The Magelands Box Set

by Christopher Mitchell

  But he loved Daphne. Didn’t he? He was sure he did, but nothing seemed real about her any more, as if he had dreamt the whole thing.

  Kallie was real. He glanced at her. She was poking at their small fire with a thorny stick, her face tired and drawn, but otherwise emotionless. How could he have hurt this woman?

  He heard her sigh.

  ‘I don’t know if I have the will to keep going,’ she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

  ‘I thought you wanted to go back to Kell.’

  ‘I do,’ she whispered, ‘but it’s so far away, and I don’t know how to get there.’

  Her face was cast down in despair, but she laughed before he could speak.

  ‘Why am I even telling you this?’ she said.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry for…’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No, Killop,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to hear your “I didn’t mean to hurt you” speech, I’m not interested. You lost all right to say anything to me the second you took that cow into your arms.’

  ‘It wasn’t Daphne’s fault.’

  ‘Don’t you fucking say her name to me,’ Kallie snarled, then stopped, and laughed again. ‘Why the fuck do I even care? I’m past being jealous. I’m past giving a rat’s arse about what you do, or say. You threw away everything we had.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I did. I made my choice.’

  ‘And now I’m making mine,’ she snapped back. ‘To be as far away from you as possible.’

  ‘You’re going to walk to Kell alone?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘You won’t,’ called a voice.

  They turned, and saw Lacey and Bridget stumbling over the rocks towards them. Both looked exhausted, and sorely bedraggled.

  ‘You won’t have to,’ Lacey repeated. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Bridget staggered over, and sat down by the fire, shivering.

  ‘Good to see you both,’ Kallie said.

  ‘We only really got moving when it started to get light,’ Lacey said, warming her hands by the low flames.

  ‘You okay, Bridget?’ Killop asked.

  The young Brig woman nodded. ‘Need some sleep.’

  Killop looked around. ‘We must have bought ourselves some time from the slave-hunters. We should get a few hours’ rest.’

  Kallie looked unconvinced, as if she was anxious to be away, but Lacey and Bridget nodded.

  It was a warm, sunny morning, and they lay out some of their damp clothes by the entrance to a shallow cave, high above the southern bank of the lake. Killop slept fitfully, conscious that he kept bumping into Bridget, who lay between him and Kallie. They awoke near noon, and put their dried rags back on in silence, the tension heavy in the air.

  Bridget eventually spoke. ‘I think we should head round the eastern side of the lake…’

  ‘The road to Kell is north and west of here,’ Kallie said.

  ‘Aye,’ Bridget said, ‘but there’s a Rahain town on the west side of the lake. We should avoid that.’

  ‘It’s a tiny place. I saw it on the map. Should be easy to get round.’

  ‘But it’s the way they’ll expect us to take.’

  ‘So?’

  Killop watched as the two women glared at each other.

  ‘I’m not going back to Kell,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Bridget asked, her mouth open.

  ‘Not yet, at any rate,’ he said. ‘I need to find my sister first.’

  ‘And how the fuck are you going to do that?’

  ‘Let him go,’ Lacey said. ‘We don’t want him coming with us anyway.’

  Bridget looked for a second like she might punch Lacey, who inched back.

  ‘It makes it all simple,’ Kallie said. Everyone turned to her. ‘He goes east, we go west.’

  ‘We?’ Bridget asked.

  ‘You can come with us,’ Kallie said. ‘I hope you do. Or…’ She shrugged.

  Bridget sat back and sighed.

  ‘This is so fucked up,’ she said. ‘No wonder the lizards beat us, when four of us can’t stick together.’

  Killop pulled on his battered boots, as Bridget shook her head.

  ‘I’ll be glad of the company Bridget,’ he said, ‘but choose what you think is best for you, not me.’

  He stood.

  ‘Kallie, Lacey,’ he said. Lacey averted her eyes, but Kallie kept his gaze. ‘Good luck getting back to Kell, and Lach. I hope you find your families.’

  ‘Goodbye, Killop,’ Kallie said.

  He turned, keeping his eyes low.

  ‘Bridget?’ he said.

  She looked up at him, her eyes full of indecision.

  He nodded, and turned for the cave entrance.

  ‘Wait!’ Bridget called. He looked back, as she grabbed her tattered cloak.

  ‘Goodbye you two,’ she said, pausing to embrace Kallie.

  Killop waited as Bridget wiped her eyes, before she turned, and followed him out of the cave. The sunlight was reflecting brightly off the calm waters of the lake below them, and they squinted.

  ‘You all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really.’

  They turned east, and began walking down to the shore.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Bridget said, as they walked up the side of a low ridge, the lake a mile to their left. ‘Are we just searching for Keira, or are we really looking for Daphne as well?’

  Killop smiled. For four days he and Bridget had been travelling alone, and he had to admit he had been half-enjoying it. It was a relief to be without Lacey’s caustic tongue, and although he felt a weight of guilt over Kallie, it was lifting the further east they went.

  ‘Bit of both,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she said. ‘After the way Daphne rescued us, don’t you think it would be sensible to get her to help us free Keira? Plus, she probably knows where all the prisons are, she can use her mage powers to find your sister.’

  Killop frowned, annoyed that he hadn’t thought of this first.

  ‘Imagine how they’d get along,’ Bridget chuckled. ‘Daphne and Keira… Imagine them getting into a fight…’

  ‘You seem interested in talking about Daphne, all of a sudden.’

  ‘I admit,’ she said, ‘it’s a relief to be able to talk about her at last. Couldn’t in front of Kallie, for obvious reasons. But you’re forgetting that she was my friend too, way before you ever shagged her. There was something about her I liked from the start. And when we saw her take on those six lizard guards? Fucking amazing.’

  ‘That surprised me too.’

  Bridget laughed. ‘You had no idea that she was a mage?’

  ‘Not until she rescued us, and even then I only thought she could see into people’s dreams.’

  ‘I’d forgotten about that,’ Bridget said. ‘Wait, do you think that’s why you kept dreaming about her? Was she coming into your dreams at night?’

  ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She came into my head on the night of the rescue. It was a… unique experience. I’d know if she’d done it before.’

  ‘That’s just weird,’ Bridget said. ‘Imagine, if you two ever actually get together, she’ll be able to tell if you’re lying, by reading your thoughts. And she’ll be able to check if you dream of other women!’

  ‘You’d better hope I never dream of you then.’

  She snorted.

  They slowed their pace as they neared the top of the stony ridge. The bright morning had turned into a beautiful afternoon, the sun shining to the west amid a clear blue sky. Killop had noticed more vegetation as they had travelled that day, first small shrubs and tufts of long grass, and now there were patches of thin silvery trees. There had been no sign of any Rahain since the rockslide, and the entire length of the lake’s southern shore lay empty of farms or settlements.

  At the top of the ridge to their left the lake was gently curving round to the north, where a
range of low, dark mountains brooded. Several miles away, among the squat and broken foothills that nestled between the lake shore and the mountains, a small tendril of smoke was rising, and Killop and Bridget crouched, in case anyone was watching the skyline.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Bridget.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Travellers? Decided to camp early for the night, maybe.’

  ‘Should we take a look?’

  ‘Normally I’d say no,’ he said, ‘but I’m starving. Might be worth the risk to see what’s there.’

  She nodded, and they began to descend the other side of the ridge. It was steeper than the gentle slope they had climbed, and it was getting dark by the time they got in sight of the cause of the smoke.

  Three wagons were gathered around a large campfire, their gaien beasts tethered and grazing nearby. The two wagons closest to Killop and Bridget were covered in heavy canvas, while a crowd of Rahain sat near the fire, eating and talking. As they edged closer, trying not to look into the light, they saw the third wagon, and gasped.

  It was filled with Kellach slaves, crammed inside a high-barred cage sitting upon the wagon’s chassis. They were sullenly eyeing the Rahain, filthy in their tattered rags. There were men and women, and a few children also, pressing their dirty faces to the bars, watching as the Rahain ate and drank.

  Killop had to bite down on the rage he felt rising within him, and he sensed Bridget tense to his left. He started to crawl back the way they had come, and she followed him.

  When they had got out of earshot, he turned to her.

  ‘I don’t think I can walk away from that.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Bridget said, ‘but there’s eight of them, and only two of us. They have crossbows, while all you have is a crossbow wound.’

  ‘They were drinking brandy,’ Killop said. ‘We’ll wait till they get drunk, then sneak in and kill them in their sleep.’

  Bridget smiled. ‘Spoken like a true savage, Killop. I’m in.’

  Chapter 33

  Asylum

  Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 5th Day, Last Third Spring 505

  The raw peal of the brass handbell jolted Laodoc awake, and he rolled out of bed, to stand unsteadily to attention. Up and down the low-ceilinged dormitory, twenty other old men were doing the same. In the passageway running between the rows of beds, the gang-master paced up and down with a cheerful grin, ringing the bell like it was the end of the world.

  Laodoc stood by his bed, his heart pounding an irregular beat, his thin and patched-up nightgown fluttering in the breeze from the broken window at the end of the long room. He hoped it would be fixed before winter. As the last man staggered to his feet, the bell stopped ringing, and there was an audible sigh of relief.

  The gang-master turned for the door towards the washroom, and they all trooped out after him, keeping quiet and respectful. Laodoc had learned that there was a strict hierarchy among the peasant class, and unproductive old people resided somewhere near the bottom of the heap. Having no legal family, Laodoc had been allotted a bed in a workhouse, with old men occupying one wing, and old women the other. They could mix at mealtimes, but were kept segregated after lights-out each evening.

  After washing and dressing, they were led downstairs to the refectory. They queued up at the counter, where a slave handed each a bowl of weak broth and a cup of water, and then they went to their table. There was a collective murmur as they sat, as speaking was permitted for twenty minutes during breakfast every morning.

  There had been a bustle of curiosity around Laodoc when he had first arrived, but that had worn off after a few days, and he was mostly ignored, not through contempt, but more because he was unaccustomed to speaking with peasants, and often said things that sounded a little odd to them. He hadn’t told anyone the truth about his past, as he was worried they would think he was crazy, and now just tried to listen and not offend anyone.

  He supped at his broth as the others at the table castigated the hike in the price of the foul spirits that were sold in the workhouse shop. They were paid in tokens that could only be spent there, and one old man was complaining that it took two days’ labour to earn enough for a small flask of what he generously called brandy. Laodoc had tasted it one evening, during their rest hour before bed, and had had to fake a sore stomach to avoid having to drink any more.

  After breakfast their gang-master, who had eaten with the other workhouse officials at the top table, led them off to that day’s scheduled work. There was a mixed reaction as he informed them that they would again be repairing workers’ overalls. Some complained that they wanted to be outside, working in the orchards on the surface on what was looking likely to turn into a beautiful day, while others grumbled about the needle cuts they were sure to get on their callused fingers.

  As they were crossing the central atrium of the workhouse, the group’s attention was distracted by a news-teller, who was up on a podium. A crowd had gathered to listen, and were cheering. The old men’s ears pricked up and they looked pleadingly at the gang-master, who nodded his permission. Laodoc followed his room mates as they jostled their way into the busy crowd, trying to get near.

  Laodoc pushed to the front. The news-teller was a young man, dressed in official senate heraldry. He looked like he had already given out his news several times that morning, but was still relishing the reaction it got.

  ‘The siege is over!’ he was calling out, to the raucous cheers of the assembled peasants. ‘The siege is over! The Rakanese invaders have been eradicated, and their illegal occupation of our land is at an end. The victorious army of the Rahain Republic is coming home! Conscripted peasant battalions will be demobilised, and rationing will be phased out. As a gesture of goodwill to the steadfast peasantry of the Republic, the High Senate has proclaimed today a holiday, and brandy rationing is suspended until tomorrow!’

  This last piece of news garnered the loudest cheer, and Laodoc could hear comments all around, praising the wisdom of the High Senate and gloating over the defeat of the Rakanese.

  Laodoc approached the news-teller, who was basking in the cheers of the crowd.

  ‘Did you say eradicated?’

  The herald looked down from the podium. ‘What?’

  ‘You said “eradicated”,’ Laodoc repeated. ‘What did you mean?’

  ‘Annihilated, old man,’ the news-teller beamed. ‘Smoked out like an infestation of cockroaches.’

  Laodoc staggered backwards in shock, as around him there were more cheers at the news-teller’s words.

  ‘About time!’ someone shouted. ‘Slimy frog-eyed bastards!’

  There were laughs from the crowd, and the news-teller grinned.

  ‘Indeed!’ he called out. ‘And thanks to the clever plan of the High Senate, the destruction of the Rakanese camp was carried out at no further cost in lives to our own soldiers!’

  ‘A cheer for the High Senate!’ someone called.

  The peasants roared their approval as Laodoc slunk his way backwards away from the crowd, despair and horror threatening to capsize him. He felt a hand grab his arm.

  ‘You all right, old man?’ the gang-master shouted in his ear as if he was deaf.

  ‘Never better, sir,’ Laodoc replied, scrabbling to regain his composure.

  The gang-master frowned at his accent. They all thought he affected his upper class tone, another reason why he usually kept quiet.

  ‘I was wondering, sir,’ he continued, before his courage failed him, ‘as it’s a holiday, could I be permitted a pass to go out into the city, please?’

  The gang-master let go of Laodoc’s arm and rubbed his chin. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just for a walk,’ Laodoc said. ‘I’ve not been out of the workhouse since I arrived, sir.’

  ‘You’ll miss the free brandy.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You know the punishment for breaching curfew?’

  ‘Yes sir, I do,’ Laodoc said. ‘I’ll be back before the dinner bell, I pro
mise.’

  The gang-master frowned, but pulled a wad of papers from his side bag, and a pencil. He filled out a printed pass, and handed it to Laodoc.

  ‘Behave yourself out there, old man,’ he growled, and walked away.

  Laodoc clutched the slip of paper like it was the most precious thing he had ever held.

  He stopped off at his bed in the dormitory to collect a few things, then made his way to the front gates of the workhouse.

  The guards eyed him with contempt but let him through. Laodoc practically ran up the street, feeling a rush of freedom. He had only been in the workhouse for fifteen days, but already it seemed like an eternity. Every day was the same, and the lives of the inmates were controlled by a suffocating blanket of rules and regulations. Some of the old men had been inside the workhouse for years, and Laodoc had in no way come to terms with the fact that this was to become his life.

  As he walked through the streets the lamps were being brightened, to signify morning. This was the first time he had been out in public wearing his peasant clothing, and he found he had to quickly adjust. Slaves still got out of his way, but the upper classes acted as if he wasn’t there, and he had to scurry aside if he saw them coming. The soldiers on the street corners glared at him in the same manner they regarded all peasants and slaves. No one really looked at his face. His uniform was everything, his place in the structure of society as fixed as stone.

  By lunchtime Laodoc’s feet were getting sore, and his stomach was rumbling. He still had far to go and he realised that, if his plan didn’t succeed, he would be late getting back to the workhouse. Three nights in the punishment cells beckoned, and he felt his anxiety rise.

  He reached the huge cavern where the government buildings were clustered a couple of hours after noon. He stopped for a moment to gaze up at the beautiful spires of the High Senate, and then the more modest towers of the City Council, where the Requisition and Mobilisation Committee continued to rule.