The Edge of the World

by Steven Lochran

  But that didn’t mean they shouldn’t try.

  Joss slid down the rope and dropped onto the smooth, tiled stone of the balcony. Hero and Drake quickly followed. They had made it. They were here. All that remained was to steal their way inside.

  The windows were dark, the doors sealed shut, the hexlock on the handles gleaming faintly. Eyeing the arcane device, Hero pulled the hexbreaker from her pack and slipped the leather strap over her knuckles, the spike protruding from her palm.

  ‘Now to see if this mucking thing works,’ she said as she knelt beside the door, Joss watching over her shoulder as she pressed the spike to the keyhole, holding all their hopes in the palm of her hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  A VILLAIN TO THE CORE

  RED sparks flashed from the keyhole as Hero broke the hex and cracked open the lock at the same time. With a gentle push the balcony doors swung open to reveal Lord Rayner’s private solar, which had been segmented into three living spaces: a small library to the prentices’ left, a dining room in the centre and a study with an oak desk at the far end. The only source of light came from the fireplace in the dining area, where glowing embers were burning down to ash. Otherwise the room was dark and empty.

  ‘Remember, if we can’t find evidence then we need to at least find clues,’ Hero whispered to the others as they huddled at the threshold, staring in.

  ‘Look for books on black magic,’ noted Joss. ‘And anything that could be related to ritual sacrifices; ornate daggers, apothecary jars, sigils with a silver crown on them.’

  ‘I’ll check his letters, see if the paper resembles Rowan’s note or if there’s anything else suspicious,’ Drake said, and took off towards the study. That left Joss and Hero to cover the rest of the solar, with Hero heading for the adjoining bedchamber while Joss scoured the bookshelves.

  Even in the dim light, he could see there were places on the walls where objects had been removed; pictures, ornamental shields, ceremonial swords, all the treasures that had belonged to Lord Haven. Their absence was marked by a discoloration of the bricks and an outlining of dust. All that had been put up to replace them was a single portrait, the golden frame as tall as Lord Rayner himself. Appropriate, given that it was a painting of the new lord of Blade’s Edge Acres. He was frozen with a look of smug satisfaction on his face, the eyes seemingly tracking Joss as the prentice examined every book he could find.

  He hadn’t gotten too far through the stacks when he heard footsteps echoing from the stairwell outside. ‘Someone’s coming!’ he hissed.

  Drake looked up from the stack of letters. Hero poked her head out from the bedchamber. And then, in a mad rush, they hunted for somewhere to hide. Neither of them spotted the small, odd-shaped door set discreetly at the far end of the room until Joss called out, ‘Over here!’ Together, they all clambered into what turned out to be a storeroom and shut the door behind them, just as the footsteps came to a stop outside the solar.

  ‘Bring him in,’ they heard Lord Rayner say as the door banged open, and they each shared a look of bewilderment. What was he doing here?

  There was a shuffling sound, a grunt of struggle.

  ‘Would you not rather have him taken to the cells, my lord?’ said Captain Kardos, his voice as big and blunt as the rest of him.

  ‘I prefer that his presence at this order remain a strictly private matter,’ Rayner replied over the noise of a chair being scraped across stone and the thump of someone being forced into it. ‘Imprison him in the cells and word will spread as far as a Questing Bird’s wings.’

  ‘Better to have finished me where you found me, I think,’ a third voice croaked, familiar despite the pain that shaded it. Pushing forward, Joss peered through the keyhole and, sure enough, recognised the man Captain Kardos was shackling to the chair. Face bloodied, lip busted open, Midwinter Jack glared defiantly at his captor, while Lord Rayner remained as imperious as ever.

  ‘And linger where your nefarious associates might fall upon us at any moment? I think not,’ his lordship’s voice now resounded from the other side of the room, presumably at the head of the table. ‘Better that we have this audience in a more protected setting.’

  ‘The prisoner is secured, my lord,’ said Captain Kardos, standing to attention behind Midwinter Jack.

  ‘Very good. Now leave us.’

  ‘ … My lord?’

  ‘Don’t make me say it again, captain. I’ll summon you if I have need of you.’

  ‘My lord, you know you can trust me. The lengths I’ve gone to in tracking this man down, in securing your power – the blood I’ve shed, the stains I’ve washed away – surely that proves my loyalty is beyond question?’

  ‘Captain,’ Rayner’s voice resonated through the door, controlled but creaking with ire. ‘There are tasks I trust you with unreservedly. Tasks that you have accomplished with both the highest discretion and the greatest of success. And then there are tasks I reserve only for myself. Do you understand?’

  There was a weighty pause. Joss wondered what turn this interaction could take.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ was all the captain said, then clacked the heels of his boots together before taking his leave.

  Lord Rayner waited until the door to his solar was closed before he spoke again. ‘You attacked Sur Blaek,’ he accused his prisoner. ‘Then ran off to hide in the hills like a half-cleaved serpent.’ He sounded so angry that Joss moved away from the keyhole, shocked by his lordship’s fiery temper. Could they have been wrong about him? Could he really be interrogating Sur Blaek’s attacker in a bid to punish him for his crimes?

  ‘I went to recover,’ Midwinter Jack said, drawing Joss’s attention back to the keyhole. ‘He wasn’t a wilting daisy, your man. We needed time to –’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My posse and me.’

  ‘The others who attacked Sur Blaek,’ said Lord Rayner. ‘The others who attacked him … and failed to kill him.’ The fire his lordship had shown now turned to something else. Something poisonous.

  ‘He had help,’ Midwinter Jack said, like a pouting boy making excuses for himself.

  ‘He had children. Sticky-nosed, know-nothing brats, who were meant to serve as witnesses to his tragic death. Nothing more. But somehow you allowed them to make a fool of you. You and your so-called Red Grin Gang. Amateurs, the lot of you. Hapless, muck-running amateurs!’

  ‘So you want yer money back then?’ Jack sneered. ‘Cuz we can still make good on the deal.’

  ‘Forget the deal. And the money,’ Lord Rayner said, his voice rising as he stood up. ‘All I require of you now is your silence.’

  Joss watched in horror as Lord Rayner seized Jack by the throat, his hands straining as he squeezed. The air curdled with the sound of choked gasps.

  ‘We have to stop him!’ Joss hissed, but before anybody could respond the room was rocked by what felt like an explosion. The force of it rattled all the furniture in Lord Rayner’s solar and threatened to knock the prentices off their feet.

  ‘What in all the King’s mercy was that?’ they heard Rayner exclaim. Peering again through the keyhole, Joss watched as the lord of Blade’s Edge Acres hurried to the balcony, leaving Midwinter Jack shackled to the chair. Jack’s head was lolling about, drool and blood pouring off his chin. But he was alive. He shuddered as another explosion reverberated through the stonework.

  ‘It’s your so-called posse, isn’t it?’ Lord Rayner shouted. ‘They’ve come here in a vain attempt to liberate you!’

  ‘They’d be halfway across the Eastern Wilds by now,’ Jack said, spitting between words. ‘Mayhap it involves whoever’s been lurking behind that door all this time.’

  The prentices froze. He didn’t mean their door, did he?

  ‘What?’ said Lord Rayner, as the room turned unnervingly silent. Joss and the others scrambled, trying to hide and finding it impossible in their cramped surrounds. They were still struggling when the door flew open, and Lord Rayner stood before them with shadows
knitted across his face.

  ‘You three!’ he exclaimed, grabbing Joss by the collar and dragging him from the storeroom. ‘You’ve come to assassinate me!’

  ‘Let him go!’ Hero shouted, launching herself at Lord Rayner. As fast as she was, Rayner was faster. He drew his dagger from its sheath so swiftly that it seemed to materialise in his hand. But rather than attack Hero with it, he pressed it to Joss’s throat. The tip practically sang as it scratched at his jugular.

  ‘Ravenhelm. I always knew you were a villain at the core. Your parents would no doubt be overjoyed at the prospect of sharing a cell with you, if the penalty for treason wasn’t death.’

  ‘You dare speak of treason?’ Hero said, moving forward as Lord Rayner dragged Joss backwards, one step at a time.

  Joss could feel the cold touch of steel against his skin. He tried not to breathe, not to swallow, not to move.

  ‘You murder Lord Haven to steal his seat, you murder Rowan to cover it up, you pay this animal to try to kill Sur Blaek’ – Hero stabbed her finger in Midwinter Jack’s direction – ‘and you lecture me on treason? The Grandmaster Council will have your head for this.’

  ‘They won’t believe you,’ Lord Rayner told her plainly. ‘They’ll see Rowan’s suicide note, they’ll see your infiltration of the Lord’s Keep, and most importantly they’ll see these fires you’ve set, and they’ll judge you for the traitors you are. You’ve never understood, Ravenhelm. The world is made for men like me.’

  ‘Fires?’ said Drake, and looked towards the balcony. The others did the same, with Joss only able to steal a glimpse from the corner of his eye while Lord Rayner held him in place. Outside, the fortress grounds were blazing with scarlet light. A hole had been blown out of the fortress’s barracks, and another from the outer wall. Both were burning with crimson-flamed fires, which were spreading faster than the fieldservs could fight them. Their cries were only now growing loud enough to be heard in the Lord’s Keep.

  ‘What in the unholy pits is going on out there?’ Hero asked as the door to the solar burst open. Captain Kardos stood in the entrance with light pouring over his broad shoulders, his face an expressionless mask.

  ‘Captain! I told you I was not to be disturbed!’ Lord Rayner said through bared teeth, his fist twisting Joss’s collar so tight as to choke him.

  The captain didn’t respond. Instead, he tilted forward and collapsed straight onto his face, revealing the figure looming behind him. Stepping around the captain and the puddle of blood seeping from him, the figure entered the room.

  ‘Sur Blaek?’ Joss managed to wheeze through Rayner’s tight grip. The skyborne paladero showed no surprise at the scene he had interrupted, nor any sign of remorse about the body lying at his feet. In one hand he held a sword, its blade curved and bloodied. In the other hand, a stone mask.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, Corrigan?’ Rayner demanded, his grip loosening enough that Joss was able to wrench himself free, landing with a painful smack against the nearest wall.

  ‘The meaning, Rayner?’ Sur Blaek said, sounding entirely unlike himself. ‘That would be quite simple.’

  Joss and the others watched in growing horror as their mentor lifted the stone mask to his face. It grabbed at his flesh as if it were alive. Alive and hungry. Black feathers burst from his flesh, sewing themselves together to form a cloak, while a hood fell into place over his head.

  Within the exhalation of a breath, it was no longer Sur Blaek who stood before them.

  It was someone far more nightmarish than that.

  ‘Your time has come,’ said Thrall, and raised his twisted sword.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  A HEART OF DESTRUCTION

  ‘YOUR cheap theatrics don’t scare me, Corrigan,’ said Lord Rayner, voice quavering as he pointed his dagger at the masked man. ‘Nor do your insolent threats. You may have taken Captain Kardos by surprise, but that won’t help you with the rest of my guards.’

  ‘I would take another look outside if I were you, my lord,’ Thrall gestured to the balcony. ‘And see what loyalty your machinations have earned you.’

  Everyone in the room looked to the open doors. The crimson flames had spread further and faster than any normal fire, consuming the fortress grounds with a devastating voraciousness. The fieldservs fighting the blaze had been joined by Rayner’s guards, who lugged buckets of sand and water in a desperate attempt to push back the flames.

  But they weren’t alone.

  Almost invisible among the smoke and waves of heat, cloaked figures emerged from the shadows to encircle the guards. They struck quickly, knives flashing in the night like a sabretooth’s eyes. With the same speed as Sur Blaek revealing his deceit, the cloaked figures killed all of Rayner’s guards and more than half the fieldservs. The few who were left alive were now on their knees among the flames, pleading for mercy and pledging their fealty.

  Lord Rayner, Midwinter Jack, Joss and his brethren – they all turned again to Thrall. There was no denying it. Without need of uttering a single order, Blade’s Edge Acres now belonged to him.

  ‘Corrigan … I mean, Sur Blaek … May I call you Sur Blaek?’ said Jack. ‘You should know, what transpired between us was never personal. I was only acting upon a contract that your man Rayner here drew up. If I had known –’

  ‘Known what?’ asked Thrall. ‘Known the reach of my power?’

  ‘Precisely,’ Jack nodded. ‘I never would have accepted the job in the first place. You should know that.’

  ‘And you should know this,’ Thrall said as he began a slow march across Rayner’s solar, while his lordship trembled at the far end. ‘For all that is about to take place I had a few simple needs. Chief among those was a mortal witness. The arcane texts will tell you that there must be a witness to all great acts of black magic; a witness whose soul is untarnished. Of course, academics have long argued the definition of “tarnished”. Some view this in terms of sin, as outlined in the Holy Somnium. Others consider it as having to do with an individual’s familiarity with the dark arts. You, Midwinter Jack, a man of blood and gold, you I consider to be of adequate means for my purposes …’

  Jack, listening cautiously, sagged with relief.

  ‘But then, as it transpires, His Highness has blessed me with three mortal witnesses whose souls are untarnished by either black magic or mortal sin. And so I find myself with an excess. An excess in need of culling.’

  Thrall hoisted his twisted sword and, with the ease of dipping a quill into ink, pushed the blade deep into the curve where Jack’s neck met his shoulder. Rayner gasped. Drake cursed. Hero glowered from behind her goggles. And all Joss could do was watch as Jack’s body seized tight, the mercenary gagging, gurgling, thrashing violently, then finally falling still.

  Removing his blade, Thrall held his head askew like a curious bird, watching the scarlet font that spurted from the wound. This wasn’t Sur Blaek, Joss told himself. Couldn’t be. Not the Sur Blaek he and his brethren had known. The man who stood before them could be named as one thing, and one thing only.

  ‘Monster!’ Joss snapped, unable to stop himself. ‘You complete mucking monster!’

  ‘I kill a killer and that makes me a monster?’ asked Thrall, and flicked the blood from his sword onto Rayner’s rug.

  ‘You kill an unarmed, shackled man begging for his life? Of course that makes you a monster!’ Joss continued, refusing to shrink away from the masked man no matter how much his heart begged him to run. The shadows from the fires outside played upon Thrall’s face as he stepped forward, animating the stone mask in a way that made it look as if he were smiling.

  ‘Is that so? Tell me, Josiah – what bothers you more? That I killed this man? Or that I’m not the man you believed me to be?’

  Joss stuck his chin forward, held his ground. ‘You’re no man,’ he said, and unsheathed the Champion’s Blade. Thrall continued to advance. ‘You’re just some creature that should have stayed dead back in Daheed.’

  ‘Sh
ould I have indeed? You think you know the scope of the predicament in which you find yourself. The truth is I am but one of many. Our shadow engulfs the furthest corners of this fetid little kingdom; corners that would leave you destroyed at their revelation. And unfortunately for you that revelation is coming all too quickly, just as it comes for Lord Rayner here.’ Thrall stopped, slanting his head towards the bookcase. Rayner was standing with his hand on a small statuette of a hooded Messenger, looking as if he’d just been caught trying to steal it. ‘Even if he thinks he can slip away unnoticed like the common crook he truly is.’

  Rayner acted quickly, yanking on the statuette to reveal it as a lever that opened a secret passage. But he hadn’t taken a single step through the doorway before a wave of cloaked figures stormed up the hidden stairwell, blocking his escape.

  ‘No!’ Rayner gasped, stumbling backwards as the figures filled the room. They were armed with daggers, humming knives, song swords, their faces hidden behind lacquered wooden masks carved to resemble Thrall’s, their cloaks made of heavy black cloth rather than twitching, serrated feathers.

  ‘Take them,’ Thrall said to his followers, their masked faces turning to the prentices. Hero and Drake both unsheathed the swords strapped to their backs, while Joss took hold of the Champion’s Blade.

  ‘Fat Lot of Good, we need reinforcements here! Fat Lot of Good, do you hear me?’ Joss said as he backed away from the intruders, who drew in fast and close to keep him from pulling his weapon. ‘Zeke! Answer me, damn you!’ he shouted to an empty line.

  ‘Gimme that!’ one of Thrall’s followers demanded as he snagged the headset with enough force to snap it, the two halves left dangling around Joss’s neck. Though the voice was muffled, there was no mistaking whose it was.

  ‘Lynch,’ Joss said. The cloaked figure recoiled ever so slightly, taken aback. ‘That’s you, isn’t it? I know we’ve had our differences, but surely you must see this for the madness that it is.’