Knight of Stars

by Tom Lloyd

  Before he could do anything more Lynx saw a hooked spear-like weapon coming at him. He scrambled back and had his mage-pistol out before they could make up the ground, whereupon the women who’d spoken barked a word at the spearman.

  ‘No gun,’ she said loudly. ‘No fight.’

  ‘You laid hands on me first,’ Lynx growled. From the look on her face he could tell she hadn’t understood. With a jolt, Lynx realised he’d replied in Hanese. He repeated the words in Parthish, a far more widely spoken language, and she nodded, spreading her empty hands in a placating gesture.

  The man with the hooked spear looked less friendly, but it only took a hiss from the woman to make him back off. Behind them, the Auferno heavies were sauntering forward, apparently happy to leave them to it but wanting to be seen by Lynx at least.

  ‘Stupid to ignore a Mastrunner,’ the woman replied. ‘Dangerous too.’

  ‘Dangerous to put your hands on me,’ Lynx said, lowering his weapon but not sheathing it. ‘Dangerous to stand so close together too.’

  Her lips tightened at that. Mastrunners didn’t use mage-guns, likely she’d rarely seen one fired in anger even, but the reputation of sparkers and burners reached further than their use.

  ‘You are not welcome in Caldaire. You should all leave.’

  ‘Is that the message you were sent to give me?’

  She cocked her head to one side. Grey eyes and sandy hair, just like Teshen, but lean compared to the Knight of Stars. ‘Listen well. Kabats do not warn people twice.’

  ‘Threats already? You people really are spooked.’

  ‘You’ve made the wrong sort of friend.’

  Lynx frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘The Splinter is a troublemaker. If you do business with him, the kabats see you the same as him.’

  ‘Who in the deepest black is the Splinter?’

  She made a dismissive gesture. ‘Tell your commander – if there is trouble, we cut the nephew’s throat and your company is marked for death.’

  Lynx just stared at her. ‘Whose fucking nephew? What’s going on?’

  ‘If you do not understand, you have no reason to stay in Caldaire. If you have a second job here, you will end up food for the crabs. Do not be unlucky and stupid at same time.’

  ‘That last bit sounds like us,’ Lynx said, more to himself than her, ‘but we’ve got no other job. Our business is, ah, learning – no guns required.’

  She took a step forward. ‘The Splinter has nothing to teach, but your mages and the exile visited him today. Do you think this will not be noticed? Every boat-captain works for us, every servant, every merchant.’

  ‘That’s what you’re worried about? Tanimwhatever-the-fuck his name is?’

  ‘That,’ she snapped, ‘is what will get you killed. Arrange passage to leave while you still can.’

  Not waiting to hear his response, the woman and her crew returned to the shade of the trees. Lynx watched them go with a growing sense of unease. He didn’t know what bargain Toil had made with Tanimbor, but it was clear the powers-that-be didn’t like it.

  He stood there until their scowls turned his way again. By that point Lynx didn’t much fancy going shopping for a new hat, but scurrying straight back home wasn’t so attractive either. He resumed his errand with a new sense of haste, buying the first one he found that would keep the sun off and not bothering to haggle on the price.

  With that and a pouch of tobacco in his hand, Lynx returned to report back to Toil and wait out the afternoon heat. When he did reach the lodging house, he noticed a second Vi No Le crew on the northern edge of the square and, inside, several other residents were leaving with their bags packed. As the Cards retreated into drink and desultory games of Tashot to distract them from the heat, Lynx set about explaining what he’d been told.

  Toil sat in the courtyard of the lodging house and scowled at the world in general. The coverings had been hauled into place above. The heat was still sapping, but without them it would become like an oven there. Even with the high coverings, heat reflected off the pale stone down into the courtyard, but Toil wanted to be alone as she thought and Lynx had retired to their room.

  ‘Regretting taking the quick and easy job?’ said a man behind her. She turned as Teshen walked up and deposited himself in a chair nearby. Like most of the male Cards he’d stripped down and was now bare-chested and barefoot. It was a bit late to hide his tattoos now.

  ‘I’m regretting getting here too fast to gather information properly,’ she said. ‘Gods, give me a cool, dark Duegar ruin any day,’ she added, mopping the sweat from her face.

  Teshen grinned. He was sweating too, but seemed no worse for the sudden blaze of summer. ‘Helps if you’re born to it I guess. O’ course, the way it’s taken a sudden turn like this means there’s a storm building,’ he said. ‘’Cos what we need right now is people getting scratchy and troublesome, eh?’

  ‘We’re lovely,’ Toil said dismissively. ‘How could anyone possibly get upset with us?’

  Teshen took a deep breath then sagged. ‘Nope, it’s too hot for the full list, I don’t have the energy.’

  Before Toil could do anything more a clatter echoed around the enclosed space. With her thoughts on dark and ancient places, the strange scrape on stone was enough to get her on her feet in the next instant. Teshen was up a moment later, both of them with guns drawn.

  She scanned around, heart hammering hard until reason kicked in and she knew there were no black-grey claws reaching from the shadows. A flash of movement caught her eye, however, and Toil turned to see something shatter against the stone wall of one block. The force of the throw cast a dark stain over the wall, red like blood but too thin.

  ‘Someone throwing wine at us?’

  Teshen wrinkled his nose and sheathed his mage-pistol. ‘Best way to defeat the Cards I’d say,’ he said, voice thick with contempt. ‘But no, they ain’t. This is an insult. Breath it in.’

  ‘Huh?’

  Toil did so and the listless breeze finally brought the scent to her nose, the sharp stink of urine briefly overlaying everything else. A third bottle was thrown to break against the wall, again leaving another reddish stain and foul smell.

  ‘This the usual Caldaire welcome?’

  ‘Yup. Piss, wine and sloth-blood. Leaves a mess and the smell lingers.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s an insult. You wait, our host’ll be out sharpish to tell us it’s time to go.’

  Toil looked around at the lodging house. Four squat, stone-built towers rose from a circular compound where a large block of private rooms adjoined the entrance and a narrow rear gate was set into the wall on the far side. A walkway ran around above the rooms that lined the wall, connecting the towers where small, cell-like bedchambers with slit windows overlooked the surrounding streets.

  ‘Does he really think we’d leave a defensible position like this? When he comes, tell him to fuck himself then say I’ll pay the next week in advance. Just to keep us all legal and polite.’

  The Knight of Stars laughed. ‘Yeah, that’ll make up for the kabat’s people tearing into his home and livelihood.’

  ‘Best I can offer. Unless you think we can’t defend this place?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s why I picked it. They can come in still, the game of Masts started out as practice for boarding ships so don’t think these walls will stop ’em. But we’re a well-armed merc company. They won’t be keen to take the necessary losses.’

  As predicted the proprietor of the establishment, one Elisher Jathan, appeared a few moments later. He was a potbellied man with tanned skin and a moustache that had spread down to his jawline. Thinning hair was scraped across his head and a poorly restrained scowl was on his face. He’d clearly been in bed – a lightweight kaftan billowed around him as he hurried forward, revealing more of an outline than Toil might have preferred.

  ‘Mistress Toil,’ Jathan called. ‘They call for you.’

  Toil
blinked. She’d been expecting anger, outrage or perhaps even smugness. Anyone who served drinks to the Cards for any period of time was probably allowed a certain satisfaction at the prospect of seeing them in trouble, but Jathan was all business. Either he’d expected this or it wasn’t so unusual for the kabats to run strangers out of the city.

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘Eyver of Auferno.’

  She glanced at Teshen.

  ‘It just means a Mastrunner crew leader, lieutenant to the kaboto,’ he said. ‘Not a name.’

  ‘Oh. Shall we, then?’

  Teshen inclined his head to agree and they headed through the dim stone hallway to the street beyond. A few faces appeared at the doorways above them, Safir and Estal leading the chorus of swearing at the stink of urine that had interrupted their afternoon’s repose. The few other customers of the lodging house only poked their heads out – recognising whatever it was as trouble and swiftly ducking back inside again.

  Probably sensible, Toil thought as she stepped into the entrance hall. It is hot out here after all.

  The air was thick with the smell of smoke and spices drifting through the doorway to the right. It was dim and hard to make out after the glare of outside, but Toil could just see Mistress Jathan and her sister, or lover or some other part of their family unit, hard at work in the large kitchen.

  They worked alongside two scowling old ladies who seemed to bear no obvious love for any adult, though presumably they were mother to at least one. It was hard to tell in Caldaire, with marriage considered a silly northern tradition and the bonds of family a more complicated knot. Around them scampered small children, a few of the six or seven little devils who haunted those rooms beyond the kitchen.

  The main door stood open, propped by a large stone pot filled with some colourful plants that could be used to barricade it if necessary. Through that Toil saw a small crowd in the shade of the trees beyond, all wearing green to a varying degree with a middle-aged black woman at the fore. They were indeed Auferno Mastrunners, not Teshen’s former comrades. Even with the absence of a past grudge, Toil felt a moment of disquiet.

  ‘You know any of them?’ she asked as they entered the brutal glare of the sun beyond. Waves of heat assailed them from the stone street. She could feel it through the soles of her moccasins and clawing at the skin of her face even as the weight of the high sun bore down on her head.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Good. That is good, right?’

  Teshen didn’t answer and before Toil could ask any more they had reached the small spray of trees. A broad canopy had been strung from the trees to shade a now-abandoned rug of street-hawker’s wares. The locals had occupied almost all the space, but Toil chose to stand aggressively close to the woman leading them rather than stay in the sun.

  ‘You chucked a calling card?’ Toil asked, almost nose to nose with the eyver, as she’d been called. They were well matched in height and build, the crew leader maybe a few years older but far from gone to seed. ‘I’d return the compliment, but I’m a little parched right now.’

  ‘Kaboto Ube sends me with a message. He gifts you one night in Auferno – no more,’ the woman replied baldly. ‘You go tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You are trouble. Trouble is not welcome here.’

  ‘Our job’s done,’ Toil said. ‘There’s no more mischief in our plans, just a quiet week while our associates do some light studying.’

  She shook her head, all businesslike for the time being but Toil could see threats and drawn blades weren’t far away. ‘One more night. By high sun tomorrow your time will run out.’

  ‘All ’cos of Guildmaster Tanimbor?’

  The woman inclined her head. ‘The Splinter is a bad friend to make unless you mean trouble.’ She cast a sharp look at Teshen. ‘Exiles are trouble, the Splinter is trouble. You will leave Auferno tomorrow.’

  ‘And if we don’t? Our mages have business with the Shard.’

  ‘Perhaps no longer,’ she replied, ‘but mages stand apart in these islands. Your company does not.’

  At a twitch of her fingers, two of the Mastrunners behind her raised crossbows. Both aimed their weapons at Teshen. The Knight of Stars didn’t move, but Toil could sense the tension in him like a coiled spring.

  ‘We know who you are. Kaboto Ube says Sanshir would be unhappy if you were to die by any other’s hand, but he would not. Step out of line and he will worry about apologies later.’

  ‘Ube?’ Teshen said. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘He knows you. He knows your deeds.’

  ‘So do lots of people.’

  ‘Lots of people would like to kill you.’

  Before Teshen could reply there was the crack of an icer from somewhere behind them, echoing out from the lodging house. Toil and Teshen spun sharply around and the next thing she knew there was a click and flash of movement.

  Teshen gasped and Toil glimpsed a red streak as a crossbow bolt tore between them. There wasn’t even time to speak before the Knight of Stars had his mage-pistol out and Toil had enough experience with treachery to be following on instinct. His shot blew the head of the other crossbowman open, a pink cloud of chill air that vanished immediately in the warm air.

  Toil’s shot took the eyver in the chest and punched her backwards. There was a shout from her remaining crew as shock turned to anger. The nearest woman flicked up her stave, ready to swing, but Toil closed the gap and swiped the empty pistol across her face. A second blow put that one down while Teshen hurled himself at a pair of bronzed, tattooed youths. Years of training gave him the first strike and Teshen had never been an honourable fighter. He grabbed the wild hair of one and headbutted him, using that grip for balance as he kicked the other in the balls.

  That won him enough time to stamp on the side of the first youth’s knee and throw him in the path of the last Mastrunner, a great lump of a man not far shy of Reft’s size. He was slower than Reft, though. The tumbling youth didn’t slow him down, but Teshen dodged back from the swing of his hatchet and Toil had plenty of space to stab him in the back. It didn’t put the man down, to her disappointment, just seemed to enrage him, but by then Teshen had his long knives out and went to work with swift, savage efficiency.

  Toil bent and slammed the pommel of her knife into the head of the trampled youth, thinking he deserved at least half a chance of living. He flopped limp while Teshen wasn’t so generous to his wheezing comrade and put a blade in his heart.

  They both took a breath and looked at each other.

  ‘Could always have been Himbel,’ Teshen said with a bleak laugh. ‘Often tries to shoot Deern a few hours into a hangover.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be a bloody stupid way to start a war,’ Toil muttered as she started back across the exposed ground. ‘Not even we have luck that bad.’

  ‘Bet you a silver isle?’ Teshen called after her. Toil didn’t respond.

  Chapter 25

  Lynx burst from his room – shirtless, barefoot, but mage-gun ready. Shouts and crashes came from all around, but it took him a moment to spot the source of the gunshot. His room was on the first floor, leading out on to the walkway that ran all around the compound.

  Looking over the edge he saw a body on the floor at the southern end, arms and legs splayed. A shockingly bright stream of blood ran in a widening path from the top of the dead man’s head, looking for all the world like a neat trail of red hair. He felt a jolt at the sight. An image of Toil lying dead in some anonymous street came all too readily to mind.

  Lynx wasn’t a man who thought much of the future. It was foolish to look too far ahead when the past dogged your every step and the present was difficult enough. But still, it took a better man than him to banish all such thoughts forever. Bloody, ignominious death was a risk to every mercenary, but Toil danced above greater dangers still and no one’s luck runs forever.

  ‘What happened?’ he shouted, trying to focus on the present.

  Varain squinted up
at him. Shirtless too, the toll of hard years showed on his body; drink and battle scarring his thick frame.

  ‘Fucker came out o’ nowhere,’ he complained as he reloaded. ‘Just dropped down in front o’ us and planted one on Aben.’

  Lynx looked a little further out. There was Aben, touching his fingers to his lips and looking down at the body.

  ‘He kissed Aben?’

  ‘Kicked me in the face!’ Aben said, faintly outraged. He was a big man, hard to put down even with a foot, but clearly it had staggered him. ‘Came over the wall there.’

  He gestured to the rear wall, twelve feet in height but Lynx could see a small grapple caught on the top edge.

  ‘Don’t know about the other shots,’ Varain continued. ‘Probably not good news though.’

  ‘Others?’

  Varain waved a hand towards the far side of the lodging house. ‘Outside. Couple more icers.’

  Lynx began to walk a circuit of the walkway, checking what he could see of the ground outside. The combination of broad towers and tight-packed, high buildings meant there was little enough out there and no obvious threat. He glanced down at the dead man. An Auferno Mastrunner by the green bands he wore on his biceps and thighs, young too.

  Probably just some dumbshit trying to make a name for himself. Instead he lost face – or at least half of it.

  The sound of running footsteps made him swivel and aim his gun down, but it turned out to be Toil and Teshen racing inside, shouting as they came.

  ‘Muster!’ Toil roared. ‘To arms!’

  Fuck.

  Lynx kept moving, hammering the butt of his gun on doors as he passed, but half the company were already up and out. More than a few were entirely naked, but they were all armed which was the important thing.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Anatin yelled, fumbling to sling his gunbelt on to one shoulder. ‘Who’s dead?’

  ‘Some local shitbird,’ Varain replied. ‘Jumped the wall and went for us.’

  ‘Fuck ’im then.’