by Tom Lloyd
As Narin frowned, Enchei raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the door, motioning for Narin to stay where he was. The Investigator turned, eyes widening for a moment before he remembered himself. He moved slowly and brought his stave around to the left-hand side of his body. The ceiling was not so high that he could swing it properly, but there was room for a diagonal strike at anyone coming through the door.
The two men had first met playing dachan, a game which employed carved sticks four feet long that resembled very slim paddles. It was no coincidence that the strokes used resembled sword-blows, nor that the sport had appeared in the wake of the House of the Sun’s warrior caste being outlawed by the victorious rebel Great Houses. The game had piled on strength to Narin’s years of stave training and in his hands the tapered edge of the traditional Investigator’s weapon would shatter bone with ease.
Enchei rose and faced the door to Narin’s bedroom, one foot on the cross-piece of his stool to kick it back and out of his way. He gave a barely-perceptible nod just as Narin heard a small sound from the room beyond that door, the muffled crunch of some clay cup breaking. In his peripheral vision Narin saw Kesh edge forward and Irato push up from his chair, pain briefly showing on his face.
Without further warning the bedroom door crashed open, only to wedge hard against a knife Enchei had driven into the floorboards. A man in grey barrelled through, collided with the immobile door and lurched sideways just as a second bang echoed through the small room. The chest that had been pushed up against the outer door rocked back, jolted far enough by the impact that a second blow slid it half-over a second dagger Enchei had set there.
Narin tensed, ready to strike at the first person to force their way through as the tattooist threw himself into the grey-clad intruder. Enchei slapped away the goshe’s short-sword and slammed his dagger into the man’s ribs hard enough to knock him over. Blood sprayed up as Enchei jerked the weapon out and slashed left with his longer blade. Pinning a second attacker’s weapon against the door Enchei cut at his face then kicked him in the midriff with shocking speed.
Narin never saw the second man fall, his view obscured as one made it through the main door. He smashed down at his first glimpse, moving so fast they were barely out from behind the door when the stave struck. The black-masked figure wore no armour and Narin felt the arm snap on impact. The goshe stumbled sideways, almost dropping the mace he carried as he fell back against the stove. Another took his place and Narin struck again, forcing that one back into those behind while the first yelled something unintelligible.
Suddenly a flash of light burst around the mace head and Narin realised it wasn’t a weapon at all but some sort of lamp. The second masked face lunged forward again, long-knives thrust out towards Narin, but the Investigator had the longer reach and drove forward faster than the other could counter. The wooden staff’s snub tip crunched into the goshe’s face before his blades could deflect it, knives sliding uselessly down the haft as Narin connected and the goshe’s nose shattered.
The man with the mace made no effort to attack – on the contrary he hung back, injured arm hanging useless at his side while another two goshe charged in and Narin was forced to retreat. To his left, Enchei still held the bedroom door – blades flashing through the dull candlelight with unnatural speed. Another man moved in to match him and the pair traded blows, three quick clashes of steel that looked like a stage-fight. From nowhere the goshe’s throat burst open, white skin and shocking red blood tearing open through the black cloth without Narin seeing the lethal blow fall.
He called a warning as one man swung down at Enchei’s back, but the tattooist turned as the sound left Narin’s mouth. Long-knife raised, he caught a high blow then twisted back around to ward off another from the still-dark bedroom doorway. Somehow he caught both, although Narin could only prod forward with his stave to keep his own attacker back.
A second burst of light came from the mace-like lamp, leaving purple traces across Narin’s vision as he lunged again to create an opening for Kesh. The nimble woman had dodged around him and she buried the hatchet’s head into the goshe’s wrist as Narin’s blow was deflected. Without pause Kesh drove her knife into the man’s neck and he fell with a cut-off shriek.
Narin glanced over to see Enchei run one man through while taking a slash on his forearm at the same time. Then the strange purple light pulsed once more – and the next moment everything went pitch-black.
Irato blinked as darkness filled his eyes. He heard Narin cry out and reel from the shock of blindness, but then Irato opened his eyes again and found he could see. The room had become an etching in black and white ; shadows and outlines unfolding before him while the candle’s light remained an orb of white. Kesh and Narin both hurled themselves backwards, falling as they flailed blindly and tripped. Enchei continued to fight, unaffected by the tidal-wave of night that had swamped the room. The tattooist hurled his long-knife towards the main door, looking like he’d discarded it until another goshe fell with the blade buried to the hilt in his throat.
Enchei retreated into the centre of the room, his own knife held ready as the next came for him. Somehow he seemed to slip inside the goshe’s guard – twitching away the man’s blades with his own and a casual slap of the palm. He punched the man left-handed in the ribs and Irato heard agony in the man’s cry. In the next moment Enchei had stabbed him in the neck and dragged the body around to use as a shield.
White-outlined droplets of blood arced around Irato’s vision and at last his sluggish mind seemed to snap back into movement. He saw the nearest goshe advance on Narin, looking to finish the stricken Investigator off. Irato lurched forward and the goshe flinched, stopping dead as he realised Irato wasn’t blinded like the rest.
‘You ?’ the goshe called out, astonished enough to drop his guard.
Irato faced him, almost close enough to touch. The recognition was clear despite the goshe’s mask, but to Irato it meant nothing. All he felt was a cold sensation, like ice water slipping down his gullet. The pain receded, his injured limbs and aching head faded from his awareness as he faced a man he’d perhaps once known.
‘Irat—’ the goshe said, but got no further.
Irato looked down and saw he’d thrust forward with his long-knife. He blinked at the weapon, the savage movement seemingly ingrained and entirely natural to his body. He jerked the weapon clear and the goshe fell with a sigh of air expelled from his punctured sternum.
‘Irato ?’
He looked up. The man with the strange pulsing device was staring straight at him, but Irato was more interested in what he held in his remaining hand. Whatever it was, it had apparently drained the light from the room and blinded Narin and Kesh. He’d almost felt the change in his eyes as the sceptre had activated ; every corner, fold and seam picked out in the perfect black and white of some arcane night sight. Part of him wanted to marvel at the beauty of it, to wonder at this next mystery of his life, but a deeper instinct took over.
Against the shades of greys and star-lit edges of everything in the room, the head of the object was a black hole in the world. No texture or depth, he could see nothing except an empty space on the end of a length of wood carved with some sort of swirling script or decoration. To look at its head made his eyes swim and ache, but a hungry fascination had taken hold of him and Irato found he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
I’m one of them. I see as they do – I really am a killer.
‘Traitor !’ the man barked and Irato could hear his sudden fury over the clatter of Enchei’s continued struggle.
Irato looked down at the knife in his hand as Enchei grappled with another goshe, turning in a circle as though performing a frenetic dance before his partner crumpled and another took his place. He had the knife back behind his head before he’d even thought about what to do next.
I’m a killer, he thought distantly, the rush and chaos of the fight pushing the horror of that realisation to the far recesses of his mind. I was jus
t like them, a murderer in the night.
He threw the knife with a strength he didn’t know he had and it thudded into the goshe’s throat before the man could react.
But even a killer can choose, Irato thought as the goshe slumped back against the far wall.
For a moment the goshe was propped up, then his knees folded and he sank, sceptre slipping from his fingers. It fell awkwardly ; the butt thumped against the floor and tipped to one side, the head falling with the crack of breaking glass. In an instant the darkness was gone, sucked back into the night as though the Gods themselves had wrenched the veil away.
There was a strange still moment as the remaining goshe hesitated. Enchei didn’t. He whirled with his knife leading the way and took down the two inside the door, then stood stock still in the centre of the room as those remaining outside fled. With blood spattered down him and ragged tears in his sleeves where blades had sliced through the leather, Enchei finally relaxed and let his weapon lower as the sound of running feet clattered away outside.
Blood pattered from the blade to the floor as two still-living goshe squirmed and wheezed at Enchei’s feet. He assessed them with a glance and crouched beside one, pushing back the man’s cloth mask for a moment to inspect the injury underneath. After a moment he shook his head and, with a perfunctory motion, opened the man’s throat the rest of the way.
He looked up as Narin and Kesh drunkenly got to their feet. The pair were still disorientated by the unnatural darkness that had enveloped the room, but Enchei ignored them as he cleaned his blade. Irato looked at the scene of carnage that now surrounded them. In a matter of seconds it had become a slaughterhouse. He did a quick count and saw eight dead, maybe more hidden by the open doors.
So I’m not the only one with secrets, Irato thought as Enchei sheathed his knife and picked up the strange sceptre.
‘Well,’ Enchei declared, a fierce grin on his face as he sucked in air to catch his breath, ‘that was interesting, wasn’t it ?’
‘Interesting ?’ Narin said in a choked voice, staring at the blood on the end of his stave. ‘That’s what you’d call it ?’
Enchei shrugged and turned the sceptre over in his hands. Irato heard the chink of glass within the dull iron-like orb on the end and a few pieces dropped onto the floorboards at Enchei’s feet.
‘Different, then,’ Enchei countered. ‘We certainly learned a thing or two.’
‘Stars above !’ Kesh exclaimed. ‘You sound like Jester’s very own.’
Enchei gave a dismissive shrug. Once adviser to the first Emperor, Lady Jester had been a master politician renowned for her callous and dispassionate advice. The expression was used as a rebuke, but clearly Enchei didn’t object to the comparison.
Irato saw Kesh’s hands were shaking, Narin’s too. The Investigator in particular had paled, as though most likely he’d not killed anyone before. It was probably the most violence Narin had ever witnessed and all the more shocking for the speed of it.
Irato looked down at his own hands, one still in a sling and the other empty after he’d killed a man from across the room. The rough, broad palms and blunt fingers seemed perfectly still.
I really am a killer – but I can’t even bring myself to care about that.
The weight on his mind returned and Irato awkwardly eased himself back down into a chair as the first shouts of alarm echoed up from the courtyard below.
What sort of man was I ? Do I even want to know ?
Narin emerged onto the walkway and looked around the courtyard. Lamps shone from the windows that opened onto it and someone had lit the large iron lanterns on the courtyard wall. He’d had to pick his way over the smears of blood that now stained the wood underfoot, each one of the dead goshe having been dragged out into the courtyard. On the roof were Investigators with crossbows, watching for more goshe, and a half-dozen more stood at the gate keeping the curious faces of locals away. The men and women at the gate carried halberds – none looking comfortable with weapons they rarely trained with, but the threat was enough for the moment.
White figures stood over the bodies of the goshe ; Lawbringers of various ages with Rhe and a bald, grey-bearded man at their centre. The two were talking quietly, Rhe pointing at something on one of the bodies. When the other man glanced up towards Narin, he realised with a jolt that it was Law Master Sheven – a member of the Lawbringer’s Vanguard Council.
The Law Master motioned for Narin to join them and he felt a sinking feeling. Casting around for an excuse to put off the inevitable questioning, Narin alighted upon the blood staining his sleeve. It hadn’t been there after the fight, but Enchei had shown no interest in being the hero of this savage little event and again staged matters to cast Narin as the lead.
He gestured to the stained jacket and Sheven nodded, dismissing him with a curt hand motion. Relieved, Narin escaped inside – back to the relative safety of his bloodied and wrecked rooms, where Irato and Kesh had been ordered to remain.
‘They want to question me,’ he hissed to Enchei.
The tattooist was sat at the table, ignoring the mess as he calmly stitched one of the gashes in his coat’s sleeve. Enchei’s knuckles were scraped raw with a neat cut between the middle and index, but he still worked the fat needle comfortably enough. Through the damaged leather Narin could see the dull gleam of steel, metal plates sewn into the material to serve as armour.
‘Of course they do,’ Enchei said, not looking up. ‘You just fought off two teams of goshe, no surprise they’ve got questions.’
‘So I just pretend, yet again ?’ Narin slammed his palm down on the table to demand Enchei’s attention. ‘I can’t keep doing this ! You can’t keep asking me to lie to my superiors !’
‘Why not ?’ Enchei said in a mild voice. ‘Where’s the harm ?’
‘Where’s the harm ?’ Narin gasped, ‘I’m pretending to be a hero ! That first time I explained it as luck – we took them by surprise and got lucky, but Rhe’s been training me hard this past year. He knows exactly how well I can fight and he knows damn well I’m not this good.’
He looked back to where Kesh and Irato both watched them. The young woman had calmed after the fight, had recovered from the shock better than he had, if Narin was honest, and Irato seemed unaffected by the violence. Neither was looking forward to the interrogation they’d be getting, however.
‘First things first,’ Enchei said. ‘Practice is different to a fight to the death and Rhe knows that too. Secondly, you didn’t do it alone. We all four of us took them down one by one – working together and restricting how many got in the room at any one time. That’s plausible enough ; you’re an Investigator, I’ve had a term in the army and so has Irato, according to his tattoos. They weren’t attacking novices here.’
‘And it’s better than the alternative,’ Kesh said, joining them at the table.
‘Which is ?’
She gave him a look as though he was simple. ‘Them killing us all. I’m happy with a bit of lying compared to that.’
‘I still have to explain it, though,’ Narin insisted. ‘That’s not an easy thing when they’re trained to catch out liars.’
‘So deal with it,’ Kesh said with a fierce look. ‘You want to swap problems with me, fucking help yourself and I’ll tell the old men what they’re expecting to hear.’
Narin didn’t reply as her eyes glistened with tears. Kesh refused to submit to them but he could see the fight in her face, and it wasn’t one she was willing to lose.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …’
‘I know,’ she said in a small voice, ‘I wasn’t blaming you, but please – I’m exhausted. I need to sleep ; I need to see the morning and my mother safe. I can’t mourn Emari here, like this. I can barely stay on my feet.’
He ducked his head in acknowledgement. ‘You’re right. Enchei, you sure we’ll be safe here ?’
The tattooist glanced towards the bedroom where he’d secreted a few choice items from the goshe before th
e first Investigator had a chance to search the bodies. There wasn’t much, but the strange sceptre and a bag of some unknown powder he’d pronounced worth hiding were now safe inside a drawer. Safer for all involved if there was no word of dangerous magics that might reach Astaren ears, and a pinch of the powder burned in a pan had showed it wasn’t mere illegal gunpowder the goshe carried.
‘Sure ? No, but compared to you walking the streets to get back to the Palace of Law, I’d risk it. They won’t try again – they don’t have the capabilities to attack us here. Well, maybe they do, but I doubt there’s many like Irato and our friend Perel. This lot certainly weren’t. For all that they recognised Irato, they didn’t fight like elites with sorcery at their fingertips.’
‘They wanted to do it quietly and had the fire-powder to hide any evidence,’ Kesh said with a nod. ‘They’re still scared of attracting the wrong attention.’
‘As are we,’ Enchei said, staring meaningfully at Narin. ‘More’n a few of us have secrets to keep hidden, so go and tell some pretty lies, Narin.’
‘I, ah, dammit. You’ll be the death of me yet, old man. Okay, I’ll go, I just need to change my jacket first,’ he muttered.
Narin went into his bedroom and looked around at the broken remnants of pots on the floor, shutting the door behind him out of instinct. After the evening they’d shared, he felt ridiculous wanting privacy as he changed clothes, but it had been half a decade since he’d last shared quarters with anyone.
He was a man of few possessions and the room, though modest in size, was all the more empty without a bed. The shutters had been boarded up, despite the fact he knew there were guards in the street beyond, but there were still broken fragments of porcelain scattered across the floor. Looking around him he felt the sudden warmth of relief that he hadn’t died leaving such a small impact on the world.
The sum total of my possessions, he thought sadly, a handful of broken cups and a few stained jackets. The one good thing in my life is a child I can tell no one about.