by Vance Huxley
Almost everyone paused and the shouting died down as it sank in. They’d just killed a man, because the torn, smoking body was well past any medical help. Abel realised someone hadn’t come with the crowd and sudden dread filled him. “Where’s Zephyr?”
“Playing with her captive apprentice.” Eric found that funny, despite the red, burnt skin where half his hair should be. “She earned it. Some of the others have been hit with glyphs but mainly wind and they’re all breathing.” He looked past Abel and began to build another glyph.
“Look out, Pendragon’s getting away.” Kelis, for one, still had all her attention, and her stream of glyphs, firmly fixed on the sorcerer, and her words jerked everyone’s attention back to Pendragon. The sorcerer had reached what looked like a parked van, but the seeming fell away as Pendragon opened the door and dived inside his Bentley. A belated storm of glyphs struck, but none even scratched the paintwork.
“Save your magic. He has a block of gold in there, filled with magic to feed the vehicle shield.” Hands went up as a new voice butted in, glyphs swirled into life, but luckily nobody cast one. Abel, for one, didn’t think Creepio would have appreciated it. “Hello, Kelis. It seems you’ve done the job without me, again. God’s SAS will be redundant at this rate.”
“Can’t you stop him?” Kelis pointed towards Pendragon’s car, already accelerating off down the road.
“Not personally.” The nasty little smile Creepio turned towards the vehicle didn’t seem too worried. “Oops. That’s what happens if you speed in a built-up area.” Abel didn’t think the living battering ram that hit Pendragon’s car cared about the speed limit. The three metre high, six-legged, fifteen-metre crocodile-duck with a beaver’s tail and a big solid-looking swelling on the end of its beak charged out from between two buildings. Its beak smashed the Bentley sideways across the road until the wheels hit the kerb and the car tipped over onto its side. As it did the faint shimmer of a veil sprang up around the vehicle and creature.
The huge scaled creature rammed the car again, rolling it onto its back, then raised its beak and began to beat on the exposed underside with the thickened end. It ignored the flaring shield and the smoke and flames surrounding its head, hammering away until with a crackling noise, a shower of sparks and a nasty crunch, the protection failed. The next few blows crushed the bottom of the vehicle. Despite the charring on its head the creature continued battering at the crushed Bentley, even after the wreckage burst into flame. A priest ran out into the road and knelt nearby, followed by two others who began passing him crosses. The monster slowed its attack, then began to turn into a thick, dark billowing cloud. The Taverners stood, open-mouthed, as the smoke slowly funnelled in through the priest’s clothes and disappeared.
“What on earth was that?” Even Ferryl sounded stunned.
“The tool for the job, if the job is an armoured and magically protected vehicle. When we heard that he’d hired in apprentices for an attack on someone, I thought we might run into Pendragon’s car. I had the priest with the creature transferred to Stourton after we found Father Curtis, conveniently close if Pendragon broke the Accord.” Creepio’s smile and his tone lightened. “The creature is probably a mistake, created when someone attempted a war beast. We call it the platycroc, a platypus-crocodile. It feels no pain and will keep battering the target until one or the other fails.”
“What about Pendragon?” Abel thought he knew the answer. Unless he could teleport, the sorcerer must still be inside the mangled heap of burning metal. One of the priests in the road cast a glyph and the flames died down. He peered into the wreck before turning to Creepio, sketching a cross.
“I think he’s resigned.” Creepio turned to inspect the garden, stooping to peer under the crumpled, smouldering minibus. “Is that one of your people, Abel?”
Shannon spun round and bent to look, then doubled over, went to her knees and brought up her breakfast. Abel answered, though he felt a bit queasy. “Effy, Pendragon’s spy. She got between the minibus and Pendragon’s shield. She was trying to defend him from Claris.”
“How many of Pendragon’s people survived?” Creepio hooked a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the garden. “Dryads aren’t known for mercy, and the other apprentice in there thought I was one of your Tavern players.” Several Taverners winced, which could be about dryad mercy or Creepio’s reaction.
Voices murmured, trying to come up with an answer, but meanwhile Shannon had made it to her feet. She tottered towards Creepio and dropped to her knees again. “I killed her, Father.”
“Deliberately?” Suddenly all the banter had gone, and an archbishop looked down at Shannon.
“I didn’t see her. I had smoke in my eyes so I aimed at the glare of Pendragon’s shield.” Shannon started sobbing, barely getting the last words out.
“A valiant attempt to help your friends against a powerful enemy, self-defence against an unprovoked attack. You are blameless, Shannon. I will contact your priest if you wish but there is no sin.” The archbishop’s hand rested on Shannon’s head, his thumb brushed her forehead and Abel saw the glimmer of blue-white church magic, just briefly. “Your conscience is clear. May the Lord bless you and go with you, Shannon.” Either the words or the magic had their effect, because Shannon’s shoulders straightened and her head came up a little. As she stood up several Taverners gathered, reassuring her, while others created a mist to wet down the minibus.
Abel had other worries, because one particular fighter still hadn’t appeared. “Where is Zephyr? If she’s all right, why didn’t she come out with the rest of you?”
The laughter and smiles reassured him, even before Petra answered. “She’s playing with her new toy, and watching over the wounded and prisoners.” Though Petra and several others sobered as she continued. “She broke our tethers, then forced the apprentices to attack her until we could get organised. I owe her my brain at least.”
Petra, her catsuit torn in a couple of places but otherwise unhurt, looked down at the two security men slumped on the steps. “What happens to these and any other survivors, the people Pendragon brought? Especially the apprentices. Is there a magic court or something, because I’m pretty sure the local plod aren’t equipped to handle them?” One after the other, everyone including Shannon looked at the recumbent Natalie and the security guards, and then Abel, realisation slowly dawning.
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High and Low Justice
Though before he worried too much about Pendragon’s people, Abel wanted more information about Zephyr, and the Taverners who’d been hit. After reassuring him about Zephyr, Eric thought the wind glyphs had caused a definitely broken leg and possibly broken fingers and an arm that needed a hospital. The only fire glyph had been aimed at him, and almost missed when the Taverners’ counter-attack landed. Other Taverners had painful bruising, scratches and a few were scorched, but Pendragon’s apprentices had only launched one real attack. Several Taverners smiled when Eric said they’d had a bigger problem.
Meanwhile the concern about what to do with captured magic users had hardened to anger and resolve. “The captives have to pay, one way or another, especially the traitor.” Kelis’s glare at Natalie promised a lot more than shunning. She wasn’t the only one, if looks really could have killed, then Natalie would already be dead several times over. “They tried to kill us.”
“But they didn’t, and compared to them we got off fairly light. Pendragon barely touched us.” Abel glanced down, then looked around properly for the first time. “All right, he didn’t quite kill us.” He’d felt heat and pain several times, but lost in the fight he’d paid little attention since none of them had put him out of action. Now Abel could see that sometime in the fight half of one leg of his jeans had been shredded, the front of his leather jacket looked as if a tiger had mauled it, and scorch marks or tears ruined any otherwise decent bits of clothing. He became aware of aches and pains, and cuts, and grazes, and burns, and rea
lised his exposed skin stung and looked too pink.
Kelis’s robe sported a score of large burn holes, dozens of small ones and flapped open in several places to show patches of scorched or bloody skin. She looked down, suddenly embarrassed, and pulled her tattered cloak around to cover up as much as possible. Jenny couldn’t cover up, half her frilly skirt had been almost completely blasted or burned away, while the rest of her clothing bore a selection of slashes, holes and scorch marks. She favoured one leg, the one weeping blood from innumerable pinprick holes between her knee and her shoe. The game version of Creepio offered his cloak and Jenny gratefully pulled it around her over the rags. Rob hadn’t escaped unscathed, his exposed skin covered in cuts or bruises and one hand badly blistered. He had holes burned or torn in his jeans, jacket and shirt, he’d lost a shoe someplace and one arm was bare and covered in tiny parallel cuts.
Shannon’s hair and clothes had stopped smouldering, but she had bald patches, blisters on one cheek and her arms, and her thin plywood ‘armour’ was charred. The rest of the Taverners were relatively undamaged, though most had collected a few scorches, scratches, or bruises and looked generally knocked about. “How come you aren’t hurt, Ferryl?” She dropped the seeming so Abel could see her clothes. Although she’d healed herself, the scored and scorched leather of Ferryl’s skirt and top, and her split and burned boot, showed the sorceress had taken hits as well.
Creepio’s thoughtful gaze lifted from the security men to settle on Abel. “I will take the prisoners if you wish, or you can deal with them. As the master of Castle House, and having defeated the other dominant local sorcerer, it is your choice. Under the Accord you administer High and Low Justice over anyone in your area of magical influence—demesne, in the original wording.”
“Let him take them.” Kelis’s anger had evaporated, and now she sounded tired and distracted. She kept staring at her hands and then towards the wreck of Pendragon’s car. “You’ll just slap them over the wrist and that little bitch for one will cause more trouble.”
“Stunt her this time. Or stick her on a tether so we can teach her some manners.” Rachel pushed forward to glare down at Natalie. “By the time she’s recovered from the beating Claris gave her, she’ll have got the message and won’t need another.” Claris looked shell-shocked, hugging herself and staring at the battered figure.
Abel turned to Creepio for better suggestions, but the vicar just shrugged. “Not the worst possible fate. Most sorcerers would find amusing ways to kill anyone useless like those security guards. They’d concoct something long, lingering and agonising for someone who betrayed them, especially someone not well enough trained to make a useful bound servant.” The vicar curled his lip when Natalie’s still figure twitched at that. She wasn’t unconscious, just faking. “I will take any prisoners you give me to the monks or nuns where their wounds will be tended. Once healed the prisoners will earn their keep by working in the gardens or wherever else we find them useful. They will have the chance to repent, but it will be genuine repentance because they will not be able to lie. Their tether will be held with a light hand, only a tether, not a full binding, but none of them will be allowed to cause any more harm, ever.”
“We could do that, keep her tethered.” Rachel still stood over Natalie, and for a moment Abel thought she’d kick the apparently unconscious girl. “She laughed when Justin accepted one to save me, and when Pendragon hurt him to keep me under control. Said she wanted me as her slave. How does the binding thing work? We could fix her so we’d know she wasn’t up to anything, maybe give her some of what Justin got.”
A look around the number of heads that were nodding worried Abel. Right now too many Taverners wanted payback and they didn’t care how. “I don’t want to do something that’ll come back to haunt me later. But that’s just me, so how do we decide?”
“Cre… The archbishop said it was up to you, Abel.” Eric kept putting a hand towards his scorched head, then pulling it away before he touched it. “Right now I want to fry the bloke who tried to burn my head off, but I might not want that memory in the middle of the night.”
“Not just me. The Tavern should decide.” Abel looked around but few of them seemed interested.
“Kelis, Rob, Ferryl, Jenny and Zephyr can help you. The rest of us do what you say anyway.” Una’s usually cheerful face looked drawn. “The six of you could probably flatten us all if it came to it. I owe my brain to Zephyr for freeing me, and probably my life, so I’ll trust her judgement.” More answers came, slowly at first but then in a flood. Nobody else wanted to be judge and jury. Even Rachel declined when it came to deciding for all the prisoners, though she still wanted to bind or tether Natalie.
Abel turned to Kelis as Rob and Jenny moved up each side of her. He caught hold of Ferryl’s hand. “Well?”
“High and Low means life or death, Abel.” Rob looked sick at the thought. “I can’t just kill someone in cold blood, execute them.” Kelis and Jenny shook their heads to agree with him though Ferryl pointed out, through her hand, that it was the sensible solution. “The game rules don’t cover this.”
“You wrote the original rules, even if this isn’t a game anymore. Or if it is, it’s a very different, very dangerous game.” Una swished her sword, the bottom third of the blade blackened by something. “You did a good job with the first set so I’ll stick by whatever you come up with. Better than that,” she said, lifting her sword, “I’ll help you make them stick if necessary.”
“In that case, we’ll hand the prisoners over to the archbishop. Too many of us would be looking to make them suffer but he’s got nothing personal against them.” Several voices objected, but they gradually died away as others pointed out the alternatives. “I’ll check with Zephyr.” Who Abel knew would do what he asked.
“There’s a security man back there who’ll need an ambulance. He might be in a bad way because I hit him really hard with a Windhammer, but I left him clear of the fires.” A red-eyed Shannon sniffed, pointing to where two of the parked cars still smouldered. “Sorry about the damage. My shield wouldn’t fit between the cars but I needed it to stop the bullets.” Loud exclamations were followed by comments about trying to get the insurance to fix that sort of damage. Abel didn’t hesitate, he told them the Tavern would cover it.
“If you want to hand over the prisoners, you’d better ask Zephyr if she’ll give hers up.” Ferryl’s smile had a lot of wicked in it. “Come on. You can let the wounded know it’s all over.”
“I’ve just done it.” Shawn limped out of the door, holding his head. “I’ve still got a lousy headache from trying to fight that tether.”
“Just give me a moment, please.” Abel turned towards the vicar. After a brief discussion, Creepio made a call on his mobile for the God Squad to collect the bodies and prisoners. They were lurking nearby, ready to clean up if God’s SAS had found an excuse to join the fight. Creepio explained that part; the church couldn’t interfere in sorcerer fights unless one broke the Accord or attacked a churchman. For once Creepio didn’t seem to mind parting with information.
Abel now had the number of an anonymous doctor for magical wounds. He’d already called and a team was on the way. They would cost him, but the private practice in question used magical healing alongside the usual methods and wouldn’t go near an official hospital. Abel even recognised the address, because the Taverners maintained the glyphs on the outside of the building. He’d been worried when they’d asked for his credit rating but Creepio took the phone, identified himself and suggested they sent the bill to Woods and Green. There were some advantages to being Celtchar’s heir.
When the first Land Rovers and ambulances disguised as vans drew up and men spilled out, Abel invited Creepio inside to see who else needed locking up. Una had already been around to the back garden and reported two bodies, one among the trees. The one Ferryl had thrown through the window hadn’t survived either. Following her through the house Abel passed several torn and crumpled figures. Taver
ners were watching over several security men who might live, providing they got to a hospital, but the three who must have been apprentices were stone dead. A cautious glance down the hole in the hallway floor revealed a still figure with a charred head, crumpled on the cellar floor. Further up the hallway lay another apprentice, blood still oozing around the web embedded in his flesh. Despite two more possibly dead apprentices in the lounge, one badly burnt, Abel had to smile when he came in. Two battered security men sat against the wall, with a woman between them. Abel recognised the woman, the apprentice from Redwolf’s house, but the smile wasn’t for her.
“Spare me. Please? I was on a tether. I didn’t want to attack you again.” Despite talking to Abel, the woman’s eyes, and those of the two men, were riveted on Zephyr. The sprite hadn’t been able to reach full size but a fairly large, very realistic ogre crouched among the furniture. Its bright green, burning eyes followed any movement her prisoners made. The other jailers, several injured Taverners, didn’t even have live glyphs ready.
Abel didn’t answer, waiting for spooky-phone to shoot out of the ogre and connect. “Handshake please. Do you like my ogre? It was a big surprise for her. I am pleased you are here because I have used up almost all my magic.”
“That’s a very realistic copy. Perhaps it’s a good job you didn’t see the platycroc.” Abel felt some of Zephyr flow back into her tattoo, and shook hands. “Fill up, I’ve still got some magic left.” Not much, but Abel knew there were four vacant trees outside to supply some more. The dryads had moved to Elmwood Park. “Did you block the tethers or break them?” While more Taverners and Creepio came in, Zephyr told Abel what had happened, though she didn’t mention killing the burned man. She knew Abel would have spared him but Zephyr had promised to protect her creator, and she would do what was needed.