Imperial Traitor

by Mark Robson

  Lutalo paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. Calvyn’s steady gaze remained unthreatening. Finally the Commander nodded. With brief, precise directions, he issued orders to the soldiers who had escorted them in. The men reacted swiftly, dispersing into defensive positions and preparing for a possible assault. Two of the men were sent out to fetch reinforcements. The final soldier paused before leaving. It was the Legionnaire who had taken custody of Calvyn’s sword.

  ‘Before I go, you’ll be wanting this back, sir.’ He handed over the sheathed blade. ‘It’s strange. I’ve been desperate to give you this back ever since I first touched it. Did you place a spell on me?’

  Calvyn smiled. ‘I said it was a special sword. One of its qualities is that it knows its owner. I didn’t work any magic on you. What you were feeling was the desire of the blade to return to me.’

  The Legionnaire did not look convinced, but he nodded and left.

  ‘Come. Bring your injured friend through here. This room will have to suffice. It’s not big, but we’ll try to keep any from entering.’ Lutalo took a torch from a nearby bracket and led them through one of three doors leading out of the guardroom.

  Calvyn and Reynik supported Femke as they moved through the doorway into a square box of a room. There was only one small window on the wall to the left of the door. The walls were whitewashed stone and the flooring was of uneven wooden boards, untreated and bare. The only furniture was a single trellis table and two stools. There was no fireplace and the air in the room felt cold and damp.

  ‘We use it as a cell for those caught out after curfew,’ Lutalo explained. ‘It’s neither big, nor comfortable, but it’s the best I can offer.’

  ‘This will be fine, Commander,’ Calvyn replied. ‘We won’t stay long. As soon as I can, I shall cloak the three of us within another illusion and we’ll move on to safer lodgings.’

  Calvyn and Reynik helped Femke through the doorway and over to the side of the room furthest from the window. Reynik took off his cloak and spread it on the floor for Femke to sit on. The front of her tunic was dark with blood and a steady flow still ran down her arm, dripping from her fingers. Her face was a deathly pale white in the dim light of the single torch. That she had said little since the soldiers had captured them was an indication to Reynik of how badly she was hurt. He knew she had a high pain threshold. He had seen her cope with injuries before.

  Once Femke was seated, Reynik took the torch from his father and thanked him again.

  ‘It’s no trouble, son. I hope your magician friend will be able to help her. She looks to have lost a lot of blood. Are you sure you don’t want me to send for a medic?’

  ‘If Calvyn says he can heal her, then I believe him. He’s proved a most capable ally so far.’

  ‘Fair enough. How long will it take?’

  ‘Just a few minutes, sir,’ Calvyn said, kneeling to examine the wound. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but if you would leave us now, I would appreciate quiet in order to concentrate. Reynik, come here, would you? I’d like you to brace Femke while I remove the knife. If you kneel behind her – that’s right. Femke, lean back against Reynik . . .’

  Lutalo left, closing the door behind him. Calvyn took a quick look around the room and muttered a spell under his breath. A slight shimmer in the air gave Reynik the clue that Calvyn was creating another illusion, but what form it took was unclear, for when Calvyn was finished, the room looked no different. Reynik wanted to ask about it, but Calvyn was already concentrating on the wound again.

  ‘I’m afraid this is going to hurt, Femke,’ Calvyn said with a frown. ‘I’m going to draw the blade. Are you ready?’

  She nodded, teeth gritted against the anticipated increase in pain. Calvyn placed forefinger and thumb of his left hand on the flesh either side of the blade, and grasped the handle with his right hand. Femke gasped as he wrenched the blade free. A fresh flood of bright red blood flowed over Calvyn’s left hand as he initially pinched the flesh together. He checked the blood and blade for any obvious signs of poison, but there was no discolouration. He then checked the wound, probing it first with fingers, then with magic. It appeared clean.

  Aside from the initial gasp, Femke remained silent throughout the examination. The only sign she gave of her discomfort was a wince as Calvyn opened the wound in order to look inside. To Reynik’s eyes what followed was little short of a miracle.

  Calvyn’s lips began to move again as he silently mouthed his spell in the strange language of magic. His eyes shut as his concentration became absolute, and Reynik found his own gaze alternating between Calvyn’s face and Femke’s wound.

  At first nothing appeared to be happening, but then the flow of blood from the wound slowed from a steady flow to a trickle, before stopping altogether. Reynik could hardly believe his eyes as the deep, ugly hole in Femke’s shoulder slowly closed, knitting itself back together as he watched. As Calvyn finished his spell, Femke gave a sigh and slipped into a deep sleep. Reynik felt her relax against him and he looked in wonder at her totally healed shoulder. There was not so much as the faintest scar to show where the knife had struck.

  Reynik opened his mouth to speak when the door to the little room burst open. His father stumbled in through the doorway, having been pushed hard from behind. A figure dressed in the black garb of the Guild followed him inside and scanned the room from under his dark hood. His eyes passed over the three of them without pause.

  ‘Where are they?’ demanded the assassin, his voice hard as granite.

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘That much is evident, Commander. Now tell me something useful. Where have they gone to?’

  ‘I sent them under escort to find a medic,’ Lutalo replied, a defiant edge in his voice. ‘The girl was hurt. Her wound needed urgent attention.’

  ‘Why did my men not see them leave? Is there another way out of here?’

  ‘No. Look for yourself. Your watchers must have missed them. They left by the way you came in.’

  ‘Unlikely. Are you seeking death, Commander?’ The assassin raised his blade towards Lutalo’s chest.

  Reynik tensed, reaching automatically for a knife, but Calvyn put a hand out in a calming gesture and shook his head. Reluctantly, Reynik lowered his hand and continued to watch in silence. He wondered what sort of illusion Calvyn had spun that had fooled the assassin so completely. The figure in black was only standing a couple of paces away, yet he was totally unaware of them. It was not Shalidar; his build, his stance and his voice were not those of his sworn adversary. This was not one of the Brothers with whom Reynik was familiar.

  ‘Not at all. I do not fear death, yet neither do I invite it. I don’t believe you’d kill me without a contract. You see I know something of your Guild. For you to kill me would violate your creed and thus invite death upon yourself. I find it unlikely you would want to do that.’

  Lutalo kept his voice calm and reasonable, yet his words were almost taunting. His stance mirrored his conviction. Where the assassin was taut and menacing, the Commander stood tall and relaxed. Confidence oozed from him like an aura. The atmosphere between them was thick with tension.

  ‘Don’t overdo it, father. If you push him too hard he might snap,’ Reynik thought, his stomach tight with anxiety.

  ‘I could always claim self-defence,’ the assassin suggested. ‘You’re a soldier. People would expect you to pick a fight with me.’

  ‘Are you looking for an excuse to kill me then? Is that the true nature of the Guild? Do you itch to kill any who irritate?’ He paused for a moment, his eyes flashing with righteous fire. Then with an apparent change of heart, he continued with a more conciliatory tone. ‘To answer your question, I don’t know why your men did not see them leave. I’m also not sure which medic post my men will have taken the three curfew-breakers to. I didn’t give them specific orders on that detail. The two most likely ones are the main guard post on the Western Avenue, or the one on the south side of the central Civic Square. If you catch up wit
h them, please try not to injure my men. I don’t take kindly to folk who do that. If I find that you’ve hurt anyone under my command, then you can be sure that I’ll make it my personal mission to find those responsible and bring them to justice.’

  The assassin laughed then, his barking chuckle sharp, like the regular rapping sound of a nail driven home by a carpenter wielding a metal hammer.

  ‘You think to threaten me, soldier! You know that was almost worth coming for tonight. Your kind has never been able to trouble the Guild. Bring your legions into Shandrim if you wish. You will not break us. We’re like the wind that slips through your fingers. You’ll neither trace us, nor catch us. Go send your troops to catch a moonbeam. Your chances of success will be far higher.’

  With a swirl of black material, the assassin was gone. Commander Lutalo remained where he was. Once he was sure the assassin had definitely left, he glanced directly at the three fugitives and raised a quizzical eyebrow before going out through the door.

  ‘What did you do, Calvyn?’ Reynik asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘What did the assassin see when he entered?’

  ‘I moved the wall so that it was between the assassin and us. It was a simple illusion, but effective. He was expecting a small cell. He saw what he expected to see.’

  ‘You know I’m surprised that the Emperor does not employ magicians within his spy network. With such skills the work of a spy would be easy. Do you not find such power seductive?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, you could have anything you wanted,’ Reynik replied. ‘If you wanted to steal something, you could simply use your powers to open the locks, walk in and take it.’

  Calvyn looked thoughtful for a moment.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I could, if I wanted to. There’s a sort of unwritten code of conduct amongst the magicians that I’ve associated with. For the most part they seem to have very high moral standards. Stealing, or using our powers for vast material gain, would be to corrupt the gift we’ve been given. There are those who would use their powers in this way, but mercifully they’re very few.’

  ‘I suppose Lord Vallaine was a good example of one,’ Reynik suggested. ‘He used his powers to take the Emperor’s place.’

  ‘He did?’ Calvyn asked, though there was little surprise in his tone. ‘I hadn’t heard that. Of course, Vallaine wasn’t a magician. He was a sorceror – there is a big difference, though it would be difficult for someone untrained in the arcane arts to distinguish. My experience of sorcerors has not been good. Lord Vallaine was possibly the most twisted and corrupt person I’ve ever known.’

  ‘It’s said he wore the Mantle for several months before Femke discovered his secret and exposed him,’ Reynik explained.

  ‘Vallaine always was hungry for power,’ Calvyn noted. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Femke poisoned him. She felt it was the only safe way to remove him from the throne.’

  Calvyn’s face betrayed his surprise as he considered Femke’s methods. ‘Hmm! I’ll bear that in mind if I ever think to cross her. I knew she had a sharp mind, but she’s clearly more dangerous than I thought.’

  A short while later they woke Femke. Utilising Calvyn’s powers of illusion once more, they took on the guise of Legionnaires, said goodbye to Lutalo, and set out across the city. Reynik found it hard to contain his emotions as they left.

  ‘Please be careful, father. I don’t want to lose you again,’ he said, more tears threatening as he drew Lutalo into another close embrace.

  ‘You too, son. Keep in touch. If I can be of help, you know you only have to ask.’

  Once out from under the watching eyes of the Guild, moving through Shandrim became easy. Femke took the lead, weaving them through the backstreets to one of her less-used safe houses. She had not visited it in over a year, but her agents had seen to its upkeep. There was only one narrow bed, which the two men instantly declined. Femke accepted gracefully. After her recent treatment by the Guild, she was happy to capitalise on their gentlemanly gesture.

  The following day Femke was eager to put the location of the Guild beyond all doubt. After a good sleep, she felt fully recovered from her injury. On speaking with Calvyn she was delighted to find he was also able to speed up the healing of the ribs that had troubled her ever since Shalidar had broken them in Mantor some months before. By the time they arrived at the meeting place, Femke felt better than she had in a very long time.

  ‘How much do you two know of accounts?’ she asked as they ate a hasty breakfast.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Calvyn replied. ‘I know nothing. I grew up on a small farm-holding where most transactions were bartered. After that I was in Baron Keevan’s army. I had no reason to learn.’

  ‘My father had me learn the basics,’ Reynik admitted. ‘He said it may come in useful some day. I hated every second of it.’

  ‘Well, Shand bless Lutalo! I’ll be sure to kiss him next time I see him. Before we meet with Kempten I’d like to pay a visit to the Palace to check out a few things. Calvyn, would you mind giving us an illusory makeover? I don’t want either of us recognised.’

  ‘Not at all, Femke. What sort of disguise did you have in mind?’

  ‘Could you give us both the appearance of officious auditors? I’d like to give the Head Steward at the Imperial Palace a hard time today and I think an inspection of the Imperial Household accounts, together with a stock check of the cellars in the Palace should give us enough evidence to confirm our suspicions about the location of the Guild headquarters.’

  ‘Are you sure this is necessary, Femke?’ Reynik asked. ‘Surely the reaction of my visit to the library has all but confirmed it already.’

  ‘You’re right, Reynik, but if my suspicions are correct, there will be a physical entrance to the Guild through the Palace cellars somewhere. I’d like to find it before we begin to devise any further plans. Also, through the Steward’s accounts we can see if the Guild is vulnerable in other ways. Maybe we could starve them out. There are a lot of people in that underground lair. They must have a regular supply route. It’s most likely running through the Palace. If we could disrupt it sufficiently, the Guild might have no choice but to take direct action. Whatever they do to re-establish a supply route will make them more visible, and therefore more vulnerable.’

  Calvyn shook his head in amazement. ‘No wonder the Emperor sent you to Thrandor, Femke. You’re one devious young lady.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Calvyn. That’s possibly the nicest thing anyone’s said to me for a very long time.’

  ‘Haunted? Come now, surely you don’t believe in such children’s tales.’ Femke’s illusory face was disapproving and she kept her tone harsh.

  ‘It’s true ma’am. Shand’s truth it is. I’ll wait at the door if you don’t mind. There’s been too many tales of that cellar for my likin’. Where there’s rats, there’s sickness, if you take my meanin’.’

  ‘What sort of tales are we talking about here? Moaning in the night? Moving shadows?’

  ‘Oh no, ma’am! Much worse than that. It’s said that spirits often rearrange the boxes deliberately to trip you up. Also, people ’ave been taken from that chamber, ma’am. You know – taken to the other side.’

  ‘The other side?’ Femke asked, curious now about the servant girl’s beliefs.

  ‘The spirit world, ma’am. There’s been several wot’s worked ’ere over the centuries wot’ve disappeared from this cellar never to be seen in the flesh again. Sometimes, afterwards, their ghosts have been seen ’ere amongst the boxes – searchin’.’

  ‘Searching? Searching for what?’

  ‘No one knows, ma’am. Some say they left their souls ’ere and they come back lookin’ for ’em. I’m not so sure about that, ma’am. All I know is there’ve been far too many sightin’s over the years for my likin’.’

  Femke smiled at the serving girl, her prim illusory face patronising as she patted the girl’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s probably one of those pract
ical jokes that’s been perpetuated for so long that it’s become a part of Palace legend. Don’t worry. You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. I just need to run a quick inventory check, same as I did in all the other cellars. Wait here. I’ll not be long.’

  The door creaked in protest as she opened it, the juddering noise changing to a high-pitched squeal of metal on metal as it reached fully open. The eerie sound echoed slightly in the dark cellar and the hairs on the back of Femke’s neck prickled. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she chided herself silently. ‘It’s just a cellar like all the others. The door hinges are probably left untended deliberately in order to add to the atmosphere of the place . . . or to act as a warning for those inside to make themselves scarce in a hurry.’ It was not so much the spooky screech that set her nerves jangling, but the thought that a Guild member might be waiting for her inside. What if they had somehow learned of her new disguise?

  ‘Could do with a bit of oil on the hinges,’ she said with a sneer, doing her best to dispel her fleeting paranoia.

  ‘Don’t make no difference, ma’am. The hinges are oiled ev’ry week, but they squeak just the same.’

  Femke was certain she had found what she was looking for. She remembered this cellar from her previous experience in the Palace. The stonework was identical to that in the Guild headquarters. It was hard to tell for sure, but it also appeared to be one of the deepest Palace cellars. Moving boxes, ghost legends, and a healthy fear of the place by the Palace staff were all good clues. If there were a way into the Guild from the Palace, then it was likely to be found here.

  She entered, holding her torch aloft. The flickering light played, gleefully revealing large, lurking bales and twisted stacks of boxes, whilst simultaneously making shadows duck and lunge. It was a big room, half again as big as the other cellars she had visited. Given its size, however, there appeared to be little held in storage here.

  ‘There’s not much in here, is there?’ she said, peering over a low wall of boxes.