by Tom Lloyd
‘My husband is no devotee of Lady Dancer,’ Lady Kine says, ‘even before his injury. And of course, frivolity is not becoming of a warrior.’ She covers her smile as she indicates her bodyguard, whose caste prohibits much and pride forbids even more.
‘His health continues ?’
Lady Kine inclines her head. ‘He remains weak, but the worst is over – as you would know if you had visited us recently.’
Narin lowers his eyes. ‘I have not wished to intrude.’
‘I wish you would come more often,’ Kine says in a quiet voice that makes his heart ache. ‘Your visits bring us both great pleasure.’
He looks up to see her lips slightly pursed, as they always are when she is being earnest, rather than the studied blank expression of polite conversation. Behind her, the female knight, Myken, watches him with unblinking eyes.
Narin has never spoken more than a dozen words to Myken, but he has come to respect her all the same. He feels sure she has seen his foolishness around Lady Kine, bears witness to every fumbled word and hopeless expression, but she has said nothing when others might have forcefully put him in his place.
‘My duties keep me busy,’ he mumbles. ‘I have little time for calling on my betters.’
He can feel Kine withdraw slightly at that. ‘Is that how you think of me ?’
‘You are noble caste,’ he says, ‘I am craftsman. I would not want to take up too much of your precious time.’
She does not speak for a while, both of them watching the fervent dancers and crowd as though stones on a stream-bed.
‘Siresse,’ Kine calls eventually, ‘I am cold. Might you fetch me some chilli squid and a cup of spiced wine ? I will be safe in the company of Investigator Narin.’
Myken bows and disappears into the throng. Narin feels suddenly shy and terribly alone, both thrilled and anxious to be there with Kine amid the uninterested masses. She is known in the area of course – this is Dragon District still – but dressed to dance with no marks of caste or position visible to attract the attention. There are dozens of Wyvern women attired almost identically, Kine is marked out only by her beauty and in the fire-light most eyes are drawn to the movement of bodies only.
Narin turns to face her but the words die in his throat. He knows he does not have long before Myken returns, but he does not know what he wants to say to break the air between them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he blurts out, ‘I did not mean to be cold towards you. Forgive me, I would never mean that.’
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she says. ‘You are here with me now.’
He looks into her eyes but cannot read her expression. Her lashes flutter then she looks away, returning her attention to the dance but easing her body a fraction closer to his in the same movement. He feels an ache to close that gap further, to feel her breath on his cheek as she speaks.
‘In my dreams, we will have danced,’ Kine says so softly he can scarcely believe he has heard her correctly. ‘Danced all night, all alone here with only the Gods to witness it.’
There is a sadness in her eyes that tears at his heart. He reaches out and touches a hand to her arm. Her fingers, clasped demurely together, unfold and close around his.
‘We will have danced,’ he repeats in a choked voice. ‘In my dreams we will always dance.’
‘It is all I could wish for, to belong with you in that dream,’ she says and slips her fingers from his hand. ‘All I will ever wish for.’
‘Kine.’
Narin woke to darkness and the jangle of pain. It took him a while to realise the faint croak had been him speaking. He tried to move and immediately regretted it, tried to blink and whimpered in pain as black stars burst before his eyes.
Against his back he felt the harsh press of metal, tight ropes binding his wrists to something solid. Bunching his fingers provoked arrows of pain, darting from from fingertips to shoulders.
There was movement ahead of him, shifting shapes in the gloom that drifted silently closer. He kicked feebly. His legs were free but his arms and shoulders were bound securely to something he couldn’t move a fraction. He took the weight off his shoulders, his legs protesting.
‘Awake, eh ?’ came a voice from the darkness.
A shape moved closer, indistinct but big – that much Narin could tell. He blinked and tried to focus, but through the fog of his mind he realised it wasn’t just lack of light. The man – and it had to be a man, given the size – was dressed all in black and hooded, or so Narin thought. As he came closer the whites of his eyes became clear, then the white of his teeth as the man smiled.
A Dragon, then, Narin realised, and big even for one of them.
‘Where am I ?’ he said, little more than a whisper but he saw from the man’s grin that he’d heard.
‘You really think you get to ask the questions here ?’ the Dragon asked.
Narin tried to move his head again. His neck screamed after what felt like hours of unconsciousness, but he managed some small movement left and right. The faint outline of a door was visible, the suggestion of a wall on either side. The room smelt damp and cold on top of the stink of urine Narin guessed was his own. A dungeon perhaps, but one little used and larger than a single cell.
He tried to think, to clear the mess in his mind, but everything was an effort and he soon found himself slumped down again – legs barely supporting his weight despite the increased discomfort it caused.
‘Don’t give up, not yet,’ the Dragon whispered in mocking encouragement. ‘Make a fight of it at least.’
‘What do you want ?’ Narin slurred.
‘Me ? Nothing.’
Narin forced his head up again. ‘Why … ?’ he hadn’t the strength to finish his sentence but again the Dragon understood well enough.
‘Oh, you’ll answer questions soon enough. But not from me, I don’t care what you’ve got to say.’
Narin watched helplessly as the Dragon reached down and grabbed his left ankle, hauling it up and sending fresh jolts of pain through Narin’s arms. He tried to kick forward at the man but found he could barely move and the dark-skinned man’s grip was strong enough that Narin did nothing more than haul at his bonds and cry out in pain.
‘That all you got ?’ the Dragon laughed, the grip of one meaty hand more than enough to hold Narin securely. ‘Save your strength, you’ll need it.’
The man waved his free hand in front of Narin’s face. The Investigator was slow to focus on it, but as he did so he saw white sparks jump suddenly between the Dragon’s fingers. In an instant the open hand was wreathed in crackling, darting threads of light that left tangled trails across his vision.
‘No,’ the Dragon continued. ‘No questions here – just think of me as the warm-up act.’
With that he jammed his palm against the bare sole of Narin’s foot. Narin screamed. It felt like a dozen blades had been jammed into his skin. He writhed and kicked as he shrieked, barely aware of anything but the pain that filled his entire body. His knee seemed about to explode as shooting fire lashed through him, but he couldn’t break the man’s impossibly strong grip.
In the next moment it stopped and Narin was left shuddering and trembling in the dark once more. The dark afterglow swam before his eyes as he desperately tried to breathe again, drawing in shallow, laboured breaths that hurt as much as they relieved.
‘Enjoy that ?’ the Dragon asked conversationally.
Narin flinched at the sound of the man’s voice, looking blindly around as every nerve in his body still clattered and burned. A voice from deep inside screamed for him to reply, to say anything that might stave off another burst of lightning a few moments more.
‘No,’ he whimpered, panting for breath after saying just that.
‘No ? Ah well, the next hour or so ain’t going to be much fun then,’ the Dragon said as he delivered a casual punch into Narin’s thigh with one massive fist. That evil grin shining through the darkness of his prison didn’t waver as the blow landed.
‘And after …’ Narin croaked. Keep him talking, let him talk rather than burn me – Stars of Mercy, how long can I hold on ?
‘After that ?’ the man said, thinking it a question rather than all Narin could manage in one go. ‘After that it gets worse. She’s got questions for you and when she’s back, you’ll answer ’em. This here’s only a taste, to let you know what refusing her’ll be like.’
This time he didn’t even see the light before pain took him in its teeth. Narin convulsed and howled through a haze of agony – unaware if he was kicking or fighting it at all. The pain was everything ; even the smell of burning flesh and the fire in his lungs as he screamed were just distant things outside the pain.
Once it was over he hung limp from the bonds around his wrists and chest. If the Dragon spoke he couldn’t hear it past the crashing bells that filled his head. Slowly it began to recede once more and he felt himself breathing again, grateful even for the pain that brought.
At last he found his body again and drunkenly swung his head from side to side until he worked out how to lift it and look at his torturer.
‘After …’ Narin repeated, struggling to keep his eyes on those cold white teeth.
‘After ?’ the Dragon said. ‘Ah, sorry – did I break your concentration there ? My mistake, you weren’t finished.’
‘After,’ Narin said with a loll of the head that could have been a nod of confirmation, ‘you won’t be laughing.’
The grin widened. ‘Really ? Sure about that ? You ain’t going nowhere, friend, and you couldn’t take one of us even at your best – we’re blessed like that !’
‘Me, no.’
‘Your friends ? Irato maybe ? Friend, this place is so well warded the Gods themselves won’t find you and there’s more’n just me here.’
No Gods ? Narin thought with a tremble of fear, but he fought it down again. These goshe aren’t Gods, he reminded himself, whatever they think. They’re no match for Enchei, let alone the Gods.
‘He’ll find me.’
‘Who ?’ the Dragon asked with sudden interest. ‘Who’ll care enough to risk their neck for you ? No God, I promise you that.’
‘Old man,’ Narin said after a long moment. ‘Old man’ll find me.’
‘One old man, eh ? That’s all you got ? No Gods ? No House soldiers or Astaren strike-team ? Just an old man.’
‘One old man,’ Narin confirmed, stars bursting before his eyes as he nodded.
‘I like those odds.’
Narin forced himself to grin, feeling saliva and blood dribble from his mouth as he did so.
‘You’re all going to die,’ he whispered.
The Dragon’s smile at last went away. ‘What was that ? You want more of the pain ? Fair enough.’
‘Where is it ?’
The Investigator turned, eyes widening as he recognised Lawbringer Rhe. There was blood on the Investigator’s face, smeared trails running from a shallow cut at his thinning hairline and dirt on his cheek. More blood stained his sleeves, hands and jacket – more than could have come from such a wound.
‘In there,’ said the man, ‘I think.’
Rhe’s cold eyes fixed on the Investigator. ‘You think ? Are there other exits ?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but I was trying to …’ He gestured helplessly behind him. Beside a water-trough lay the body of another Investigator, a woman and younger than her colleague. Her chest had been carved open by some brutal weapon, that much was obvious.
‘You stopped to help her,’ Rhe said levelly. The man flinched and bit down on his lip. There was no hint of praise or condemnation in Rhe’s voice, but as he returned his attention to the building ahead it was clear he would have not done the same.
‘What’s your name ?’
‘Me ?’ The man swallowed, gaze still on his younger charge. He was a paunchy man in his forties – many Investigators were never raised to Lawbringer status but were experienced enough to train others. She would have been his responsibility. ‘Investigator Fenin, sir.’
‘What happened here ?’
‘I … I don’t know.’ Fenin ran a hand over his face, trying to clear the sweat and dirt but only managing to make it worse. ‘Demons, demons in the city.’
‘There’s word of sickness.’
Fenin nodded and pointed to the houses behind, cramped rooms set around a fenced yard. They were in the north of the city, in one of the poorer parts of the Imperial-controlled Arbold Warrant.
Rhe crossed over to the entrance to the nearest yard. The air was almost silent, none of the usual bustle or chatter one expected from a street like this. As he entered, a face bobbed up at the window, a local woman with tears streaking her face.
‘They won’t wake,’ she whispered, clearly in shock. Rhe approached her and she stumbled back, away from the window. His view of inside was clear enough to confirm his fears. Three figures lay on the low bed, two shifting feebly and pawing at the blanket draped over them all.
‘Fever ?’
The woman shrank back from his question, but nodded eventually. ‘They’re burning up, that demon’s brought a curse with it.’
‘How quickly has it come on ?’
‘I saw them last night – ate with them !’ He could hear the pleading in her voice, her desperation and fear.
Rhe didn’t respond. He cast around the room, noting the table in the centre and the discarded clothes beside the bed. ‘They were able to dress this morning,’ he stated. ‘One fetched water and there’s smoked fish out on the table.’
‘I went to their neighbours, to fetch help,’ the woman moaned. ‘They’re sick too. That’s when I saw it, the demon !’
‘Stay with them,’ Rhe ordered, ‘bar the windows and doors – make them drink if you can.’
‘Where are you going ?’
He ignored her and returned to the Investigator out in the street. Fenin hadn’t moved from beside his dead colleague.
‘Get up,’ Rhe said, as he passed the man.
Without waiting to see if Fenin followed, Rhe went to the building indicated by the Investigator earlier. It was down an alley between two stone walls – a half-open doorway that looked like a workshop from where he was. As he came closer there was a flicker of light inside and his hand went to the hilt of one pistol. Reminded of Kesh’s account, he moved more cautiously as he approached the door – ready to draw and fire, but he saw nothing more as he got to the door.
A glance behind told him Fenin was following, stave in hand, but he stopped at a gesture from Rhe. The Lawbringer slipped his own stave from behind his back, holding it in his left hand to deflect any blows, and stepped around the door to look inside the workshop. All appeared in order as he adjusted to the gloom within. He could see a pair of tables with tools neatly arranged on top, the goods of a leatherworker on display. He noticed an upturned chair before the hearth, then a figure crouched at a pallet half hidden by the brick chimney and workbench.
Rhe took a step closer, trying to make the figure out, but as he did it suddenly rose and turned. The air of the workshop crackled with darting light and he glimpsed a long body and slender limbs lit up by the staccato bursts – some sort of dark, patterned hide and a hairless, misshapen head. The demon darted forward and Rhe brought his pistol up on instinct – firing with unerring accuracy at the demon’s chest.
The room seemed to explode with light and Rhe reeled from the blinding flash. There was a screech from the demon, but it was impossible to tell if the sound was one of rage or pain. Rhe dropped his gun and drew the second, retreating from the doorway with his stave held straight out as he struggled to clear his vision.
Nothing attacked him. There was no sound at all from inside the workshop so Rhe advanced cautiously. Clearly this wasn’t some goshe assassin, but demons did not risk the daylight – he had never heard of such a thing in all his years, quite aside from the coincidence of a demon attack just as the goshe were being investigated.
Do
the goshe have their own pet demons ?
Rhe put the thought from his mind and darted around the door once more, pistol levelled. The workshop was empty. He entered, gun still at the ready, and saw the room led around a corner where another door was situated. He advanced towards it but stopped in the middle of the room, noticing something on the floor where the demon had been standing just a few moments ago.
Rhe crouched and picked a piece up. The workshop had been recently swept so the debris stood out. It was dark brown in colour and unlike anything he’d seen before. Certainly not clothing or armour, it felt light in his hand and looked more like an oversized reptile scale, but the broken edges showed ragged strata like a fraying fingernail. More worryingly, amid the remaining pieces he saw the crushed remnants of his bullet. Whatever the plate was, his pistol hadn’t penetrated it.
Rhe stood and retrieved his first pistol. Clearly the bullet had hurt or frightened it at the very least and the creature had eyes and a mouth like any other. He would just need to find a vulnerable spot and a second shot might prove invaluable. The gun loaded, he set out in pursuit.
‘It’s been too long,’ Kesh said, jumping up from her seat. ‘They’ve got him.’
Enchei nodded as he looked again out of the half-closed shutter. ‘You’re right.’
‘So we’re just going to sit here ?’
The tattooist scowled. ‘No. It’s time to find some help.’
He rose and went to the cupboard at the back of the room, then hesitated and glanced at his two guests. The three of them were in his room on the first floor of a non-descript tavern a few streets away from where they’d escaped Coldcliffs. It was a typical rented room ; few furnishings or possessions on view, just a table, two chairs and a bed with a battered clothes trunk pushed up beside it. Just the sight of it had made Kesh’s heart ache for her boarding-house home, and the little sister who’d never be cleaning a room like this ever again.
‘Well ?’ Kesh demanded. ‘What now ?
Enchei shook his head. ‘Remember, I don’t know either of you and I ain’t one to share my secrets easily.’
‘Should we leave ?’