, she would be one step closer to Duasonh’s goal. Not that this was the only reason she wanted the… testing to continue. It had been far too long, figuratively and literally, and she yearned for comfort. “Now distract me.”

  The warrior didn’t have to be asked twice. Even though she felt giddy and more than a little excited, Ealisaid turned a great portion of her attention to the imaginary vale surrounding them. She opened her eyes. Of course, the first thing she saw was the guard’s angular face. Beyond him was the little waterfall that fed the pond jus
t as she remembered. She wanted to see more, discover how well the image was holding against this pleasurable test. Leaning into the guardsman, she turned him, kissing his stubbly jaw line so that his face less obstructed her view.

  The warrior, not knowing her intentions, merely reacted and began kissing her neck. For a moment the imaginary tree line fogged over as her body responded to the gentle bites on her collar. Her deep breath became a gasp as she tried to retain focus. The illusion was what mattered, not her roused lust, she told herself. Her body was taking over. Ealisaid forced her hammering heart to slow down despite her yearning. The imaginary vale stopped wavering and again the illusion was perfect.

  With regret she pulled back from the guard, panting, and unsure of her desires. She wanted the walls around the gate to appear empty, the gate open, but she also wanted this man whom she had just met.

  “What’s wrong, milady?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I… apologize. I thought you wanted me to distract you.”

  She couldn’t stop the giggle. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Culain, milady.”

  Again, the giggle. It was followed by a grumble. She felt like an innocent girl again, and wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not. Seeing his scowl, Ealisaid stepped forward and put a hand on his chest. “You’re doing well, Culain.” A mischievous grin formed on her lips. “This is an exceptional distraction.”

  The warrior chuckled. “Aye, milady. That it is.” He frowned. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No!” she said. She felt herself blush again as she continued, “There’s more testing to be done. And call me Ealisaid. Please.”

  “As you wish,” he replied with a bow. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “You mean aside from behaving like a maid in spring?” she asked, the blush slightly receding.

  “Aye.”

  “I need to see if I can maintain a big illusion whilst being distracted.”

  “That’s all?” Culain frowned.

  “Primarily, yes, but I do like this distraction.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “I like it a lot.”

  When they pulled apart again, she saw Culain smile for the first time. It was easy to fall into his green eyes, and for a moment all she wanted was to stare at him, drown in his eyes. No one had really treated her kindly ever since she had blasted into this new world, and this man seemed like an anchor to hold her. She kissed him briefly then looked at the vale that still surrounded them.

  “Either we have to retreat to a bigger space or this room will soon appear very packed,” she said.

  “I also have to get back to my post,” Culain added.

  “Can’t you just ask for a replacement?” Ealisaid couldn’t believe herself, but she pouted. She hadn’t thought it possible to find solace in this world, but here her peace of mind was in the form of this rough warrior.

  “Hmm…” Culain stood before her, his hands in hers. “You said you need to make complex images, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Could you let me stand guard outside with Domnall while maintaining this vale, maybe a few birds, a bit of rain, and trying to stay focused?”

  Again, she giggled. “You’re bad.”

  “Just tryin’ to be helpful, milady,” he replied with a curt bow. “I swear I’ll do my best to distract you.”

  “You’d better,” she said, beaming at him.

  The moss they lay on felt real, as did the gentle rain that drizzled down. Her focus, what little remained of it, was sorely tested. Culain kept up his promise. Bites, kisses, gentle licks eased the scratching of his stubble on her neck, face and shoulders. Ealisaid huddled against him, enjoying his breath on her skin. At times she felt helpless against her desires, but Culain’s reminder to concentrate pulled her toes back to the ground time and again.

  As her excitement rose, her focus fell, and when his hands undid her bodice the illusion flickered for just a moment. Immediately Culain stopped his advance. Ealisaid took a gasping breath, steadied herself and the images around them.

  “Too much distraction?” he whispered in her ear.

  “No,” she said, leaning against him.

  If Domnall had seen his fellow warrior’s image waver, she couldn’t tell, all remained silent outside. Her breathing hastened when Culain’s hands slid over her skin, and she fought to retain her focus as he found her breasts.

  “Birds now,” he whispered.

  She could almost feel him smile into her hair. Biting her lip as he pinched a nipple, Ealisaid conjured songbirds into the trees around them. It came so easy, the magic. Nothing had to be forced, unlike what she had done in her house, and the street. Even though part of her was distracted and aroused by the warrior caressing her; the man’s gentleness was like a balm. As she felt his touch, sometimes soft sometimes rough, she felt the magic flowing through her in a way she had never experienced before. Magic, it seemed, was more than raw power; it was emotion, desire, love.

  Somehow Culain did what no one else had done before. Ealisaid felt more at ease with herself and the magic she had been taught to master. Maybe this was what the hibernation was supposed to do? To become enveloped by the strength magic truly was. She turned to him. “Don’t stop now,” she said a smile on her lips. Whether her plan succeeded or not, she would find out in the morning.

  Culain’s hands probed lower, his touch at once tickling and light as a feather. The magic followed her feelings, rose when she did. She fought the urge to mount him immediately, resisted the desire to force events into motion. Magic had to be nudged, not pushed. It was enough to feel and anticipate, and expect, for the knowledge that things would happen was almost enough.

  Almost enough. When his hands reached her womanhood, she felt a barrier break. It was natural to just turn and reach out, to kiss, caress, and love, and the magic did what she desired it to do.

  The cemetery should already be closed to the public, but Kildanor knew the Deathmask would be there. Jainagath’s priests hardly left their posts, so why should this one be an exception? Only during the midsummer and midwinter celebrations did the clergy members mingle with mortals. They didn’t eat, drink, or sleep, and it was rumored that the undying Deathmasks consumed the blood of the dead. He knew such tales were wrong, but the priests’ appearances gave rise to much speculation. Gray robes, boots, hood, and the featureless mask seemed to be their sole attire.

  The Chosen neared the ornate gate and the rather subdued temple that huddled against the cemetery wall. Standing in the arched entrance, he saw from a distance, were Drangar Ralgon and a man of the watch. They were talking to the Deathmask. He didn’t want the man to think he was spying as well. Young Garinad’s strange behavior had already roused the man’s anger and he didn’t want to add to it.

  After a quick exchange, Ralgon left the others standing in the pale light of the gate’s lantern while his companion fidgeted near the Deathmask. The watchman was clearly uncomfortable, and Kildanor could hardly blame him. Deathmasks were unnerving, even to him. It wasn’t the first time he wondered whether the priests were truly undead, living corpses. Some people were frightened by the thought of walking and talking dead, but to him undeath was merely another state of being. Deep down, Kildanor felt a kinship to the priests of Jainagath. Neither of them could die naturally, which made both, Chosen and Deathmasks, alike.

  A movement to his left halted his musings. Thankfully lamps attached to walls and posts lighted the streets here, and he discerned Jesgar Garinad’s huge form hugging a building’s shadowy entrance. What the Scales was he doing? Neither Nerran nor Duasonh had ordered Ralgon observed; the Upholder had cleared the man; his innocence was fact.

  He decided to interrogate Jesgar, crossed the street, and stood before the spy in a matter of heartbeats. If Garinad was surprised, he didn’t show it; he didn’t react at all. What was going on? “Jesgar?” the Chosen asked, but the young man acted as if the street was still empty. Intent on whatever happened at th
e cemetery gate, the thief didn’t even notice Kildanor’s hand. Waving didn’t get his attention, and neither did the gentle shaking of arm or shoulder. Something was decidedly wrong with the lad.

  Movement at the cemetery caught Garinad’s attention, and he moved closer to the gate. Kildanor followed. He heard Ralgon’s question and the Deathmask’s reply, and once Jesgar had heard the names “Neena and Leonore Cahill” the spy took off at a quick pace.

  For a moment he didn’t know what to do. Should he follow Garinad or should he proceed with his task? It only took a few moments to decide, and so he remained near the cemetery, out of view of the gate. Jesgar had picked a nice spot for his eavesdropping. He remained in the shadows after Ralgon and the watchman had left the area. His thoughts were leaping from the upcoming interrogation of a spirit to Jesgar’s strange behavior. What was going on?

  “No!” Kildanor hissed. “Jathain’s spirit, the defense, that’s what matters, the boy can wait.” He doubted Garinad was a threat; the youth was harmless. Jesgar had to wait, Jathain’s information was more important. Yet there was this strange lack of awareness; it seemed as if the youth was sleepwalking. He’d have to talk to the sorceress about this.

  Finally, he left his shadowed hideaway and approached the cemetery gate. As soon as he reached the archway the Deathmask stood before him. Jainagath’s priests were silent, he had to admit that.

  “Greetings, Chosen.”

  “And a good evening to you.”

  “Humor, how… nice. An attempt at levity,” the Deathmask said. Before he could reply, the priest continued, “Are you prepared to pay the price, Chosen of Lesganagh?”

  “What price?”

  “Withdrawing even the lowest soul from the halls of the gods is costly. You know even the lowest have a purpose, their task is everything to them. Unlike those who feast and celebrate, those who can easily be distracted, the serving spirits need to be ensnared, lured.

  “Some spirits are easier to catch than others. The lure is emotion, love, fear, despair, anger, hate. Which feeling is necessary depends on the person you want to call back. The one you seek to interrogate is most likely a spittoon, or if he is lucky a dancer. The price for him is high. He won’t help you voluntarily, so your sacrifice is for his capture and the torment of his soul. Are you willing to pay the price, Kildanor of the Chosen?”