Imperial Traitor

by Mark Robson

  Reynik watched as the slender figure of the woman assassin crossed the floor to join the Guildmaster. It was like watching seduction in motion. The Fox was a born tease, he decided. Even cloaked and hooded, she managed to make every movement play on a man’s baser urges. ‘That is one dangerous lady,’ he thought with a grim smile of admiration.

  He eased the door closed and turned back to Calvyn.

  ‘I think I know what the sound was,’ he whispered. ‘They’re going to the bonding stone. I think the sound must ring out when an icon returns from a dead assassin. I’m guessing that it must have taken Firedrake a few seconds to breathe his last. When they realise which icon it is that’s returned, they’ll be down here in a flash. We’ll have to be quick if we’re to get Femke out. They should be distracted for a few moments, but unless we can get in and out without delay this could get messy.’

  The thought that his own icon could return to the bonding stone at any time made him grind his teeth in frustration. If he knew what deadline he was working to, he would feel a lot more comfortable about orchestrating this rescue. It seemed a waste to be this close and not take the opportunity of renewing the bond between his icon and the mother stone. That his life might prove forfeit as a result was a worrying possibility. However, to attempt to reach the bonding stone would increase the risk of death or capture by an unacceptable margin. Femke’s rescue was the priority.

  Calvyn nodded and pushed away from the wall. They cracked open the door again in time to see the Guildmaster and Fox disappearing into the passageway on the far side of the chamber. No sooner had Fox entered the mouth of it than the illusion of the wall reappeared, leaving no sign of the secret entrance.

  ‘Now!’ Reynik said softly. He whipped the door open and they both vaulted the waist-high wall, landing softly in the central area of the chamber. ‘Which way?’ he whispered.

  Calvyn reached out once more with his mind and recoiled at the maelstrom of magical eddies and echoes. How could he make sense of anything in the midst of this? It took a moment, but his subconscious assimilated the sensations, converting them into images he could relate to.

  Suddenly he was in another place: standing in the midst of an ornamental maze. It was night. A violent thunderstorm raged above him. There was a flash of lightning, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder. A vicious gust of wind buffeted him, upsetting his balance and making him stumble to one side. Invisible hands plucked debris from the ground, swirling it into the air and hurling it at him with formidable force. Rain battered him in torrents, jabbing his skin like a million ice-cold darts. The hedge tops swayed and danced, unearthly faces forming and disappearing in the clouds and leaves. They were laughing. Laughing at him?

  For a moment it almost felt as if the whole earth were rocking. In his mind he called out, but his words were whipped away almost before they passed his lips. He laughed, lifting his face to the sky as the rain pummelled his skin. An edge of hysteria touched his voice as he realised the futility of his efforts. How could Femke possibly hear him in the midst of this? Yet, impossibly, somewhere in the midst of the noise and confusion, he could feel her presence. She was there. Waiting. Hoping to be rescued.

  In the chamber he staggered forwards and Reynik caught his arm. Calvyn did not notice. He was lost. The real world had gone. All that remained was the maze and the storm. Reynik sensed his companion’s mental struggle, but could do nothing other than offer him physical support.

  In his mind, Calvyn ran forwards taking turns, left and right. At first he ran randomly, taking whichever turning presented itself next. A flying branch hit him across the face and he flinched, reeling from the pain of the impact. Then the thought struck him. If he worked methodically, he should eventually cover all parts of the maze. There must be a way of doing it. In simple mazes one could cover all parts of a maze by continually following the wall on one’s left, allowing the wall to lead into all dead ends and back out again. The problem was, he had no way of knowing how complex this maze was. If he were to apply this principle in a large labyrinth, he was equally likely to walk around in circles forever.

  Reynik started to panic. Seconds were ticking by. The Guildmaster was likely to return any moment. Calvyn had slipped into a trance and was showing no signs of surfacing. He shook the acolyte’s arm, but got no response. They could not stay here. He tucked an arm around Calvyn’s back and dragged him forwards.

  A sudden gust of wind picked Calvyn from his feet and propelled him forwards. A dead end loomed. Flying through the air he smashed into it, the branches tearing at him like claws. He tumbled through to the other side. Nothing looked any different. He was still in the maze. He scrabbled to his feet. If anything the storm was getting stronger. Another flash of lightning split the sky and he flinched at the deafening clap of thunder that accompanied it. Another enormous gust of wind scooped his feet from under him and once again he was flung through the air. He had no more control than a branch ripped from a tree. Another hedge raced at him and he barely had time to shield his face as he ploughed into it with unstoppable momentum.

  Half dragging, half carrying him, Reynik lurched around the perimeter of the chamber, taking Calvyn in front of one alcove after another.

  Calvyn was beyond reason: battered, bruised and bleeding. The storm seemed almost sentient – toying with him, flinging him at will, first one way and then the other. He had to escape. Was there no way out? A presence suddenly reminded him of why he was there. She was close – very close. He could feel her. She was a haven of calm in the fury of the storm.

  ‘The storm isn’t real,’ he told himself. ‘You must withdraw – must break free. It’s only a vision.’ But no matter how he tried, he could not bring his mind back to reality. He tried forming focus pictures, but the storm kept breaking his concentration. He could feel the wind gathering its strength to hurl him forwards again. There was nothing for it. He reached for the handle of his sword and drew it, lifting it high above his head. Runes glowed brightly along the shining metal and the clouds seemed almost to growl, as if hawking up more energy. Then in a dazzling double fork, they spat an incandescent stream of lightning at the blade.

  They had gone about a quarter of the way around when Calvyn suddenly took a sharp intake of breath. They stopped by the gate bearing the symbol of the sea serpent.

  ‘In there,’ Calvyn panted. ‘She’s in there.’

  ‘Quick!’ Reynik urged, his voice desperate. ‘We’ve got to get out of sight.’

  He dragged Calvyn forwards, staggering through the gate and into the alcove. They opened the door at the back and entered the corridor beyond. Calvyn paused, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily.

  ‘Can you manage without me for a moment? I’ll be right behind you,’ he gasped.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Reynik whispered. ‘What if someone comes this way?’

  Calvyn nodded. ‘I just need a few seconds. That chamber has a . . . draining magical influence. Go. Get to Femke. I’ll follow you.’

  Reynik raced forwards, drawing a knife with each hand. It was foolhardy, but he knew that his only advantages now would be speed and the element of surprise. He had no idea how many guards the Guildmaster would have assigned to Femke, but there was no time to worry about it. He burst through the door at the end of the corridor and charged headlong into the living area of the assassin’s chamber. On entry it became clear that the sea snake icon was still unassigned.

  A servant, dressed in his brown robe but with the hood down, leaving his face exposed, was sitting on a chair by the far door reading a book. He leaped to his feet at Reynik’s explosive entrance, but he was neither quick enough nor skilled enough to face such an opponent. Reynik’s first throw was true, striking the servant in the chest with deadly force. He ran to the door where the servant had sat guard, scanning the room for hidden adversaries as he went. There were none. A lock and bolt looked to have been newly fitted. He drew the bolt, and tried the door. It was locked. ‘
No surprise there,’ he muttered. A quick search of the servant for a key was not productive.

  ‘Femke,’ Reynik called in a hoarse whisper, rapping the door several times with his knuckles. ‘Femke, it’s me – Reynik.’

  ‘Reynik! You fool! What are you doing here? It’s a trap. The Guildmaster is expecting you.’

  The sound of Femke’s voice brought a smile to his face. His blood was still racing and he felt a sudden dizziness at having located her.

  ‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought some help. Listen – do you know where the guard keeps the key to your room?’

  ‘The guard doesn’t have it. The key is normally held by the Guildmaster, or whichever assassin he assigns to bring me my meals. The servants are not trusted with the keys any more.’

  ‘Shand’s teeth!’ Reynik swore, clenching his fists in frustration. ‘How am I . . . Never mind. I have an idea.’ He ran back to the door that led out into the corridor. Calvyn was just approaching it, still unsteady on his feet, but looking a little better. ‘Can you open locks? The guard is dead, but he doesn’t have a key.’

  Calvyn nodded. ‘Show me,’ he said simply.

  Reynik led him into the assassin’s quarters and pointed at the door. Calvyn muttered something under his breath. There was an audible snick as the door unlocked and Femke opened it a split second later. She ran out and stopped dead in her tracks, her face totally shocked.

  ‘You’re not . . .’

  It took a second for Reynik to realise what had caused her shock. The glamour had created a disguise beyond any that Femke could see through.

  ‘Femke it is me, Reynik,’ he whispered insistently, ‘and this is Calvyn. He’s an acolyte magician. He altered our appearances using magic. What you can see is just a glamour – a type of illusion. There’s no time to explain details. We’ve got to get out of here . . .’ He paused. Time had run out. There were voices in the corridor. Someone was coming.

  ‘Looks like we have trouble already!’ Femke muttered. She was wary. It sounded like Reynik and this was just the sort of madcap rescue he would try. The opportunity to leave her cell was not one to be missed, so she decided to run with it and ask questions later. ‘Quick, get this off him. We need to buy some time. You’ll have to bluff. Remember what Devarusso taught you.’

  Together, the three raced to strip the servant of his brown robe. The loose-fitting nature of the garment worked in their favour and in just a few seconds, Reynik was throwing it over his head, whilst Calvyn and Femke lugged the dead body into the cell.

  Femke was about to close the door behind her when she witnessed an unfortunate side effect of the glamour that Calvyn had cast. As Reynik was settling the garment around him, it was melting into the illusion, leaving him looking exactly as he had before, with no sign of the brown robe.

  ‘Magician! Quick! The illusion,’ she hissed, catching Calvyn by the arm and dragging him into a position to see Reynik.

  Calvyn’s brows drew together in a frown of concentration and he began muttering a spell. It seemed to go on and on, but there was no sign of any change in Reynik’s appearance. Silently, Femke gestured at the door and without pausing in his strange muttering, Calvyn nodded for her to close it.

  Reynik sat down slowly in the chair. He took a knife in each hand and crossed his arms. By touch he inserted each hand and knife up the sleeve of the opposing arm. With his arms positioned over his chest in an effort to cover up the bloodstains he knew to be there, he waited. He could feel the hood over his head, but his clothes remained unchanged and the knives in his hands were all too visible.

  The voices had stopped talking, but the sound of a single set of booted feet was approaching. Reynik knew he would have to be fast if it was one of the assassins. The invisible restriction of having his hands inside the sleeves of the servant’s robe would not help. It was very tempting to pull them loose, but he resisted the urge, leaving it as late as he dared before committing to a fight. As the handle of the door turned, the air around Reynik shimmered. His proportions shrank back to normal size and the brown robe became visible. The glamour had been dispelled without a second to spare. He got to his feet and bowed low in the fashion of the servants as the Guildmaster entered.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Ferdand asked him. ‘Have you seen anything unusual here in the last few minutes?’

  ‘Everything is fine, Guildmaster. Why? I heard the alarm. The loss of a Brother always makes for a bad day.’ Reynik spoke deliberately, lowering the pitch of his voice slightly to add to his disguise.

  ‘It appears Brother Wolf Spider has returned to the Guild complex. He managed to kill Brother Firedrake on his way in. I’ll get more people down here to help you protect the prisoner as soon as I can. In the meantime, stay alert and keep a weapon to hand.’

  ‘Yes, Guildmaster. I’ll do my best.’

  The figure in black turned to leave, but then paused and looked at Reynik again as if to say something else. Under the brown robes, Reynik could feel the pricking of the wolf spider talisman on his chest. He tensed further, preparing to leap into action, but to his relief the Guildmaster shook his head slightly and went out through the door.

  Reynik listened to the retreating footsteps for a few moments to make sure the Guildmaster was really going. Satisfied, he got up and silently opened the door behind him. Femke came out as if catapulted. She gave him a brief hug.

  ‘I heard,’ she said simply. ‘We don’t have long. Your magician friend . . .’

  ‘Calvyn.’

  ‘Calvyn,’ she repeated, nodding. ‘Glamour or no glamour – he doesn’t look well. Something here is affecting him. I think he’s likely to be more of a hindrance than help in getting out of here.’

  ‘We can’t leave him,’ Reynik said firmly. ‘I’d never have found you without his aid.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting that we should. It’ll just make a difficult situation worse, I meant. We’ll have to help him along if we’re to move at any speed, though what we’ll do if we’re attacked, I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ll let me fend for myself,’ Calvyn interrupted, appearing in the doorway with his sword already drawn. He leaned against the doorframe, his brutish face pale, but his eyes glittering with defiance. ‘Let’s go. Unless you know another way out of here, then we’d better get back to the transfer stone before they put a wall of assassins in our path. I won’t use magic again except as a last resort. The magician who protected this place did a work of powerful magic that I don’t understand. The effects are disorienting and draining. The longer I’m here, the worse it’ll get. I must get out of here quickly.’

  ‘You’ll get no arguments on that score,’ Femke said. She moved to Calvyn’s left to offer her shoulder as a support, whilst Reynik moved to support Calvyn on his right. Reynik passed Femke one of his knives, replaced the second in his underarm holster and drew his sword. As quickly as they could, they crossed the room, exited the door and hobbled along the corridor. Intertwined as they were, they were neither speedy nor silent, but the distance to the central chamber was not great.

  Femke took a moment to check the main chamber before opening the door fully. It appeared empty, but she knew it would not remain so for long. They stumbled in a tangled gaggle through the alcove, out of the gate and into the central area of the chamber. All thoughts of stealth had been abandoned now. Speed was the key. Once out in the unrestricted space of the main chamber, they picked up the pace.

  ‘It’s him! And he has the girl! STOP HIM!’

  Digging into his deepest reserves, Calvyn somehow found more strength. He shook off the arms of the other two, gasping, ‘Go! Go!’ and ran headlong for the wolf spider alcove. All three reached it together, scrambling over the gate in a jumble of arms and legs. Femke fell, cursing as she went down. A knife glanced off the wall, showering sparks above where she had fallen. Reynik grabbed her wrist and hauled Femke to her feet even as Calvyn opened the door into the passageway beyond.

  They slammed
the door shut behind them and Calvyn stared at it for a moment, muttering something under his breath. He staggered as he stopped speaking. Sweat poured down his forehead.

  Reynik gave him a quizzical look. ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to do any more magic.’

  ‘It was only a simple spell,’ Calvyn replied, pain lining his illusory features. ‘It’ll delay any pursuit for a few seconds.’

  Something banged against the shut door, but it did not open. Reynik had no idea what Calvyn had done, for there was no lock on the door, but whatever spell he had cast appeared to be working. The new door at the other end of the corridor was shut. They gathered outside, breathing hard. On Reynik’s signal they threw it open and charged.

  Femke was first into the room. Shantella had a knife in the air almost before the door had swung fully open. As fast as Femke was, she was not fast enough to avoid the thrown blade. It slammed into her shoulder and she recoiled, crying out with pain and colliding with Reynik, who was right behind her.

  Shantella threw a second blade, but Reynik anticipated her throw and avoided the blade with ease. Seeing she was outnumbered by three to one, Shantella darted through the back door into the bedroom area and slammed the door shut behind her. Reynik was content to let her hide. All he wanted was to get Femke and Calvyn out of the complex.

  ‘Quickly!’ he urged. He dragged Femke, still reeling with shock at the knife buried in her shoulder, across to the transfer stone. He drew out the wolf spider icon. ‘Come on, come on!’ They transferred, all three touching the icon. It was only as he touched the icon to the transfer stone that Reynik thought to wonder if there was a limit to the number of people that the icon would transfer at any one time. As the universe stopped spinning and the sparkling stars receded, he was pleased to see that all three of them had made it.