Darkness Rising 1: Chained

by Ross Kitson

  ***

  Twenty minutes later the situation had deteriorated from simply grim to totally hopeless. The inn had cleared during the skirmish with the exception of Olthik, who was wisely keeping to his side of the bar. Jem had been bound at the wrists with the same thick rope that secured Hunor’s hands. Emelia’s head felt the size of a house and her jaw and tongue were so painful that she found it difficult to talk.

  It was evident now that the two warriors were Knights of the Air. They were in a hushed discussion about their plans. The two mages, the Wild-mage Lemon-bite and the Air-mage Ekra-Hurr were clearly not amiable companions and stood separately, both keeping a close eye on their captives.

  At a nod from the female knight Ekra-Hurr produced a small bottle and proceeded to pour a drop into Jem’s mouth. He coughed and shuddered. Emelia’s blood ran cold—was he poisoned? Jem took a deep breath but otherwise seemed unaffected. The Air-mage limped towards her.

  “What poison is that you feed us?” she asked.

  “It is Goldorian Pure Water, little witch,” Ekra-Hurr said. “I’ve already told Lady Orla that it’s a waste on you. It’d be cheaper to allow me to flay the flesh from your deviant bones with a hurricane.”

  The Air-mage grasped her bruised jaw and she gasped in pain; he dropped a splash of the clear liquid into her mouth. The taste was bitter, like a concentrate of almonds. Emelia felt a warmth course through her body. The pain in her jaw and tongue eased. The warmth dissipated and a strange empty feeling remained, like part of her had been ripped away.

  “You’ve clearly not picked up any manners from hanging around with the tin britches,” Hunor said.

  Ekra-Hurr slipped the bottle back into his robes and turned to fix his blue eyes on Hunor.

  “Their code of honour precludes them simply executing you here and now, thief, but be aware that I am not bound by such a protocol. Your blade left me with this clawed hand. Make no mistake that my magical power is enough to slowly burn your body to an impudent crisp.”

  “You allow his incisive wit to cut you far too readily, Ekra-Hurr,” Lemon-bite said, dragging on his pipe. “Are all of you Air-mages of such a stormy temperament?”

  “A minor penalty for mastery of the skies, Wild-mage. Recall that our allegiance is but a temporary necessity.”

  “That’s enough, gentlemen. Leave your petty magical quibbles for another forum,” a crisp voice ordered. The female knight was approaching the prisoners, pulling her cloak back around her shoulders.

  She hesitated to glance at Emelia and then turned formally to address the three captives.

  “Thieves, my name is Lady Orla Farvous, captain of the Silver Wing of the Knights of the Air. I have a warrant for your arrest signed jointly by the High Commander and the Council of Eeria. Your crime, on this occasion, as I don’t doubt there are many more, is the burglary of the property of Lord Talis Ebon-Farr. More precisely you have stolen a crystal heirloom, an antique sword and one of his contracted servants, the maid Emelia. In addition the damage to the property you wreaked was extensive and shall be duly punished before a court in Coonor.”

  “The room was trashed by baldy head here, not by me and Jem,” Hunor said with a shrug. “And we didn’t steal Emelia—she decided to elope with our handsome selves.”

  “Impudent dog!” the male knight said and slapped Hunor across the face. The thief staggered and then righted himself, a dangerous glint in his eye.

  “Sir Minrik, control yourself!” Lady Orla barked. Minrik flushed and nodded, stepping back.

  “Make no mistake, thief, you shall pay for your crimes,” Lady Orla said. “It would go well for your case if you divulge the location of the crystal you stole.”

  “Sorry, darling. It was a need to know sort of job and I didn’t need to… if you catch my drift,” Hunor said, blood oozing from his split lip.

  So that was what they were after, he thought. It would give him some leverage perhaps. He caught Lemon-bite’s eyes, which were peering at him with a strange intensity.

  “I’m positive he’s lying, Lady Orla. He is tricky to read though. It’s probably the association with these other Wild-mages that has given him some resistance,” Lemon-bite said. Ekra-Hurr snorted with derision.

  Hunor cursed the Wild-mage inwardly and did his best to look innocent and simple-minded. Lady Orla sighed and nodded to Sir Minrik, who grabbed hold of Emelia.

  “My warrant is for the arrest of you and your fellow thief Jem. You are bestowed a certain degree of courtesy on the basis of the Treaty of Parok, albeit primarily a trade protection act and the Declaration of Birin.

  “The errant house maid Emelia, formerly of the House of Ebon-Farr, however, enjoys no such leniency. As a contracted servant under the Statute of Servitude she is conferred a diminished position within Eerian law. This is further modified by the Proclamation of the High Commander, supported by the Master of the Rolls, that in the course of reclamation of a magical treasure of significance to Eerian national security that whatever measures necessary may be undertaken.”

  “I love it when you talk in long words, love,” Hunor said. “It’s far more stimulating than Jem’s patter.”

  “In summary—it is permissible, though regrettable, for me to execute the maid here and now for her escape.”

  Emelia struggled furiously as Minrik drew his sword. Hunor kept his expression neutral as he stared at Lady Orla. His mind raced as he weighed the knight up: was she bluffing?

  “Where is the crystal?” Orla asked.

  “I have no idea, love,” Hunor said, trying not to look at the sobbing Emelia.

  Minrik pushed her to her knees on the floor of the inn.

  “Once more, where is the crystal?” Orla asked, her voice still even.

  “I haven’t got a clue, knight.”

  Minrik looked pale and grim as he raised his sword. The lantern light glittered off the polished steel. Olthik was muttering a prayer behind the bar.

  “Then you leave me no choice. Minrik, make it swift,” Orla sighed.

  Hunor’s yell mingled with Emelia’s scream as the blade swung down towards her neck. With a grunt Sir Minrik halted its deadly descent and the chill steel rested on her neck.

  “You cold-hearted bitch,” Hunor said, rage in his eyes.

  Orla regarded him coolly and then gestured for him to continue.

  “It’s in Thetoria, in one of the Western Baronies,” Hunor said, his voice flat. Emelia shook like a leaf, the sharp edge of the sword still pressed on her neck.

  “How do you know this?” Orla asked.

  “When we took the job from Linkon Arikson in Kir I noticed the seal on the scroll on his desk. I recognised it. It’s the seal of one of the Western Barons. Let us go and I’ll tell you which one.”

  Lady Orla approached and grasped him under the chin. Despite the tension, her haughty beauty intrigued Hunor and he smiled as her grey eyes met his.

  “You take me for a fool, Hunor. I would say a better idea is that you accompany us to the Baronies and to the noble patron that has procured my uncle’s property. And given that we will be flying there at a height of a thousand feet I would strongly advise against any escape attempts.”

  “As you say, m’lady,” Hunor said. Tension hung in the air between them and then Orla let his chin go.

  Lady Orla handed Thintor Lemon-bite a bag of coins. His face contorted with another tic before he spluttered his thanks. With a cheery nod at Hunor he began to stroll out, then halted before Emelia as if seeing her for the first time. Emelia looked up at the scruffy Wild-mage, her body still shuddering and the two silently observed each other. Lemon-bite abruptly walked away, his usually cocky demeanour not as apparent, and left the Black Lamb Inn.

  Ekra-Hurr turned to Lady Orla, the tension in his pose diminishing.

  “Captain, we should perhaps make haste to the common and to Sir Unhert and Sir Robert. Loath as I am to say this but the thieves are likely to be well connected locally and we would not wish a
further unnecessary skirmish to delay us.”

  Orla nodded and indicated to Sir Minrik. He hoisted Emelia to her feet and shoved her to join Hunor and Jem, who was now beginning to stir.

  “Come, my trio of thieves, we have a long journey ahead of us this week. Plenty of time to contemplate the errors of your ways and make peace with whatever gods patronise you,” Orla said. She flung the door open with a swirl of her travelling cloak, the stormy air lashing against them all.

  The six strode into the whistling Azaguntan storm, the shutters rattling behind them. Olthik Slanteye forced the door closed with a sigh, bolting it securely and peace once more settled in the Black Lamb Inn.