SMOKE AND BLADES

by D Elias Jenkins

  Maeve tightened her jaw. She wondered how the high councilor would cope with half the wretched squalor she was responsible for dealing with a mile below his refuge.

  “I’ve walked most of Free Reign’s shadowy places High Councilor. People rarely do shady things in bright places.”

  “Still. I advise caution. This entity is unlikely to respect your authority or your life. Perhaps this may be a good time to take some much needed leave?”

  “That’s not an option sir.”

  Crawl steepled his manicured hand under his chin.

  “So this thing is hunting criminals throughout the city?”

  “Yes. And making examples out of them.”

  “Have you considered just letting him do his work?”

  Maeve gave the mage the facial expression his comment deserved.

  “I’m the law here High Councilor. It’s not perfect, but this city is a haven for the world because much of the rest of the world is a dangerous hellhole. We need to keep standards here. Rule of law is one of those standards.”

  Crawl moved over to one of the arched windows and peered out over the vast city. He smiled wistfully and seemed lost in his thoughts.

  “I do keep hearing about all manner of strange crimes happening down in the city. But I look out my window every morning and it looks so beautiful. Seeing the streamlines slowly fade out in the dawn light and watch the steam dissipate. I hear the trams crank up and trundle the masses around. Sometimes I fancy I catch a sniff of street food on the breeze.”

  Maeve was done with niceties and took out a slender blue rillo. She popped it in her mouth and spoke out the corner as she searched for a match.

  “With respect sir, you’re a long way up.”

  “True.”

  “Can I stop it?”

  Crawl turned back to face her and frowned, as if he had already forgotten what they had been talking about.

  “The old broken ones in Fallen Willow may be able to help. But I imagine the enemies of this Vigilante may have already thought of that.”

  “The Fallen keep to themselves. What help could they offer?”

  “Darling they eat souls. What do you think your Wraith is?”

  “Aah.”

  Crawl wiped his hands on his housecoat and walked back to his desk. He began to rearrange some maps and papers. He looked up and snapped his fingers and a small clockwork serving golem clattered from the corner of the room.

  “That’s where I would begin. Now if you don’t mind Inspector, I’m in the middle of creating something rather exquisite. Sabor will show you out.”

  “That’s fine I can find my own way. Thank you for your help High Commissioner Crawl.”

  “Oh I wouldn’t call it help. I’ve probably set you on a path to your death.”

  “Well. Thank you anyway.”

  Maeve gave a small polite bow of the head and turned to leave. The double doors opened and she felt the cold breeze hit her face. At the door she heard Crawl call after her.

  “Oh Inspector?”

  “Yes?”

  “That plum brandy is very potent. Don’t look over the edge on your way down. Wouldn’t want you to take a tumble.”

  Maeve gave him a grim smile.

  “I’ve always thought fear of heights was really a fear of your own impulsiveness. The urge to jump just to see what it feels like.”

  “Knowledge at all costs. Perhaps you should become a mage, Inspector?”

  Maeve struck her match disrespectfully on his doorframe and lit her rillo.

  “No thank you sir. I prefer to stay in close contact with the city I live in.”

  14.

  THE VIGILANTES TALE PART 3

  “Take cover. Everybody get inside!”

  Izzy instantly joined in and began to herd the emissaries back towards the palace. The stunned guests complained and spilled their drinks, but a few turned and looked to the sky where the dark shape was looming.

  Gaunt sprinted up towards the podium and shouted out to a befuddled Brevvit. He was pointing to the sky above his head.

  “Fallen! Brevvit take cover!”

  Brevvit spun around and saw the creature swooping down towards him. He screamed and threw his notes and then nearly fell from the podium. Then he crawled around and launched himself into the open door of his crystal pyramid, slamming it shut behind him.

  He sat there on the floor cowering as the grey emaciated body of an eight foot tall humanoid landed gracefully upon the apex.

  It spread its feathered wings and silver blades glimmered at their tips. Fierce talons screeched against the surface of the prism as it struggled for purchase. It was one of the biggest Fallen that Gaunt had ever seen, scored with tribal markings in the old angelic script. Upon its ghoulish head something was conspicuously absent. Gaunt whispered under his breath.

  “No halo.”

  He raised his pistol but heard a sudden burst of shouts and screams from behind him. He spun to see armed men pouring out of the reception room and taking harsh control of the guests. Swords were drawn and some were struck with pommels if they moved too slowly. Gaunt took measure of the men. They wore the scaled wooden armour and wide brimmed hats of Krazen fighting men. Curved swords and old fashioned pistols were tucked into their broad belts. Their black moustaches hung in beaded braids from their faces. Gaunt knew that Krazen would never mount an attack of this kind on their own.

  Mercenaries.

  He did not have to gesture to Izzy. She just naturally fell in beside him and drew the pistol from her thigh holster and reached for the dagger in her sleeve. Gaunt put a hand on top of hers.

  “Too many. Stay on mission. We’re here for the orb.”

  Izzy nodded and glanced behind them.

  “We’re not the only ones, it seems.”

  “Is it safe??”

  Izzy squeezed his hand.

  “Locked in its vault along with Brevvit. How long will it take them to bore through that thing?”

  Gaunt shook his head.

  “It’s duramite, about an inch thick. They could shoot cannons at it all day it won’t scratch.”

  “Ok well there’s that. So all we have to do now is discourage these lovely people and politely ask them to leave.”

  Some of the guests had been rudely herded back into the reception hall and were huddled into terrified groups on their knees. Those who remained on the balcony stood together in a huddle, surrounded by sullen faced mercenaries brandishing rifles.

  Gaunt caught Sir Skallen’s eye and nodded to reassure the ambassador. Skallen was tight lipped and pale.

  The mercenaries parted and stood to attention. It was a very uncharacteristic action for Krazen fighting men. Gaunt and Izzy blended in to the rest of the hostages as best they could, trying to make their body language small, meek, unmemorable. There was a hushed silence as footsteps could be heard walking on the polished floor of the reception hall.

  A giant of a man appeared in the doorway. Amongst the chandeliers and starched uniforms, he looked as if he had arrived straight from a thousand mile ride on the Far Trails.

  With each step his big boots left a muddy print on the tiles. His hulking frame was accentuated by the thick fox fur overcoat he wore. It gave him the air of a great skulking bear.

  He turned his broad head and his wide set eyes scanned the assembled. His face seemed set in a perpetual expression of mockery.

  He strode across to one of the terrified waiters who stood there shaking and holding his tray. The flutes of Krispennwine were rattling upon it and threatening to topple.

  The big man spread his hands as if walking on a tightrope as he approached. An expectant grin played on his lips.

  “Woah there. Careful now, son. They’ll take that out your pay.”

  He glanced around accusingly at the expensively dressed guests.

  “You people are paying him aren’t you?”

  The big man took off his battered hat and ran a gloved hand through his prematurely grey hair
. Then he carefully pulled off his riding gloves and stuffed them in his coat. He moved his head around until it found the frightened serving boy’s gaze.

  “May I?”

  A tiny shivering nod.

  The man took a flute in his big hand and took the smallest sip. He smacked his lips together theatrically and nodded.

  “Wet.”

  He stopped in front of the hostages and surveyed them one by one.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Apologies for disrupting your evening. Your shindig has been interrupted on account of my having business here with your host…that well fed little fellow over there hiding in his glasshouse.”

  He gave a little wave over the heads of the hostages to Brevvit, who was still cowering in his prism. One diplomat in a flamboyant purple frock coat took a single step forward.

  “Who are you sir? What do you and these men want?”

  The big man glanced at him then scanned his hand over a tray of meticulously crafted canapes.

  “Well you folks like your vittles small don’t ya? You expecting some midgets for dinner?”

  He popped one in his mouth and his big jaw began to meticulously chew as he stared at the man who had dared to ask him a question. The moment went on until the diplomat bowed his head a little and stepped back. The big man licked his fingers clean.

  “Name’s Reach.”

  He looked down at his own outrider clothing.

  “Feeling a little abashed here, looking at all your fine pressed uniforms. All you fine generals and admirals and…what are you?”

  The man he had stopped in front of glanced to either side of him before nervously swallowing. He tried to get some bass in his voice but it cracked in fear.

  “I am a wing commander.”

  Reach said it back to him very slowly.

  “A Wing. Commander. You command wings. That’s your uniform?”

  “It is.”

  “Pretty.”

  “I…”

  “You can fly?”

  The officer glanced down at the silver wings that decorated his blue uniform.

  “I can fly most cloud skimmers and frigates. But if you think I am going to be part of your escape plan you are mistaken, sir.”

  Reach blinked once as if struggling to process the officer’s answer. Then he flatly asked him again.

  “Can you fly?”

  The officer’s cheeks reddened.

  “Sir I just told you. I can. But I won’t.”

  Reach leaned back and looked the man up and down.

  “Let’s test it.”

  In a flash he reached out and grabbed the officer around the throat with a gnarled hand. Reach lifted him spluttering off the ground then walked him calmly to the edge of the walkway and threw him off. The officer barely had time to scream before he plummeted the two hundred feet to the city’s rooftops.

  The rest of the hostages held their breath as one as the reality of their situation suddenly became glaringly apparent. Reach slowly leaned out over the handrail and peered down to the streets far below. He shrugged and turned back to his captive audience.

  “He can’t fly half as well as his uniform would suggest.”

  A few sobs of fear from the assembled as Reach began to walk amongst them. Now no one could meet his eye. Each guest stood as still as their shaking bodies would allow as he brushed past them. When he approached Izzy he lingered for a moment. Gaunt felt his hand tighten on the pistol he had concealed beneath his poncho. He allowed himself to breath once Reach had walked past and resumed his position at the open balcony windows.

  “Point being I wouldn’t be too quick to judge a man’s caliber by the thread he wears.”

  Reach helped himself to another glass of wine.

  “I’ve been in the wilderness a long time. Slept under the stars, same ones as you see when you look up. Little brighter when I see them. They look different sat round a campfire. What am I saying? Like any of you ever sat round a fire and looked up. Sleep out there long enough, just the wind and the wolves in the hills, that's all you can hear. Until you start to hear those whisperers that come across on the north wind.”

  Reach made a little mouth with his fingers and thumb and then flapped it open and closed by his ear.

  “Ssshwshshwshshshw. Don’t make much sense at first. But gradually you can make out the words. Old Gods. Lonely old abandoned gods of all the dark places you folks forgot. Old gods like the kind my friend over there and his people used to worship, until you made them wear those halos and snubbed out everything that made them interesting. Isn’t that right Mr. Emberdark?”

  Reach stood on his tiptoes and waved to the Fallen that perched atop Brevvit’s crystal pyramid. It cocked its head and smiled. The face was just skin stretched taut over skull with no fat or flesh to speak of. The wings extended a little then retracted in the angelic equivalent of a yawn. Reach threw his empty glass on the tiles and shook his head. He strode purposefully through the terrified hostages and up towards the pyramid.

  “Almost forgot about our little fat friend in there. Hellooooo.”

  Reach rapped on the pyramid with his knuckles. Brevvit cowered inside, his eyes bulging in his red face.

  Reach leaned in close. He silently mouthed the words can I come in?

  Brevvit drew his ceremonial sword and waved it amateurishly in front of him. Reach blew out his cheeks and turned back to the hostages.

  “Phew. Glad this beast is caged. Now, I don’t expect you heathens to understand the purer purpose of why I’m here-”

  “We know exactly who you are and why you’re here.”

  Reach look up at Sir Skallen, who stood tall in front of the other guests. Two Krazen mercenaries stepped forward and raised their rifles at him, but Reach gestured them back.

  “By your attire I’d guess you are from Free Reign? Ambassador?”

  Sir Skallen took a deep breath and stood tall, his eyes nervously flicking to the rifle barrels that were a few feet from his face.

  “I am here representing a city that has stood as sanctuary and refuge against exactly what you are for thousands of years. You think we don’t know your name already Jonas Reach? So before you launch in to your monomaniacal rant about how this is all for a divinely ordained higher purpose, let me fill our guests in about your true nature.”

  Reach stood quite still and stared at the ambassador for a long moment.

  “Please do.”

  Sir Skallen gathered his courage and stood dignified before Reach.

  “You’re a wanted fugitive, mercenary, murderer and rapist. You’re affiliated to nothing but have your filthy fingers in every underworld cabal and violent cult in the western world. You’re a terrorist and a charlatan, piggybacking onto other people’s causes to feed your own appetite for destruction. You’ve set bombs off in Free Reign that have killed children, you’ve brought down sky ships filled with immigrants and families, and you’ve tortured and mutilated people for nothing but your own amusement. So tell us whatever story you want, but don’t try to convince us this is some form of divine crusade against anything. You’re a monster.”

  Reach pursed his lips and slowly nodded, silently counting things up on his fingers.

  “You forgot war hero.”

  Skallen blanched.

  “War hero? You were dishonorably discharged and charged with war crimes. You raped women and men. You tortured prisoners. You plundered loot like a common pirate. We are ashamed to have once called you a citizen of our city.”

  Reach leaned over with his hands on his knees as if out of breath. He puffed out his cheeks and looked around at the hostages, then at his own men.

  “Well you certainly didn’t miss me and hit the wall with that tirade, ambassador. I feel shriveled somehow. Diminished. Perhaps I shall go to the mountains and reflect.”

  Skallen jutted his chin defiantly.

  “Or you could just go there and jump off one.”

  Reach frowned and nodded very slowly at Skallen. Sir Skallen
squared his shoulders.

  “Mr. Reach, I speak for everyone here when I say-”

  Reach grabbed him by the shirtfront and head-butted him with such force that Skallen’s teeth shattered and scattered off across the tiles. The ambassador looked confused for a moment, his eyes wandering about the crowd. Then Reach slammed his big skull into Skallen’s face again and again, blood and spit trailing from his forehead in sticky strings. Skallen tried once to call out but his mouth no longer had the apparatus to speak. The assault was prolonged and relentless and with each awful damp thud the hostages felt their stomach’s churn with ever greater fear. Some looked. Some could not.

  After the twentieth skull strike Sir Skallen’s face was concave and he slumped like a ragdoll in Reach’s hands. Reach stood there, hunched over him and breathing like an animal. His face was coated in a sticky glaze of gore and one of Skallen’s teeth was embedded in his cheek. When his eyes flicked up to the crowd they were the eyes of a rabid predator. Gradually his rasping breath calmed and he let Sir Skallen’s corpse crumple to the floor.

  Reach stood up and walked to the duramite pyramid. He glared in at Lord Brevvit, who was now sobbing and staring out at the pulpy cadaver of Skallen on the tiles. Reach took some of the blood from his face and began to smear symbols onto the duramite in the same language that Mr. Emberdark had scored into his skin. When he ran his hand across his cheek and found the tooth still embedded, he fingered it curiously for a moment. Then he pulled it free along with a gout of blood. Reach studied it in the light and then slowly scored it down the pyramid with a blood curdling screech. It left not the slightest mark. Inside, Brevvit had found a modicum of courage. He stepped up to the window and stood defiant. He sniveled up his snot and stood as tall as he could.

  “All this blood and effort sir, and your time is wasted. You cannot get in. This prism is not to be broken by your hand.”

  Reach studied the structure and smiled.

  “Prism? Or prison?”

  Brevvit checked his timepiece.

  “You sir, are on the clock. You may have gained the advantage of surprise but it is finite. As we speak the forces of Zalenberg will be gathering. The militia will be arming. The guard will be awakening. You have caught the tiger of Zalenberg asleep sir, I will give you that. But is awakening. And it will be angry.”