CLOAK - Lost Son of the Crested Folk

by Russell Thomson

  ‘Shove your sarcasm Smoke. You and I served the King, we where tasked, we co-operated but we were never friends. Never near so. As far as I can see you are a shit foot traitor and I am your prisoner.’

  Smoke hesitated and considered his reply. ‘My prisoner? Not easy to answer, yes and no. More a well guarded guest who needs to be kept safe, kept safe and made strong again. Oh, and no, before you ask any inane questions, you are not free to leave and I will not tell you where you are..........at least, not yet.’

  Despite the stiffness in his knees, hips and spine, Needle rose steadily to his feet. Ten days of pain had fired his blood the anger now welling in him causing his face to flush and his crest to crackle. The old wish walker stood more than half a head taller than the diminutive executioner and weighed a bushel or more greater than the man in black. Needle knew that even fit as a bear, he would come off second best to the fleet assassin with a talent for taking life.

  ‘You’re a killer Smoke, you hunt and kill the King’s quarry and you stink of blood and guilt. Call it what you will, my bond to our Lord may be broken but my loyalty remains intact. I will serve no other willingly and that only leaves you one option, a compunction spell, a dangerous ploy, spells are not bonds, they wear down over time, eaten away by the power of will. What think you of that Smoke Shitfly? My end of the bond is cut but as long as the King lives you cannot force another bond on me and you cannot compel me to walk for you. I will push past any spell you lay on me and the next thing you know you will find yourself stepping off the edge of the world’.

  The king’s assassin eased his talent and locked eyes with the old man. In the few silent seconds that past, Needle’s crest crackled uncomfortably sending shivers through his whole body. Smoke continued to hold his gaze and when he finally spoke, his response was no more than a whisper. ‘There is more truth in those words than you may think old man.’

  Needle’s eyes widened as he grasped the full truth in his own words, small words that pierced his heart. ‘As long as the king lives!’ Smoke raised a single finger to his lips and signalled for silence.

  ‘Now is not the time for a long talk old man, maybe in a few more days. Build up your strength, you will need it. You and I will chat again soon, indeed, like it or not over the next moon and more we’ll likely spend plenty of time together old prick.’

  Silent as a wraith the king’s assassin stepped towards the ball of glowing green majic and stretching out a long thin arm, pressed his fingertips to it. As the verdant magic flowed over body, his image wavered, dissolved into shadow and faded from the room leaving behind only the acrid whiff of charred wood.

  Needle closed his eyes and exhaled hard, clearing the sour smell of Smoke Silverfly from his lungs. Alone once more, feelings of grief and loss clutched at his heart. His closest friend was in danger, the King was going to die.

  ---

  Awakening from a deep dreamless sleep Needle felt surprisingly refreshed and free of aches. Around him the binding wards now glowed bright green, the air fresh with the smell of cut hay overlaid with the faintest scent of mint and sage, smells generated by majic but nonetheless wholesome smells that reminded him of summer in the wide flatlands surrounding the Great Spider Lake. The majic pulsed, a small door appearing in what had been a solid wall of stone, the green wards surrounding it withering as light from the corridor beyond filled the room. Needle shaded his eyes from the glare but his nose told him all he needed to know as the smell of black smoke wafted from the shadows.

  'You smell like a pyre Master Silverfly.'

  'And you Master Cliff smell like a public privy,' replied Smoke as his shadowy form silently coalescing in the doorway. The assassin's crest was sharp and well defined, the set of his crown was that of a high scout or messenger, a sect of the warrior clan. His high clan crest would turn few heads, in its way, an asset for someone who wished to stay anonymous, particularly since it also helped mask the highest of talents, the talent of concealment, an ability to blend with shadow and travel silently between areas of shade. Smoke was the king’s Master of Shade, as much his spy as his assassin, his eidolon. Obedient only to royal command, his true purpose was suspected by those of rank in the inner court but no more. He guarded his special talent well, only taking to the shadows when alone or in the company of a select few. As his travel companion, Needle had been one of those exceptions, their combined talents providing the king with a singular and potent method of delivering his most secret 'messages'.

  Most poor souls who encountered the Master of Shade ended up dead, the victims life forfeit before they saw the shadow flicker. Sudden as his entry to the cell was, Needle did not flinch, the scent of black smoke, a consequence of the assassin’s talent tainting the air, a prelude to his appearance from shadow. He had witnessed the materialisation from shadow many times before, coalescing from shade to corporeal only to quickly dissipate and disappear. The king’s eidolon needed neither no door nor invitation.

  ‘Good day old man, you wake just in time for late luncheon. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Go pole your hole Silverfly.’

  The king’s assassin sat back on his haunches, trying hard not to smile at Needle’s uncouth oath. ‘I understand, I do, really. You do not trust me, I am hurt but such is my lot. Your bond with the king has been broken, you are locked in a tiny cell ripe with high majic, a hard bed and a bucket that made my eyes water. You await the arrival of the king’s elite, armed and vengeful guardians of the inner court, the sergeant at arms crashing through the door to rescue you. If I was you, I too would feel aggrieved, I would ask myself……….. why have I not been rescued yet?, why have the king's sensors not sought you out and guided Captain Scorch Prevail and.........what’s that pretty sergeant called? Ah yes, Sergeant Long Kiss. Why are they not here to wrest you from this cell?’

  Needle sat in silence, his mind racing, these were the very questions he had turned over and over in his mind since the bond broke and his mind cleared. Questions which clearly Smoke had answers for, indeed, it was likely he would have many answers but a judicious shortage of truths.

  ‘Still in the huff and not speaking old man? It’s so out of character. Do you know that sour look on your face makes your mouth look like a dogs shitter?’

  Needle rubbed his rheumy eyes and rolled his head from side to side, pulling on his crest to stretch his neck muscles. ‘Crawl back into the shadow of your own arse and disappear betrayer.’

  Ignoring Smoke, Needle gathered up his blanket and tied it around his waist before crossing the room to his bucket. Although age slowed the initial flow, the quantity was high, his stream of waters splashing noisily into the half full container.

  ‘Let me ask you a question, do you know how long you have been in this cell? I doubt it,’ said Smoke. ‘Sixty days. It took a lot of effort to get you here and a lot of talent and high charm to break the bond, to protect you and to conceal you…………..where do you think that all came from?’

  Needle remained silent until his flow was spent. ‘Judging by the elaborate webs and the old majic glyphs on the walls, you are not working alone. I doubt there is any point in asking who else is involved in this little escapade?’ Smoke smiled and shook his head slowly. ‘I thought not,’ replied Needle. ‘Not to worry, at the end of the day your head will not be the only one on a spike over the Serpent Gate.’

  ‘You’re going to have to trust me old man. Start now or start later it’s your choice.’

  Needle spat at his feet, his gob sticking to Smoke’s boot. ‘Trust you,’ snapped Needle. ‘I trust my king and I am loyal, something you have clearly lost. I would not trust you to wipe my arse in case you stole my shit.’

  Smoke ignored the barbed remark, the king's assassin holding his nose and wafting a hand in front of his face as he turned away. ‘Much as I'd like to stay and exchange low insults with you Master Cliff the smell in here is making my eyes smart. The majic did a good job at masking the stench but now ..........that bucket……….god
and king, how did you manage to fill it in just one night?’

  ‘You’re an arse Silverfly. Don’t come over all laughy and friend to every man with me. The king will have you on a stake and roast your skinny carcass over the fire in his great hall. You’re a dead man.'

  ‘So you keep telling me. If you were honest with yourself you would recognise that you only say that because you are frightened and because it comforts you. Once you have had a bath I would be happy to share a room with you and discus loyalties and leaving this place’

  Smoke moved off down the arched passage, disappearing quickly as the corridor curved sharply left. Suspicious, Needle stood by the threshold and peered after him. The corridor was less than an arm's span in width, the bare stone walls illuminated only by a single spluttering oil lamp. Needle lifted the lamp and followed, cautiously peering ahead as the corridor curved away out of sight. Some hundred paces on the corridor abruptly ended, replaced by a darkened stairway that spiralled steeply upwards. Whilst the flight proved to be no more than a hundred risers high, the old wish walker found himself resting several times to cool the burning in his knees and hips and catch his breath. Smoke waited at the top of the stairs, un-phased by the climb, his breathing deep and steady.

  ‘Have you worked out where we are yet old man?’ said the king's assassin.

  Needle scanned the hallway left and right, each side disappearing into absolute darkness after a few paces. As the lamplight washed the far wall of the broad hallway Needle blew a silent whistle through his teeth. The stone of the hallway differed markedly from that of the low passage and cell. It was both stunning and worrying. He regarded himself as a travelled man, indeed, one of the most travelled in the world, yet, he had no idea where on the world he was. In all of his travels he had never seen such stone as this, a polished ruby red rock veined with flashing lines of bright blue. It was striking, indeed, not only had he never seen such a rock in nature, he had never seen it in all the halls, palaces and high temples he had visited. For such a rare stone not to be seen dressed or carved in a fine tower was unusual and his lack of an answer only deepened his silence.

  Assuming they had journeyed by horse they could surely be no more than fifty leagues from the city, if they had come by eagle, maybe one hundred and eighty. Where, he had no idea. Needle stayed silent, as much a result of his shortness of breath as an inability to answer the question.

  ‘Good ploy old man, stay silent. Because let me tell you that if you did know, the king would surely torture you to find out how.’

  Needle took pride in his knowledge of the world, his mapping and other journeys had been extensive and his inability to accurately place himself irked him. Something else was amiss, the air held no scent of majic but it was there of that he was sure. It made the air around him move strangely, not quite a breeze, not quite a vibration, more like breathing.

  ‘Do you give up? I can read your mind old man, it irks you that you do not know where you are. You, the kings wish walker, a man who can enter a room without doors……………..are you lost?’ Smoke smirked. ‘The bath chamber is this way, all I will ask for now is that you stay downwind of me old man.’

  Needle held back his retort, he was out of the cell. His curiosity had been pricked, he needed to find out where he was, there was no point in escaping if he could not tell the king where he escaped from. For now, much as the assassin's ribbing annoyed him, he would bide his time.

  Smoke strode off, Needle following a few paces behind, his eyes stealing in all the detail he could. The natural rock face appeared chiselled smooth, the bright blue veins standing proud like ribbed worms. It was a bare rock passage like any other yet something felt wrong; the scale of the passage was wrong, the worm veined stone was wrong...............even, the smell of the air was wrong. Needle walked on, the route climbing relentlessly, turning and twisting left and right as if making some deliberate attempt to confuse him.

  As they approached another junction of corridors, a noise like a distant rock fall stopped Needle in his tracks. As he paused the rumbling grew closer, the noise growing louder and louder until finally it burst from the passage like a clap of thunder, the force of the blast hurting his ears as it reverberated against the hard stone walls. As the sound passed, the blue worms flashed brighter than sun, the light travelling on the tail of the noise as it quickly passed down the corridor before disappearing out of sight. As the powerful sound passed them by and the light faded, Needle and Smoke uncovered their ears.

  Needle stood in shock. ‘That was no rock fall.’

  The king's assassin shook his head. ‘All I’ll say is that if you knew the truth you would wish it was,’ replied Smoke evasively.

  Needle stared back at him, a look of exasperation on his face. ‘As usual you are a man of few words, probably because most of the people you encounter day to day do not wish to spend time with you. Over the years I have often thought they probably chose death as the preferred option. You know, chose to die rather than spending exchange pleasantries…………so don’t be a shit Smoke, if it was not a rock fall, what was it?’

  ‘They call it ‘a prayer’ but to us it just sounds like a roar. It’s the Troll’s way of getting their god’s attention.’

  Needle made a crude gesture with his hand. ‘Go pole yourself Smoke, if you want to be an arse just act naturally……………….’

  ‘Needle, trust me friend, that was Troll Prayer. I knew you had no idea where we were, the king said you would guess right away but I saw the way you looked at the Worm Rock walls. You only get them north of the Blue Cut so you would have had to have walked deep into the Bears Maw before you would see it, even then, when it’s on the surface in the cold it looks nothing like it does down here. Clearly you’re not as well travelled as the king thought.’ Smoke stopped and turned to face the old man. ‘You ask where we are, I’ll tell you. This is, No Marrow, it’s a Troll nest and it's located two hundred and fifty leagues away from the King’s Capital.’ Needle made to talk but was immediately silenced. ‘Bath first, it’s like standing next to a fart. Wash, change, eat…………then we talk.’

  They walked the remainder of the way in silence, soon leaving the wide hallway and entering another complex of low narrow corridors that dipped and rose for what felt like a further quarter mile. As he walked Needle mused. This was surely a complex made by man, the corridors they trod were too small for a Troll to carve. A Troll's Nest, what pish. The air was too fresh, there were no flies and it held no stench of shit or hung meat. Needle ignored Smoke’s blatant lies. If he were over seven hundred and more miles north of the capital, deep in the barren lands, why was the rock warm, why was the air not cold?

  The corridor ended in a complex of rooms, a lobby with chambers on each side, four bedrooms, a large sitting room, a parlour kitchen, bathroom and pit. The three servants who attended him were all old and wizened their skins pale their clan crests dressed with charms. Given that he was himself was a wrinkled seventy five, they made him feel smooth skinned and young. As Needle bathed, not a word was spoken. The three old servants remained silent and Needle did not to force the issue, indeed, even had he commanded them to comply, he knew they would not answer his questions, their tattoo’s and their bond showed their allegiances lay elsewhere.

  As he towelled himself down after his bath, Needle became aware yet again of the strange pulsing pressure in the air, the same rhythmic beat that he had noticed earlier, the movement of air pressing on his senses forcing him to swallow hard in an attempt to pop his ears. The wall lamps burnt without smoke, their light bright as the colour of a spring sun. The refined extract had no scent and burnt with a tall long lasting flame, the clarity was clearly un-natural, possibly a yellow majic trick but he was not sure. The cotton smalls, pants and jerkin that lay on the bath side chair were stiff with starch, the material scratched his skin and the jerkin was overly large but they were clean and smelt of spring air.

  The servants were nowhere in sight as Needle joined S
moke in the kitchen parlour. The king’s assassin sat in a tall backed chair, his feet up close to a large opening in the far wall that served both as an open fire and as an oven. The smoke from his pipe mingled with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables in dripping. As he paused momentarily at the door, the smell snared Needle’s senses. Whilst his mind contemplated a wish walk, his belly contemplated food and his heart yearned for a large tankard from the cask next to Smoke’s chair. Caught in two minds, the thought of a full belly, a draught and an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity won the day.

  As Needle lowered himself into the chair on the opposite side of fire.

  'A fire, curious,' said Needle.

  'It's only possible because we are close to the outer face of the mountain. The flue and the vents in the ceiling of the other chambers are all less than ten feet long so the air stays fresh and provides the fire with a fine draw.' Smoke rose from his chair and poured a second flask of beer. 'I see you have not tried to walk, that is a good sign. It tells me two things, firstly, it tells me you are curious to find out more as to why the king ordered your bond broken and secondly, you are smart enough to know that just because you cannot see a ward, it does not mean you are not bound. The green that laced your cell and the lower corridor were an extra precaution, the Troll do not like it, they say it smells…………what of I’m not sure, there are some words best left un-translated.’

  ‘Who are ‘they’?’ asked Needle sarcastically. ‘Oh yes, I remember, no, don’t help me, I’ll get it in a minute. Oh yes, your close friends the Troll. They have decided not to rip you apart and eat you because it’s not worth the effort, your skinny carcass is just bone and sinew, even boiling you for soup would turn their guts to water. But you are right about one thing, I do want answers.’

  Smoke pointed at the oven at the tray of roasting vegetables. ‘Do you want me to rub your nose in hot dripping for being sarcastic or are you going to sit down and eat with me and keep a civil tongue in your head…………..’