Chaosmage (Age of Darkness)

by Stephen Aryan

  She heard the creature stirring in the rubble but didn’t look back. Perhaps it would decide to go after the mercenaries, or perhaps it had ignored them and was coming after her. Alyssa felt the weight of the creature’s stare against her back and she heard its huffing breath. The din of the mercenaries faded as she sprinted for her life, heart pounding in her ears, her breathing so loud that she couldn’t hear anything else.

  Debrussi square went by in a blur and she turned sharply at the last second. There was a rush of air and something heavy crashed into the building behind her, shattering the front. She heard a howl of frustration and a beastly snarl as mortar shifted and huge stones tumbled down.

  “Blessed Mother protect me,” she murmured over and over as a litany and rhythm for her feet. It also gave her something to focus on other than the sound of the creature’s breathing, which seemed to be getting louder and louder.

  Finally the shelter came into view at the end of a long wide street. She thought about ducking into different buildings, but given the creature’s apparent weight and power, there seemed little point. Pushing herself to the limit, her feet pounding on the uneven ground, Alyssa sprinted for home.

  The prickle down her spine became a constant pressure. On the wall of the winery she saw the sentries pointing in her direction and shouting. Her heart felt ready to explode and her sides began to ache with every breath. As she glanced down to avoid tripping, Alyssa saw her shadow overlaid by something massive that was right behind her. With a scream of terror she dove to the ground. The air whooshed behind her and an unholy bellow ripped into her eardrums, making her head swim. It smashed into another building and disappeared from view. When her vision cleared she could hear the sentries screaming at her to get up.

  With unsteady legs she scrambled upright and hobbled forward, never daring to turn her head to see how close it was. She bumped into the wall of the winery and grabbed onto the knotted rope.

  “Hold on!” shouted a voice and she gripped the rope with both hands. It immediately started to move upwards and she was dragged up the wall.

  “Fire!” shouted Zannah and the hum of bowstrings filled the air around Alyssa. That dizzying scream came again from somewhere below her. Something silver flashed by her face and the scream changed in pitch. Alyssa bumped against the wall and several pairs of hands pulled her the last few feet to safety.

  By the time she could breathe normally everything had fallen silent. The others shuffled away, but the sentries on either side of her were focused on the street. They remained perfectly still and didn’t look at her. Alyssa offered Zannah the bag. She looked inside and shook her head.

  “Don’t say it,” gasped Alyssa. “It’s worth the risk.”

  “I was going to say you should’ve let me come with you.”

  “You do enough for us, and besides, normally it’s quiet out there in the day.”

  Zannah looked as if she wanted to say something more but she just bit her lip. When Alyssa felt as if she could stand without her knees shaking she looked over the wall into the street. There was no sign of the creature apart from a splash of dark purple blood, the broken haft of a spear and several broken arrows.

  “Did we kill it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Zannah.

  “Do you know what it was?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “You should go back to bed. Get some sleep,” said Alyssa.

  Zannah laughed. “I don’t know if I can sleep after that.”

  “You should try, because we’ll need you on the wall tonight.”

  That thought sobered them both. Zannah nodded grimly and went back down the stairs. Alyssa stared out at the drying patch of blood and was tempted to ask the sentries what it had looked like. In the end she changed her mind. Sometimes it was better not to know.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tammy took a deep breath and then knocked on the door. She heard the light patter of feet inside and then the door opened a fraction. A small blonde girl of perhaps six years peered out, craning her neck to stare up at Tammy.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Laurie, what have I told you? Don’t answer the door without me,” said a familiar voice from inside. A moment later Mary-Beth appeared behind the girl. She stared at Tammy for a few seconds, noting the Guardian uniform, and then forced a smile.

  “Come in,” she said, shooing the girl to one side and opening the door wide. As soon as the door was closed Mary embraced her in a tight hug. She was one of the few people tall enough to hug Tammy without standing on a box. Mary looked exactly the same as the last time they’d seen one another, chubby and content. There was a touch more grey in her hair, but it suited her and she looked quite distinguished.

  They sat down at the kitchen table and looked at each other in silence for a long while, noting the growing differences and remaining similarities. The lingering smells in the kitchen spoke to Tammy of good food and warm bread. Battered pans and drying herbs hung from a metal rack above her head, a heady aroma tickling her nose. It reminded Tammy so much of their mother’s kitchen.

  “You look just like my mummy,” said Laurie, staring at Tammy and then back to her mother. The last time she’d visited, the girl had been very small.

  “This is your aunt, Tammy. She’s my twin sister,” said Mary.

  “Where’s your husband?” asked Tammy, shooing Laurie away from touching her sword. Instead the girl ran her small hands over the red and black leather of her distinctive Guardian jacket.

  “At work. Would you like some tea?”

  Bored by their conversation Laurie wandered off into another part of the house.

  Mary set the kettle to boil on the huge black metal stove which she stoked up with some more wood. A double stack of chopped rounds ran up to the mantelpiece of the wide stone chimney. A tidy row of carefully labelled jars sat on a shelf behind Mary’s head. Several pairs of children’s shoes were lined up by the back door.

  Everything in the kitchen was neatly ordered and arranged. Everything had its rightful place. The need for order inside the house in opposition to the chaos of the world outside was a trait they shared. It was one of only a handful that remained.

  “I’d hoped the next time I saw you it would be without those,” said Mary, gesturing at Tammy’s uniform and sword.

  “I’m not ready. I’m not sure that I ever will be.”

  Mary smiled and nodded, doing her best to hide her disappointment, but Tammy could see it in her eyes. “I’d hoped that given time, you’d make peace with losing your husband.”

  “He’s not lost, Mary. He didn’t wander into a forest and go missing. He’s dead. He was murdered, for no reason.”

  “Just because we don’t know why, doesn’t mean there wasn’t a reason. Only the Maker knows the plan for each of us.”

  Tammy gritted her teeth to stop herself offending her sister’s beliefs. They’d had this conversation many times over the years and her sister’s attitude still annoyed her. She was one of the few people who could get under her skin so easily. The reverse was also true, and Mary’s normally calm face was screwed up in frustration at Tammy’s lack of faith. Despite having not seen each other for a few years it seemed as if very little had actually changed.

  The heavy and awkward silence between them was broken by the shrill whistle of the kettle as it started to boil. Mary set a pot of tea on the table between them to brew and busied herself around the kitchen doing odd jobs for a few minutes, tidying and polishing, bringing order to the mess generated by her children.

  “Where is he?” asked Tammy.

  “Upstairs, playing with the others,” said Mary, without looking around.

  “How is he doing at school?”

  Mary finally sat back down and the familiar placid expression was back in place. “His teachers tell me that he’s doing well. He’s taller than most of the other boys in his class now, and he likes reading. He sometimes helps Korrain at the shop, bu
t I don’t know what his true passion will be.”

  “Is he happy?” asked Tammy.

  Mary laughed briefly, but it held no mirth. She poured the tea, her eyes focused on the task, but in truth Tammy knew she was doing it to buy herself some time to find the right words.

  “He’s healthy and well fed. He has a safe home, a family, and as much love as we can give him.” Mary glanced at the open door and lowered her voice to a whisper. “What he doesn’t have is his mother.”

  Tammy frowned. “I don’t know how to be one of those. You were always better at it than me, even when we played with dolls.”

  “You can learn,” insisted Mary. “Just as I did.”

  Tammy shook her head. “No. It’s better this way.”

  “For him? Or for you?”

  Tammy ignored the questions and the barbs attached. Instead she put a heavy money pouch on the table. “I’m leaving Perizzi for a while and I wanted to make sure you had enough money for him.”

  “You don’t need to keep giving us money.”

  Tammy left the pouch on the table. “Thank you for caring for him. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll send money on my return.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” asked Mary, staring at her intently. A few seconds later realisation dawned on her face. “You’re not sure if you’re coming back. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve made arrangements, just in case,” said Tammy, getting to her feet.

  “Don’t you want to see him before you leave?” asked Mary, putting out a hand to stop her running out the door. Part of Tammy wanted to walk out, forget about all of this and never come back. Every time she came here it only made things more difficult and each visit left her feeling torn and distracted. It was one of the reasons she didn’t come very often. The other reason was that every time she saw him he looked a little more like his father, and that hurt worse than anything else.

  “Hello,” said a familiar voice from the door. He’d taken the decision out of her hands. Corran towered over little Laurie even though he was only a few years older than her. She clung to one of his hands with both of hers.

  “Corran, do you remember your aunt?” asked Mary, trying to smile but failing.

  Tammy struggled to keep her emotions under control as he studied her. He had the same dark hair and brown eyes as his father. The nose and height came from her, as did the unwavering stare.

  “You came to visit a couple of years ago,” said Corran.

  “I just came to see if you and your sisters were well,” said Tammy, glancing at Laurie.

  “I had a bad cough a while back, but it went away,” said Corran, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m tough, just like my dad.”

  “You’ll grow up to be very tall and strong,” said Tammy, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I’m sure of it. It was good to see you.”

  “Are you staying for lunch?” asked Laurie. “Mummy makes really tasty soup. You should have some.”

  “Maybe next time. I have to go,” said Tammy, getting to her feet. She turned her face away and wiped at her eyes before embracing her sister.

  “Be careful,” whispered Mary. “I know you don’t believe, but I’ll say a prayer to the Maker for your safe return.”

  “Thank you, for everything,” said Tammy. Sensing there was something going on Laurie began to cry and she hugged Tammy’s leg, sobbing into her trousers. Mary gently extracted the girl, gathering her up in her arms while Corran just watched. Tammy ruffled his hair affectionately and quickly went out the door, before anyone could say anything else.

  The Snow Leopard was a sleek merchant vessel that usually transported goods up and down the west coast. Today it had been commissioned by several people with influence and power to take them east to Shael. The last of the supplies were being lowered into the cargo hold and the dozen priests and priestesses joining them on the voyage were just crossing the gangplank. Tammy noted they wore white robes, and all but one was decorated with a single candle, the symbol of the Lady of Light. The last priest was different from the rest and his grey robe was marked with the symbol of an open eye. He was one of the new plague priests she’d seen around Perizzi in the last couple of years.

  “They volunteered,” said a voice from Tammy’s left. The stocky bald man had a bearing of authority and the weather-beaten face of a sailor. He shook his head in dismay and tied a red bandanna to protect his head from the elements. “Despite knowing where we’re going.”

  “Captain Parrick?”

  “Aye,” he said, glancing out at the sea and sniffing the air. “Tide’s changing. We’re leaving in less than an hour, so get your stuff stowed on board as soon as you can. We’re just waiting for one more.”

  The last priest shuffled onto deck and then they milled around not sure where to go or what to do. The sailors went about their business, ignoring the passengers.

  “Nethun give me strength,” said Parrick, crossing the gangplank in two quick hops. He started ushering the priests below while bellowing at his sailors to get ready to leave.

  It was strange to be out of uniform after wearing it every day for so many years. Tammy felt a little peculiar without its familiar weight and smell, but she’d made suitable substitutions to help her feel safe. The worn leather breastplate was old but tough, and had been made to fit her. Bracers covered her forearms, a pair of steel-trimmed leather gloves were hooked through her belt and a steel-rimmed wooden shield sat by her feet with her belongings. The sword at her waist was the same one she’d used for the last eight years as a Guardian and she hadn’t considered replacing it.

  “Are you Guardian Baker?”

  She turned to find a tall Seve man with serious eyes regarding her. He carried an axe at his waist and a sword on his back and yet she didn’t think he was a warrior. He didn’t hold himself in the same way as most warriors she’d met. His clothes were made for hard travel, much like the worn pack at his feet. His face was scarred on one side and the tidy beard and receding black hair were run through with lots of grey.

  “Yes. You’re from the Red Tower?”

  “Not what you were expecting,” he said with a grin, offering her a callused hand, which she shook.

  “No. I thought you’d be more mysterious and maybe wearing a mask,” she admitted, and he laughed.

  “I’m not a Seeker. I’m a Sorcerer,” he said proudly.

  “What’s that? Is it different from a Battlemage?”

  “That is an excellent question,” he said, picking up his pack. “We’ve a long voyage ahead, so I’m sure there will be plenty of time for me to answer.”

  “I didn’t catch your name,” said Tammy, moving to one side to obstruct the gangplank. She expected him to get angry but instead he put down his pack and regarded her calmly. His eyes sparkled with intelligence and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but she also sensed a deep sorrow in him. It was all too familiar, and Tammy looked away first, not wanting him to see her pain reflected there.

  “Once I tell you my name it may change how you see me. If we’re to work together in Shael, then you deserve to know, but I’d rather everyone else on board didn’t. It will make the voyage less awkward for everyone.”

  “That’s fair,” said Tammy, as a prickle of anxiety ran through her. She knew of only a handful of names that would affect people so quickly, and only one with connections to the Red Tower. This had to be Balfruss, the Battlemage who defeated the Warlock and ended the war.

  “Ah, I see you’ve worked it out,” he said. “I have a gift for you.”

  Moving slowly he reached over his shoulder and with something approaching reverence held out the long sword towards her in both hands.

  “I already have a sword. One that I’m used to,” she said.

  “I’m sure your superiors have told you what we’re facing in Voechenka. Magic is most likely involved. Plain steel may not have any effect, but,” he said, hefting the blade. “This will even things out.”

&
nbsp; “Is it dangerous?”

  “To you? No. To anyone or anything that tries to use magic against you?” Balfruss offered her a wry smile. “They’ll be in for an unpleasant surprise. This is just a loan.” He offered her the blade again and Tammy slowly took it from his hands. As she touched the plain leather scabbard she expected something to happen. There was no flash of light or burst of energy through her fingers. It was just a sword.

  She drew the blade and saw colours swirling in the steel, but otherwise it was an ordinary blade, slender and well balanced, without any gaudy decoration or embellishment.

  “Her name is Maligne,” said Balfruss, staring at the naked blade with a troubled expression.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Tammy. She sheathed the sword and heard Balfruss sigh in what she thought sounded like relief.

  “Shall we go on board?” he asked and she led the way onto the main deck of the Snow Leopard. Tammy stowed her belongings in one of the cabins and made it back on deck in time to see the sailors casting off. Balfruss was stood at the rail staring back at the city and she leaned against it beside him.

  Perizzi was the source of some of her best and worst memories. She’d spent so long walking its winding streets she expected to feel more of a lurch as it started to recede, but all she felt was a sense of relief. There were so many emotions tied to the city that it was liberating to be cut free from the weight of them. Everything would still be waiting for her when she came back, if she came back, but for now all of her thoughts turned to Voechenka and the mystery that lurked within its desolate streets.

  CHAPTER 7

  Balfruss sat quietly off to one side with the priests while Tammy dealt with the officers at the Shael garrison. As far as they knew he was there to assist her, nothing more. They’d agreed to keep his identity secret from as many people as possible to avoid making a delicate situation even more uncomfortable.

  Since returning to Seveldrom Balfruss had slowly come to realise the fear that his name inspired. The irony was not lost on him. No one spoke about the Warlock or the terrible things he’d done during the war. In hushed voices they told stories about the man who’d beaten him. The Battlemage who should never be named. It was worse than being forgotten by history. It also pained Balfruss to admit it, but the Warlock had been right. Just as he’d predicted, Balfruss had been exiled by his own people and now he was a bogeyman of almost mythic status.