Choss gritted his teeth to keep himself calm. “Fray, can you show them? Prove what I’ve said is true.”
“Yes, as long as no one cuts my throat,” he said, nervously glancing at the sword resting on his throat.
“Step back, Vargus,” said Don Jarrow. “But at the first sign of someone acting peculiar, chop off his head.”
Vargus lowered his sword and took two steps back, but his steely gaze never wavered from Fray. If he chose to, Vargus could kill Fray before Choss had a chance to intervene. He might be a veteran but there wasn’t a man or woman in the room that was his equal with a blade.
“Well?” said Don Jarrow.
Moving slowly, Fray reached into his pocket and drew out a narrow strip of cloth. He tied it across his eyes and bowed his head. Choss could hear his heart thumping in his ears. As the minutes ticked past and nothing happened he started to sweat. Everyone in the building had fallen silent and all eyes were locked onto Fray.
Don Jarrow shook his head and started to speak when Fray cried out and fell to his knees. “You killed a boy,” whispered Fray, pointing at Don Jarrow.
“Is that it? Because I’ve probably killed dozens.”
“This was when you were a child. He drowned.”
Don Jarrow staggered back a couple of steps. Vargus started to move towards Fray, his sword a silver blur.
“Wait,” cried Don Jarrow, holding up a hand. Vargus’s sword paused a finger’s breadth from Fray’s throat. Don Jarrow righted himself and then sat down on his chair. Choss could see his hands were shaking. “Let him speak.”
Vargus stepped back but kept his sword ready. Fray still had his eyes covered so he probably had no idea how close he’d come to dying.
“You were nine years old. This boy bullied you. Sometimes threw rocks, because you didn’t have a father. This went on for years.” Despite the press of bodies Fray’s voice echoed around the theatre. “One day you saw him playing down by the river with some friends. He fell in but none of them could swim. They tried to help but couldn’t, so they panicked and ran, leaving him to die.”
Don Jarrow had turned pale and his left hand trembled until he grabbed it with the right. “How?” he whispered, but Fray wasn’t finished.
“He tried to swim but couldn’t. Then he saw you and begged you for help. He’d seen you swimming down at the docks. You just stood there and watched him sink. They found his body three days later.”
“How could you know that?” asked Don Jarrow.
Fray slowly unfastened the cloth from around his face. Despite their orders Choss heard the slow creak of several bows being drawn tight. A gasp ran through the crowd and there was a loud rasp of metal as swords were drawn. Fray’s blue eyes had turned amber in colour and they glowed with an unnatural inner light, giving him an inhuman quality. When he spoke his voice sounded rough and it echoed around the theatre.
“Because the boy’s ghost speaks to me and I can see him clearly,” said Fray, pointing over Don Jarrow’s left shoulder. “It lingers around you, caught between here and whatever comes next. There are more, many more, but his is the oldest spirit connected to you.”
Fray turned to address the theatre and his words caused ripples throughout the crowds with people shifting in discomfort.
“I can see into the hearts of men and speak with the lingering dead. This theatre is full of spirits. They cry out for justice and revenge for the brutality you have visited upon them in life.”
Fray’s words may not have dented the thick skins of those assembled, whose crimes were many, but none would meet his bright gaze as he looked around the building. Each person turned their face away in fear, scared of seeing their own sins reflected. For some reason an amused grin touched Vargus’s face at Fray’s display.
“Don Kal is dead,” said Fray. “A changeling has taken his place. A man who wears his face and skin. He’s also fed Dońa Parvie and Don Kal’s people a twisted form of venthe, laced with magic. It drives them berserk and they won’t retreat or stop fighting until they’re dead. If you don’t believe me then think of what happened at the arena and imagine that across the whole city.”
“Can they still be killed?” asked Don Jarrow. Fray’s revelation had unsettled the Don in a way Choss had never seen before. Even so, he recovered quickly and his hands had stopped shaking.
“Yes, but they won’t feel pain in the same way.”
“What does the changeling want?” asked Don Jarrow.
Fray shook his head. “He doesn’t care about your people or anyone else. He needs a slaughter to fuel his magic. If he succeeds, what he will summon will tear this city apart and thousands will die.”
“We need to tell the other Families,” said Choss to Don Jarrow. “Even if they won’t work with you, they should know what they’re up against.”
Don Jarrow considered it, absently waving at his people to stand down. The tension eased and Vargus sheathed his sword. Fray closed his eyes and when he opened them next they’d returned to their normal colour. It seemed to help but even so people who had previously ignored him now watched him warily. An echo of fear lingered throughout the crowd as each man and woman wondered about the spirits that trailed after them.
“I’ll send word to the other Families,” said Don Jarrow, moving to the table and frantically scribbling a few notes. “It may not help, but at least I can warn them. I need to prepare my people for the worst. Someone find me some runners,” he yelled and the room became a hive of activity again.
“Head or heart,” said Choss to the nearby Silver and Gold. “If they’re as berserk as Morrin, nothing else will stop them. Tell everyone.”
They began to spread the word around the crowd and a few men and women disappeared out the door to alert the sentries. A few minutes later a dozen lanky youths turned up and several were sent out with a note for the other Families. The rest left at a sprint to inform all of Don Jarrow’s people about what to expect. Two left with messages to contact the Butcher. Don Jarrow grimaced the entire time he wrote those last two notes but it had to be done if he wanted to survive the night.
As people went about their business the central table stopped being the focus of attention. For a few seconds Don Jarrow closed his eyes and Choss saw a shadow of sorrow pass across his features. It was there for only a moment. The sum of all the guilt and anguish he felt about his actions over the years. Or perhaps he mourned the loss of his wife who had been his partner and oldest friend for many years. A second later the pain was gone and the old Don Jarrow stared at him again, an implacable and dangerous man.
“I would be happy if you fought for me,” he said, which Choss knew was the closest thing he’d ever get to an apology.
“I’m needed elsewhere,” said Choss.
“Then I hope the Blessed Mother protects you,” said Don Jarrow, offering him a brief smile before turning back to his map.
By the time he and Fray had passed through the crowd and stepped outside, the mood of the guards had changed dramatically. Any lingering doubts about his loyalty were gone and their weapons were immediately returned to them without hesitation. Fray received a few lingering stares but mostly it was behind his back.
“Well, that was quite a performance,” said a smoky voice that made Choss smile.
As Fray watched, a petite woman with a mischievous grin sauntered up to them. Dressed in tight black trousers, leather knee boots and a white shirt over a black vest, she didn’t look like any of Don Jarrow’s people. She carried four identical daggers in a baldric around her narrow waist and a pair of black leather gloves tucked behind her belt. At the sound of her voice he noticed a shift in Choss’s stance. A relaxing of his shoulders and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. As she approached, Fray felt a familiar prickling at the edges of his perception. Just as Eloise had taught him he slowly opened his senses without embracing his magic.
“By the Maker,” he whispered, staggering back a step.
Choss raised an eyebrow. “Munro
e, what did you do?”
“I’m not doing anything,” she said.
“Fray, what’s wrong?” asked Choss. Instead of answering, Fray embraced his magic. A loud pulse, one much stronger than any he’d ever felt before, echoed through his head, making him wince. As he stared at Munroe his mouth fell open in surprise.
Where the Flesh Mage had been filled with nothing but a bottomless void, Munroe shone with golden light so bright it hurt his eyes. It suffused her entire body, transforming her into a being of majesty that made his heart ache. Wave upon wave of energy flowed outwards from her in time with her pulse, filling the air around her with power. The connection he felt between her and the Source was stronger than any he’d ever felt before.
“You’re beautiful,” said Fray, struggling to translate what he was seeing, but his senses were overwhelmed.
“You’re not bad yourself,” said Munroe.
Slowly, bit by bit, he withdrew his magic. The wrench against his senses was so intense it felt as if he’d carved out a piece of his own soul and locked it in a box. It took him some time to settle and regain control of his emotions. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks.
“What just happened?” asked Choss.
“Has anything strange ever happened to you? Something you couldn’t control?” he said to Munroe.
“Once or twice,” she said with more than a little sarcasm. “Why?”
“I can sense when someone is sensitive to magic. Your connection is so strong, it’s amazing,” he said to Munroe.
“What are you saying?”
“You have an ability, a magical Talent. Whatever it is, you can be taught to control it.”
For a few seconds Munroe just stared at him and then she began to laugh, a rich sound that made the hairs prickle across his scalp. She laughed so hard she bent over double and started to cough until Choss gently patted her on the back. After a couple of minutes she recovered, but a smile still lingered.
To Fray’s surprise Munroe grabbed him by the ears and kissed him hard on the mouth. She soon pulled away and sighed.
“Typical.”
Munroe told him about her curse and the many horrible things that had happened to her over the years since it had manifested.
“If I don’t do something with the feeling, it builds up and just gets worse. So I share my bad luck with others. Don Jarrow appreciates it.”
“But it doesn’t have to be bad luck. You could control it, and do so much more,” said Fray. “When we get back, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Get back? Where are you going?” she said, addressing the question to Choss.
“To kill Don Kal,” said Choss, as if it would be that simple. Fray hadn’t explained all of what might happen and Choss hadn’t asked. He knew everything he needed to.
“Then I’m coming with you,” she said.
“That’s not a good idea,” said Choss. Munroe glared up at him but it had no effect on the big man. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I didn’t nurse you back to health just to stand around and do nothing. Especially now, when we might have a future together.”
After hearing just a little of what Munroe had done with her power, Fray thought she would be incredibly useful, but he kept his mouth shut. There was a lot more going on between them than either one of them had said.
Eventually Choss relented. “Please, be careful.”
“I promise,” said Munroe, smiling up at him.
“I think the three of us should be able to sneak in amid the chaos,” said Fray.
“Four,” said Choss. “There’s one other who’s coming with us.”
Choss led the way through the city, taking them out of Don Jarrow’s territory and then surprisingly down to the docks. He picked up half a dozen fist-sized stones and walked out to the end of an empty dock. In the flickering light of scattered torches and lanterns, Choss cast a long shadow across the water. The tide was out and the sea very still, its surface a murky blue grey that looked more like glass than water.
This late at night the docks were quiet. All ships were tied up and the only noise came from the waterfront bars behind them. But the sound of merriment seemed removed and part of another world to Fray. One full of light, music and joy. The revellers knew nothing about the Flesh Mage and the destruction he threatened to unleash. The city would fall in hours and after that it would only get worse.
One at a time Choss threw the stones as far as he could out into the sea. They splashed down close to each other, creating ripples across the water, spreading out in an ever-widening circle that eventually faded out of sight. Choss joined them back at the start of the dock but his eyes stayed on the waves.
Fray heard a faint whisper and a quiet rush as if something huge had passed through the water. As he turned towards the others the dock creaked and something bumped against the wood beneath his feet. A huge green hand and then another appeared on the edge of the dock, followed by the broad lumpy head of a Vorga. It hauled itself out of the sea, rising higher and higher as if the ocean had just given birth to it. It stood eye to eye with Choss, making it at least six and a half feet tall. The Vorga grinned at Choss, showing off razor sharp teeth, and the big man clapped it on the shoulder as if they were old friends.
“Is it time?” it grated, in a voice softer than Fray had expected. Water ran down its green and white skin and its whole body shivered.
“Yes, old friend. We’re going to war,” said Choss. This time it was Fray who shivered with fear and a terrible sense of dread.
CHAPTER 37
It had been a long time since Katja had worn a beautiful dress and been waited on hand and foot. Now that his son was safe and in good health Lord Mullbrook was happy to be an accomplice and guide her through what would happen when they arrived at the palace. When he’d offered her his arm at the front door it had taken her a couple of seconds to remember why. Katja thought Lord Mullbrook looked handsome in his elegant suit and must have been very dashing in his youth.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, helping her into the carriage.
On the ride to the palace Lord Mullbrook outlined the normal order of the evening at such events.
“Once all the guests have arrived we’ll have about an hour to mingle over drinks.”
Katja slipped her shoes off and then back on quickly. They looked great but she couldn’t run in them. “Then what happens?”
“We’ll all be called to dinner and the formal banquet will begin. With so many people to feed at once it will take hours,” explained Lord Mullbrook.
At first Katja thought Rodann had wanted her in the palace to assist with the plan. Now she had a growing suspicion it was the opposite. He didn’t trust her at all. He wanted her in plain sight where his people could keep an eye on her and she wouldn’t be able to act against him until it was too late. Or perhaps he simply wanted a scapegoat to take the blame for any sudden and unusual deaths.
“No one is allowed to take any weapons inside the palace apart from the royal guards. So don’t use that unless absolutely necessary,” he said, gesturing at her necklace. “You don’t have any other weapons do you?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.
“No. Of course not.” She’d been forced to give up her usual array of daggers, but had kept the long blade strapped to her thigh. The late Lady Mullbrook’s elegant dress hugged her figure, leaving few places to conceal a weapon, but she didn’t think any guard would search her that thoroughly.
The gentle rocking of the carriage and the rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves on stone started to lull Katja to sleep. A few minutes later she suddenly awoke when the carriage stopped outside the palace gates. Through a gap in the curtains she could see tall black iron gates and through them the five square towers of the palace. A brief conversation took place between the driver and the guards before they were let through the gates into the courtyard.
“A few people might stare or gossip,” said Lord Mullbrook, apologetically. “I suggest
you just ignore them.”
Katja raised an eyebrow. “Why would they?”
Lord Mullbrook coughed and cleared his throat. “I’ve been a widower for a few years. This is the first time I’ve come to court with someone.”
“And?” said Katja, still not seeing the problem.
“Well, you’re quite a bit younger than me and I’m reasonably wealthy. They might make the wrong assumption.”
“Then maybe we should give them something to gossip about,” said Katja, touching him on the knee.
“My dear, if I were thirty years younger, I would show you a night you’d never forget,” he said, patting her hand affectionately.
“You’re not that old. I’m sure there are a few things you could show me,” she said with a wink.
Lord Mullbrook was spared any further embarrassment as the carriage stopped again and the door opened to reveal a palace servant. Lord Mullbrook jumped out and then offered his hand, while forcing a smile. Katja took her time and carefully stepped out of the carriage, doing her best to avoid getting tangled in the dress and falling over.
A few other carriages were arriving at the same time and several richly dressed couples disembarked. They all glanced around, waving or nodding at Lord Mullbrook, before giving her a searching and quite often scathing look.
Katja was tempted to say something but bit her tongue instead. Lord Mullbrook had been very cooperative and she didn’t want to add to his woes. She only had to pretend to be one of these people for a night. He had to deal with them for the rest of his life.
She took his arm and followed the other couples up the wide path and through the gardens to the main doors. They formed a leisurely queue under the careful scrutiny of palace guards who were stationed at intervals around the outside of the palace, and there were more at every door.
Although no guests were searched Katja felt several pairs of eyes on her as she walked towards the building. From experience she knew people held themselves in a different way when they carried a weapon, often casually resting one hand on their belt to stop a scabbard tangling between their legs.
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