by Stan Nichols
Passers-by were taking an interest now.
‘We don’t need this attention,’ Ockley hissed.
‘Qaloch shit!’
the weaselly man yelled.
His huge friend, indicating Kutch, shouted, ‘Your butt boy, is he?’ Bending over, he pointed to his own enormous rear.
The drunks roared.
Caldason stepped into the road.
‘Reeth!’
Kutch begged. ‘Leave it. It doesn’t matter.’
He paid no heed and walked slowly towards the mob. To a chorus of catcalls and urgings from their cronies, weasel and the man-mountain moved to meet him.
They came face to face on the boardwalk outside the inn. The other drunks seemed content, so far, to simply watch and voice their mockery.
Weasel man, wiry and street-wise, took the lead. ‘Got something you want to say to us, trash?’
Caldason gave him a benevolent smile. ‘Nothing you’re bright enough to understand, my friend.’
‘Yeah? Well you ain’t no friend of mine. You’re a fucking Qalochian bastard. Understand
that
?’
‘Ah, but there’s one difference between you and me. I’m proud to be a Qalochian and I’d never change it even if I could. You, on the other hand, can’t do anything about that broken jaw.’
Weasel-face looked puzzled. ‘What broken jaw?’
Reeth’s left hand shot out and grasped the man’s throat. A powerful tug brought him straight into the Qalochian’s flying right fist. The crack was audible. Weasel gave an agonised snort, hands to chin, eyes screwed up in pain.
‘That one,’ Caldason said.
It happened so quickly nobody had time to react. Now the other drunks fell silent, smirks frozen. Weasel sank to his knees, groaning.
Man-mountain looked down at his stricken companion, then over to Caldason, fury lighting his dim eyes. ‘You’re gonna regret that, you Qalochian scumbag,’ he rumbled.
Caldason still wore his agreeable smile. ‘Make me, lard barrel.’
The mountain seethed. Veins in his bull neck stood out like knotted rope. ‘You better get ready to use them fancy swords, little man. Not that they’ll do you any good.’ He was bunching his rock-sized fists.
‘I don’t think I’ll bother. Not with you so outclassed already.’
Any restraint snapped. The man-mountain bellowed and lumbered at Reeth, swinging his fists as he came. Sliding out of his path, Reeth swiftly turned and delivered a doublehanded blow to the mountain’s side. It felt like hitting granite. His opponent looked more annoyed than hurt.
Caldason ducked as one of the ham fists soared his way. He went under it and in, pounding the man’s belly with a series of deep, weighty jabs. That had more of an effect, but not much. The mountain lunged, tree trunk arms spread wide, trying for a bear-hug. Reeth backed off fast and escaped it.
Moving with more speed than Reeth would have credited, the mountain threw another punch, and this one connected. The blow glanced off the side of Caldason’s head. He was fortunate not to take the full impact; the partial hit was almost heavy enough to down him.
He went straight in for a counter-attack. Aiming high and hard he got in a series of punches to the jaw. Right fist, left, then right again. Now the mountain staggered, blinking watery eyes, footing unsure. His guard was a sham. Caldason stooped and punched beneath it, pummelling the man’s stomach again. Then he quickly pulled back, avoiding a reprisal swipe.
A blur of movement in the corner of Reeth’s vision made him turn. Weasel was charging him, anger outweighing the pain in his jaw. He ran low, keeping his vulnerable chin down and offering a minimal target. Reeth spun aside, getting him clear of the mountain and putting him at a right-angle to his rushing comrade. His goal suddenly removed, Weasel was unable to slow himself. He would have overshot, except for the solid kick Reeth landed on the side of his head.
Weasel was sent cart-wheeling, limbs akimbo. He went down with a hefty, bone-breaking jolt, bounced several times and came to rest senseless.
Enraged, the mountain ploughed in again. Reeth dodged a roundhouse punch that would certainly have felled him. By way of payback he turned himself around and viciously booted the back of his foe’s knee, not once but twice. That brought pain home to the mountain, and threw him off his balance.
Caldason intended finishing it then, but the man was stubborn about standing.
It was the mountain who went on the attack. Swerving from him, Caldason saw a wooden pail on the boardwalk. It was filled with soil and some anaemic flowering plants. He swept under the mountain’s latest pass, threw himself across the walk and grabbed the bucket’s handle. The pail was reassuringly heavy. He swung it with all his might in a wide arc that intersected with the mountain’s advancing head.
When it struck, with a meaty
thunk
, the onlookers winced aloud. The mountain swayed. Reeth swung again, then once more, scattering soil and petals. Vacant-eyed, the mountain plodded a pace or two before going down like a felled oak.
Caldason tossed aside the bucket and looked over to the rest of the drunks outside the tavern. They were an appalled tableau.
‘Next!’ he barked.
They stood mesmerised and open-mouthed for two whole seconds before fleeing, ignoring their fallen comrades as they scattered.
Kutch and Ockley hurried to Reeth and began hustling him away.
‘We do not need this kind of attention,’ Ockley complained.
‘I don’t back down from anybody,’ Caldason told him. There was something about his manner that brooked no comeback.
Ockley steered Reeth and Kutch into the back ways of Valdarr again.
It took half an hour to reach their destination. Caldason suspected it would have been a lot less but for Ockley taking an even more roundabout route. The Covenant man was silent but obviously angry at Caldason’s antics. Caldason himself was growing visibly impatient.
Then Ockley discreetly indicated a particular building. A large warehouse, obviously disused, its windows were shuttered and the doors nailed up. It spoke of neglect.
Alert to watchers, they took an alley that went to the rear of the warehouse. If anything, the back of the building was even more decrepit than its front. Lumber and rubble lay in heaps, and a harvest of weeds had sprung up. Again, doors and windows were blocked.
Incredulously, Kutch asked, ‘This is Covenant’s headquarters?’
‘Just for today,’ Ockley assured him.
He crept to a door and rapped out a series of knocks. Nothing happened immediately, then it opened a crack, and a second later was thrown wider. There seemed to be more than one person inside, but it was too dark to be sure.
‘Come,’ Ockley commanded. ‘Quickly.’
Caldason paused for a beat and glanced at Kutch. Hand on sword, he stepped inside. Kutch and Ockley scrambled after him. No words were spoken by the people who let them in. The door was slammed and secured. An instant passed in total darkness.
Then the whole place lit up. Illuminating glamour orbs hovered far above their heads, giving out a strong, bright light.
Squinting, eyes adjusting, Reeth and Kutch saw that apart from Ockley there were half a dozen other people in the room, facing them in a large semi-circle. Dressed in simple grey robes, with masks covering all but their eyes, they had no obvious weapons. None of them spoke or moved.
The room was vast, layered in dust and festooned with cobwebs. Apart from a few empty crates and some innocuous clutter, it contained nothing in the way of furnishings or any indication of the business once carried out there. The air was musty with the smell of wet rot and general dilapidation.
‘This way,’ Ockley said, directing them to a door set in the far wall. The six masked guardians stayed where they were.
On the other side of the door there was a narrow wooden staircase, dimly lit by radiance from above. Spurred by Ockley, Reeth and Kutch began to climb the creaking treads.
&nbs
p; Two turns of the staircase brought them to a landing. Off this, a doorless entrance opened into another room, much smaller than the one below and also glamour-lit. Unlike everything else they’d seen, it was clean here, the floorboards having recently been scrubbed. In the centre of the chamber there was a large table and several mismatched chairs. The sweet aroma of incense pervaded the room.
‘What now?’ Caldason asked.
‘Please make yourself comfortable,’ Ockley replied. ‘Phoenix will be with you in a moment.’ He nodded towards a door they hadn’t noticed before. It was no more than a faint outline in the opposite wall, and it had no handle.
Caldason began to ask another question, but when he turned, Ockley had gone.
‘Probably glad to be rid of us,’ Kutch quipped. But there was an anxious edge to his voice.
‘The feeling’s mutual.’
They moved into the room. Caldason checked it out suspiciously, scrutinising every drab detail. He went to the near-invisible door and tried pushing it, with no success. It was hung flush, so he couldn’t get the purchase to prise it open either. He gave up and joined Kutch by the table.
‘I can’t believe I’m going to meet Phoenix,’ the boy confided, speaking low.
‘He’s just a man.’
‘Well, yes, but an exceptional one if you believe all the stories.’
‘You’d heard stories about me too, remember.’
Kutch smiled. ‘Having seen you in action, I’m not sure they were so farfetched.’
‘So what do these stories say about him?’
‘They’re not all consistent, to tell the truth. But they do agree he’s a great magician, and very old. And that in some way he defies death, or in the more colourful versions, that he can’t be killed.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Caldason responded thoughtfully.
Kutch didn’t notice this moment of introspection and carried on. ‘He’s said to be very wise. Which I suppose you’d expect from someone really old.’
‘Don’t count on it. In my experience that isn’t always the case.’
‘Well, I’m dying to find out. I hope he doesn’t keep us waiting too long.’
‘I think your wish has just been granted.’
The door was opening. Slowly, inch by inch, and it was dark on the other side. They could make out somebody in the shadows, but no detail. All they could say for sure was that the figure was surprisingly short.
It came into the light, and whatever they expected, it wasn’t this.
Standing before them was a child, a girl of about ten years old. She was thin, with almost stick-like arms and legs. Her hair was in pigtails. She had azure eyes and long blonde lashes. Her clothing consisted of a white smock embroidered with tiny flowers, and shiny black, buckled shoes. Not pretty by any stretch, her looks weren’t improved by the deep-set scowl on her freckled face.
Kutch gaped at her.
Caldason reacted irately. ‘What
is
this? Another trick? More delay?’
‘That’s not a very polite way for a guest to speak,’ the girl replied. Her voice had a high-pitched, sing-song tone, and she sounded annoyed. ‘Particularly after Phoenix was kind enough to grant you an audience.’
‘Is this some kind of
joke
?’
‘Reeth,’ Kutch murmured, ‘I think -’
‘And Phoenix isn’t happy about you brawling in the street,’ the child went on, ‘like some common gutter ruffian. Especially when you were told to be cautious on your way here.’
‘To
hell
with Phoenix and his opinions! I didn’t come here to be lectured by a child.’
‘Er, Reeth,’ Kutch said, ‘you might find -’
Caldason ignored him. ‘I thought we were supposed to be meeting with the head of this…
sect
. If I’d wanted to be rebuked by a kid I’d have gone to a kindergarten and avoided all this nonsense.’
‘You’re not a very nice man,’ the child decided, huffily.
‘We came here to see Phoenix,’ Caldason explained, adopting a speciously reasonable manner, ‘at his invitation. I don’t know who you are, little girl, his grandchild perhaps, but why don’t you run along and bring him here?’
‘You want to see Phoenix?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now?’
‘
Yes,’
through gritted teeth. ‘Or else we’re leaving.’
‘Very well.’ For the first time, she favoured them with a smile. It was so unlike a child’s grin, so
abnormal
, that they both thought they preferred the scowl.
Then something started happening to the girl. Something strange.
As Reeth and Kutch looked on in astonishment it became very strange indeed.
18
The girl began to mutate before their eyes.
Her features seemed to melt, to become malleable. She was enveloped by a haze, like the agitation heat currents make in air, and light played around her. The swirling mist and sparkling illumination grew fierce, so much so that Reeth and Kutch couldn’t see what was happening.
As the light faded, the haze started to dissipate. They could make out a shape, a heap of what could have been flesh, pulsating on the floor. Then there was a crouching figure, shaking itself the way a dog does when it comes out of water. The figure rose, and it was much taller than the child had been. Its features clarified.
A very old man stood before them. He was white bearded and rangy. Uncountable wrinkles creased his seasoned face. He wore a deep blue ankle-length robe with silver trimmings.
Caldason had his sword half unsheathed. ‘What the hell -?’
‘No, Reeth, wait!’ Kutch exclaimed. ‘I think… I think it’s all right.’
‘Heed him, Qalochian,’ the old man said, ‘there’s no danger for you here.’ His voice was like aged rum and warm honey. He stretched, fists bunched, shoulders back, as a man might when he’s just woken up.
Reeth clacked his sword back into its scabbard. ‘You’re Phoenix, I take it.’
‘I am. Forgive my little deception.’
‘I’m not in the mood for jests, sorcerer.’
‘It was no jest,’ the old man informed him in a starched tone.
‘You call that charade serious?’
‘My
intent
is deadly serious. It’s to escape capture or worse at the hands of our enemies. A plight I believe you’re familiar with yourself. My appearance is known to the state, making a mask necessary.’
‘An odd choice of disguise.’
‘But particularly effective. It also has the virtue of amusing me.’
‘How did you
do
that?’ Kutch blurted out.
‘Ah, the apprentice.’ He fixed the boy with an unwavering gaze. ‘I think you might be able to explain as well as I.’
Surprised, and a little overwhelmed, Kutch stammered, ‘Me?’
‘Why not try?’
‘Well, Mage…
sir
… I imagine that the spell you used didn’t actually compress you to child size. It made you… invisible, which is to say glamoured, so it gave the
sense
of invisibility, and the image of the child took your place. It’s basically, er, an illusion, as all magic is on one level. But a…uhm… complex, impressive illusion. Very advanced Craft. Sir.’ Kutch completed his explanation with a hesitant smile.
Phoenix flashed unexpectedly white, even teeth. ‘Excellent! Wrong in every essential, but top marks for inventiveness.’
Kutch’s face fell.
‘There’s always more to learn, boy,’ Phoenix added, his brusqueness softening a degree or two. He turned to Caldason. ‘Look, we’ve got off on the wrong foot and that wasn’t the idea at all. I know you’re here seeking help for a grievous malady, and -’
‘What do
you
know of it?’
Phoenix, ruffled at Caldason’s curt manner, went back to brisk himself. ‘Would you like me to speculate on the symptoms? Let’s see. You have fits that are violent and dangerous to others, and when unrestrained you fight like a berserker. You hear voices. If wounded, you heal remarkably quickly…Will that do for a start?’
‘You seem a damn sight better informed than me. But I don’t hear voices.’
‘Oh, haven’t they started yet? Give it time.’
‘Are you trying to mock me?’
‘No, Caldason, I don’t want to provoke you or make fun of you. I’m just saying that your condition, or something like it, isn’t entirely unknown to us.’
Hope stirred in Caldason. It showed in his normally unreadable face.
‘Truly?’
‘I wouldn’t lie to a man with your burden.’
‘Can you help me?’
Phoenix sighed. ‘Perhaps. But before we go into that… It would be good if you didn’t misinterpret what’s about to happen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come!’
Phoenix called.
Two men entered the room. One was a stranger, ruggedly built, perhaps thirty, clean shaven but for a moustache, and he was armed. The other was Dulian Karr.
Kutch was taken aback. Caldason scowled suspiciously.
‘What is this, Karr? What are you doing here?’
‘Forgive me, Reeth. But please, listen to what we have to say.’
‘This was supposed to be a private meeting. Now half of Valdarr’s trooping through here. What can you say to me now that you couldn’t have said before?’
‘Plenty, as it happens. Only here it can be said with more authority. You’ve met Phoenix.’ He turned to the stranger. ‘This is Quinn Disgleirio, representing the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade. A man who can be trusted.’ Disgleirio nodded. ‘And I hope you know by now that you can trust me, Reeth,’ Karr went on, ‘and those I’ve brought you in touch with.’ He spread a hand wide, indicating Phoenix and Disgleirio. ‘What we have here is a three-pronged alliance. A union of dissident magical, martial and political forces.’
‘I’m honoured,’ Caldason returned sarcastically.
‘You should be. If you can contain your anger and not storm out, you’re going to be told things few others have the privilege of knowing. We intend putting an enormous amount of trust in you, Reeth. It’s time we were completely honest with each other.’