Shadowless

by Randall McNally

  Trisidulous felt nervous. Working for a new client always put him on edge. His experiences over the last two hundred and fifty years had only reinforced his extremely cautious tendencies.

  Something doesn’t feel right, he told himself. But I still can’t quite put my finger on it.

  He put it down to the fact so many people were involved this time. If he was alone on a job, then no one else was accountable. When he was working as part of a crew, any one of them could do or say the wrong thing at any given moment.

  It was mid-afternoon when the cavalcade crested a hill and Trisidulous saw the castle for the first time. Its dull grey walls appeared polished by the rain and the bannerettes swayed limply in the wind, soaked right through. They slowly made their way down the path, passing the outlying farms.

  Trisidulous practised Lord Sengart’s voice, saying his lines aloud over and over again.

  ‘I have forgotten something. I must go and get it, and then I will be leaving again for the wedding.’

  He altered the shape of his larynx and changed the tone of his voice until he got it just right.

  They approached the drawbridge of the castle’s outer curtain and the iron gates creaked open. Rual shook the reins and they moved off. The coach drove across the moat, coming to a halt in the courtyard. The knights waited just inside the main gates.

  Trisidulous’s heart beat faster.

  A footman ran through the rain and pulled open one of the coach doors.

  ‘We were not expecting you back so soon, My Lord.’

  ‘I have forgotten something. I must go and get it and then I will be leaving again for the wedding.’

  To his own ears, at least, the voice was pitch-perfect.

  Stepping out of the coach, Trisidulous looked around. Recalling the map he had been supplied with, he tried to get his bearings. The footman stood to attention.

  The courtyard was a hive of activity, with the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer ringing out over the sound of the rain, the local farmers delivering food to the castle kitchens, and a guard unit on horseback readying itself to go out on patrol.

  Trisidulous’s concentration was broken by Rual jumping down from the top of the coach.

  ‘Perhaps we should get what we came for, My Lord? We do not want to be late for the wedding,’ Rual commented.

  Trisidulous walked off in what he hoped was the direction of the central keep, closely followed by Rual.

  The rain got even heavier as they crossed the courtyard. Trisidulous looked around, taking in everything, aware that an urgent escape route might be needed. A young boy made his way from the fletching station with a bundle of arrows, buckling under their weight. A maid carried four precariously balanced chamber-pots towards the moat.

  As he was watching, Trisidulous was knocked into from the side, causing him to momentarily lose his balance.

  ‘Sorry,’ a voice said.

  ‘Watch where you are going, fool, this is your lord,’ Rual barked.

  ‘Apologies, My Lord.’

  Trisidulous turned to see a black-robed figure disappear into a crowd of guards who were making their way towards the drawbridge.

  ‘Are you all right, My Lord?’ Rual asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Trisidulous snapped, staring into the crowd while slipping his hand into his pocket.

  There was a folded up-piece of parchment that had not been there before the stranger had nearly knocked him over. Trisidulous had been involved in enough sleight-of-hand deceptions and pick-pocket hustles to know when he was the recipient of one. The burning questions in his mind were simple. Who? Why? What?

  ‘Maybe we should get the item that you have forgotten and leave for the wedding?’ Rual said through clenched teeth.

  Trisidulous walked through the halls and corridors of Castle Sengart, closely followed by Rual, making it impossible for him to read the note.

  His mind preoccupied, Trisidulous took a wrong turn down a corridor and had to be corrected by Rual.

  ‘Focus,’ Rual hissed.

  He would just have to try and read it surreptitiously when they got to the treasure room.

  Navigating their way through the castle, the two followed the route that they had drawn out on the map a week ago, and walked up the spiral stairwell to the treasure room. Taking the key he’d stolen from Sengart from his pocket, Rual opened the door.

  The room was full of jewellery and ornate weaponry, all inset with gems and other precious stones. Bespoke armour and magical items lay on racks and hung on walls in a vigorous display of unbridled wealth. Trisidulous looked round the room taking as much in as possible.

  ‘Don’t just stand there; help me look for it,’ Rual said in a hushed tone.

  Trisidulous snapped out of his daze. ‘You look on this side of the room; I’ll look on the far side.’

  ‘Just hurry up and find it,’ Rual said.

  Trisidulous began to search, opening cabinets and treasure chests. He heard the clanging of metal items being thrown to the ground behind him and when he looked over his shoulder saw Rual frantically searching through a table covered in gold goblets and silver ornaments. Trisidulous put his hand into his pocket, withdrew the note and opened it.

  This is a trap! He is going to knock you out and use the Obsidian of Lûhn on you.

  The note had been written in ink in neat, precise handwriting. This was a genuine warning, he felt. A shiver ran down his spine.

  He didn’t have time to wonder about who or why. He folded the note and slipped it back into his pocket.

  Looking around, there was a full-length mirror with a gilded frame standing in the corner. He took a few steps forward and positioned himself so that he could see Rual’s reflection in it. Pretending to search for the obsidian, he turned his back on Rual, looking into the mirror out of the corner of his eye.

  He saw Rual open a small wooden box and snatch the item that lay within, inspecting it. It was a small sphere. Rual quickly stuffed it into his pocket and straightened his clothes. Then he looked over at Trisidulous and, satisfying himself that Trisidulous could not see him, produced a cosh from under his cloak. Trisidulous waited until Rual had crept up behind him. Then he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his punch-dagger.

  Rual raised the cosh high above his head.

  Trisidulous attacked. Spinning around, he sprang forward with the speed of a striking snake. Grasping Rual’s raised arm with one hand, he drove his punch-dagger into the man’s ribs.

  Rual screamed and dropped the cosh. Trisidulous stabbed him again, and when Rual fell to the ground, Trisidulous put the bloody blade against his throat.

  ‘Tell me why you’re doing this and I’ll make it quick,’ he rasped.

  ‘You’ll only kill me.’

  ‘You’re dead already.’

  He took his punch-dagger from Rual’s throat and put it against his stomach, just above the belt-buckle. He pushed it in slowly until he felt the skin pop.

  Rual screamed for mercy.

  ‘Tell me who set this up,’ Trisidulous said.

  ‘It was Kotoba,’ Rual said, sobbing.

  ‘Kotoba? Why?’

  ‘He thought if we could use the Obsidian of Lûhn to transfer my soul into your body then I could change shape, like you,’ Rual said, grimacing in pain. The blood was running from his wounds and his lips were turning blue.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We could keep all the money… that the Merchants’ Guild pays you…split it… between us,’ Rual said with some effort.

  Trisidulous took the punch-dagger out of Rual’s stomach and got to his feet.

  Rual reached out his hand. ‘Help me, please,’ he muttered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘I’m going to have you fed to Lord Sengart’s hounds.’
/>   ‘Soft-boiled, I said soft-boiled. How difficult is it to soft-boil an egg?’ Kotoba shouted.

  He picked up the plate and threw it at the young servant girl who had brought it, hitting her on the head.

  ‘Pick it up and get out. And bring me my eggs soft-boiled,’ he screamed.

  She dropped to her knees, scooping up pieces of egg and putting them onto the broken plate.

  Another servant girl, not much older than the first, knocked on the open door.

  ‘What?’ he shouted.

  ‘Rual is here,’ the girl said timidly, seeing first-hand what kind of mood her master was in.

  ‘Do not just stand there, let him in.’

  The girl stepped into the room and stood to one side. Rual appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Am I glad to see you? Get in here and shut that door,’ Kotoba said then pointed at the servant girls. ‘You two, get out.’

  The girls scuttled out, the younger picking egg from her hair.

  Rual closed the double doors.

  ‘Where have you been? I have not heard a thing from you or any of your men in the last ten days. What happened out there?’ Kotoba demanded.

  ‘I have good news and bad news,’ Rual said, as he languidly approached the table that Kotoba was sitting at.

  ‘What do you mean: good news and bad news?’

  Rual reached inside his cloak and produced a black sphere, the size of an apple. Thin lines of white rippled through it in a mottled, marble effect.

  ‘The good news is that I have the obsidian,’ he said, putting it down in front of Kotoba.

  Rual began to walk slowly around the table, inspecting the paintings that hung on Kotoba’s dining room walls.

  Kotoba looked at the obsidian longingly, turning his head and inspecting it from all angles. He moved his hand towards it and touched it.

  ‘It is so… Wait, what is the bad news?’

  ‘The bad news is that Glarr escaped.’

  ‘What? How the hell could you let this happen?’

  ‘Relax,’ Rual said. ‘My men are searching the area; it is only a matter of time before he is found.’

  ‘Only a matter of time? It has been ten days; the trail will have gone cold long ago. He is a shape-changer, you idiot. He could be anyone,’ Kotoba screamed.

  Kotoba felt something land on his shoulder. He turned his head to see a clawed hand.

  ‘Yes. You’re right.’ The voice was low and rasping. ‘He could be absolutely anyone.’

  Trisidulous sat looking at the flame. He watched it sway and dance around the top of the wick, trying to anticipate its movements. It began to flicker. He looked at the gap at the bottom of the door and waited for the shadow; none appeared. There was a knock on the door. Then it opened, and a stranger wearing a black cloak and a horsehair-plume helmet stood in the doorway. Trisidulous gasped.

  ‘You don’t have a shadow.’

  The figure in the black cloak strode forward. He took off his helmet and put it under his arm.

  ‘I am aware of that. May I sit down?’

  Trisidulous had heard rumours that there were others like him, but he had never actually met one of them. He stared in shock at the man in front of him. There was so much he wanted to ask, but his cautious nature prevented him.

  ‘Who are you?’ he hissed.

  ‘My name is Arpherius and, like you, I am one of the children of the gods. I have heard a lot about you, Trisidulous; it is good to finally meet you. I hear you are a man of many talents and I would like to hire you, if possible.’

  Trisidulous could tell from the shape that his cloak made around the shoulders that Arpherius was muscular. He proceeded with caution.

  ‘Who told you about me?’

  ‘Amrodan of Rith,’ Arpherius said.

  ‘I’ve never met an “Amrodan”,’ Trisidulous snapped, pushing his chair back and standing up. ‘We’re done here.’

  ‘He saved your life at Castle Sengart.’

  Arpherius had Trisidulous’s full attention. He had not stopped thinking about who had warned him of the trap Kotoba had set for him, or why they had done so.

  ‘The note,’ Trisidulous hissed, sitting back down.

  ‘Yes. He has known about you for a while now. He watches out for individuals like you and me. It was he who told me I could find you here. So, can you help me?’ Arpherius asked.

  ‘Before you speak any further there are things you should know about me,’ Trisidulous said.

  ‘What would that be?’

  ‘I’m expensive. Very expensive. And if I take the job, then I’m the one that’s in charge. If this is a set-up or a trap and I escape, I’m going to kill you and this “Amrodan of Rith”. Are we clear?’ Trisidulous snarled.

  ‘Fair enough, it seems rather strange that he would warn you about one trap just to deliver you into another. But no matter, I accept your conditions.’

  Arpherius pulled a large bag of coins from under his cloak and put it on the table.

  ‘You haven’t even heard my price yet,’ Trisidulous said, silently impressed by the size of the bag.

  ‘You have not heard what I want you to do yet,’ Arpherius retorted, with a smile.

  Trisidulous sat back and folded his arms. ‘What is it you need from me, Arpherius?’

  ‘I need you to get me a hollowed-out, glass ball, painted black, with small spikes on it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And I need a pint of fresh blood, with something to stop it clotting,’ Arpherius added.

  ‘Where in hell do you think I’m going to get…?’

  ‘Oh, and there is one more thing.’

  ‘Enlighten me, Arpherius,’ Trisidulous hissed.

  ‘I need you to get a message to Kurt Dorn in the fighting pits of Tarantum.’

  Chapter XV

  The Liberation of Yana Dorn

  Yana stood outside the study room of the palace. The two men guarding it parted, standing to either side of the entrance. A further two guards, who had escorted her there, stood behind her. She thumped the door loudly.

  ‘Come in,’ the voice said from within.

  Scowling at the guards Yana entered the room. A four-foot-tall man, with olive-coloured skin, dressed in silks and an oversized head wrap was sitting behind a writing desk. Roles of parchment were spread out in front of him.

  ‘Yana,’ Manarat said. ‘What a welcome surprise.’

  His voice was heavily accented and his hooked nose give his words a nasal twang.

  ‘Why do you insist on having your guards follow me everywhere I go?’ she demanded.

  Manarat put his quill down and sat back in his chair. The buttons on his silk shirt strained to contain the flesh on his lower torso.

  ‘Why, it is only for your protection. I would not want anything to happen to you or your precious visions, not with all the money they have made me.’

  Yana narrowed her eyes. She folded her arms and began shaking her head in disgust.

  ‘You know how much I treasure your little visits, but I am afraid that I am a little busy,’ Manarat said. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  ‘Yes, actually,’ Yana snapped. ‘I would like to see Kurt.’

  Manarat took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘I am afraid that will not be possible. You know the rules; you see him for five minutes after each fight.’

  ‘And what about my visions, including the one that led you to the abandoned spice shipment,’ she pointed out. ‘That made you over one thousand gold pieces.’

  ‘And those visions are the means by which you pay for your keep around here,’ Manarat said, wagging his finger at Yana.

  Yana glared at Manarat as he rose from his table and began walking around her. Standing two foot taller than him Yana saw just how large the head wrap on his hea
d was. She had never seen him without it and often wondered how much hair he had underneath, if any. He stopped to one side of her and began stroking her arm.

  ‘There is one other way you could see your brother,’ he said, with a smirk. ‘Accept my hand in marriage and as soon as we consummate our pairing I will let you go wherever you want, with or without my guards.’

  Yana snapped her arm away.

  ‘That will never happen,’ she snarled.

  ‘Then our negotiations are over,’ Manarat said, calling for her escort. ‘Take her away.’

  The knock came as Yana was preparing to take her morning bath. She put on a dressing gown and made her way across the stone-tiled floor to the door. She opened it to find Kirakan, one of Manarat’s servants, standing there. His head was bowed and he avoided eye contact. Behind him, two guards stood to attention holding their halberds. Before she could utter a word, the servant walked past her into the room, his head still down.

  Startled, Yana closed the door and followed him in.

  ‘Sorry, Kirakan, what exactly do you think you are doing? I was about to bathe.’

  Kirakan lifted his head. His irises changed from dark brown to bright red. He looked around and then stepped closer.

  ‘You are not Kirakan. Who are you?’ Yana asked, as she backed away.

  ‘Shut up and listen to what I have to say,’ he said in a low, rasping voice. ‘I need you to get a letter to your brother.’

  The servant’s voice was normally gentle and serene, this was nothing of the sort.

  Kirakan produced a piece of parchment from inside his sackcloth tunic. It was sealed with a red wax stamp.

  Yana was hesitant. It was apparent that the man in front of her was an imposter. But how?

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he hissed, narrowing his eyes.

  He walked into the next room and stood by the balcony.