Bloodmage

by Stephen Aryan

“But then he started to remember,” said Fray.

  “Perhaps, or maybe he was more seriously injured than I realised,” admitted the Khevassar. “Regardless he was irreparably changed. How much more do you need to know?”

  It was a good question, but not one Fray was sure he could answer at the moment. Hearing more of the grisly details would not change the facts. His father had fought and beaten the Flesh Mage. He had died saving the city from worse bloodshed. And now it was his turn to try.

  “What are you willing to do to solve this case?” asked Fray and the Old Man raised an eyebrow. “Would you consider an unusual approach?”

  “Now you sound like your father,” muttered the Khevassar, before gesturing for Fray to continue.

  “I’ve heard stories about a brewing conflict between the crime Families. People are saying it’s out-of-character behaviour and no one saw it coming. What if the Flesh Mage orchestrated this feud?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” said the Old Man. “Even if the Flesh Mage isn’t involved, he would benefit from such widespread violence. So, assuming he was involved, I tried reaching out to the Families through channels. As you might expect, they’ve not been very receptive. If he orchestrated this, if he has that kind of reach, then he’s deeply embedded in their world. We can’t just walk in there. They practically know every Guardian by name. If we went in with larger numbers they’d see us coming and scatter. Any Guardian who went in solo would disappear and wash up in the river.”

  “No one knows my name, or my face,” said Fray.

  The Khevassar sat and steepled his fingers, his eyes distant and thoughtful. Fray remained silent, letting him ponder the risks and potential rewards.

  At the beginning he’d been following Byrne’s lead on this case, but now he had a chance to do something by himself. No one else apart from Fray could identify the Flesh Mage, regardless of whose face he was wearing. Even though Fray knew he was in over his head, his unique Talent meant it had to be him.

  “You understand the risks?” asked the Old Man.

  “Yes.”

  “No one will come for you. One wrong word and it will be your body we’re fishing out of the river.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m an old man,” said the Khevassar suddenly. “I’ve lived longer than most, but I’m lucky to have few regrets. One of those is you.”

  Fray was confused. “Sir?”

  The Old Man shook his head. “I know you and your father weren’t close for many years. You wanted to be your own man, find your own way. Even so, I wish you’d joined us sooner, and not because of your magic.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you remind me of him. If you’d started your training even five years ago things would be different. Your father was one of the best Guardians I’ve ever met. I’d hoped that one day he’d take over my office.”

  Fray was speechless. He knew other Guardians respected his father but he’d had no idea the Old Man had been making long-term plans.

  “No matter. One day someone else will have to shoulder the burden. Are you sure you want to do this?” asked the Khevassar.

  “Not really, but I need to.”

  “Then I hope the Great Maker keeps you safe,” said the Old Man, offering his hand. “Do you know where to start?”

  “I have a couple of ideas.”

  “If you’ll indulge me, I have one piece of advice. If you feel threatened, don’t hesitate to do whatever is necessary. Mercy will get you killed.”

  Fray shook his hand and walked back along the silent corridors towards the front door.

  He’d lived on the fringes of the underworld, even helped a few criminals find closure when they’d lost friends and relatives, but never something like this. Despite not being known as a Guardian, walking in by himself would be suicide. He needed a guide. Before he did that Fray had one last visit to make while there was still time.

  Fray had to knock on the door for a long time before Byrne answered. He looked genuinely surprised and while he recovered his composure Fray tried to get used to seeing him out of uniform. Part of Fray expected Byrne to react angrily to his surprise visit but he seemed genuinely pleased. They moved to his front room and stared at one another for a minute in silence.

  “Where’s your uniform?” asked Byrne. “Did you decide to leave the Guardians?”

  Fray’s suspicions were confirmed by how hopeful Byrne sounded at the idea. “It took me a while, but I eventually worked out what you were doing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Old Man said you’d changed after my father died. I didn’t believe it at first but then I saw it. You seemed more callous and yet you were determined to solve this case. It didn’t make any sense. Then there was how you kept treating me.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Fray.”

  “But you did,” said Fray with a gentle smile. “You made a promise to my father to protect me. Once you realised I couldn’t help you with the case you kept pushing me away in the hope that I’d leave the Guardians. You were trying to keep me safe.”

  Byrne sat back in his chair and his expression became unreadable. Eventually a smile formed on his lips. “You’re right. I didn’t expect the Khevassar to force me to take some days off. I’ve been trying to get a meeting with him to explain my behaviour, but he’s ignored my letters. I was about to go down to Unity Hall.”

  “I don’t think he’d listen, because we both know not all of it was an act.” Fray felt a lot of sympathy for Byrne as he’d lost not only a mentor but also a friend who was practically family. But ever since that night he’d not taken the time to mourn and deal with what had happened and now the cracks were beginning to show. “I have to go, but I’ll try to come and visit again.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Byrne, following him to the front door.

  “I’ve found a lead on the Flesh Mage.”

  Byrne grabbed him by the shoulders and span him around. “You can’t do this by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

  “There’s no one else who can do this. I have my father’s gift and I can help stop this.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  “You can’t,” said Fray, gently easing Byrne’s hands away. “I’m going to speak with the Families and they know you’re a Guardian. They’d kill you before we had a chance to explain, and I couldn’t live with that.”

  Byrne looked terrified. He tried to say more, to come up with another argument, but Fray didn’t give him a chance. Instead he hugged Byrne tightly to his chest for a moment and went out the door in a hurry.

  Despite not being in his Guardian uniform the bald man at the arena door recognised Fray.

  “Are you working undercover?” he asked.

  “Something like that. Can I speak to Vinny?” asked Fray. The big man crossed his arms and didn’t move. “It’s Jakka, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not going to have another seizure, are you?”

  “No, not today. I’m better,” promised Fray, although he couldn’t be sure the residual energy from what the Flesh Mage had done wouldn’t affect him again. He hoped that it had been long enough since his last visit that it would have faded. Even so he was bracing himself for another onslaught.

  “Follow me,” said Jakka, finally letting him inside before locking the door again. Fray felt something on the edge of his awareness. An echo of what the Flesh Mage had done and other strong emotions which suffused the building. He kept a tight rein on his magic, as opening himself to it could cripple him again.

  Fray followed Jakka down a corridor that was so narrow the big man’s shoulders brushed the walls on either side. He knocked on a door at the end and then gestured for Fray to step inside.

  As before, Vinny sat behind a desk in an office where everything had been neatly filed. Vinny briefly glanced up as they came in but continued making a few more notes in a ledger. He waved Fray towards one of the chairs and finished what he was doing before carefully c
leaning his pen and setting it to one side. He looked no less pale and skeletal than last time, but despite his appearance, Vinny had probably not seen fifty winters.

  “Thank you, Jakka, I’m sure my young friend isn’t going to harm me,” said Vinny, dismissing the big man. “Something to drink?” he said, gesturing at a steaming pot of pungent tea.

  “No, thank you.”

  “You were here the other day,” said Vinny, pouring himself a cup.

  “Yes, with my partner.”

  Vinny sipped at his tea, grimaced at the taste and gulped more of it down. “Did you find that dock worker?”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m here. I need your help again.”

  Vinny raised an eyebrow. “Where’s your uniform?”

  Fray wondered how much he should tell Vinny and whether or not he should try lying. Looking around the room and at the man behind the desk, he was suddenly struck by the similarity between Vinny and the Khevassar. Both were physically unassuming men who ran empires with their intellect. Fray realised it would be pointless trying to outwit him so he went with the truth.

  “I’ll tell you what I can, but I assume you can be discreet,” said Fray, waiting for Vinny to nod before continuing. “I’m hunting a killer. He’s responsible for several deaths, and for what happened the other night at the arena.”

  “Magic,” said Vinny.

  “Yes. And now I believe he’s involved with one of the Families.”

  Vinny’s face quirked into a lop-sided smile. “What do you know about the Families?”

  “A little. I’ve dealt with a few Brass, even one or two Silver.”

  Vinny grunted in surprise. “Then you know more than most. Enough to stay out of their business.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” said Fray.

  “They’ll deal with the outsider, one way or another.”

  “That’s the problem. He can make himself look like other people. They won’t know it’s him.”

  “Magic again?” asked Vinny. “Is it even worth me asking how he does it?”

  “Not really, but I think he’s involved with the feud. The more bloodshed and violence there is, the stronger he becomes. You saw first-hand what happened at the arena. Imagine what will happen when the Families go to war. He’ll gorge himself and then…” Fray trailed off, leaving the rest to Vinny’s imagination. It was a lot easier than trying to explain opening a tear in the world and things Fray didn’t really understand himself.

  Vinny sipped at his tea for a minute, his eyes troubled and distant.

  “You remind me of someone,” he said absently. “Another Guardian that used to come here from time to time.”

  “Was it my father?”

  “That could explain the resemblance,” muttered Vinny. “I knew him a little, passed information his way from time to time. Sometimes he came just to watch a fight.” Vinny shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid. “This killer, can you find him?”

  “Yes. I just need someone to show me around, someone who can vouch for me with the Families.”

  “I have someone in mind,” said Vinny, scribbling down an address. He also wrote out a separate note, which he signed and passed across the desk. “Give him this note. Whether he agrees to take you or not is his decision. Be honest with him. He’s not someone to trifle with.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. All I’ve done is point you in the direction of the bear pit. Tread carefully, because if they think you’re lying they’ll kill you.”

  It took Fray thirty minutes to cross the city and find the address Vinny had given him. The house was a modest but well-tended building on a quiet street, a far cry from what he’d been expecting. He thought Vinny would have sent him to one of the dark corners where Guardians never walked alone.

  He knocked and waited but there was no answer inside. He knocked again and was just about to leave when he heard a scuffing noise inside and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. A minute later the door opened to reveal a massive man with a swollen face and a black eye.

  “Vinny sent me,” said Fray, holding out the note. “I’m Fray.”

  “Choss,” murmured the big man, taking the note and quickly scanning the contents. He stared at Fray, who tried not to squirm under his gaze or reach for his sword. Choss unsettled him and seemed to exude a feeling of pent-up aggression.

  “You’d better come inside,” he said and Fray felt the threat of violence begin to fade. “I believe you have a story to tell me.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Katja scrubbed at her face with a wet cloth, then dried it vigorously. Her reflection still looked pale in the mirror. Sleep had evaded her yet again and she felt dizzy and weak. The dark smears under her eyes had become bags and all of the skin on her face seemed to be slipping towards the floor. Even as she watched it started to ooze and trickle down her face like wet mud, exposing the muscles and grey bone underneath. One of her eyeballs started to wiggle about as if it might pop out of its socket.

  Katja scrunched up her eyes and took long deep breaths. After a few minutes she managed to slow the frantic beating of her heart. Looking in the mirror again she saw nothing unusual and turned away before the hallucinations started again. She needed to stay busy, focus on something and wait for it to pass.

  She dressed quickly, tied her hair in a braid and went downstairs to the kitchen where she found Roza having tea with Gankle.

  Both of them looked up at her with matching worried expressions. Gankle quickly moved to the stove where he’d been warming some eggs and sausages. He filled a plate, added a thick chunk of bread and put it down in front of her with a crock of butter. Katja’s stomach growled at the smell and she started gobbling down her food.

  Roza poured her a cup of tea and for a while no one said anything while she ate. Gankle sipped his tea, looking at her over the rim of his cup with concern while Roza watched her from an eye corner.

  “What happened with Lord and Lady Trevino?” asked Roza when Katja had almost finished.

  Rodann’s first task for her after revealing the full extent of his plan had been for her to revisit the Trevinos. Previously she’d only known them as Sim and Belle, rich nobles who’d asked for discreet funeral arrangements to be made for their son, an Eater. She’d sent his body to a farm to be eaten by pigs. She’d thought that concluded their business but Rodann had other ideas. It made her wonder if Rodann had known about the couple’s beliefs and arranged their son’s murder in the first place.

  Rodann had informed her that the Trevinos were shipping magnates and one of the oldest and richest families in the city. They could trace their lineage back to some of the first settlers who’d built Perizzi. Over the centuries they’d turned a single fishing boat into a fleet of ships that now transported goods around the world. They were very rich and advised the Queen on matters concerning trade and shipping.

  With a heavy investment in a new fleet of ships the Trevinos were at a critical business juncture. Katja’s second visit, at the dry dock amid the skeletons of a dozen new vessels, had been less than cordial. If information about their son and their beliefs were to emerge it would cause a scandal. Investors might want to distance themselves from the Trevinos and withdraw their money from the project, leaving them with huge debts to pay. It might be enough to threaten their business and all that their family had built over the centuries.

  The hatred emanating from Lord Trevino had been palpable, but he’d stiffly agreed to her request. People knew he smoked a pipe and the small pouch would not look untoward on his belt when he entered the palace. Even a cursory glance at its contents would not reveal anything unusual.

  “What was in the pouch?” asked Roza.

  “I think it was poison,” said Katja. Rodann hadn’t been specific, but it seemed the most plausible answer. “It was hard to tell as they’d mixed it with tobacco, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “You think Rodann intends to blackmail them into poisoning one of the Qu
eens?” asked Roza.

  Katja shrugged. “Maybe, but what if he’s blackmailing them for another reason as well.”

  “Such as?”

  “Rodann wants to replace Queen Morganse with his benefactor, whoever she is.” Katja had settled on it being a woman in her mind for now. “The Trevinos are one of the oldest families in Perizzi and their opinion carries a lot of weight. Perhaps he intends to get them to support his patron’s claim to the throne.”

  “It’s possible. I’ll look into the other founding families.”

  “I’ve had my people following all of those from the meeting,” said Roza. “The shrew-faced woman, Marcella, works at a bakery with her husband, Borren. The banquet tonight is so big the palace has some food brought in from outside. The man who died,” said Roza, careful not to say that Katja had murdered him, “has been replaced by Borren and he’s due to make a delivery to the palace.”

  “Do you think they’re going to poison the guests?” asked Katja, but Roza was already shaking her head.

  “It’s too imprecise. Why have such an elaborate conspiracy if all you’re going to do is poison everyone? Rodann told you everyone would know Seveldrom was responsible, and poison doesn’t fit.”

  “Then why are they there?” asked Katja.

  “Access to the palace? Maybe they’re smuggling in weapons through the kitchens. Whatever it is, I’ve got someone in place to keep an eye on them.”

  “What do you know about the others?”

  Roza ticked them off on her fingers. “The servant, Lizbeth, she works at the palace and is working tonight. She’ll be able to move about freely and go almost anywhere. Servants are invisible to most people, so she won’t be noticed. Keeping an eye on her will be more difficult, but we’ll do what we can.”

  “That just leaves Faith and the nobles.”

  “Lord and Lady Kallan. They’re not very well regarded, and fairly poor in comparison to most of the nobility.”

  “Then how did they get an invite to the palace?” asked Katja. “Someone with authority secured them an invitation,” said Roza. “Rodann’s patron again.”

  “But why would Rodann want them there?”