Black Guild

by J. P. Ashman

  On the raising of Jevratt’s third finger, all hell broke loose. People jumped atop each other. Others fell to their knees. Some ran, just ran, from here to there and back, their faces lit with glee.

  Cheung turned to Collett, who was pulling on her pipe and taking coins from people, one eye on her son.

  Cheung looked to Jevratt, who pulled a torn hand from the hole. His biceps worked to lift the three large rats he held aloft. Their heads lolled, wobbling as he shook his catch for all to see.

  The cheering was the loudest yet and Cheung couldn’t help but join in.

  Jumping along with everyone else, whilst hands patted backs and losing gamblers forgot their woes, Cheung’s breath caught in his throat as Jevratt bit the tails from each rat in turn, throwing the bodies to the crowd and passing the tokens to his mother. He turned, eyed Cheung and tugged on the bunch of rat tails woven into his hair with his damaged hand.

  ‘The most I ever done kill in one bout!’ he shouted to Cheung.

  Cheung couldn’t help but laugh at that, and offered the man a low bow of congratulations. As he rose, Jevratt was there, grabbing him and hoisting him atop a dais of upturned hands.

  ‘This is me luck bringer,’ Jevratt shouted. ‘Me luck bringer and me friend!’

  The crowd’s chant turned from one name to another, and Cheung rode the human platform across the amphitheatre to the chant of ‘Priest’, his friend raised and riding at his back.

  ***

  As the blade scraped across his scalp, removing all traces of stubble, Souch Sader thought about what he had seen in the Caravaneer’s amphitheatre the night before; the priest who he’d previously thought nothing of. And he thought, with frustration, of the magic he’d been forced to release whilst protecting the hard-pressed caravan from the adlet raiders.

  I revealed myself to him, as he revealed himself to me, Souch thought, as the boy finished his job and rubbed a balm into the sorcerer’s scalp and face.

  ‘All good, me man?’ the boy asked, throwing the cloth down onto the shelf beside him. He reached for a square of polished brass and moved it swiftly about the back of Souch’s head, before returning it to its place.

  I wouldn’t know if it weren’t, after that. ‘Yes, a steady hand indeed.’

  The boy’s usual frown turned into a wide grin as Souch handed over two Altolnan farthings. The boy winked his thanks and popped the coins into a pouch, before calling for his next client.

  Brushing himself down, Souch climbed from the simple wooden chair and out through the small door, pulling up his hood and stepping down from the grounded vardo. Another traveller, the hedge knight known as Sir Xand, nodded as he entered the vardo.

  Definitely not an assassin, Souch thought, heading off towards Couig’s camp at the centre of the caravan’s giant eye. He’s far too… The sorcerer pursed his lips for the right explanation as he walked amongst the grazing beasts of burden. Full of hubris, he thought, smiling at the conclusion. No, that one has something else to hide for sure, but it’s likely debts, or a casual murder – if there is such a thing.

  Oxen shifted from Souch’s path as he strode across the grassland. One of the beast’s groaned as it was forced to move and Souch couldn’t help but smile at the complaints of the large animal. If you’d stayed still, it would have been me doing the moving around you.

  Souch stopped, turning back to look at the circle of wheel-less vardos he’d come from. He wasn’t sure why it dawned on him, but he realised that Xand had no need of a shave. He was as clean-shaved as Souch was now, and Xand’s hair was already cropped.

  So why is he visiting…?

  Souch scattered oxen, camels and ponies alike as he charged back across Grounding, heading for the vardo he’d left. His heart pounded and his mind struggled to focus on what he might need once there. The opening of the vardo’s door was out of sight, but as he approached, he could see the edge of the open door, moving in the breeze.

  Reaching the vardo and rounding on the opening, static-filled robes crackling, Souch prepared himself for a fight and looked inside.

  A barely visible flickering of light scattered across the grass around Souch’s feet and knees as he slouched to the ground. The boy was lying on the floor, level with Souch’s chest, his throat open and his bloodied razor resting on the wood next to him.

  Souch’s breaths came quickly. He stared at the scene, at the cut thong of leather on the boy’s belt that’d held his coin pouch, at the mess of his neck; at the opening to Grounding itself.

  Grinding his teeth, Souch climbed to his feet and stepped up into the vardo. The stone steps that descended next to the lad had a drop or two of blood on them.

  The bastard knight went down.

  Hurrying, Souch moved down the steps, static once more building about him. He hummed ever so quietly, causing the nearest animals to keen, groan and whinny.

  Torches lit the bottom steps and the open door. Moving through, Souch listened for sounds of movement.

  Nothing.

  He entered, taking in the calm scene about him. Furs lined the floor and walls of the small space. Another door, bright green, was ajar to the right so he made for that.

  A rustle and curses from beyond.

  The humming emanating from Souch’s mouth increased and the curses stopped. Preparing himself, Souch spread his hands and gritted his teeth; they tingled as the humming persisted, increased, built to a crescendo, and when the door before him opened, Souch released the vibrations he felt within and opened a small portal in his mouth.

  Xand rushed out, rondel dagger in hand. He hesitated as he realised who confronted him, yet he thrust his dagger forward nonetheless.

  It did no good.

  Souch threw out what felt like a painful belch that grated his throat and churned his stomach. That belch-like action projected the effects of the tiny portal, unleashing a concentrated burst of stale air that punched Sir Xand from his feet.

  Static energy flickered and illuminated the walls of the chamber as Souch took another breath, but before he could replicate what he’d unleashed, the experienced knight kicked the door between them shut.

  The action caused Souch to swallow and he doubled over from the agonising spasms that followed. He’d luckily failed to keep the tiny portal open, but the build-up of pressure and power he’d created within was enough to drop him to the floor, and within heartbeats he fell unconscious.

  Chapter 8 - Accusations

  Souch felt soft grass beneath him and tight bindings on his wrists and ankles before he opened his eyes. It was light, he knew that much, for it illuminated his eyelids. His stomach knotted and twisted from the aftermath of what he’d intended to unleash on the hedge knight.

  Sir Xand!

  Opening his eyes, Souch cursed, the sun momentarily blinding him. He closed them again, turned his head and re-opened them to look at the scene coming into focus: dozens of booted and bare feet.

  ‘The killing shite’s awake!’ a woman shouted, followed by several curses and accusations.

  Killer? Souch tried to pull at his bindings but they held his arms and legs firmly to the soft ground. An awful smell struck him and along with the dampness to his back, he realised he was lying amongst dung.

  A familiar face came into view as the caravan master crouched beside Souch.

  ‘Master Couig,’ Souch said, with relief. But when he looked upon Couig’s face, his relief left him. ‘There’s been some mistake,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, is that so, mage? Is that so?’ Couig shook his head. ‘Because ye see, to us lot here,’ he waved his arm about, encompassing the gathering, ‘it seems pretty clear.

  ‘Ye killed a boy!’ Couig shouted. ‘Me friend’s son!’

  ‘My boy!’ a woman screamed. She was held back by a stern-faced brute of a man, who glared at the sorcerer tethered to the ground.

  Souch shook his head in disbelief. ‘No,’ he said, taking in the parents. Gods but his heart thumped, gut churned, bladder swelled. ‘No. It wasn’
t me, I swear it.’

  ‘Ye just happened down there, did ye?’ the boy’s father said. He was surprisingly calm, but his wife was straining to get at their son’s presumed murderer.

  ‘I chased the killer—’

  ‘Bollocks!’ someone shouted from another side, and Souch realised he was the centre of a large circle of people.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Souch pleaded, eyes back on Couig. Believe me!

  ‘There was no one else down there. And you’d been seen going in stubbled; now you’re not.’

  ‘Well, of course I’m not. He shaved my head and I left.’

  ‘Down, not out?’ someone asked, off to the side.

  ‘No, out,’ Souch said, exasperated. ‘I left and… Sir Xand!’ He couldn’t believe he hadn’t said it straight away. ‘It was him!’

  ‘The hedge knight?’ Couig asked, unconvinced.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Liar!’ the dead boy’s mother shouted, tears streaking her face.

  ‘I’m not lying, you have to believe me. Master Couig, you must believe me.’

  ‘I mustn’t anything.’ Couig shook his head. ‘It’s you who must give proof of your accusation against Sir Xand.’

  ‘How am I to do that?’ Souch dropped his head back to the grass. ‘Sir Xand went in after me,’ he said, speaking to the sky, ‘and needed no shaving from what I saw. But I walked away, not thinking anything of it until—’

  ‘When?’ the father asked. ‘Until you made this rot up?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘He’s talking shite,’ a girl said and Souch turned his head to take her in. She was pretty, but young. ‘Xand wouldn’t do that to anyone.’

  Xand? ‘He’s a knight, girl,’ Souch said. ‘He’s trained to kill.’

  ‘Shut yer pissin’ mouth, mage,’ she said, stepping forward, fists clenched. Souch saw him, stood behind the girl, brazen as a bull.

  Souch struggled against his bindings, eyes locked on Xand. ‘He’s right there!’ he shouted. ‘Take him, take him and let me go. Gods above.’ All the thrashing in the world wouldn’t have loosened the ropes or stakes, and Souch knew it. He did see the look in Couig’s eyes though; the old man turned to Sir Xand, questions clear on his face. His eyebrows raised and he lifted his chin to the man.

  ‘Take him.’

  ‘No!’ the girl shouted, widening her stance and raising her small fists.

  Two men moved to take the knight, but they stopped before the girl.

  ‘What’re ye for?’ Belcher said to the girl, eyes not leaving Sir Xand’s, who’d rested one hand on his sword.

  ‘He’s with me, ye fat shit.’

  Belcher swung for the girl, but she ducked his fist and slammed her own into his gut in rapid succession. Belcher grunted but took the hits, grabbing her by the hair and swinging her round and to the floor.

  ‘Ye’ll stay down, ye little bitch,’ he said, reaching for Xand, Legg approaching the knight from the other side.

  ‘Disarm, Sir Xand,’ Couig said, standing. ‘There’s no evidence against ye but this man’s word, so if ye’ve nowt to hide, ye’ll leave that sword be and come quietly.’

  ‘Come quietly for what purpose? So that magic man can slander me? So you can bind me to the ground? I’ve done nothing wrong—’

  ‘You killed that boy!’ Souch shouted.

  ‘I did no such thing.’

  ‘Maybe not…’ Several people moved out of the way as Jevratt walked into the ring. ‘…but ye bedded that girl, didn’t ye?’

  Xand couldn’t help the smirk that played across his mouth. ‘What if I did?’ he said, winking at the girl, who smiled up at him from the floor.

  ‘Because,’ Jevratt said, a sickening calm falling across him, ‘she’s my wife’s kid sister. She’s family.’

  Xand swallowed hard. He gripped the hilt of his sword all the more, hubris forgotten.

  Souch felt a spark of hope. ‘He’s—’

  ‘Close that mouth, mage,’ Jevratt said, pointing a battered hand towards him. ‘I’m not talking about the murder, we’ve yet to decide on that.’ Jevratt looked back to Sir Xand as Souch closed his mouth. ‘I’m talking about this cocky bastard taking one of me own into his bed.’

  ‘It were my choi—’

  The girl stopped as Belcher dropped towards her. He didn’t strike her, but could have and she knew it.

  ‘We can sort this here and now,’ Jevratt said, again with an air of calm that was terrifying. ‘In a dirt circle. I’ll give ye that chance, Sir Xand. I know ye to be a fighting man, ain’t that right? So I’ll give ye this one chance. Ye beat me, fair and square, and the girl’s yours, ye can marry her today. Na-ha!’ Jevratt held up one of his bone-crested hands, stopping Xand’s protest. ‘Ye wanted her, ye fight for her. Ye wanted her, ye marry her. And then it’ll be accepted and ye’ll be part of the family. Agreed?’

  Xand looked furious. His chest was rising and falling, visible as it was without his coat-of-plates, or any other armour, for that matter. His hand wrung his sword hilt all the more, but with scores of angry Caravaneers eyeing him up, he nodded his agreement.

  They take more offence to this than the boy’s bloody murder, Souch thought, incredulous. ‘And his murdering of your boy?’ he dared, to the parents whose eyes hadn’t left him.

  The woman broke free of her husband and rushed forward, murder in her own eyes. She was tackled to the floor by Legg, but not before she launched a gobbet of spit that landed on Souch’s closing eye.

  ‘Bastard!’ she screamed, falling into heavy sobs. Her husband came to her and pulled her to her feet, doing the same for Legg.

  ‘Proof,’ the man said to Souch. ‘Where’s your proof?’

  Souch opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shook his head and looked on in horror as all turned away from him. Several men dragged their feet to make a fighting ring off to one side and Xand was undoing his arming belt and handing it and his sword to his potential wife. He looked far from pleased, but when he caught Souch’s defeated eyes, he managed a smile and a wink before turning away.

  As the proof Souch had so desperately needed struck him, rough hands pulled his head around and forced a linen gag into his mouth. Souch threw everything he had into screaming at the two men who were securing the gag in place. He needed them to know that Xand had a line of blood below his ear, caused by the dead boy’s bloody razor. But when one of the men dropped his elbow into Souch’s stomach and laughed, it was all Souch could do not to throw up from the impact, and the magic churning in his gut, for that would have choked him to death on the grasslands of Grounding.

  I cannot die… he thought, albeit hopelessly. My mission is too important. Master Strickland forgive me, I may have discovered the assassin, but my interfering has once again landed me in trouble and, this time, more trouble than I can handle.

  The circle of grass was flat in many places, the two men circling each other as they’d done for some time. Jevratt sported far more bruises and cuts than Sir Xand, but the knight hadn’t gone unscathed; a split lip, possible broken eye socket and several bruised ribs and knuckles, and a deep cut below his ear.

  Xand’s potential wife looked at those wounds and her face lit up. ‘See how he fights for me?’ she said, to anyone who’d listen. But none did, too engrossed as they were in the ongoing bout before them.

  Xand took a deep breath, rolled his head on his weary shoulders and moved forward, hands relaxed.

  Jevratt allowed Xand to come in at his waist, knowing he was trying to lock him in close where Jevratt’s punches wouldn’t be as dangerous. Jevratt also knew, from experience, how deadly knights were at close quarters. He’d once seen a knight wrestle another off a moving horse with nothing but his bare hands, only to dispatch the rider with the rider’s own dagger.

  Xand cursed as Jevratt deftly sidestepped the attempted tackle, but the knight was prepared and managed to throw himself at the tattooed brawler again. This time he connected.

  Jevratt cursed as Xand wrappe
d his powerful arms about his knees and brought him down. Jevratt thought he’d have gone for his waist, but Xand wanted Jevratt grounded, and tackling a man’s knees from the side would certainly do that. Jevratt hit the ground and attempted to roll, but Xand held on, thwarting the attempted retreat. Thrashing, Jevratt attempted to shake the man off, but Xand’s grip was solid and his head tucked in, preventing any potential connections with Jevratt’s jerking knees.

  Xand, whilst hugging Jevratt’s thrashing legs, bit down into the soft flesh of Jevratt’s thigh. Jevratt screamed.

  A roar of anger erupted around the circle of men and women as they saw Xand’s move, but it was followed by much mirth as he came away with missing teeth. Jevratt had sat up in a sudden rage and managed to throw one of his bone-bare knuckles into the knight’s mouth whilst Xand pulled away from the bite. It was all Jevratt needed to shake Xand free.

  Pushing himself to a crouch, Jevratt glanced at the bloodied braes he wore, and pulled back his right fist for what he knew would be a finishing blow.

  A horn sounded from the east. Jevratt hesitated before falling backwards as people scattered and Xand lashed out. Wasting no time, Jevratt rolled away from the attack, stood, turned and casually knocked Xand out in one.

  ‘Fun’s over!’ he shouted to the stragglers stood watching. ‘To your camps! To arms, ye feckers!’

  The remaining men and women fled, curses on their lips, followed by warning shouts to everyone and anyone they passed.

  ‘Adlets?’ Couig shouted to Jevratt, a frown creasing the old man’s face.

  Jevratt rolled his painful right arm and stared off to the east as another horn sounded. ‘Surely not this side of the river?’ he said, a bloody frown creasing his forehead.

  ‘It’s rare, lad, but not impossible.’ Couig moved to Jevratt’s side. ‘Are ye well?’

  ‘Well enough.’ Jevratt began walking towards the centre of the great eye, Couig close behind.

  ‘What of Sir Xand?’

  ‘Send Legg back to wake him,’ Jevratt said. ‘He’s a good fighter and gave a good account of himself. He can wed the girl when this has blown over, and join the family, but first, he’s to help us defend Grounding when he wakes. If he wakes.’ Jevratt grinned as they walked, mouth leaking blood.