by Tom Lloyd
The sounds of a city at ease had greeted dusk, muted behind closed doors and shutters, while wood smoke and the myriad scents of a thousand evening meals drifted on the breeze. The waters of the Ongir Canal were almost still, the ancient channel a taut ribbon stretched across the landscape but somehow separate from it. The forty-yard-wide blade of water looked like a border between this world and the next, a boundary the ravages of time and weather left untouched. Then they reached the palace and the great arched tunnel drew them in, crossing that border into the timeless place beyond.
But this is where I reign. The dark places beyond our world, the shadows other men fear.
The clatter of steel and scrape of stone echoed all around. Dancing orange flames threw shadows over the half-seen bustle of labourers. The western shore of the great Duegar canal was given over to docks and storage yards leased to the trading companies that plied this great stretch of water. Repairs and construction work continued in the weak light of oil lamps and greenish alchemical globes, the forges heaved and hissed and spat as smiths laboured in service of this great channel of trade.
The red tiled walls glistened as though wet, dark as blood under the stain of soot. In the gloom overhead the flags of Jarrazir’s monarch and merchant consortiums were reduced to twitching spirits in the gloom as white bats flashed past. Ahead of the barge, the lowing grunts of the great-horns towing it took on a fearsome echo under the high vaulted roof. The beasts were as vast and formidable as they were placid. Incredible strength and their single huge horn were enough to dissuade any predator, but in the dark they reminded Bade of more lethal creatures.
‘Boss,’ said a soft voice at his side – Chotel, his long-time lieutenant, ‘Bug’s stirring.’
‘Well I guess you better go and put her back to sleep then.’ Bade grinned at the dark-skinned man. ‘Civilisation’s no place for her, is it?’
‘You got to admit it’d be funny, though.’
Bade barked a laugh and turned back to the long tunnel. He was a tall man in late middle age, more than a little grey in his beard, but as lean and fit as a man twenty years younger. He stood proud and straight-backed, the pale green of his eyes gleaming dangerously under the low brim of his hat.
‘That it would be, friend, but Kastelian wouldn’t approve.’
A whip-thin man leaning on the bow rail looked over, hearing his name. Unhealthily pale even for a northerner, he had thinning fair hair and teeth as prominent as his chin wasn’t. That’s what inbreeding gets you, Bade thought to himself, inspecting the man as he headed over. Or is that an ancient and noble pedigree? I always forget.
‘Whatever it is, I don’t approve,’ Kastelian said.
‘Told you, Chotel.’
‘I’ll get the smoke,’ Chotel said, leaving. He was one of the few Bug would allow near her and still he needed to be quick with his wits and on his feet. More than a couple of Bade’s regular crew were missing a finger after being careless around Bug.
‘Remind your men,’ Kastelian added with a graver tone, ‘we’re not to be noticed by anyone.’
‘So the ladies can do as they like, eh?’
‘The ladies too,’ Kastelian said. ‘Especially some of the ladies.’
‘Aye, right.’ Bade glanced at Kastelian. ‘Don’t you worry, I was clear. We get to play later, they’ll keep in check.’ He nodded towards the faintly lambent arc of cloud ahead as the lagoon at the far end of the tunnel came into view. ‘Sort of thing makes a man’s reputation, they’re not so dumb as to mess with that.’
‘Still working on your legacy, my friend?’ Kastelian snorted.
He had been Bade’s contact for several years, the small studs on his collar the only indication of the Militant Order he held rank in. Even then it was an opaque link – to actually find a record of Exalted Kastelian you’d have to look in the closed files of the Torquen temple vaults, not a place even the regular Knights-Charnel were permitted to go.
‘Just following the orders of my own ego,’ Bade countered. ‘If those orders mean I get a crack at the Labyrinth of Jarrazir, I’ll not complain.’
Bade was under no illusions about Kastelian’s role. He was a liaison whose orders could be taken as gospel, even if he’d be disavowed if any scandal resulted. The Knights-Charnel didn’t want any actual links to come back on them and the collar studs were a private code within the Torquen, but that shadowy branch of the Knights-Charnel was all about control. If you were taking their money, they expected complete obedience and the great god Insar help anyone who tested their tolerance. Bade had heard all the rumours of what the Torquen did to heretics and enemy spies alike – after years in their employ he did not question even the more fanciful ones.
‘Well your ego and I both so order,’ Kastelian said. ‘Get all your crates to the house and wait for me to return.’
Bade looked behind him to where two thin people loitered, looking uncomfortable in regular clothes and thick woollen hats. ‘What about those two? Deepest black, could you ask ’em to look more conspicuous?’
The pair were a man and a woman, both in their thirties with freshly shaved heads under their hats. They were mages and scholars too, chosen both for their expertise and the fact they had children back at the Knights-Charnel Sanctuary they lived in, to guarantee obedience. From the scared-rabbit looks on their faces, they’d not seen much of the outside world and wouldn’t be in any rush to escape anyway.
‘Probably never worn anything but Sanctuary robes,’ Kastelian commented. ‘Get them carrying stuff and they’ll not draw much attention. Keep your eye on them, though; we really don’t want to explain losing those two.’
‘I know. I’ve told Gull she’s their handler for the duration, no need to worry there. You just concentrate on finding your contact. I’ll be set up by nightfall and I don’t want to wait.’
‘Nightfall it is.’
Lynx stared at the insensate man lying at Sitain’s feet.
‘Useful little trick, that one,’ he admitted. ‘So long as he’s not dead.’
‘He’s not bloody dead!’ Sitain insisted as she crouched and put her fingers to the black man’s throat. ‘At least I … no, wait, there it is. Yeah, he’s alive.’
‘Good work.’ Lynx nodded to the tree-lined street. ‘Off you go then, chase down Toil. Tell her we’ve caught a fish.’
‘Me? Why not you?’
‘I’ll keep watch over this one.’
‘I can do that.’
‘I outrank you.’
She gave him a level look. ‘Really? You want to play that card?’
He grinned and tapped the breast of his coat, beneath which was the Stranger of Tempest card stitched to his tunic. ‘Damn right I do.’
‘Well you know where you can shove that card, eh?’
‘Pity’s sake, Sitain,’ Lynx growled, shaking his head. ‘You’re faster’n me, just go bloody chase Toil down before she reaches the next tavern.’
She scowled, but eventually stood and set off at a trot. Whether it was Lynx’s words or the truth about their ranks, he couldn’t tell, but in the cold he didn’t much care. Dragging the stranger into a relatively sheltered corner, Lynx found himself a low windowsill to perch on and wait. The man on the ground was certainly a surprise, his tied-back hair and prominent cheekbones making Lynx think he was from the Harbello Dohn peninsula.
Given we were looking for a young local girl, Lynx thought to himself, either we’ve got some apologies to make or Toil’s been holding out on some details. A man past fifty from the far south couldn’t be much more different if we’d been trying.
For want of anything better to do he started going through the man’s pockets – gingerly at first in case Sitain hadn’t put the man out as fully as he thought. The man wasn’t armed, but those waxy balls he’d brandished looked like magic of some sort. They were packed in metal pouches of precise shape and fit, the sort of care a man only took with something liable to explode.
The man had no gun, only a small kni
fe tucked into his belt, and a small purse that Lynx hefted appraisingly before replacing. In his various pockets there were no official papers or anything, but a myriad selection of miscellaneous belongings – string, a pencil, a bonetooth comb, a small tarnished pill case, matches and striker, fishing line and snares, and a bandage on top of a box of securely packed glass vials he decided not to investigate too thoroughly.
Lynx looked down at himself, at the various pouches and pockets of his own clothing. Anyone going through those would find a similar selection – this was a man used to living and travelling in his coat.
Looks like we could have a few things in common, friend, Lynx thought, looking down at the man as he started to hear footsteps in the distance. Let’s hope not holding a grudge is one of them.
‘He say anything?’ Toil asked as she arrived, her face closed and taut, all business.
‘Not much. Seemed reasonable enough, not some thug coming to kill you. Recognised you’re a woman who can take care of herself, but didn’t bring a gun – just these.’ He held up one of the waxy balls for Toil to inspect.
She peered at it briefly in the poor light before grunting. ‘Mage, huh?’
‘Really?’
‘Most likely, or friends with one. Best we take those off him once we get him back.’ She looked around and scowled at the dark buildings. ‘Shame we’re in a city, would be good to toss one and see what flavour of mage we’re dealing with.’
‘Not a night mage,’ Sitain supplied. ‘Not if I could put him down.’
‘True. The girl’s an ice mage supposedly, might be he’s the same. Either way, let’s not treat him badly, eh? A mage who’s survived to his age without getting snatched by the Orders must be tough and resourceful. Let’s not give him any more reason to start a fight.’
She bent down and pulled one of the man’s arms over her shoulder, indicating for Lynx to do the same.
‘Come on, let’s get him to the lodgings. Find him a bed to sleep this off. Sitain, you head back to the ovens – sit on the place for a while. If she’s there she might bolt, follow any young woman who leaves with her belongings. I’ll send someone to relieve you as soon as we’ve got him stashed.’
Sitain scowled but ducked her head in acknowledgement and disappeared off as Lynx heaved the surprisingly heavy man up with Toil. With the dark-skinned man between them, they headed back through the dark deserted streets towards the merchant district.
The icy wind had Lynx’s cheeks stinging by the time they reached the lodging house and stumbled through the courtyard gate. Ignoring the watchful eye of the old man stationed in an annex of the stables and the stuttered bark of his mangy mongrel, they crossed over to the main entrance and heaved the door open. A gust of warm smoky air greeted them as they heaved their burden into the common room and shut the door behind them, panting slightly at the effort as they shed their coats and let the warmth of inside fill their limbs. Only once that was done did either of them take a proper look around.
‘Oh, for …’ Toil’s curse tailed off before it was even spoken as about two-score faces stared warily back at her. Much of the room’s clutter had been cleared away, making space for six or seven tables spread around the room. At each of those sat a knot of people, not all of whom were members of the Mercenary Deck. They did, however, all have cards in their hands.
‘Toil!’ Anatin called from the head of the largest table. He had a cigar jammed in one corner of his mouth, distorting both the sparker burn on one cheek and the broad grin smeared across his face. ‘Come join us, we’ve made some new friends!’
Lynx looked around the tables. There were as many Jarrazir citizens playing as mercenaries, he realised. Most of the strangers were young men, dressed like well-off merchant sons, a few craftsmen perhaps, and three in the expensive lace-edged clothes of nobility.
‘What in Ulfer’s teats are you doing here, Aben?’ Toil demanded, spotting the big man of the Envoy’s Lighthouse Guard.
‘Got an evening off,’ Aben mumbled, awkwardly scraping his wild curls back out of his face as Toil glared at him. ‘They invited me for a quick game or two.’
‘What do you reckon your commanding officer’s likely to say about that, eh?’
He shrugged and looked away like a scolded teenager, but Payl was at his table and she waved a finger in Toil’s direction.
‘That puffed-up prick of a captain’s not going to hear, right, Toil?’ Payl’s cheeks were flushed pink. Anywhere else Lynx would have thought her drunk, but her voice betrayed a cold sober anger. ‘Don’t go there, Toil, don’t be that woman.’
‘I ain’t going to tell him,’ Toil growled, ‘but I don’t need to hear complaints from that direction. Aben, Himbel, come help us. We’ve made a friend of our own, but he took a tumble.’
‘Well this isn’t going to end well,’ Lynx sighed, as much to himself as anyone else. ‘Gambling needs a licence in Jarrazir, right?’
While Aben picked the unconscious man up in his arms and Himbel went to fetch his doctor’s bag, Anatin waved Lynx’s question away. His gestures were overly expansive and dramatic. The man might not have been drunk, but it wasn’t just good cheer or the joy of the game running through his veins.
‘It’ll be fine, we’re all friends here and everyone’s enjoying ’emselves, right? Friendly hand o’ cards, nothing ta licence, eh, lads?’
A desultory smattering of cheers, grunts and nondescript replies came from around the room, but the spell seemed to be broken and almost instantly the conversation in the room resumed. Lynx saw one curious youth keep looking with an almost insolent disregard, but after a few moments Teshen gave him a shove and stared him down until he too went back to his cards.
With Aben happy to carry the man, Toil led them to the stairs, whereupon Himbel directed her to his own room where there was a spare bunk. Still chilled from the weather, Lynx fetched a burning log from the main room to light the small fire. As he did so, Toil started to unbuckle the stranger’s belt to check every pocket in turn. She paused as she spotted a small silver ring on his finger then continued her frisking.
‘Mage’s belt?’ Aben asked as she handed it to him along with the man’s knife.
‘Yeah. Which makes sense, not obvious why he’d be friends with our fugitive mage otherwise.’
‘Now what?’
Toil finished checking the man and straightened. ‘Now we check we’ve done no permanent damage. With luck he’ll be up in a few hours, we can have a chat, then he goes back where he came from.’
‘Which was?’
‘Badren Ovens.’ Toil cocked her head at him. ‘Best you head over there actually, I left Sitain watching the place but she’s been outside all evening. Borrow a coat and relieve her, okay? If you see a young woman leave, follow her but keep your distance. She’s a mage and you really don’t want to spook her.’
Aben raised an eyebrow at Lynx, given they were of a size, who nodded. ‘Left it by the door,’ Lynx said. ‘Help yourself.’
Once he was gone, Toil allowed Himbel to fuss over his new patient a while, but once the man looked satisfied she nudged his elbow.
‘Can you give us a moment?’
Himbel took a deep breath, the sly look on his face telling Lynx he was about to make a crass comment, but the look he received made him think twice.
‘Sure,’ he mumbled, heading for the door. ‘He should be out for a couple of hours. Breathing’s shallow but regular, shout if that changes.’
Once Toil and Lynx were left alone she lifted the stranger’s hand and pointed to his ring. ‘Look familiar?’
Lynx glanced down at the one he wore himself. ‘Just a ring.’
‘Sure about that? Pretty particular design that, three diamond shapes, black, grey and white.’
‘Pretty cheap too,’ Lynx countered. ‘No gems to cost a fortune, just a small bit o’ decoration that any traveller could afford.’
‘Funny, though, how he’s dressed in shades of grey too,’ Toil said. ‘But sure, a
coincidence, fine.’
‘There’s nothing—’
She cut him off with a raised hand. ‘It’s your business,’ she said firmly. ‘I of all people got to respect that. You could have asked me a whole bunch of questions these past few weeks, but you mostly haven’t and it’s appreciated. All I’m saying is we need to win this man’s confidence once he’s awake. If you can do that better than me, just give me a nod and I’ll say no more there.’
She looked him straight in the eye then, close enough to kiss and Lynx saw a slight, rare vulnerability in her eyes. ‘But don’t lie to my face. That I don’t need.’
Lynx was transfixed for a moment, the scent of her perfume and closeness of her body enough to enfeeble him. ‘Sure,’ he croaked, ‘no lies.’
‘Thank you.’
Toil went quiet then, leaving a great gap of silence between them that Lynx felt like a pressure on his chest. An unfamiliar tangle of thoughts inside him choked his throat at first – that surge of desire he felt around Toil clashing with the dark knot of pain beneath the surface of his heart.
The broad strokes of his past were obvious enough to a woman like Toil, but the depth of the fissures inside him were something he was careful to hide. He had never told an outsider about the Vagrim brotherhood, certainly not someone he had felt something for. To do that was to admit more than he was capable of, to reveal the bandage around his damaged soul that was more precious to him than he could put into words.
‘I could try,’ Lynx muttered. ‘Talk to him, see what I could do.’
The Vagrim were not like the Militant Orders. They had no structure or purpose other than to help their own and others who needed it. Most were like Lynx, men and woman scarred by the random cruelty of life and the more mundane sort of monster mankind threw up.
It was a philosophy that was too simple to be really considered one, just the stand they chose to take. In a random and violent world, you lived as best you could and didn’t ignore what went on around you. It was the reason he’d signed with the Cards, back when he thought Toil was a kidnapped girl, the reason he’d done a lot of things over the years. When every day was a struggle, moulding your actions around the right thing to do made it all a little easier.