by Duncan Pile
The Wrench took him left and then right, past several unmarked doorways and a stairway that led up to the next level. Everyone they encountered scurried out of the Wrench’s way, and didn’t even spare Jonn a glance. Jonn tried to remember the way back to the exit but after a few more turns he was completely lost. The Rats had built an impressive warren of rooms and corridors within the shell of the warehouse; one that was completely undetectable from the outside.
One corridor in particular caught Jonn’s attention. It was wider than the others and was guarded by two burly-looking toughs. He glanced down it as they passed and saw that the walls were lined with tapestries, lit by wall-mounted lamps instead of burning brands. Another corridor bisected that one at its end, and as Jonn was watching, a slender woman hurried across the gap, a swirl of lavender silks trailing behind her.
That had to be the entrance to Belash’s quarters. Maybe Adela was in there right now! For a wild moment, Jonn imagined stabbing the Wrench in the back and fighting his way down that corridor, but the same knowledge that had kept him from attacking Belash earlier kept him from acting on his instinct. He suppressed his rampant emotions with an iron fist, forcing himself to focus on the Wrench’s feet in front of him. After all the time and effort he’d invested in infiltrating Belash’s group, he wasn’t going to ruin it all by making a frantic snatch at the prize when it first came within his grasp. No, he was only going to get one chance at this, and he was going to make sure it was the very best opportunity he would get. Adela’s life depended on it!
The Wrench led him around another corner and then stopped at the top of a narrow stairway that led down below ground level.
“This is where we keep the prisoners,” he said. “I thought we might pay Stephanos a visit. Consider it a reward for your services.” Jonn looked into the Wrench’s eyes, and saw a fell light flickering in his intelligent gaze – a hint of madness perhaps.
“Sure,” Jonn said as casually as he could manage, but his stomach flipped uncomfortably at the thought of what was to come. Somehow he couldn’t see the Wrench letting Stephanos off with a quick death. He’d seen many men die before, some at his own hand, but he’d never seen anyone tortured, and really didn’t want to right now! Backing out clearly wasn’t an option however. In the guise of a reward, the Wrench was sending him a message – if you betray us, this is what will happen to you.
Jonn followed the Wrench down the stairs, feeling the air grow cooler as they descended. The scent of mildew filled his nostrils as they stepped out into the cellar, a small, square room stacked with barrels and crates, some full and some empty. The Wrench led him across the room and through another door into a long corridor. On the left hand side there were numerous doors, spaced at even intervals along the wall. On the right, there was only a single, larger door, guarded by another henchman.
“Which room is Stephanos in?” the Wrench asked.
“That one,” the henchman replied, indicating the fourth door on the left. The Wrench withdrew a long key from his pocket and stepped up to the door. He inserted it in the lock and twisted it. The lock snapped open noisily, and the Wrench slid the key back into his pocket. He pulled open the door and stepped inside. Reluctantly, Jonn followed him, stepping into a small cell, empty except for the figure huddled in the corner, watching them enter with terrified eyes.
“Please, don’t hurt me,” Stephanos pleaded, uselessly digging his bound feet into the dirt floor and pushing himself backwards against the wall.
“Too late Stephanos,” the Wrench said, and reached within his cloak to withdraw something. Jonn couldn’t see what it was from where he stood, but it had Stephanos quaking in terror. A wet patch blossomed in his breeches, spreading out until his whole crotch was sodden. “Now that’s not very dignified is it?” the Wrench said, tutting as he stepped up to the prisoner. “Tarek, hold his arms!”
Jonn knew he couldn’t show a moment’s hesitation. Stepping around the Wrench, he approached Stephanos and bent down to take his hands. Stephanos pulled them away, turning around and placing his body between himself and Jonn. Jonn grabbed him by the shoulders and forcibly turned him around. He took his wrists in his hands and stretched them out towards the Wrench. It was only then that he caught sight of what was in the henchman’s hands. It was an iron tool, heavy and blackened with use. It was the very tool the Wrench was named after.
“Hold him still,” the Wrench said, leaning forwards with a feral light in his eyes. Jonn reminded himself that Stephanos was a crime lord in his own right – an evil man – and however much it horrified him to be party to what was about to take place, Adela’s life was at stake. It came down to a straight choice between her and this man, which left him in no doubt that he would do anything the Wrench asked of him, even if it seared his very soul.
…
When it was over, the Wrench stood up, his breathing slowing as his excitement faded and reason returned. The whites of his eyes were almost dazzling against the backdrop of slick, bloodied skin.
“Stand outside the cell and I will have someone come and show you to your room,” he said, his tone curiously bleak. “Be ready at dawn tomorrow. I will have duties for you.” Jonn didn’t trust himself to speak after what he’d just witnessed, so he just nodded. The Wrench paused a moment. It seemed as though he wanted to say something more, but he just gave a slight shake of his head and left the cell. Jonn stayed where he was for a moment and then left the cell as well. He closed the door behind him, steadfastly averting his gaze from the bloody mess in the corner.
He stood outside the cell door, fighting off the dawning horror of memory, but despite his best efforts the thoughts just kept coming and his legs weakened beneath him. Someone arrived just then to show him to his room. Jonn didn’t remember the route they took, trudging mindlessly along corridors and up and down stairways. Finally, he was led into a small room with a single bed, a wardrobe, a commode and a washbasin filled with water. A rough cloth was draped over its side. The door closed behind him and Jonn took a step towards the basin, intending to wash the blood from his hands and face, but halfway there his legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed to the floor. He threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach, and lay huddled there, head on his arm, weeping.
Eleven
“What do you mean we have to stay here?” Voltan asked incredulously. The others stopped eating and looked at Gaspi expectantly.
“Loreill told me,” Gaspi said, spreading his palms wide and shrugging his shoulders. “He says the other spirits are coming and that we have to wait for them.”
“The other spirits?” Taurnil said. “But if Lilly is coming…”
“Then Emmy will be as well.”
“And Lydia!” Taurnil said, sounding panicked. “This is no place for her – not with marauding Gaaks and murderous hermits!”
“I dunno Taurn,” Gaspi responded. “The fire spirit’s dead, so maybe she’s not coming.”
“But if the air spirit’s coming, Rimulth will be too. They wouldn’t leave her on her own.”
“Loreill?” Gaspi asked, but all Gaspi could feel from the spirit was the joyful anticipation of reunion. “I can’t tell Taurn. I guess we’ll just have to wait here and find out when they arrive.”
“That’s not been decided yet Gaspi,” Voltan said. Gaspi looked at him in surprise. He’d assumed that everyone would accept what Loreill said without question. Ever since that staggering afternoon in the clearing when Sabu had offered him his sword, and everyone else had followed, the dynamic in the group had changed. People were starting to look to him for decisions, but as far as Gaspi was concerned, Voltan was still leading the quest. The warrior mage was far more experienced, and was clearly still the right person to be in charge. Voltan himself had told Gaspi he had to learn how to lead, but in reality the warrior mage was clearly struggling with the transition.
“It ’as for me,” Baard said. “If Gaspi says we’re stayin’ then we’re stayin’.” Voltan stared expressi
onlessly at Baard for long moments. The silence extended, and Gaspi started to feel awkward. He wasn’t deliberately challenging Voltan’s leadership, but waiting for the spirits was the right thing to do, and there was no point pretending it wasn’t.
“He’s right Voltan,” Sabu said quietly, breaking the deadlock. “We must wait for the spirits.” Murmurs of assent passed around the group.
Voltan was quiet for a moment longer, looking slowly around the group. The warrior mage sighed, his shoulders sagging. “It looks like we’re staying then.”
…
Having decided to wait, they spent the intervening time as wisely as they could. Firstly, the party split up and went searching for the hermit and Fortunate. There was no sign of the hermit, who must have made good his escape, but Zlekic found Fortunate hiding in a thicket, and returned him to the camp. The boy was as scrawny as a starved animal and filthy to boot. As soon as he saw Gaspi, he squatted down next to him and refused to be parted from him. He wouldn’t say a single word, but no-one tried to force him, and they left him in Gaspi’s care.
Loreill spent his time zipping about the thicket, tending to the suffering foliage. Years of being starved of light and nutrients had left the plants stunted and grey, but not long after Loreill began to infuse them with elemental life, they showed signs of flourishing again. As Gaspi recovered his strength, he began tending the plants and trees alongside Loreill for brief periods, allowing the spirit to work elemental magic through him. They didn’t have the pastes and poultices he was accustomed to working with, but there was still much they could do. He took it slowly, careful not to wear himself out, but it turned out that the flow of elemental magic actually aided in his recovery, as if he too were an under-nourished plant stretching out new growth once again.
With the exception of Talmo, who took on his customary role of hunter, the rest of the group set about demolishing and clearing away the hermit’s shack. While they were at it, they discovered some long-disused tools, and soon enough they were up in the trees, sawing away at branches and cutting away dead foliage to let in the light. None of them were men who liked to be idle, and the work gave them something to do while they waited. They undertook the project with passion and energy and, over a period of days, the copse took on a totally different appearance. Sunlight filtered liberally through the thinned-out canopy, and shrubs budded and flowered in soil that was once again loamy and nutritious. Grass sprouted across the clearing, carpeting the ground in lush greenery. Only the plot of ground the hermit’s shack had been built on refused to respond to Gaspi and Loreill’s nurturing touch. No matter what they did, the soil remained grey and empty of life. In the end, they built a stout fence around it and left it alone.
All the while, Gaspi’s strength was recovering, and by the time work on the copse was complete, he was feeling half-way human again. As there was nothing else to do, the party took to hunting, replenishing their supplies for the next stage of the journey while they waited for the other spirits to arrive. At Voltan’s insistence, Gaspi stayed behind when the hunting parties went out. He might have objected, but he had Fortunate for company, and in the men’s absence, the boy began to talk to him.
He didn’t say much at first, but Gaspi could tell how much effort it took for him to speak at all, so he encouraged every little confidence without pressuring him with questions. Day by day, Fortunate seemed to grow more comfortable with him, and even began to say the odd word to some of the others. Sabu was a particular favourite, and Gaspi was glad to see the blademaster didn’t mind the boy trailing after him. Fortunate even began to smile – quiet, shy smiles that occasionally showed themselves on his otherwise serious face. Gaspi watched him relax in slow, subtle increments, and found himself reflecting that there were many types of healing.
Gaspi particularly enjoyed the evenings, when the hunting parties had returned and the group lounged around the fire, sharing stories. There were several good storytellers among them, but Zlekic and Zaric always stole the show. The twins seemed to have been everywhere and done everything, including some things Voltan considered too salacious for the younger members of the group to hear.
“Aw come on Voltan,” Baard said after the warrior mage interrupted a story that the giant clearly wanted to hear. “Fortunate falls asleep the second his plate’s clear, and Gasp and Taurn are all but full grown. They’re riskin’ their necks on a dangerous quest, but you won’t let ’em hear a bawdy tale or two? Let ’em decide for themselves.” The boys did decide, and Zlekic and Zaric no longer had to censor themselves. As a result, Gaspi heard stories that made his cheeks glow and his ears burn. They also made him laugh so hard that his sides hurt. Even Sabu was unable to maintain his usual dignified reserve, and chuckled along to the twins’ wild tales with the rest of them.
All in all it was a wonderful time, and Gaspi fell asleep each night feeling contented. Yes, they’d already faced plenty of danger, but those long days in the renewed thicket were exactly what he needed. In fact, when he looked back, he realised that it was the first time he’d felt genuinely happy since the Measure.
…
Emmy watched Lydia and Rimulth swaying comfortably on their horses in front of her and felt a pang of irritation. The gypsy girl had grown up around horses and rode as easily as she breathed, and Rimulth had taken to riding like a duck to water. They’d been travelling for over a week now, and although Emmy had got much better at riding, she still ended each day sore and bruised.
The unruly beast between her legs made her nervous. It quite literally had a mind of its own! One time it had started to trot, and then to canter, and wouldn’t slow down even when she pulled on the reins. Lydia had to draw up alongside her and take the reins before it would stop. Emmy had been absolutely terrified!
“You need to be more confident,” the gypsy girl had told her. “Your horse doesn’t believe you’re in control.”
Be more confident! Emmy thought to herself indignantly, remembering the knowing way Lydia had delivered her lecture. That was easy enough to say, but much harder to actually do.
As if reading her mind, her horse started to stray from the path. Emmy tugged on the reins to bring its head around, but it didn’t make any difference. It stopped and started chewing on a flowering plant. She dug her heels in like she’d been told, but the horse just ignored her!
“Come on!” she said through gritted teeth, pulling insistently on the reins, and the horse finally started moving again, leaving the tasty morsel behind.
“Don’t worry,” Hephistole said with a chuckle. “It’s almost over for the day.” If it had been anyone else Emmy might have snapped at them, but Hephistole had at least as much trouble on a horse as she did. He did everything he was told, keeping his knees stiff and his back straight, but the result was unfortunately comical. His long legs stuck out too far, and his robes kept getting caught up in his horse’s tack. The wind caught his hair and made it stick out in unruly wisps, and despite his best efforts, his horse took him about as seriously as Emmy’s took her.
Emmy smiled at him and broke into a tinkling laugh. “What a pair we make!” she said.
“I have no idea what you mean!” Hephistole said with a wink. Over the course of the last week, Emmy had grown increasingly comfortable around Heppy. She’d never been able to relax around him as chancellor of the college, but out here he was just a fellow traveller, and the experience had changed the way she felt about him. It was like Gaspi said; he was so relentlessly informal it was impossible not to like him!
Gaspi! Emmy’s mood darkened considerably. Lilly’s mounting excitement told her they were on the verge of catching up with him and Loreill, and although she was desperate to see him, she was still furious with him for leaving her behind. They’d always talked about everything before. They made important decisions together after plenty of discussion, but this time Gaspi had decided he knew what was best for her, and she didn’t like that one bit! Heppy had tried to get her to see things from Gaspi’s pers
pective, but she wasn’t having any of it. If Gaspi wanted her to forgive him, he’d have to ask for it himself, and he’d better do a good job of it!
“Ho!” Heath called from up front, pulling on the reins of his horse and bringing it to a stop. “Time to make camp.” He slid down off his horse, followed by the rest of the group. Emmy groaned as her feet hit the ground, relieved to finally be back on solid ground. She bent her sore knees, easing out the cramps in her legs. Heath led them off the trail, winding through the ranks of tree trunks until they came to a small glade. Emmy followed on leaden feet and tied her horse to a low branch.
“You look exhausted,” Heath said. “I’ll look after your horse. Just sit down and rest for a bit.”
“Thanks Heath,” she said without hesitation. The druid was a kindly man, and loved all living things. Tending the horses actually seemed to make him happy, so she didn’t feel guilty about letting him help her out. Besides, she was exhausted! She slumped down on the ground and sent out a mental summons to Lilly. The spirit preferred to soar through the air as they travelled, but she always returned to Emmy when they stopped for the evening. A bright streak of blue soared down out of the trees and circled Emmy joyfully. She laughed as Lilly came to rest in her lap and changed form in a final flash of cobalt light.
“You don’t have to ride a stupid horse do you?” Emmy said, tickling Lilly under the chin. As happened every night, she felt healing power trickle into her from the spirit, easing her aches and pains. Sighing in relief, she shoved her pack behind her and leant against it.