by Max Anthony
With a demi-chicken in each hand, Captain Honey wrung both their necks with a practiced flick of her wrists. She carried only one sword, for she preferred to keep the second hand free for punching, and she drew the weapon now, having killed eight of the chickens so far. A swing of her sword cut a ninth in two, scattering feathers and leaving the demi-chicken’s toothed beak no time to squawk its disappointment.
With lights of increasing intensity escaping from the tavern’s windows, the giant was hacked to pieces, having already been wounded by the animals in their desperation to escape. As it toppled over dead, landing on a snake and a baboon, Captain Honey looked cautiously through the shattered doorway and into the tavern. She squinted until her eyes became accustomed to the brightness. One of her soldiers was standing next to her.
“Should we break it up?” he asked, his badly-timed question being drowned out by a series of loud bangs from within.
“What was that you said?” Captain Honey shouted back at him.
The soldier waited until a squealing shriek had died away. “Should we break it up?”
Captain Honey thought about it for a moment. “They look like they’re having fun. Let’s give them five minutes.”
As the soldiers watched from a position next to the twitching corpse of the dead giant, a shape strode calmly from the front door, hardly even bothering to duck as a chair went flying by its head.
“Captain Skulks,” said Captain Honey, not at all surprised to see him.
“Captain Honey,” greeted Captain Skulks.
“I see you got back safely from Rhult. I’m glad.”
“Yes, it was interesting there. A nice trip.” He tailed off lamely. “I’m glad you got back safely too.”
“Do you need any assistance?” she asked.
Reminded of the task in hand, Skulks forced his head clear. “I think I know who has marked me and I must catch her now!”
“Good luck,” said Captain Honey as Skulks dashed away down the main street, before changing direction suddenly and disappearing into a side alley.
Twenty-Two
After a few minutes, Skulks was fairly certain he knew where the magical tugging was leading him. Sure enough, it wasn’t long until he exited an alley onto the plaza in front of the Hardened Republic hotel. It was brightly lit, for wizards liked to stay up late as Skulks had just witnessed in the tavern close by. The lobby was bustling as wizards returned from their evening sojourns in the nearby drinking holes, whilst the more adventurous wizards were just going out, their faces festooned with moustaches both fashionable and unfashionable as they headed off towards Hardened’s more popular tavern districts. “Getting down with the young folks” was how some of the wizards put it, though those same young folk would have asked “Who are these old codgers and codgettes and why are they trying to pretend they are thirty years younger than they are?”
With his spell of re-tracking guiding him faithfully, Skulks was spared the inconvenience of having to steal the hotel’s signing-in book once more. He crossed the lobby, staring purposefully ahead and occasionally uttering something he considered arcane as he headed to the main staircase.
“Tarkle hrumba,” he told an employee carrying a tray of drinks, before pronouncing his infinite wisdom upon another lady scurrying towards the staff rooms. “H’weegh homple ham!” he said, nodding in satisfaction at her puzzled face.
Soon, he’d reached the second floor of the hotel, where fewer guests were to be seen. He passed one coming the other way as the spell pulled him along a corridor. The spell abruptly stopped pulling him the way it had been, and instead pulled him directly the opposite way. Skulks stopped and turned, only to find the guest he’d just passed had also stopped and turned. Her hair was shorter now and a darker colour than it had been previously, but it was unmistakeably her.
“Tremble!”
“The Wielder!”
With the opportunity to speak, Skulks was unable to resist. “Why are you trying to kill me?” he demanded.
“I am not!” squeaked Ryanda Tremble, caught off guard by this unexpected meeting.
“You have been sending demons, giants and fish to see me off!”
“I can’t help it!” protested Tremble. “I am lacking the power to summon such demons. It is Tiopan Lunder, channelling his desire for revenge through me from afar! I have been unable to prevent him, though I would prefer that it stop!”
“Where is Lunder?” asked Skulks, determined to kill him this time, rather than merely render him unconscious.
“I don’t know! I think he’s going to be at the Convention. He has an insect repelling spell he wishes to show off.”
Skulks was at a momentary loss. Ryanda Tremble was guilty of murder in High Domes, as well as guilty of involvement in a plot to overthrow the rightful government of Hardened.
“What am I to do with you?” he asked.
Not content to give him the final say over her fate, Tremble unleashed her quickest-casting spell, which she had initially called Ryanda’s Knee Trembler, until the cackles from a few of the dirtier minded, lecherous old wizards had persuaded her to change the name to Ryanda’s Spell for the Sapping of Strength from Legs.
One of the feeble wards Skulks had placed upon himself glowed faintly as the spell struck it. The spell was also feeble in the grand scheme of wizardry, but being slightly less feeble than Skulks’ ward, he nevertheless noticed his legs becoming heavy and difficult to move, though not to the extent Tremble was expecting. It took Skulks’ Wielding powers of unlocking hardly a second to unravel the remainder of the spell, by which point Tremble had hurled him fifteen feet backwards with a wave of force projected from her hands.
Having suffered attack by these spells before, Skulks was prepared and rolled nimbly to his feet, dagger-sword in hand as he prepared to throw it into whatever part of Tremble’s anatomy he thought most appropriate at the time he threw it. The dagger remained uncast, for Tremble was now upon the floor, shaking and twitching.
“Urghh!” she cried, followed by, “Arghh!”
Skulks was naturally curious, so approached along the corridor, ready to strike if he thought she was playing tricks.
“Run!” she gurgled, feeling an unexpected sympathy for her Wielder adversary. “This one’s the most powerful yet.”
Far from running, Skulks watched in fascination as a creature detached itself from Tremble’s body, unfurling itself as if it had been somehow contained within her. This corridor in the Hardened Republic was over eight feet tall, not quite enough to allow the creature to stand upright to its full ten feet. Though Skulks was not to know it, this was a demon lordling, spawned nine hundred years ago and grown in a pit of blood and excrement until it was strong enough to fight. And fight it had, killing its brothers and sisters without thought and with impunity as it sucked the strength from them with every murder. Through the centuries it had waged war across demonic planes, destroying and pillaging until it had come to be noticed by a demon prince, who had imbued it with the powers of magic and intelligence, in order that it could further indulge its appetite for the chaos so loved by those of its type.
Now, it had been brought forth at the command of a powerful wizard to kill a Wielder, though at this task it was to prove a disappointment. While it fought to detach itself from the conduit of Ryanda Tremble’s thrashing body, a dagger-sword pierced its vast array of defensive wards, entered its left eye and plunged hilt-deep into its brain. Not quite dead, it felt regret, not because it had left the oven on, but because it would never again taste the blood for which it had such an insatiable appetite. There were more wards upon its chest, concentrated most thickly about its heart. These wards flared up impotently as a second dagger-sword cut through them and perpetrated a wide hole into the muscular organ beneath.
The demon lordling fell to its knees, then collapsed onto its side, shaking doors and walls nearby. With a hotel full of wizards, the occasional bang and crash was to be expected, so none of the guests ventured from t
heir rooms to complain about the noise. With the demon vanquished, Skulks checked Ryanda Tremble, intending to arrest her if she was alive. She saved him the trouble, for she was entirely dead, overcome by the trauma of having such a powerful a demon force its way out through her body. Skulks was relieved that she was no more, for she had been the cause of much trouble and death over the last few months.
With little choice Skulks left the bodies where they lay, for room service to collect on their morning rounds. As head of the Office of Covert Operations he thought that he should probably speak to the manager about allowing demons into her hotel, but given that he felt at least partially responsible for this one, he decided to look the other way on this occasion. Skulks left the Hardened Republic, hurrying on as he heard a scream echoing from upstairs. Deciding that he deserved a snooze, he returned to No. 46 Cow’s Skirt Corner which felt cold and dusty after his long absence. Uncaring, Skulks plopped himself onto his bed, pulled the sheets over his legs and dropped into the best slumber he’d had in several weeks.
Early the following morning, Skulks woke up feeling greatly refreshed, though he still retained the memory of a particularly unpleasant dream in which he’d been deep in conversation with Heathen Spout, Captain Honey and Frieda Berry before he realised his trousers were missing and that he had a long, colourful feather sticking out of his bottom.
Following a quick check of his bottom for feathers, Skulks got off the bed and looked through his window. Today was the first day of the Wizards’ Convention and he felt that the re-apprehension or accidental slaughter of Tiopan Lunder was close. He was both nervous and excited. Having dressed and pinned his captain’s tassel to his shoulder, Skulks left the house. The Heavenly Snouts Auditorium wasn’t far and he stopped at a pie seller on the way.
“Do you think business will be good?” asked Skulks of the pie seller, secretly hoping the Convention would be a flop.
“Definitely. These wizards can shovel down a pie or three, that’s for sure.” The man could hardly contain his happiness, for he had sold out of pies on each of the last three days and the Convention hadn’t even begun yet. Today, he was carrying an extra twenty-five pies, their weight giving him pains in the lower back. By the time Skulks had left him, the strain on the pie seller’s back was lessened to the tune of four pies.
The auditorium was a large building, designed to host events both big and small, and to showcase the city of Hardened as a good place to do business. It was vaguely circular in shape, with lumps and bumps here and there to draw the eye. It had taken three years to plan and another five years to build, overseen by the prominent architect Tangerine. She was too important to have more than one name, though had Skulks been interested enough to seek out the birth records in the Chamber Building, he would have eventually found an entry listing the birth of a baby Sweet Cheeks Tangerine Musty. Skulks thought the auditorium was an ugly building, as did many of the locals who had fondly dubbed it ‘The Pustule’.
Skulks ran through the list of events in his head, trying to pin down the most likely time for trouble and also when Tiopan Lunder was most likely to make an appearance. The morning of day one was taken up by introductions and lectures from celebrity guest wizards. Skulks didn’t think it likely that there’d be much trouble during these events. The afternoon was host to a few of the more minor awards, followed by an enormous buffet for which the Convention was famed. Skulks double-checked the itinerary. “With complementary drinks” it stated, ensuring that Skulks would do his best to attend.
The real conundrum facing Skulks wasn’t the shepherding of unruly wizards, but the capture of Tiopan Lunder. The trouble was, Skulks had no idea what his foe was going to look like. Certainly Lunder might show up at the Convention, larger than life, just waiting for Skulks to throw a dagger in his back. More likely though, he would be in disguise. Given that he was a powerful wizard, he would have more options open to him than a fake moustache and a spinning bow tie. He could probably look like anyone.
“Lunder is lanky, fairly scrawny, with a long nose and strong Rhultian accent,” Skulks told himself. “If I were he, I would try my best to look exactly the opposite: short, dumpy, wide of nose and with a Ko-Chak or Treads accent. He will know I’m looking for him, but will rely on the strength of his disguise to keep himself hidden from me.”
Pleased with his reasoning, Skulks positioned himself brazenly at the main entrance to the Heavenly Snouts Auditorium. Even at this early hour, wizard, mages, adepts and conjurers of every hue were starting to flock through the doors, many of them looking haggard as if they’d had five or six too many drinks the previous evening. Skulks recognized several from The Wizard’s Repose, wearing as they did minor cuts, lacerations, burns and bruises from the explosive jocularity.
As the wizards arrived, Skulks pretended to give additional scrutiny to the taller, thinner specimens, particularly those with facial hair. Even as he did so, he was paying even greater attention to the shorter wizards, trying to make a note of their name badges as they went by. Eventually the influx tapered off to a few latecomers, with no obvious contenders for a Lunder in disguise. Slightly downcast, even though the Convention was to last three days, Skulks went inside in the hopes of somehow catching Lunder off-guard.
The morning proceeded unexpectedly well, for the celebrity guest wizards made fine speakers and the recently-empowered Adept Skulks found himself leaning forwards to hear their words as they discussed the underlying mechanics of spellcraft. They used a variety of props, practical experiments and audience participation in order to keep the crowd’s attention. At one point, Skulks was chosen to take part in an experiment involving the conjuration of a rodent, and the teleportation thereof into a nearby cage. At the end, he found himself taking part in the applause, surprising even himself.
The afternoon was a rather less interesting affair for Skulks. A boxed light lunch was available to anyone who wanted one, picked up from a long table in the auditorium foyer. Skulks, not known for his shyness, elicited a few clucks and tuts by walking away with three lunches and returning shortly after for another two. Having spoken to the pie seller outside, Skulks was surprised to see many of the wizards nibbling daintily at their cucumber sandwiches.
“Perhaps they filled up on pies earlier,” thought Skulks. “Or maybe they are saving themselves for the evening buffet.” He cheered up at this last idea.
The break for lunch lasted an hour, during which Skulks flitted about the wizards, making small-talk. He’d removed his captain’s tassel some time ago, so now he could have been anyone, though his clothing raised an eyebrow or two.
“Who’s that fellow over there in black?” he heard someone whisper.
“I don’t know, but I’m not sure I like the look of him.”
“He looks like he’s just crawled out of a midden,” said a third.
Skulks let it all wash over him. As it happened, most of the conversation was about ale, wine, meat pies and chicken legs, rather than about his tattered black clothing. Regardless, Skulks was starting to feel more conspicuous than he’d have liked. He felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around to find Captain Honey standing there.
“Captain Honey,” he said.
“Captain Skulks,” she replied.
“Have they got you on guard duty?”
“After the unpleasantness last night at The Wizard’s Repose, the Chamber Council thought it best if a representative of the army was on hand. Just to keep an eye on things.”
“Have you encountered any suspicious behaviour yet?” asked Skulks.
Captain Honey smiled. “It’s the Wizard’s Convention! They’re all suspicious if you ask me!” She continued, “What are your plans for the Convention?”
Skulks lowered his voice, “I must capture or kill the rogue wizard Tiopan Lunder. That is my primary wish.”
Honey nodded at this. “And how do you plan to flush him out?”
“I will gain the trust of the other wizards and see if they have any inform
ation I might find useful. Tonight’s buffet will be my best opportunity if I don’t see him at the awards this afternoon.” He suddenly felt self-conscious, for Captain Honey was looking at him, with her nose crinkled.
“You’re looking a little bit tatty,” she said, to Skulks’ dismay.
“I have a limited wardrobe,” he confessed miserably.
Their conversation was interrupted by a group of ushers, directing the wizards out of the foyer and back into the main auditorium, where the first of the awards ceremonies was to be held. Skulks allowed himself to be ushered and shuffled in slowly with the others. The seats were reserved, but Skulks was not. He pushed aside the name plate on a seat which took his fancy and settled down to watch proceedings, wilfully ignoring the further tuts and clucks coming from the wizard who had arrived to find a black-clad tramp-like individual in her prime seat.
The auditorium was circular, with twenty tiers surrounding a speaker’s area at the bottom. The speaker’s area had a podium which could stand at least a dozen in comfort, with three lecterns for the designated speakers. The acoustics were excellent and Skulks could hear every word from below as well as every muffled cough, sneeze and fart from the gathered audience. There was a general buzz about the place, for most felt that the first day’s awards ceremonies marked the real start of the Convention. A rotund, bearded man made his way onto the podium.