by Mark Robson
‘I’m not sure I want to listen to any more of this. You had better leave.’
Fox got to her feet and strutted across to the exit doorway. Bear could almost see her flaunting the splendid brush of her namesake as her hips swung beneath the black garb. She stopped for a moment, her slender fingers caressing the doorframe. Beneath her hood she smiled.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Brother. I don’t want to take down the Guildmaster. I like him. Despite his failings, I’ll not deny he’s been a good leader. My problem is that I find myself asking if he is the right leader for what’s ahead. Shandrim is changing, Brother. We will need to adapt if we’re to survive. The Guildmaster is old. To give him his due, he is trying to develop new strategies to meet the new needs. In my view, however, I find it unlikely he will adapt fast enough. Ponder on it. I’ll drop by again sometime.’
She was gone. Bear breathed out in a long sigh. The realisation that he had been unconsciously holding his breath made him realise anew what an effect the Fox had on men. What should he do now? Should he side with the Guildmaster and tell him the Fox was up to her tricks? He doubted he was the only Brother she had approached this way. Where would her scheming lead? Was she right? Was it time for a new leader? A lot of things had gone wrong for the Guild recently. Could things have been handled better?
‘Damn you, Fox! Why couldn’t you just let things lie?’ he muttered.
Jabal squinted as he entered the library from the bright sunlight. Although the library was well served by large, high windows, there was a freshness and sparkle to the open air that was lacking in the great book-lined hall. The magician took an instinctive deep breath before stepping across the threshold.
As he entered through the double doors the library appeared a picture of serenity and order. The dust-filled, peaceful atmosphere of studiousness within its walls made it hard to picture the mess that Reynik had described resulting from his encounter with the two assassins just a few days earlier. There was no sign of it now. Equally, there was no sign of the young woman librarian he had described. A grim-faced old man sat at the librarian’s desk, lost in a book. It seemed she had taken Reynik’s advice.
The bookcase that Reynik had pulled over was back in place. Jabal meandered across to it as if looking around at random. When he reached it, the only hints of the recent action were the impact dents in the table-edge from the wooden uprights. All the books had been replaced. At least it looked that way at first glance.
‘Can I help you?’
Jabal was momentarily startled. He had not heard the librarian move. This was unusual, as his hearing had always been keener than most. If the librarian could sneak up on him so easily, had he been overstating his confidence at being able to protect himself from assassins? He shook off the thought.
‘No, I’m just browsing, thanks,’ he replied casually.
‘Very well. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.’ The old man’s eyes narrowed for a moment, darting around Jabal’s features as if constructing a detailed mental map of him.
‘Am I being paranoid?’ Jabal wondered, as the old librarian turned and re-crossed the library floor to his desk. The old man was wearing slippers, which would go some way to accounting for his silent movement, though the magician did note that the librarian’s gait was not typical of an old man. Where most would shuffle, this man lifted and placed his feet with care.
It crossed Jabal’s mind that he should probe the man with magic to ensure he was what he seemed, but he decided that to do so would be more likely to compromise his own disguise than to reveal anything useful. He turned his attention back to the bookcase. Taking care not to be too obvious, he scanned through the various categories until he found the area that dealt with the Imperial Palace. Sliding his eyes across the titles, he failed to pick out the two books Reynik had described.
Selecting a book from the shelf above, Jabal took it and walked around the nearest table to a spot where a shaft of light from one of the high windows would make reading his chosen text easy. It also had the advantage of placing him with his back to the librarian, and facing the shelf where the two books he was looking for should be situated. He sat down and opened his chosen book. For the next two minutes, he looked through the book with genuine interest. Books had always fascinated him, and this one was no exception.
After what he deemed to be a suitable time, he looked up and scanned the shelf in a determined effort to locate the texts he was looking for. It did not take long for him to realise that they were no longer there.
Strange, he thought, scratching at one eyebrow as he considered the implications of this development. The Guild are clearly aware of the two books. From the description Reynik gave, the books had likely been in the library for centuries. The Guild had the books especially tagged such that they would know when people read them. Why would they choose to remove the books now, after all this time? Surely it had not taken this long for them to realise the danger of the information they contained? No. They must have known what was in the books, or they would not have tagged them in the first place.
To ask about the two books would be both obvious and dangerous. Whatever the reason for their removal, it appeared the library was now a dead end. Jabal remained a little while longer, browsing through his book before replacing it and leaving the library. He nodded at the librarian, giving him a friendly smile as he left. The sour old man’s mouth did not so much as twitch in response.
‘What happy circumstance it must be to enjoy such job satisfaction,’ Jabal muttered under his breath as he re-emerged into the sunlight.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It took a moment for the words to take on meaning. Shalidar felt them settle in his belly like lead, heavy and poisonous. This was supposed to be his moment of triumph. If he had believed in such things, it would have been easy to feel that some higher power was toying with him – dangling sweetmeats under his nose and then whipping them away as soon as he made to bite.
‘Where did this information come from, Guildmaster? Is the source reliable?’ he asked, his voice like ice.
‘It came from a tattle tout who knows better than to feed anything other than reliable information to the Guild.’
‘I see. Does the Emperor Designate know?’
‘I assume by that you mean Lord Tremarle,’ Ferdand replied, enjoying the emphasis. ‘I don’t know, but I suspect the tattle tout will waste no time in selling him the information as well. From what I know of this tout, he is very adept at making the most out of such snippets.’
Shalidar began to feel sick. After all the risks he had taken it was hard to believe he had done it all for nothing. ‘Kempten alive,’ he thought. ‘This is the doing of Femke and Wolf Spider. It has to be. Surabar was devious, but this feels more like Femke’s work. If only you had listened to us and killed Femke when you had the chance, we could all have been spared from her meddling for good. Well, I’ll not let her interfere any longer. Damn the consequences. The spy must die, and Wolf Spider with her.’
His chances for power were dissipating like the morning mist. Suddenly, warning bells began to ring in his head. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’ he asked, eyeing the Guildmaster suspiciously. ‘It’s important information – information that all Members of the Guild have a vested interest in. Surely this is worthy of calling a meeting, unless . . .’
He could feel the Guildmaster watching him from under his hood. The old man’s eyes were watching his reactions with hawklike intensity. He knew. How much he knew remained to be seen. He met the Guildmaster’s gaze with a look of defiance. There was no point in denying the basic facts.
‘When were you going to tell me about your relationship with Tremarle, Brother Dragon?’
‘I saw no reason to. I declared that I had an interest in seeing Lord Tremarle come to power. If I had announced to the Guild that I was his adopted son, then my anonymity would have been destroyed. That would have been against Guild policy.’
‘I wasn’t talking about an
nouncing it to the Guild. You know full well that I should have been informed of your adoption.’
‘Why?’ Shalidar challenged. ‘At the time I was adopted, Lord Tremarle was just another nobleman. Are you telling me that none of the other members of our Guild are of noble blood? His bid for the Mantle came later.’
‘At your bidding?’
‘I’ll not deny that I encouraged his ambition. In my position, who wouldn’t?’
‘Shand’s teeth, Shalidar!’ Ferdand exploded, his eyes alight with anger. ‘You seem to delight in placing me in impossible situations! What exactly do you think I should do now? The true Emperor Designate is out there in hiding, no doubt planning to claim the Mantle when he is ready. He was Surabar’s man through and through. You can bet your last copper sennut that when he returns, he will look to see the Guild destroyed. However, if I order him killed, I place you in direct line to the Mantle. Do that and I create a paradox.’
‘A paradox, Guildmaster? How so?’ he asked, his tone almost taunting.
‘Don’t toy with me, Shalidar. You know full well that as heir to the Mantle, you would be protected by the creed, yet as a Member of the Guild you should be bound by it. The two are mutually exclusive. It would place me in the impossible situation of having a Brother who could break the creed at will, with no fear of facing the consequences. I cannot allow that to happen.’
Shalidar shrugged, his eyes wary, waiting to see just how much more the Guildmaster knew. Had the old man seen through all his machinations? Had he discovered why Tremarle had adopted him? He paused for what seemed like an eternity, but the Guildmaster added nothing further. As the silence extended, his confidence began to return and he decided to take the initiative.
‘So what are you going to do? Kill me now, while I have no status? What is my crime? Failing to tell you of a change in personal circumstance? I hardly think that warrants a death sentence. I have not broken the creed. I imagine you would experience considerable resistance from the Brothers to an execution of one of their number without good cause.’
The Guildmaster placed his hands together in front of his body and interlocked his fingers so tightly that they turned an ugly mixture of purple and white. Shalidar watched with wary fascination.
In truth, the application of the creed was not something he had fully considered during his manipulation of Tremarle. To his secret amusement he realised it was a measure of his disregard for the creed that he had neglected to think through the interplay of Guild rules with his change of status. The Lord was old. Shalidar had intended to wait for him to pass on naturally before taking the Mantle. The old man was as soft clay in Shalidar’s hands. Tremarle would have ruled in name only.
Putting the complication of Lord Kempten aside for a moment, it had not occurred to him until now that once Tremarle had been crowned, Shalidar could have killed him and seized the Mantle for himself without fear of reprisal from the Guild. To think he had come so close to being untouchable!
‘I’ve deferred the decision for now,’ Ferdand said, his voice grim. ‘But don’t think I’ve dismissed the idea of having you killed. I want you to give thought to renouncing your adoption. Having a Brother in line to the Mantle, let alone wearing it, is inconceivable. I’ll not allow it during my leadership.’
‘Then you’d better start counting your days as Guildmaster,’ Shalidar thought, his cold anger warming swiftly to a fiery heat. ‘With policies like that I’ll use whatever means available to ensure you don’t lead the Guild much longer.’
‘Father?’
For a moment Reynik was stunned. Then a warm rush of joy flushed through him and he ran forward, wrapping his arms around Commander Lutalo in a tight embrace. It was hard to believe. The impossible dream had just come true. Tears of joy ran down his face in streams as he fought for control of his emotions. It did not seem a very manly reaction, but right now he had no cares for what anyone else thought of him. He was so ecstatic to find his father alive that he felt like dancing and singing at the top of his voice. Lutalo returned the hug, clearly thrilled to see him.
‘It’s good to see you, son. I’ve been worried about you,’ Lutalo said with no sign of embarrassment.
‘But how is this possible? I was convinced you were dead,’ Reynik replied, dashing the tears from his cheeks. ‘Shalidar told me he had killed you. Oh, father, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you alive and well. But wait . . . if you’re alive, then who did Shalidar . . .’
‘The assassin killed Sidis,’ Lutalo said, his voice sad at the reminder of the incident. ‘I was just briefing him on new security arrangements when the tip of a blade burst through his chest. The assassin struck through the canvas wall of the tent. I was livid, but grateful that he didn’t stop to confirm his kill. I’m a fair swordsman, but I’d not have liked to face a Guild assassin without a few men to back me up. It was a tragedy. Sidis may not have been the best of File Leaders, but he did not deserve to die like that.’
For a moment, Reynik felt secretly pleased that Sidis had died in place of his father. Sidis had been narrow-minded, vindictive and petty, but his father was right – none of those failings made him worthy of such a death. Shalidar had murdered him without ever seeing his face – an uncharacteristic mistake on Shalidar’s part.
In his surprise and joy, he had momentarily forgotten the urgency and danger of their situation. In a rush it all came flooding back. Cold icicles of fear stabbed at his heart, cutting through the warmth of his unexpected reunion with the harsh revelation that all could yet be lost. The realisation struck him like a physical blow.
‘Father, we need your help,’ he said in a rush. ‘We’re all in terrible danger. We don’t have long. The Guild could attack at any moment. I doubt we were fast enough to get here without picking up a tail somewhere along the way. Femke needs medical attention, and Calvyn . . .’
‘I’m fine,’ Calvyn interrupted. ‘It took a while to shake off the effects of that chamber, but I’m almost fully recovered now. Sir, if you can spare us some space in a quiet room, then I’ll tend Femke. I have some skill with healing wounds. I should be able to throw the pursuers off our trail with a few illusions as well.’
‘Illusions?’ Lutalo asked.
‘Calvyn is a magician, father. He’s come with his master to help us defeat the Guild and restore order to Shandrim.’
Commander Lutalo regarded Calvyn closely, seeing only the rough, villainous features of his glamour image. Calvyn concentrated for a moment and dispersed the illusion. Lutalo’s eyes widened with amazement. He rubbed at them and blinked several times as the thug transformed into fair-haired young man with something of a military air about him. The Commander did not know what to think. The young man’s appearance still seemed at odds with his profession as a magician.
‘Impressive,’ he admitted. ‘But which one is the real you?’
‘This is,’ Calvyn replied with a friendly grin. ‘I was using the other persona as a deterrent. The illusion was designed to keep the criminal element of the city from messing with us. It worked, too.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ the Commander said, giving a nod of acknowledgement. ‘I doubt there would be many who would tangle with you in your other guise. All right, how much space will you need?’
‘You!’ Femke gasped as she suddenly noticed Calvyn’s real appearance. She staggered away from him and fell to the floor as she abandoned his support. She stared up at him as if she had seen a ghost and continued to scrabble away, as if consumed by fear. ‘Shanier! What are you doing here?’
‘Helping you, it seems,’ Calvyn replied calmly. ‘Yes, I remember you from Mantor. Ambassador Femke, wasn’t it? At least that was how you were announced. I thought at the time there was more to you than met the eye, but I could see you had no ill intent towards the King of Thrandor, so I left you to your devices.’
‘Why are you helping me? You led thousands of Shandese Legionnaires to their deaths. It was on your account I was sent to Thrandor to
foster peace between our countries. What is your purpose here?’
‘Is this true? Are you Lord Shanier?’ Commander Lutalo asked sharply, his hand automatically going to his sword hilt. Reynik, too, looked at him with suspicion.
Calvyn sighed. ‘Yes and no. Yes, in body I was Shanier, the cold-blooded sorcerer. However, I was a soulless puppet of Vallaine when I was given that name. I think it’s fair to say that I was not my true self for much of the time I held it.’
‘Why should we believe you?’ Femke snapped. ‘You betrayed the Legions.’
‘True, but you have to see it from my perspective, Femke. I’m Thrandorian, not Shandese. They believed I had betrayed them because I was leading the Shandese Legions. By deliberately leading the Legions away from Mantor and into battle with our enemies, the Terachites, I saved my home country from conquest by your troops. Does this make me a traitor? You’re a spy, or at least you were. I don’t know what your status is now, but given the same opportunity to save Shandar, what would you have done?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘I think you do,’ Calvyn continued. ‘However, let’s put that aside for now. I bear you no ill will. I’m presently studying here in Shandar. Whilst my allegiance will always be to Thrandor, I can see your Empire needs a stable, rational leader if Thrandor is to remain unthreatened. I’ll do everything in my power to help you and your friends achieve this.’
Femke nodded, wincing as pain spiked again with the slight movement.
‘Your shoulder needs treatment. Let me heal it and you’ll be able to think more clearly.’ Calvyn turned back to Commander Lutalo, noting that his hand was still resting on his sword hilt. I won’t need much space, sir. Enough to lay Femke down and treat her. I’ll do the rest.’