by Duncan Pile
Belom felt an ugly surge of jealousy. He and Chloe had been on the verge of something. He knew it in his bones. But then this man had come out of nowhere and anything they might have had together was over before it began. Belom had watched in hurt silence as Shirukai had wormed his way into her heart, her home and her bed, wondering all the while when Chloe would wake up and send him packing. Belom considered himself a good judge of character. It was easy to see people for what they were when you spoke little and kept your ears open, and Belom could tell that Shirukai was a deeply troubled person. Chloe was blinded by memories of the man she had once loved, but whatever had happened in the intervening years had blighted him. He was not…safe.
Since reaching that conclusion, Belom had resolved to keep a close eye on things. As far as he was concerned, Chloe was in danger, and he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. Reflecting on the sour turn events had taken, Belom sighed once more and turned his attention back to the tree.
…
Shirukai lay in bed, wondering when Chloe was getting back. He hated being apart from her, even for short periods. The barrier that kept the Dark God at bay began to erode when she wasn’t there. Ak-Thakis drew near, a cold wind rattling the windows of Shirukai’s mind. He found himself fighting a rising tide of panic.
Where was she? She’d only stepped out for firewood, and should have been back ages ago. Sestin sat up and cracked open one of the shutters, but she was nowhere in sight. He padded across the room and peered out through the other window. Was that her, out there in the forest? He could see two figures, a man and a woman perhaps, but they were obscured by the trees. He donned a cloak, pulled on his boots and moved to the door, opening it as quietly as he could.
He crossed the clearing and passed into the forest, treading lightly to avoid loose twigs. As he moved deeper into the trees, the murmur of hushed conversation reached his ears. The man’s voice was deep and urgent, and the woman’s was careful and placating. It was Chloe. Shirukai froze, anger coursing through him. There was only one man who would take such a liberty.
Sestin stepped carefully through the trees until he could hear what was being said, and hid behind a trunk, listening intently.
“I’m just worried about you,” the deep voice rumbled. Sestin’s eyes narrowed. As he’d expected, it was Belom.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Chloe said. “Shirukai and I go back a long way. I know him.”
“Do you?” Belom asked. “People change, Chloe. Are you sure he is the same man you used to know?”
“What would you know?” Chloe snapped. “You’ve barely spoken to him.”
“How could I? He locks himself away in your cottage, day and night. He doesn’t come to the village gatherings, and come to think of it, neither do you anymore. Half the village is worried about you.”
“If that’s true, they can tell me themselves! Who elected you their spokesman?” Belom fell silent, and when Chloe spoke again it was in a gentler tone. “I appreciate your care for me Belom. I know that if Shirukai hadn’t come back we might have become lovers, but that’s over now. You need to accept that.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Belom said. “I am genuinely concerned for your safety. Whether you see it or not, there’s something dark about this man. Get away from him while you have the chance.”
“Belom, that’s enough!” Chloe said. “I love Shirukai and he has my trust. I know you care for me, and once again, I appreciate it, but I need you to leave me alone.”
Silence reigned once more.
“I’m so sorry, Belom” Chloe whispered.
Alarmed by the intimacy in her voice, Sestin risked being seen and peered around the tree. He was horrified to see she had moved near to Belom, her hands on his cheeks. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Belom took her hands and lowered them. “I’m still here, Chloe. I always will be.” He turned and walked away into the trees.
Burning with fury, Sestin rushed back through the woods and entered the cottage. He slipped off his boots and robe and climbed back into bed, his mind whirring. Chloe hadn’t betrayed him, but he couldn’t stand seeing her so close to another man. As for Belom, he had well and truly crossed the line, trying to undermine his relationship with Chloe. Worryingly, the woodsman’s comments had been close to the mark, and perhaps over time he might succeed in turning Chloe against him. Sestin couldn’t risk her seeing the truth about him any more than he could tolerate a rival.
In a flash of insight, Sestin wondered if Belom was the real reason Chloe was reluctant to leave the village. Perhaps she still felt for him. The thought was alarming, but it also galvanized his resolve. Sestin’s fury crystallised into cold calculation. If Belom bound Chloe to Caleb’s Brook, then it was time to sever that tie.
Could he really do it though? He’d committed fouler deeds, but only under the Dark God’s influence. Could he take a life in cold blood?
The door opened and Chloe entered the cottage, arms loaded with firewood. “You’ve been gone a while,” Sestin said, trying not to sound accusatory.
“Sorry, I got chatting with Agatha,” she said, the long fall of her hair obscuring her face as she lowered the logs to the floor.
Sestin boiled with anger, but he was careful to disguise it. “Oh, how was she?” he said, all the while wondering how and when he was going to kill Belom.
…
It was the middle of the night. The grass was cool and damp beneath Sestin’s bare feet as he padded across the clearing. He dare not use magic to cloak his passage, in case Chloe detected him. She might have given up using her powers, but once a magician always a magician, and she would sense any spell he cast.
Silently, he slipped into the shadow of a cottage at the edge of the village, expertly constructed from rough-hewn timbers. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had never been so nervous. Sestin paused, rallying himself for what was to come. It has to be done! Moving around the back of the house, Sestin went to the window and peered in through a gap in the shutters. There was a bed in the far corner of the room, and atop it lay a blanketed mound. Belom.
Sestin slid through the shadows until he reached the door and turned the knob experimentally. It wasn’t locked. His heart in his throat, Sestin withdrew a small vial from within his robes and uncorked it. Holding it carefully before him – it would not do to spill even a drop on his skin – he moved across the room on silent feet. Halfway across the floor a board complained loudly and Belom began to stir. Sestin froze, sweat breaking out on his forehead. All of a sudden, he saw the flaw in his plan. Armed with his magic, Sestin was more than a match for anyone, but he’d already determined that he couldn’t use his powers. Belom was huge, and was undoubtedly the more powerful man. If he awoke, Sestin would be forced to use magic and Chloe would know what he had done. She would never be able to forgive him for this.
Belom groaned and rolled over, but moments later he was still again, his breath falling into the rhythms of sleep. Sestin breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Now move! He started forward again, taking tentative steps forwards. The big man didn’t stir, even when he reached the bed. He reached out a trembling hand, clasped Belom’s shoulder and ever so gently drew him onto his back. The big man snorted but didn’t wake up. His mouth was ajar. Sestin carefully positioned the vial and slowly began to tilt it. The first opaque droplet splashed onto Belom’s lip. The large man stirred, licking his lips and opening his eyes. Hurriedly, Sestin tipped the rest of the vial into Belom’s mouth and stepped back, even as his victim sat up in alarm.
“You!” Belom said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out!” He rose to his feet, a menacing hulk of a man, but instead of reaching for Sestin he clutched his own throat, his eyes widening. “What have you done?” he choked, between strangled breaths.
“What I had to,” Sestin said, watching as the larger man struggled.
Belom fell to his knees. He looked up with pleading eyes.
“Leave her,” he gasped. “She deserves…better.”
Sestin crouched down, meeting the dying man’s gaze. “I’m sure you’re right, but that is not your choice to make.”
Belom surged forward, grabbing Sestin by the throat. Sestin tried to prise his hand away but Belom’s grip was strong. He was beginning to crush his windpipe. Fearfully, he reached for his power, but Belom’s grip slackened before he needed to use it. Sestin drew in a huge lungful of air as Belom’s hand slid away. The light faded from the woodsman’s eyes and he fell dead at Sestin’s feet.
Shaking, Sestin rubbed at his bruised neck. Too close! He moved around the body and slipped his hands under Belom’s arms. Leaning back, he hauled the heavy corpse across the floor until it was propped up against the wall, but try as he might, he couldn’t lift it onto the bed. In the end, he settled for arranging the body on the floor, as if Belom had fallen out of bed in his death throes. It would have to do. In a backwater hamlet like Caleb’s Brook, there wouldn’t be any difficult questions.
“You shouldn’t have interfered,” he said, before slipping out the way he had come.
Twenty-four
Gaspi looked at the long line of armoured men and battle-ready magicians awaiting his instruction, and knew he wasn’t up to the task. That feeling of inadequacy, which had been growing by the day, crystallised so perfectly in that moment that he almost laughed out loud. Ludicrous though it may seem, he and Taurnil were the best people for the job. There were other magicians practiced in the art of sword and sorcery, but none were as skilled as they were. They had defeated all their opponents at the Measure, after all.
There was no putting it off any longer. Gaspi took a deep breath and stepped forward, lifting his hands. The long line of volunteers fell silent, as did the small crowd of spectators, lining the perimeter of the fighting floor. “Thank you all for coming,” he said, and heard the uncertain quaver in his voice. His words, magically amplified by an enchanted ring Hephistole had given him, carried to every person in the arena. He cleared his throat. “Soon we will be facing Sestin’s armies, and we must do everything we can to meet that threat. I’ve been asked to teach you the basics of Sword and Sorcery.” His confidence grew as he spoke. This needed doing, and as the task had fallen to him, he was going to give it everything he had.
“First, a demonstration,” he said, taking off his ring and slipping into the interior pocket of his robe. He beckoned to Taurnil, who stepped out and joined him, followed by Jaim and Jonn, both of whom had fought in the Measure, but not together.
“Okay, let’s keep it simple. Basic formation, standard strikes only.”
“Got it,” Jaim said.
The teams moved apart, mirroring each other. Taurnil and Jonn were out front, the magicians a pace or two behind and off to one side, giving them a clear view of their opponents. Gaspi summoned a modicum of power – he didn’t want to overpower Jaim, whose skillful spell-work was undermined by a lack of raw strength.
Threading power into Taurnil’s gear, Gaspi tapped him on the shoulder and Taurnil advanced, closing the gap on Jonn. He expected Jaim to do the same, but with a deft touch the dark-haired magician cast a force strike at Gaspi, trying to break his concentration. Gaspi summoned a shield and deflected it, and before Jaim could protect Jonn, Taurnil was on him, attacking with enhanced strength. Jonn parried, but without magical enhancement, his blades did little to divert Taurnil’s blow, which caught him on the upper arm with considerable force and spun him around. Taurnil had him pinned down in a moment and Jaim surrendered.
Gaspi turned to face the crowd and slipped the enchanted ring back on his finger. “There you saw two different strategies at work. I channelled my power into Taurnil’s weaponry and armour, while Jaim sought to distract me with a strike. If he’d been successful, Taurnil would have been vulnerable for a moment, but I was able to block the strike without losing focus. As soon as that happened, Taurnil and Jonn were left unevenly matched and the result was a foregone conclusion. Raise your hand if you were able to follow the magical interplay.”
Among the magicians, about half raised their hands. That was good. Sword and Sorcery was a subtle art that required a high degree of magical perception.
“Okay, we’ll try that again. Magicians, use your senses as well as your eyes. After a few more bouts we’ll match you up with an opposing dyad and you can have a go for yourselves.”
He pocketed his ring and turned to face Jaim. “Ready to go again?”
“Sure,” Jaim said with a grin. “Just take it easy okay? I can’t match your strength.”
Gaspi returned the grin. “Take your positions!” They took a battle-ready stance once more. “Begin!”
…
Taurnil sat down on Lydia’s bed with a loud harrumph. He’d gone to her room straight after training.
“Hard session?” Lydia said.
Taurnil shrugged, feeling bone-weary. He and Gaspi were working tirelessly to prepare the new dyads for battle. “Some of them are coming on nicely but they’re not ready for battle yet; not by a long chalk. We need more time.”
Lydia placed a cool hand on his forearm. “Just do the best you can,” she said. “No-one can ask for more.”
Taurnil frowned. “That’s easy enough to say, but these are my own men now. I want them to survive!”
“Which they have a chance of doing, thanks to you and Gaspi,” Lydia insisted. “No-one is guaranteed to make it through the battle alive. You know that, Taurn. Every one of us will be putting our lives on the line when the fighting breaks out.”
Taurnil met her gaze, braving himself to seize the moment. “Lyd, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
She looked at him sharply. “Go on…”
“I want you to stay out of the battle.”
Lydia removed her hand from his arm. “I knew this was coming. Be serious Taurn!”
“I am being serious. A battlefield is no place for a…”
“What? A woman?”
Taurnil winced. That wasn’t really what he meant, but he didn’t want to admit, even to himself, what he was really thinking. “It will be chaos. Bloody, violent chaos. You’re not a fighter.”
“Don’t even start!” Lydia said. “I’m doing my part whether you like it or not.”
Taurnil shook his head. “Lydia, please. I don’t ask you for much, but I need you to do this one thing…for me!”
“Look at me Taurn.”
He met her gaze, and saw determination in her beautiful brown eyes. “I’m going to fight. Just drop it okay?”
Taurnil surged to his feet and began to pace. “I’m not going to drop it. You’re my wife and I won’t let you risk your life.”
“You won’t let me?”
Taurnil knew he was on dangerous ground, but there was no backing down. “That’s what I said.”
“Who do you think you married? Some milk-sop from the mountains who does what her husband tells her?”
Taurnil winced. “You don’t understand.”
Lydia rose to her feet and walked over, taking his hands. “Then make me understand. What’s this all about?”
Taurnil’s eyes were suddenly moist. He screwed them shut, but couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said at last, knowing as he did so that he’d lost the argument.
“Taurn…” she said, her tone softening.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Taurn, I need you to listen to me,” she said. “I will be fighting alongside the fire spirit. Together, we can do more damage than a dozen men with swords. My place is on the battlefield. Surely you can see that.”
Taurnil dropped his head. Lydia was right; she and the fire spirit were a force to be reckoned with. His need to keep her safe was entirely selfish. “I can,” he whispered. “I just can’t imagine life without you.”
“Neither can I, my love,” Lydia said, kissing him softly. “We’ll make it thr
ough. I know it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Taurnil whispered, holding her close, but in his heart of hearts he struggled to believe it.
Twenty-five
Sestin watched the hedge wizard whine and wheedle, touting his shoddy charms to the villagers of South Farthing. None seemed to be interested, which Sestin found amusing, as the man actually had a modicum of magical talent. He could sense it, even from a distance, which was enough to pique his interest. For long decades he had fed the Bloodstone, thinning the barrier that held the Dark God at bay, and now Ak-Thakis was on the verge of breaking through and taking his place as Lord of this realm. It would take a special kill to pierce the centuries-old barrier – one he’d been planning for years – but in the meantime the Dark God was urging him to seek out and kill other magic-users in preparation for that final victory.
The hedge wizard was powerful enough to be worth the effort, which was unfortunate for him but fortunate for Sestin, who saw before him yet another step towards freeing the Dark God from his prison.
He dropped his magical disguise – a spell of unseeing that prevented others from registering his presence even when he was right in front of them – and approached the hedge wizard, whose eyes lit up at the prospect of a customer, but then narrowed when he saw Sestin was wrapped in the robes of a magic-user.
“Good day, Sir,” he said with a bow. “May I be of service?”