Knight of Stars

by Tom Lloyd

  They wait a few moments, allowing the water mage to recover herself after such exertions. Faces appear constantly from around corners, vanishing as quickly as they come, while ripples of sound seem to spread out through the district. Only once do they see more than that, when a tall human mage in a billowing grey robe emerges to look at them. It stands still for a long moment. Finally, it runs a hand the colour of cured leather back through its hair then extends both hands towards them.

  If it notices the calm response of the warriors to its hostile movement, it makes no sign. Instead, the human bobs its upper body in a faintly repulsive, unnatural fashion and hurries away. Turran takes that as reason enough to move on – that their presence has been noticed by a figure of importance. The only logical conclusion would be to summon their chieftains. Until then the delegation needs somewhere appropriate to wait. Somewhere away from the terrible glare of the sun.

  They walk, slowly so as not to frighten the scampering humans and wearied by the weight of heat. The burden of that is enormous, even more than expected. Turran finds it almost overwhelming at times. Only the abundant water their mage can draw the filth from makes it bearable, but still it takes them a long while before they reach a market square. There a strange inverted building offers sanctuary, a peaked square roof supported by pillars and open on every side.

  The humans flee as soon as the delegation comes within sight. To an underground-dwelling race it feels absurd to have a roof with no walls, except they eagerly embrace the shade beneath. Passing between stalls where strange fruits and fish have been abandoned, they take position in the very centre where mats and crates have been piled.

  It takes only a moment to arrange the mats so they may all sit comfortably. As best they can, they divest themselves of their protective cloaks – letting the strange, uncomfortable movement of the air cool them. More faces appear around corners, one human even summons the courage to walk right out into the square.

  Long-haired and skin burned brown, it comes to within two paces of the shaded sanctuary, but seems reluctant to step out of the sun as though protected by its light. It makes some noises, hands flapping uselessly for all that they try to see some scraps of sense in its gestures. It is not a mage, they know this, and so it cannot be of any real importance.

  The warriors watch it carefully all the same. It has no magic but carries weapons of steel. There is no real threat unless more come, but it makes no effort to draw its weapons. After a long while it goes away again. The noise it makes with its mouth continues even after it has turned away, but they realise now that is how all humans are.

  Once it is gone, no more approach. Many peer at the delegation around corners, out of windows, but none address them. They are frightened and awed, this much is clear, but even the younglings keep clear.

  Under the shelter, surrounded by the sounds of waves and shrieking, winged creatures that have no fear of the Wisps as they feast on the abandoned fish, the delegation waits.

  Chapter 32

  When the message came, Toil had been pacing the courtyard like a leopard in a cage. Her meeting with the Waterdancer Guild had gone surprisingly well, albeit expensively. She wasn’t looking forward to the reaction of Su Dregir’s First Lord of the Treasury, but there hadn’t been much room to negotiate.

  For a while the argument between mages didn’t disturb the clatter of her thoughts, even when the shouting started. Only when her name was mentioned and Lynx yelled over did any of it filter through.

  She looked up to see the confrontation growing heated and hurried over. There was a mage in a grey robe, one of Tanimbor’s guild, arguing furiously with one of the Shard’s own. What they were saying was anyone’s guess, but Teshen was nearby and listening. She concentrated on his face in case it betrayed anything. When naked surprise appeared there, Toil was shocked. Alarm stirred in her gut as she went to Teshen’s side and pulled him aside.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I …’ The cold-nerved killer appeared to be lost for words until Toil gave an angry hiss. ‘It’s a message for you, from Tanimbor.’

  ‘That much I guessed. What’s got them so riled up?’

  ‘He ain’t won many friends these past few days,’ Teshen said. ‘The Shard wants him well clear of everything until we’re gone. They’re flexing authority, testing loyalties now he’s suddenly so much more powerful.’

  ‘What does he want with me? Not Lastani?’

  Teshen stared at her. ‘No, it’s you he wants. The mage says there’s some Wisps sitting in a Cliffbase market – just sitting there and waiting.’

  ‘What?’ Toil almost yelled. ‘Wisps? Here? They’ve just walked into a fucking human city?’

  ‘That’s what he says.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  He gave her a level look. ‘You’re telling that to someone who grew up here?’

  ‘That’s …’ Toil gave up. She was lost for words too. Chances were that she’d had more contact with Wisps than all but a handful of people alive, but how did Tanimbor know that?

  When she asked Teshen that, he shook his head. ‘That one says he’s sent a messenger to the Shard as well, a few other guilds too. He’s got no one who can speak to the Wisps, but he remembered you saying you were a relic hunter.’

  ‘So he figured I was worth trying,’ Toil finished. ‘Well he’s in luck – assuming the Shard actually lets me out of here.’

  ‘She will,’ Teshen said, half-distracted by the ongoing argument.

  ‘Sure of that?’

  ‘A fucking Wisp just appeared for the first time in Caldaire in … I dunno, centuries? For all the academics and experts the guilds can boast, I doubt any of ’em will have actually had a conversation with a Wisp.’ He nodded towards the pair of mages. ‘Want me to interrupt?’

  Centuries at least? Then the day after every tysarn roosting in the caverns goes batshit crazy, some Wisps appear. There’s no way this is going to be good news, Toil realised. ‘Yeah, get in there, Find me something useful to do.’

  With a combination of shouting louder than everyone else and looking every inch the dead-eyed killer he was, Teshen managed to attract their attention. The mages were startled enough to listen and that quickly turned to astonishment when Teshen informed them Toil could speak to Wisps. Realising the Shard still needed to approve anyone leaving the lodging house, Teshen sent the messenger on to give her that extra piece of news. After that came a frustratingly long delay, but at last the Shard herself appeared. She marched in ahead of a gaggle of rather dishevelled and frightened-looking academics, if anything even more angry than last time.

  ‘You can speak to them?’ the Shard demanded without preamble.

  Toil raised a small pot she’d retrieved from her pack. ‘They speak with hand gestures, their fingers glow in the dark and this stuff does pretty much the same job. I learned a few years back when a job went wrong and I got hurt. A forage party came across me and helped me out, I spend a couple of months with them in the end.’

  ‘How convenient for Tanimbor.’

  ‘That after dicking around with a Duegar artefact with the help of a relic hunter, some Wisps turned up?’ Toil shook her head. ‘Coincidence will always turn to conspiracy if that’s what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Perhaps so. Either way, I will be coming with you.’

  ‘Not scared it’s a convoluted trap?’ Toil said with a snort. ‘I mean, if you reckon the Splinter in your backside planned all this, it could be the best way to lure you on to his territory.’

  ‘My title protects me,’ the Shard said. The look on her face told Toil she had indeed considered the possibility. ‘In killing me he shows all mages in the city he cannot be trusted, that he is their enemy. And, after all, most of my trusted advisers are linked to your mages and his – they are too valuable to risk.’

  There’s a twisted logic to that, Toil was forced to admit privately. Gutsy too. She knows her enemy’s more powerful than she is personally, but she won’t let t
hat scare her.

  ‘Guess we should be off then. Teshen, Paranil, Lastani – you’re with me.’

  Just as they headed to the door, Toil saw a second newcomer, this one loitering in the shadows of the hallway. She’d clearly come in with the Shard but had held back, happy to make her own entrance once the Shard had said her piece. There were flashes of the flamboyant style preferred by Masts crews, but understated – coloured stitching rather than the cloth itself, weapon sheaths with intricate leather tooling but no silver decoration. Only the white sash around her waist stood out.

  ‘We meet again,’ Toil said as the woman came forward. ‘Sanshir, right?’

  ‘I’m surprised you remember,’ she replied. ‘You were all very drunk.’

  ‘I’m a woman who appreciates the value of making an impression.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Teshen interrupted, slightly awkwardly.

  ‘Cold waters, you have been away so long.’ Sanshir gave a small shake of the head. ‘I am the Champion Kaboto of the city.’

  ‘That make you the Shard’s bodyguard?’ Toil asked.

  ‘The city’s bodyguard,’ Sanshir clarified. ‘Caldaire has no army and the Court of the Kabats speaks with many voices. When there is a threat to the city, the crews need to work together, under one person.’

  ‘The Wisps aren’t a threat to the city, I’m certain of it.’

  ‘I am glad to hear this, but I will come anyway. Times are tense, what with the giant tysarn eating people on the streets. At some point, my kabat may ask me who is to blame. I would not wish to be in any doubt there.’

  The Shard held up a hand. ‘Right now, you both answer to me – understand? And I say there will be no more blame and violence until I am satisfied. These are the Mage Islands – we are in charge here.’

  The two women conceded without a further word. To Teshen’s obvious astonishment, Sanshir presented him with her arm as the Shard moved to lead the way. When he didn’t take it, the kaboto only gave a soft laugh and padded along after, leaving the Cards to catch up.

  Toil grinned. Men, they’re all fucking idiots really. She gave Teshen a patronising pat on the head and followed Sanshir.

  The journey was swift and unimpeded, taking little over half the time it had when Toil had gone to meet Tanimbor. The Shard had even brought a wind mage to speed their journey across the lagoon in a personal barge – a long, sleek craft painted from curling prow to stern in all the bright colours of her coat of office. It was hardly necessary, but Toil knew that if ever there was a day to flex the power of her position, this was it.

  On the journey, Toil noticed the red flags were out on the warning stations. She couldn’t see any tysarn in the water, but people were taking no chances. There were no fishing coracles out, nothing small enough that a hungry tysarn could overturn and all traffic on the lagoon was lessened. Only the guard boats around the spice islands seemed to be unaffected and the armed guards in them didn’t look at ease today.

  Guildmaster Tanimbor met them at the dock, to Toil’s surprise – compounded by the fact he was almost deferential in his manner. Guild rivalries and intrigue were one thing, but it was plain the appearance of these Wisps had rattled him. Clearly sleep-deprived and wearing rumpled clothes, he looked more like a scarecrow than power broker.

  At that thought, Toil looked up. She’d found herself avoiding it last time, but now there was no way she could. The huge pale cliffs loomed behind the district, pockmarked with ledges and caves far above the height where waves could have carved such things. She saw one or two large tysarn basking in the sun but still looking agitated. Others flew in high circles above the cliffs, some lay on the grassy scrub above and complained in deep resonant grunts.

  There was no violence, but still the beasts were stirred up and the need for sleep couldn’t dim that. Most would have fed last night – the death toll remained a guess but it was in the hundreds at least. She imagined they should be sated, but Toil noticed more movement and noise than last time. The dark maw of the canal tunnel looked empty at least; a huge black arch more than twice the height and width of any of the dozens of caves there.

  And underneath, Toil reminded herself, some whole damn Duegar complex taken over by tysarn, a breeding ground for them and impossibility for me. Who knows what’s lost to the tysarn down there, covered in millennia-worth of shit and guarded by ten thousand carnivorous little bastards – assuming you get past the giant ones first?

  ‘Guildmaster,’ the Shard acknowledged in a neutral tone as she stepped off the barge.

  Four of her mage-guards had hopped off as soon as it touched dry land, watching for threats, but Tanimbor had been careful to limit his own escort to one mage. There were two local militia types overseeing the dock more generally, thugs with cudgels in any other language. Both had scratches and bandaged wounds that spoke of their night’s activities.

  ‘Shard,’ Tanimbor said.

  ‘You requested my assistance?’ Toil enquired.

  His cheek twitched, but he made no comment other than to incline his head. ‘Wisps are beyond my expertise,’ Tanimbor admitted, ‘but I know they would not leave their caverns without good reason.’

  ‘And I’m guessing your district got ripped through last night,’ Toil said. ‘Which means you’re desperate and can’t handle any more bad news without help.’

  He inclined his head again. ‘That is so. The people of this district were hunted like deer. My mages did what they could, but tysarn are attracted to magic. We have barely begun to count how many are missing.’

  ‘We will assist you,’ the Shard said stiffly. ‘I will ensure the kabats help beyond their own borders. This is not a matter of districts.’

  Sanshir didn’t add anything beyond a small nod, but it seemed to satisfy the guildmaster.

  ‘I thank you. Now – our guests. Shall I lead the way?’

  The Shard nodded as the others disembarked. Toil had a good look around before they set off. Work had ceased on the dock as people stopped to watch, but the presence of people was a reassuring thing, even if many bore some sort of injury and half had grimy tear-streaks on their cheeks.

  Broken awnings and the faint stain of blood on stone showed people had likely died here, but for all the shock of last night, the citizens were indeed getting on with the daily activities of life. They kept close to the buildings, however, that much was obvious – children and adults alike glancing up at the sky from time to time. Just as they set off across the short dock, a gull appeared unexpectedly, swooping low over the buildings. The sight was enough to make most of them start. Fire and chunks of stone leaped into the hands of several mages before they realised it was just a bird.

  Despite that interruption, they made good time across the district. It was only a few minutes before Tanimbor pointed ahead, down the street to a deserted market square. Toil glanced at Teshen and saw the man also had his hand on his mage-pistol. She gave a nod of approval and put a friendly arm around Paranil’s shoulder, easing the bespectacled academic back. He glanced up at her and blinked, but realised what she was about a moment later.

  Mebbe the end times are upon us, Toil thought with a grim smile. It’s taken bloody years of working for me, but finally even Paranil’s become more than a wide-eyed innocent.

  Even before Jarrazir, Paranil had been on several hunts in Duegar ruins alongside Toil, all of which saw violence in one form or another. He’d been useless and bewildered the entire time, his survival bordering on miraculous despite Toil and Aben’s best efforts.

  Is it hanging around the Cards these past few months, she wondered, or a sign of how serious the danger is these days?

  She dismissed the thought and advanced with Teshen at her side. Toil gave the Shard just enough space to be gunned down before they came into the crossfire, but not enough to be impolite. When nothing happened, Toil upped her pace only to stop dead a few moments later. It was true. There, ahead of them, sheltering from the bright afternoon sunshine was a group
of five Wisps – sitting patiently on mats while raucous gulls feasted all around them.

  Toil was the first to get over her surprise, being most comfortable around the underground race. While the clan she’d spent time with lived over a thousand miles away, she knew they shared a common language and that was what her hosts had taught her.

  The nuances of even that clan’s language were beyond her, in some respects literally because she didn’t have enough joints in her fingers, but it was underpinned by a simpler version. That was what the clans used to speak to each other. Life underground was dangerous enough without considering every other Wisp anything but an ally.

  ‘Do you want me to go ahead?’ Toil asked, pulling her pot of white paste from one pocket.

  ‘I …’ The Shard hesitated. ‘Have they been drawing?’

  They all advanced another step and saw there were indeed slates on the floor before two of the Wisps, twine wrapped around the edges and chalk drawings made on the surface. The drawings were markedly different. One showed a Wisp offering a plate of food, a traditional greeting, alongside glyphs of greeting, but the other showed something monstrous and came with a warning.

  ‘They didn’t expect anyone to be able to talk to them,’ Toil suggested. ‘They’re skilled artists though, and I’m guessing one of your academics can read a bit?’

  By way of reply the Shard turned to one of her companions, a tall greying man with a prominent forehead and wire-rimmed spectacles. He wasn’t a local, judging from his pale skin. More likely the Greensea, which meant it was a good thing Lynx hadn’t tagged along.

  ‘Ah, well – yes,’ the man said. ‘Of course, the pictures help.’

  ‘A greeting and a warning,’ Toil said. ‘I don’t recognise the picture on the second slate, but I don’t much fancy meeting one.’

  ‘How well can you read their language, Gre Feir?’