Quest SMASH

by Joseph Lallo

  Myra gave a soft gasp. “That hurt.”

  Her words broke Loriane from her transfixed state. With trembling hands, she put the jar with its hideous content down and dropped the woollen tunics back into the chest.

  Myra had stopped her exercises. Her eyes were wide. “It hurts, Loriane.”

  “Yes, it probably does. Breathe as I’ve shown you. Nothing more I can do. It’s all up to you.”

  Where was Tandor? What was he doing with that horrible thing in his luggage?

  * * *

  It took a long time before the courtyard emptied and Tandor dared enter it. When the last boys and the Brothers had finally gone, he ran across and fell to his knees at the snow mound. Faint golden strands of icefire showed the shape of a man underneath the snow. Tandor dug into the biting cold, scrabbling chunks of iced-up snow off Ruko’s body. He lay curled up like an oversized sleeping child, and didn’t move when Tandor uncovered him. He was no longer blue, but a sickly grey.

  Ruko, Ruko!

  The response was weak, a mere tugging at the edge of his senses. Tandor breathed deeply, stifling panic that crept up from his gut.

  What, just what, had happened to him? Ruko was supposed to be invincible. A servitor. You couldn’t kill them unless you killed the maker. And not dead was just about the only thing that could be said in favour of Ruko’s condition.

  Tandor pushed the snow off Ruko’s legs and tried to drag him to his feet. The boy was too heavy for Tandor to lift, so he picked him up under the arms and dragged him across the courtyard.

  Tandor stopped at the gate. Where to now? He could hardly walk back to Loriane’s house like this, dragging a body that most people couldn’t even see.

  There was a narrow passageway between two houses opposite the gate. Tandor waited for the alley to empty of women returning from the markets before he dragged Ruko across. The recently-fallen snow had been trampled into a hard cover, on which industrious citizens had spread layers of sand. As Tandor dragged Ruko across, the heels of Ruko’s boots scratched into the sand cover, leaving tracks of pristine white.

  There was no time to grab sand from the bucket that stood next to the door of a nearby house—someone was coming.

  Tandor cursed, sending a burst of icefire to spread the sand and cursed again when icefire lifted all the sand and blew it against the outer wall of the compound instead. Icefire was so strong already, and he was no closer to getting into the palace.

  He dragged Ruko further into the alley, sending another burst of icefire to obscure the alley’s entrance from curious eyes. Passersby would see something that repulsed them, and made them look away. A drunk man, a dead animal, a pile of rubbish, two lovers engaged in an indecent act.

  Tandor proceeded further into the alley, past a side entrance to a house, past steps and a rubbish bin to where the passage ended. He tipped the snow off the bin’s lid and fashioned it into a wall, grabbing icefire from the air to melt the snow enough so it would stick together. The structure didn’t reach very high, but it hid Ruko from view in case someone could see past the illusion at the alley’s entrance.

  By the skylights, what now?

  He eyed the wall at his back. It was ages since he’d sneaked around the streets of Tiverius as a young boy getting away from his mother, scaling walls and climbing onto roofs. It wasn’t just that he’d become unaccustomed to moving around in such a way—he was a prince by the skylights—but the roofs of the City of Glass were too steep, ice-covered and utterly unfamiliar. A man’s survival instinct is honed and primed in his youthful scampering away from obnoxious adults his weapons tutor used to say. And Tandor’s experience was all in Tiverius. In Chevakia.

  He was a blasted Chevakian.

  He sat on the cold ground, his back against the wall, sheltering behind the rubbish bin. There was no way he could move until Ruko recovered, but he didn’t have the time. Someone was on the loose who not only knew he had a servitor, but who knew how to deal with servitors as well.

  He loosened the clasp of Ruko’s cloak and wriggled one of the boy’s hands from underneath.

  Tell me what you know.

  Ruko’s hand lay grey and pale in his live one. At first, Tandor didn’t see anything, but when he grabbed strands of icefire and poured them into Ruko’s prone form, images came to his mind.

  The courtyard, the building of the Brotherhood shrouded in darkness. An unclear fuzz as Ruko walked through the wall. The boys’ dormitory. There was someone walking around inside: three silhouettes escaping into the corridor. Beds against both walls, one of them empty but still warm. The three figures had taken the imperfect boy.

  Blurry outlines as Ruko walked back through the wall, just as the three figures ran across the courtyard. One of them carried the Imperfect boy rolled in a blanket.

  Two or three steps, and Ruko had grabbed the first Knight. Snapped his neck like an icicle, then the other one. But the third one, a slight man younger than the others, held a metal rod in his hands and waved it in the air indiscriminately. The rod pulled and tore at the very fabric of Ruko’s being. Searing pain, blinding light. As the image faded, and Ruko slumped in the snow, the third Knight called out to the Imperfect boy, who scrambled from underneath the corpse of the Knight who had carried him.

  Tandor ripped himself from Ruko’s memories. The horrid image tore at him with the realisation of what the young man held. A sink. The third Knight, the inexperienced young man, was of pure Pirosian blood. No one could harm him, and while he held the sink, it attracted icefire. Someone had read the king’s notes on the properties of icefire. And were using them against him.

  What now. What now? The only servitor he had lay incapacitated at his feet. The Heart was beating and someone in the palace had started silly experiments with icefire.

  He needed servitors. Isandor, the boy, Myra, or . . . did he dare hope that he could get the only other free Imperfect? Not without Ruko.

  Ruko, I need you to recover.

  He grabbed as many strands of icefire as he could and poured them into Ruko’s prone form. The golden light resisted him. Making a servitor was easier than healing one. When the flesh was live and fresh, it would meld with icefire under the hands of a skilled worker. When he took Ruko’s heart, it had fallen into his hands freely. As long as it beat, Ruko would live. But Ruko was his own entity, linked with the world through the heart in its jar in Tandor’s travel chest. The flesh of his body had become old and scarred and resisted icefire from any other sources than itself.

  Now that so much had been siphoned off by the sink, Ruko needed to absorb more icefire to recover. And his very skin was resisting it.

  There was only one way.

  Tandor felt at his belt for his dagger.

  Ruko barely flinched when Tandor drew a sharp cut across the skin of his lower arm. He stuck the dagger into the flesh and lifted up a flap of skin. The dark blue muscle tissue underneath rimed with frost. A trickle of blood oozed out of the wound and froze on his fingers, a light blue coating of crystals. He dug the tips of the dagger amongst tissue, hitting bone. Bits of nerve and gristle slid under his fingers. All blue and lifeless. Was there any hope?

  He made another cut, this time in Ruko’s neck. After peeling away the skin, he found the jugular vein, pulsing faintly, a dirty brown-orange in colour where it should be gold and fat with icefire.

  Tandor reached out with his claw hand. Icefire crackled through the air and sprang from his arm to Ruko’s vein. It glowed bright yellow before the colour seeped into Ruko’s body. More, more. Icefire flowed down his arm. Ruko’s battered body drank it in like a sponge. Tandor fed him as much as he could gather. Ruko stirred, a muscle twitched, but his eyes remained closed. Tandor let go of the icefire he was still holding. Its pull had become too strong for him.

  Tandor breathed relief, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t restrain himself and bent over the boy in a hug. Intense cold crept through him. Frost rimed his cl
oak where Ruko touched it. Ruko’s icefire still felt weak, but at least Tandor could feel it now.

  So much of his plan hinged on Ruko.

  Tandor sat with his back against the wall, holding Ruko’s hand.

  From his position in the alley, he could see a narrow strip of the street outside the Brotherhood compound.

  A sled pulled by a bear came past. A Knight sat at the driver’s bench, and a few more in the back, probably here to pick up the bodies.

  Not much later three Knights walked back through the street. They were all young, with Apprentice badges on their collars. Tandor didn’t move, counting on his disguises to keep him from sight. The fourth Knight was a Learner, and he looked straight down the alley in spite of the guards Tandor has put in place. Tandor didn’t doubt for a moment: this Knight had seen him. This young man was a purest-blood Pirosian, who could not be fooled by icefire tricks. He would have been the one carrying the sink.

  Tandor pressed himself hard against the wall, not daring to move. The young Knight was quite tall and broad for his age, with a determined face and a head full of soft black curls. He hesitated, but walked on.

  Heart thudding, Tandor ran to the corner of the alley and looked into the street. The Apprentice Knights had stopped at the gate to the Brotherhood compound. The Learner was pointing into the yard. But Tandor didn’t doubt that the young man would be back.

  He needed to draw attention away from Ruko and the best way to do that was to give the Knights a more urgent problem to deal with.

  Tandor opened the lid to the rubbish bin. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he lifted up a slab of frozen fish bones and draped it half on top of Ruko. There. Now it looked like a snow fox had been at the bin.

  The Knights still stood at the gates to the Brotherhood compound. One of the Brothers was with them, black amongst grey and red. They were in heavy discussion, gesturing and pointing.

  Tandor turned into the street and walked away from the Knights. He disliked turning his back on them and it cost him all effort in the world not to run. But dignified citizens who had just come out of their house and were on the way to the markets did not run.

  As he reached the corner, Tandor glanced over his shoulder.

  The young Knight with the sink also looked up. Their eyes met. Tandor froze. A strand of icefire crackled from him to the shining staff on the Knight’s belt, accompanied by a sharp jolt of pain in Tandor’s chest.

  Tandor gasped.

  The man yelled, “There!”

  Still clutching his chest, Tandor ran.

  Chapter 18

  CARRO STOPPED, panting, in the street. The Apprentices of his patrol came to a halt behind him.

  “Where did he go?” Inran asked.

  They had halted at the intersection of two streets. Patrons spilled out of the meltery on the corner, talking and laughing in groups. To the left the street led to the markets, but more people obscured a clear view. Ahead a troupe of jugglers was performing an act. To the right was another meltery which was so popular that people queued up to get in.

  Some Junior Knights were in the queue, raising eyebrows at Carro, like they wanted to ask why he was working while everyone ought to be enjoying themselves, or why he seemed to be leading this group of Apprentices while he was only a Learner, and a very young one at that.

  Well, some of us have to do the work. And he thought of the Knights he had met last night, the ones who had died on duty, and the ones who held their parties in Rider Cornatan’s bathroom. None of them mingled with the drunken crowds.

  “Have you seen a man running past?” he asked the Knight.

  “Well, if you mean seen a man run after the girls, I’ve seen plenty.” The Knight laughed.

  His breath smelled of bloodwine, and he wasn’t pronouncing his words properly. “Hey, boys, forget the work and join us.”

  Carro turned away, not trusting himself to shut up. He wanted to berate the Knight, but he was an Initiate, higher in rank than a Learner, and he didn’t want to obtain the label arrogant upstart, because ultimately, the punishment that would earn him would not be worth it. That’s what Rider Cornatan had said: punish the ones of lower rank, obey the ones of higher rank. Even, if they were drunk.

  So he gave a half-hearted salute and led his group towards the markets, past the jugglers. Spectators blocked the way. Carro told Inran to clear the path. People glanced over their shoulders and frowned at them, at him, an Outer City boy so obviously obeying the other side. Yes, the Outer City loved the Knights, but only as long as they stayed out of Outer City affairs.

  “We’re not going to find him in this crowd,” Jono complained at his side. “Why don’t we go back to the festival grounds? The ritual killing must be about to start.”

  “Because that is not our job,” Carro said. “We need to find this man.” The staff at his side was only just warming up after that jolt of icefire that had gone into it, but he could still feel the cold burning through his trouser leg.

  “He’s gone,” Caman said, not meeting Carro’s eyes.

  “Then we will start a search of all the streets surrounding the markets.” Carro clenched his teeth.

  Jono scowled.

  Punish them, Rider Cornatan said, and Carro had threatened extra duties, but both boys still challenged him. Both Jono and Caman were taller than Carro. His former bullies. Rider Cornatan must have known that when he selected these Apprentices for the job. Maybe because Carro had mentioned Jono.

  Punish them hard and you only need to punish them once. And clearly, Carro failed at the punishing department.

  “Move now. Markets first. Quick, get on with it.”

  Carro waited until the other boys had gone first. When he walked past, Jono’s eyes flashed a challenge.

  * * *

  Isandor hurried through the streets, every step putting more distance between himself and the Senior Knights at the festival grounds, and Rider Cornatan in the meltery.

  Everything was wrong, even Carro seemed to sense that. Carro knew he’d used icefire to stop the cylinder falling, even though he hadn’t seen it. His friend’s voice still echoed in his mind. How did you do that?

  He could still see the expression in Carro’s eyes when the Queen had declared him Champion, a look that frightened him.

  Carro frightened him.

  A change had come over his friend since his inexplicable promotion. He was harsher, and to be frank Isandor didn’t think the promotion was because of something Carro had done. Someone was advancing him for a reason. In his limited experience, those types of reasons were rarely good. Carro had been evasive at the meltery, as if he held some sort of secret, and what secret would that be other than that he knew Isandor had used icefire?

  Maybe Carro was advanced under the condition that he spilled all he knew about the Outer City, and its inhabitants, about Isandor, about the Brotherhood and the old books they had.

  There was only one option. Tandor was right: he had been born like this and couldn’t undo abilities the Knights considered illegal. But rather than try to hide it better as Tandor suggested, he had to get out of here. Beyond the edges of the southern land there was a whole world he had never seen. Chevakia, Arania, a world without icefire, where no one would see what he could do, where no one even knew that using icefire was illegal, because there was no icefire.

  He would run, before the senior Knights heard about his imperfection.

  But he must bring food, and his own clothes. Beyond the border, a Knight’s uniform would no longer be a disguise, or a reason for respect.

  He opened the door to his mother’s house, and stepped into the warmth of the hall between the outer and inner shell. The sound of voices floated through the door. His mother would be seeing some sort of customer, maybe that stupid Yanko, and he preferred to have as little to do with that business as possible. He was sick of defending his mother’s reputation. No, she wasn’t a whore, but while she carried Yanko’s chil
d, Yanko was entitled to see her as often as he liked. So she was a whore, of a kind. He didn’t understand how she could easily give away children of her own blood. The whole business made him feel queasy.

  The stand in the short entranceway held his cloak, but all this other clothing was next to his old bed on the sleeping shelf inside the main room. How to get up there without attracting too many questions? Where are you going? What are you doing with that bag? He could already hear his mother’s voice.

  There was a noise behind him.

  A figure entered the limpet’s front door and a burst of icefire hissed through the air.

  Isandor didn’t think. He dropped his cloak, raised his arm, sending a bolt to meet it. The strands clashed in mid-air, exploding into a rain of golden diamonds.

  “So, you have learned something,” a languid voice said.

  Tandor.

  “What are you doing here?” Isandor breathed quickly. Tandor had actually attacked him with icefire. “Are you crazy?”

  “No,” Tandor said. “But I’m getting impatient with your stupidity.”

  He stepped into the entrance hall, letting the door fall shut behind him. His complete hand moved to his waist and grasped the hilt of his dagger.

  Isandor backed away, but there was nowhere to go. Tandor blocked the only way to the outside door. Worse, Isandor only wore the bare minimum of arms required for proper uniform rules. No crossbow, no sword.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Same thing as before. Your help.”

  “And you’ll get that from me when I’m dead?”

  “Not dead. I wouldn’t kill you. You know that. When you help me, I will give you unprecedented powers. You will not know pain, or death. You will never know hunger or cold. You will have two healthy legs.”

  The hand that held the dagger was covered in blue-tinged rime. Icefire crackled over the delicate crystals.

  “I don’t want any powers. Leave me alone.”

  “The Knights will find you out what you are, and you know what they will do to you.” Tandor’s voice was low and mocking. “There is nowhere to run for you except to me.”