by Mark Robson
‘Femke, you do me a cruel injustice,’ he replied. ‘I have loved you like a daughter since the day I took you into my home. Yes, I lied to you. It was for your protection. I didn’t want to risk the Guild drawing you into their web. Even when I was chosen as Guildmaster here and forced to disappear from public life, I tried to keep people watching out for you. It’s to your credit that they have not always been skilled enough to keep up – you learned your lessons well. I never stopped following your career with the interest of a loving parent who has allowed his child the independence of adulthood.’
Femke allowed a wry smile to cross her face. ‘You always have an answer for everything, don’t you? I suppose that Shalidar was a part of your little watching party as well. If so, then your loving father act is thinner than you might imagine.’
Ferdand’s face darkened at the mention of Shalidar.
‘Absolutely not!’ he snarled with quiet vehemence. ‘I wouldn’t trust Shalidar as far as I could pick him up and throw him. He’s been a thorn in my side from the day he first set foot in this place. My enmity for him was never feigned. I’d like nothing more than to see him fall from his self-built pedestal. You might not want to believe me, but I’ll swear any oath you name that this is the truth, Femke.’
It was hard to imagine anyone faking such intensity of feeling, but even so she could not bring herself to believe her old mentor. If she were to rely on him telling the truth in one area, then it would be easy to start off down the slippery slope of accepting what he said in many others. That was a path down which she had no desire to go again. However, one truth she could not deny in what Ferdand had said so far was that using her brains was the only way out of this situation. She needed to control her anger at her old mentor’s duplicity if she were to have a chance of getting away.
An idea flashed into her mind. She relaxed into the chair still further as she contemplated her response. Two could play the deception game.
‘Very well, I can accept that,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But if you have these fatherly feelings for me, will you not demonstrate them now? Release my bonds. I already know that there’s no way out of this place unless one wears the icon of an assassin, so I couldn’t run far.’
Ferdand regarded her closely for a moment and then turned his head aside. He began pacing slowly back and forth in front of her, his face a picture of contemplation. After a moment or two he spoke.
‘I’m inclined to let you have your little victory,’ he said carefully. ‘However, if I release your bonds you’ll have to behave. Any thoughts of using me as a hostage to get out of the complex should be discarded right now. It’s a rule of this place that there’s no such thing as a hostage situation. If you try to use me as a shield, they’ll kill me without a second thought. There are several assassins who would be only too pleased to see me die, as they feel they’re in the running to be the next Guildmaster.’
Femke pursed her lips as she thought this through. Once again Ferdand had appeared to read her thoughts. It was an uncanny knack he had that had always been irritating, but now was verging on intolerable.
‘Also,’ he continued, ‘if you kill me, then what will you have achieved? There are Guild servants everywhere, and many assassins who would think no more of killing you than they would of discarding a broken arrow. If you were lucky, you might get past one, but they would get you in the end. Just as they will get young Reynik.’
So Reynik was still at large. That was good to know. Femke tried again.
‘Accepted,’ she said. ‘I’ll not try to hold you hostage. You know I’m not the sort for suicide, so I’m not ready to kill you just yet either.’ It was true. Much as it would be tempting to kill him and take her chances, logic dictated she should bide her time for a better opportunity. ‘That’s not to say I won’t come after you eventually. I doubt I’ll ever forgive you your web of deceit.’
‘Think, Femke – think back to when you first began to learn the skills of espionage. What did I tell you about killing?’
It was not hard. The words were etched on her memory. Ferdand’s words had made a big impression on her, as until that time she had not even considered the possibility she might be required to spill blood in her role as a spy.
‘You told me there might be times when I was forced to kill in self-defence; that I might also be required to kill for the good of the Empire, but that the only person whom I should allow to assign me such a task was the Emperor.’
‘You always were good at listening,’ he said with a pleased, fatherly smile. ‘Femke, you have succeeded where I failed. I shaped you through your training to be the perfect spy. Sadly I must now admit that I did not mould you in my own image, but in the image of that which I had always intended to be. My career was poisoned many years ago.’
He sighed and knelt down in front of her chair. With his right hand he drew a knife from under his cloak and carefully sliced through her bonds one by one. For a moment his eyes met hers, but he looked away quickly, not able to take the accusation in her gaze.
‘One could say I was a victim of my own success,’ he continued, ‘just as Reynik has now become a victim of his. There’s no way out of the Guild for him, Femke, other than through death. If he does not return to renew his bond with the master stone every six months, his icon will return of its own accord. When it does so, he will die. He showed his hand too early. The Guild now knows him for an infiltrator. He’ll be eliminated one way or another.’
Reynik had not had his icon long. There was still a considerable amount of time in which to find a way of breaking his bond with the icon. What if there was no way of breaking the link? That did not bear thinking about. Femke began gently rubbing her wrists and ankles to encourage the blood flow. Her mind raced, but she knew she must concentrate on listening. Ferdand was giving away Guild secrets. She could not afford to miss a word. There would be time later to think on how she could use the information to her advantage. Ferdand stood up, stepped back, and began to pace up and down, taking care to maintain a wary watch on her as he continued to speak.
‘Once Surabar declared us anaethus drax I was living in dread of him sending you to find us. It occurred to me that if anyone could find a way to get to us here, it would be you. I knew in the case of this eventuality, I would be faced with a terrible choice. I must admit that I did not foresee you training another to do it. Was that your idea?’
‘No. It was the Emperor’s plan.’
‘Then Surabar was more clever than I imagined. Reynik was a good choice, although several of the Guild members suspected him from the moment he arrived. Shalidar was one of them. In some ways it was because he was so suspicious that I really wanted to believe in Reynik. Nothing would have pleased me more than to prove Shalidar wrong.’
The prickling pain of returning blood circulation to her hands made it difficult to interpret the sensations from her fingertips. With ginger care she explored the area on the back of her head where she had been clubbed. It all felt swollen, but she was not too sure how badly. One good thing was that there appeared to be no broken skin. Satisfied that the damage to her skull was not too bad, she rubbed again at her wrists and ankles, gently massaging blood back into the extremities of her limbs.
Ferdand paused in his pacing and looked at her intently. His hawkish features looked drawn and lined with age.
‘I could not ignore your interference, Femke. Like it or not, I am Guildmaster here. I will only live as long as the Guild considers me to be doing a good job. When I fail in my duty as Guildmaster, then I’ll be cast aside to make way for someone more able. By getting caught, you committed me to a path with few options. The choice I dreaded is nearly upon me. I can delay it a short while, but not forever. Whilst Reynik is at large I can keep you here as bait to try to draw him back. He came for you once. Who is to say he will not do so again?’
Femke prayed silently that Reynik would not be so foolish as to attempt a rescue, but he was young and rash. It would not surprise he
r to see him caught in such a fashion.
‘What’s the choice, Ferdand?’ she asked. ‘Maybe I can save you the trouble of choosing.’
His expression changed slightly to include annoyance.
‘Don’t get flippant, young lady. None of the options are pleasant.’
‘Try me,’ she replied, her blue-grey eyes steely as she invited the challenge.
‘Very well! As I see it, I have three options. Firstly, I could have you killed – unpleasant, but simple. Secondly, I could make you one of the serving staff here at the Guild, where you’d remain for the rest of your life. The length of that lifespan would, of course, depend on how you adapted to life as a servant.’ He paused.
‘And the third option?’
His eyes suddenly bored into hers as if he were looking into her soul.
‘The final option would be the worst, for if I took it I would have admitted failure in every area of my life. As a third option, I could induct you into the Guild as an assassin.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘It’s him,’ Kempten confirmed, ‘but I don’t know his travelling companion.’
‘At last!’ Reynik breathed. He took another look out of the window at the two riders approaching the front of the house. It was strange, he thought. He had not been expecting the magician to look so ordinary. When he questioned his instinctive response, he realised that he was not sure what he had been expecting. The only magicians he had seen were those on the streets of the cities, employing their tricks to earn coin from passers-by. It was common for such folk to wear outlandish costumes to attract attention. He had never really considered what a true master magician would look like.
Lord Kempten left the room to go and welcome the new arrivals. Reynik followed him out of the study and down the main staircase. The butler was already at the front door. Reynik was impressed. The servants in this house did not miss much.
‘The stable boy is on his way, my Lord,’ the butler advised. ‘He should be here in just a moment.’
‘Good work, Altman. Could you have the kitchen staff prepare something for our guests? They must have ridden hard from Terilla to get here this quickly. I’d like to offer them our best hospitality.’
‘Right away, my Lord.’
The butler strode across the hall, somehow managing to move at speed without appearing in a hurry. Kempten opened the front door and stepped out onto the threshold. Reynik followed him outside and stood to his right. The two riders drew to a halt in front of them. The younger of the two, a fair-haired young man who looked in his late teens or early twenties, vaulted down from his horse.
‘Would you like a hand, Master?’ he asked the older man.
‘No, thank you, Calvyn. I’ll manage.’
The old magician swung out of his saddle and lowered himself gently to the ground with the ease of one long accustomed to riding. As he turned and closed the distance between them, Reynik surveyed the man with interest. Heavy streaks of grey punctuated his long, dark hair, which he had tied back into a thick ponytail. His eyes were deep-set under heavy brows that again showed signs of once being a fierce black, but were now the colour of steel. He was shorter than average, and slim, yet there was an indefinable aura about him, a sense of presence that made him seem bigger than his physical dimensions. His face was deeply lined with the passage of many years, yet his dark blue eyes were alight with bright intelligence that lent his features a more youthful edge. A man of fascinating contrasts, Reynik mused as Lord Kempten gripped the magician’s hand in greeting.
‘Welcome, Jabal, it has been far too long.’
‘Indeed it has, Kempten, my old friend. Your message spoke of a matter of great urgency, so I came as fast as I could. I brought an acolyte with me – I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been tutoring him recently and thought this would be a good opportunity to get him away from the stuffy confines of the Academy – broaden his horizons and all that. Not that this young fellow needs his horizons broadening that much. He’s not your average acolyte.’ He turned and beckoned to his travelling companion. ‘Calvyn, come and meet Lord Kempten.’
The stable boy had arrived and taken control of the horses. The young man identified as Calvyn walked across to join his master. As he reached Jabal’s side he stopped and gave a smart bow. Reynik’s first impression of him was not that of a magician-in-training. His upright stance, short-cropped fair hair, precise movements and the sword at his side spoke more of a young man enrolled in military service. For a moment he wondered just what it meant to train as a magician.
‘Welcome to my household, Calvyn. I hope you enjoy your stay with us. Please let me introduce you both to Reynik, another guest of my household, and a loyal servant of the Empire.’
‘Loyal servant of the Empire – an interesting description,’ thought Reynik as he shook hands with the two men. Legionnaire, spy and sometime assassin might be more accurate. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he said aloud.
‘Come,’ Kempten continued. ‘Let’s go inside and get you gentlemen some refreshments. I’m sure you could both do with something to eat and drink after your long journey.’
It was some time later when the four, together with Lady Kempten, were sitting in the study. The two magicians had changed out of their travelling clothes, eaten a meal and had listened intently as Lord Kempten outlined the current situation.
‘Well, well! That’s a bundle of news if ever I heard one,’ Jabal muttered, as Kempten finished his tale. ‘It’s been many years since I read about the silver icons of the Guild of Assassins. I never thought to see one, never mind get involved in a plan to destroy them. And you wear one of these icons, Reynik? May I see it, please?’
‘Of course, sir. Here . . .’
Reynik drew out the wolf spider from under his tunic, the silver glittering ominously on his chest as the master magician got out of his chair and approached him for a closer look. Jabal lifted it off Reynik’s chest by one of the spider’s legs and held it up, twisting and turning it in order to see it from all angles.
‘Wonderful workmanship! Calvyn, take a look at this for a moment. You might recognise the handiwork.’
‘I doubt it, master. I don’t know very much about silverwork. Unless . . .’
Jabal looked at him and smiled. ‘Yes. This was made by the same person who made the amulet that gave us all that trouble last year.’
Calvyn’s eyes opened wide as he took a closer look at the silver spider pendant.
‘Darkweaver!’ he exclaimed softly. ‘So is this made of blood silver as well?’
‘No,’ his master responded, shaking his head. ‘He didn’t discover the secret of blood silver until a little later in his career. If it had been made of blood silver, I would not have been handling it.’
‘Blood silver, Jabal? You’re talking in riddles. Why do you magicians always feel the need to be so mysterious?’ asked Kempten, his tone curious.
Jabal gave a wry smile as he responded, but did not qualify the question with a direct response. ‘Calvyn and I crossed paths with someone who carried a very special piece of this magician’s work last year. Derrigan Darkweaver made these icons for the Guild in the early days after he gained his robes. He was looking to make a name for himself, so he took on several commissions of this sort. Silver was a substance he knew well. If the history books are correct, his father was a silversmith. He would no doubt have learned many secrets of the smithy trade at his father’s knee.’
‘So that’s why he worked with silver!’ Calvyn exclaimed. ‘I thought it was just because silver was a substance that was receptive to magic.’
‘I think the fact that silver and magic were a compatible mix was a happy coincidence for Derrigan. Most of his more impressive magic was wrought by combining his skills in both fields,’ Jabal explained.
Lady Kempten coughed pointedly. ‘This is an interesting history lesson, gentlemen, but does knowing who made the icons help us in our bid to destroy them?’
‘A most pertinent q
uestion, my Lady,’ Jabal responded, giving a slight bow in her direction. ‘As a magician it does at least give me some idea of what to expect. Darkweaver produced a surprisingly large number of powerful works of magic during his relatively short time as a magician. There is a reference in the Academy library about this particular group of icons. With your permission, Reynik, I’d like to try something that will tell me more.’
Reynik was intrigued. ‘Go ahead,’ he offered, secretly hoping he was about to see something magical happen.
Jabal reached inside his jacket and drew out a curiously-shaped piece of reddish-orange stone. It was rather like an oversized needle in shape, though shorter and much fatter. The elongated smooth shaft was about the thickness of a man’s little finger. The pointed end was blunt and rounded whilst the other end sported a squat eye-shape. The magician held the eye over the spider icon and began to mutter something in a strange language. All eyes in the room focused on the two objects.
Whatever Reynik expected to happen, he had not thought it would involve pain. All of a sudden he felt an excruciating cramp in his chest and the room began to twist and distort before his eyes. He wanted to cry out, but he could not breathe. His body seemed to convulse, bend and stretch in ways that defied logic. Jabal was the only constant. His image did not distort one iota. He was solid, calm and unmoving in the midst of a maelstrom of surreal chaos. Then, as suddenly as the sensations began, normality was resumed. Reynik slumped back into his chair, his head spinning and his body totally drained of energy.
‘What the hell did you do?’ he gasped, clutching at his chest and attempting to rub away the phantom residue of the pain he had experienced.
‘Hmm, that might be a little difficult to explain, Reynik. Sorry for any discomfort. The spider has more power than I anticipated. Calvyn, did you see the lines of force?’ the magician asked as he placed the strange stone device back inside his cloak.
‘Yes, Master. To break such a bond would surely cost Reynik his life.’