by J. P. Ashman
‘Listen to me carefully, Orix,’ Fal whispered. He leaned in towards the old gnome, adding an aspect of intimidation over the cleric. Fal knew the other two were out of earshot, but he felt safer talking about such things in a lowered voice. ‘I know the illness throughout Wesson is connected to the spell you had me release on the night of the storm!’
Orix leaned back at Fal’s admission as if slapped, and nearly fell off the stool he perched upon. Steadying himself, he realised Fal hadn’t moved an inch to stop him fall. Orix looked from Fal to Franks and back, his mouth half-open and his eyes wide. He stammered as he replied, ‘I… I’m not sure what you mean sergeant? I think you’re in shock.’
I’ll give you a bloody shock, gnome.
Fal’s nose wrinkled and his teeth showed as he finally revealed his true anger. He spoke very slowly, very steadily, yet sounded extremely dangerous. ‘Don’t lie to me! I know there’s a connection. Many people are dying because of what you and Lord Severun asked me to release. I want answers, Master Orix… and I want them now!’ Fal was hoping to appeal to the cleric’s guilt. He knew, or had always thought, Orix was a caring old gnome who'd trained many clerics because of his passion for helping others. He still hoped at least some of it was true.
‘It’s not that simple, Falchion.’ The fact Orix used Fal’s name and not his rank was a good sign. ‘It’s hard to explain as it may hurt you more, the more you know.’ Orix flinched at Fal’s reaction – a slight movement of his hand towards the hilt of his heavy bladed sword. ‘I don’t mean hurt you physically,’ the gnome added hastily, fumbling with his beard, ‘I mean knowing the truth! It may be upsetting due to your friendship with Sergeant Heywood.’
‘Try me,’ Fal said, leaning back away from Orix slightly, giving the gnome something in return for his admission of a connection.
‘You cannot repeat this, Falchion, I beg you. Only Lord Severun and I know about all of this up to now, and until we know more and all of this is over, we can’t risk anyone finding out and ruining all the work we’ve done before we’ve had a chance to present it to the guild, the King and his advisers personally.’ Orix talked fast and breathed quickly as he shot the words out in a panicked torrent Fal only just managed to follow.
‘You’re wrong, Master Orix. I know, for one, and I’m not alone in my knowledge of your plans. I may not have all the details, but if I caught on to what you’re both doing, others might as well, and they may not be as understanding or forthcoming with what they know as I am.’
Orix’s face dropped even more and he started fussing with his robes, looking from Fal to the other two clerics across the room. ‘Who else knows?’
‘I cannot say for sure, but someone has been following me for a while now and I’m sure it has to do with all of this.’ Fal pointed to his sick friend.
‘This is bad, very bad,’ Orix said, whilst shaking his head. ‘We need to see Lord Severun, immediately—’
‘No,’ Fal said. ‘I want to hear this from you first. My friend is lying here next to us dying, a soldier sworn to protect you and all the other clerics, wizards, magicians and sorcerers in this guild. Others are dying all over Wesson, and not just from this illness, but through murders which I believe are also linked. Help me by telling me what’s happening to our city, and we can put it right together.’ Fal relaxed a little, trying to calm himself, to let Orix know he wasn’t a threat and to lead him into a confession.
The old gnome looked tired to Fal now, more tired than he’d ever seen him. His defences seemed to drop and he looked into Fal’s eyes, a long sigh escaping his lips. ‘Very well Falchion… I shall explain everything, but not here.’ Hopping down from the stool, Orix walked across the room with Fal in tow. He asked the two clerics to keep watch over Franks, and then Orix and Fal both left the room. They crossed the guardroom beyond the door and climbed the stairs until they reached the seventh floor and Orix’s private chamber.
‘Take a seat, Falchion,’ Orix said, panting slightly as he gestured to a wooden stool opposite the window.
Fal shook his head. ‘I’ll stand.’
‘Very well,’ Orix said. He crossed the room and sat on a small chair under the window. ‘I shall start from the beginning, which takes us a fair few months back to when Lord Severun approached me regarding an experiment he wanted me to help him work on.’
Fal leaned against the wall and took in the floods of information. He realised the tension seemed to leave Orix as he opened up to him about the experiment; how he'd opposed it but decided eventually he wanted to help Severun keep it as safe as possible, and how he'd been scared Severun would go ahead with it anyway, even if he didn’t help.
Orix explained all about Severun’s plan to track down and wipe out Wesson’s criminals; how after months of tests and smaller enactments of the spells used by Severun to release and carry the potion, they'd finally reached the time when they were ready to release the experiment and record the effects.
Fal could hardly take it all in. So he had released the cause of the illness spreading through Wesson like a disease. He voiced his concerns and Orix shot them down immediately.
‘A disease spreads from person to person, Falchion. We released the potion with those ghostly shadows you saw, to be delivered directly to violent criminals and to them alone. It cannot spread! I must admit, there have been more victims than I thought, a truly scary revelation considering our infirmaries are full, and even the higher districts have had many people affected. Lord Severun assures me, however, that numbers will now be on the decrease as the subjects die off, so the experiment will be a success. We can then explain it all to the guild council and the guild itself, and then take it immediately to the King and his advisers. If this works, Falchion, it could make not just Wesson safer, but all of Altoln!’
Fal sat down on the stool and leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms firmly folded. ‘This is madness,’ he said quietly, shaking his head. ‘You cannot play magistrate and executioner, Master Orix. It’s not your place. How reliable are the shadows Severun used?’
‘Many tests were carried out by Lord Severun,’ Orix said, ‘and he was beyond certain the spell he used was sound. The shadows from the spell would search out the violent souls of evil men and women, and deliver the potion directly to them and them alone.’
‘Are you trying to tell me,’ Fal’s anger rose again and he felt like screaming, ‘Franks Heywood is an evil man?’
Orix looked scared. ‘Falchion, I’m not presuming to know such things… but… but if he has the illness, if the shadows found and delivered my potion to him…’ Orix let the implication hang a moment before continuing. ‘How can we know a man’s true soul, who he is when he is on his own in the city?’
‘I can know, damn you!’ Fal shouted. ‘This isn’t right!’ He forced his voice down seeing the frightening effect he was having on Orix. He felt angry, extremely angry with the gnome, but Severun bore the brunt of his anger, for it was the wizard who created the ‘experiment’ and dragged Fal, Orix and all the victims into it.
‘Master Orix,’ Fal said, and Orix nodded meekly, ‘are you absolutely sure, no question whatsoever, this illness you created can’t spread?’
‘Of course I’m sure, Falchion. Diseases transfer in various ways from host to host. They can sometimes change… evolve to suit their surroundings, so to speak, but this isn’t a disease. It was a magical potion, an illness I created to slowly shut down the body in a specific way.’
Falchion became increasingly frustrated. He knew little about diseases and such things, but struggled to believe Orix was right. There couldn’t be so many people, all over the city, affected by a limited number of shadows released days ago, surely? It would have taken hundreds of the ghostly spectres. He hadn’t seen that many when he’d smashed the bottle… far from it in fact. Did Orix even have a hand in the distribution of his own potion, or did Severun deal with that alone? Fal was now determined to press his previous p
oint, if for no other reason than to prove Franks’ innocence. His friend was not evil.
‘Master Orix, you tell me a disease can change or evolve, which you seem to accept without question, because you know it; it is your field of expertise. I’m trying to understand how there can be so many people affected by your potion when it does not spread, even between ‘evil’ people, as you so simply label them.’
Orix flushed, wrung his hands and sighed heavily, but nodded all the same.
‘Is there any chance that whilst your potion on its own would be as you expected, once combined with Severun’s spell, it could become something completely different? Potentially gaining a means of passing from person to person?’
Orix went to speak, but Fal swiftly cut him off.
‘After all,’ Fal continued, ‘Franks Heywood has only just contracted the illness… days after its release. I may be grasping for a solution here, Master Orix, but have you even looked into Severun’s delivery spell and its effects on your potion, or have you blindly trusted in his work?’
Fal saw something click within Orix, and through his eyes he saw a sudden, dreadful understanding. He knew Orix believed Fal could be right, about what exactly – his potion evolving, or Severun’s spell – Fal didn’t know, but the gnome’s obvious fear grasped at his stomach like a clawed hand.
‘You haven’t even checked for anything else, have you, Orix? You’ve just assumed it’s your potion at work within the city and nothing more.’
Orix shook his head slowly, before leaping to his feet without saying a word. Falchion tensed, but the old gnome moved across to his bookshelf and searched frantically for something. Finding what he looked for, he pulled a dusty tome from the shelf and rushed to the door. Opening it, he turned to Fal and said, in a most terrified, yet commanding voice, ‘Follow me!’
Chapter 11: Break In
The silence in Fal’s living room was broken by the sound of Sav snoring and the faint crackle of glowing embers as the elf ranger, Errolas, lay curled up on the floor in front of the hearth, his breathing inaudible.
Sav had kept his eyes tightly shut in the earlier hours, listening intently to the conversation between his two friends. When they'd finally settled to sleep, he'd lain awake, his mind racing with all he'd heard.
Errolas had been in the city before coming to see him. So had he wanted to see me at all? Or was I part of the elf’s mission to follow and track the arcane magic released by Fal?
Even at the end of their conversation, when Fal and Errolas were trying to figure out what steps to take next, Fal had asked the elf not to tell Sav when he awoke. Was it really for his protection, so as not to drag him into the conspiracy as Fal had put it, or did Fal not trust him? That thought had played on the scout’s mind the longest.
Still thinking long and hard about all he'd heard, Sav had slumped back in the chair and fallen into a restless sleep.
Sav felt like he'd only slept for a few minutes when he woke, his snoring ending in a loud grunt that startled him. He looked across at the curled up figure of Errolas on the floor in front of the glowing hearth. Sav suddenly realised what woke him.
Someone’s in the house?
Floorboards creaked from the room above Fal’s, yet Sav knew it to be unoccupied. The owner was out of the city on business and wasn’t due back for some time.
Taking his eyes from the ceiling, Sav looked again at Errolas. The elf looked back at him, a slender finger held to his lips. Without a sound, the elf rose to his feet and drew an elegant, curved sword with elven runes running the length of the highly polished blade. The small cross-guard, reaching out just enough to protect Errolas’s hand, and the hilt, long enough for the elf to grip with two hands should he wish to, held a magnificently sculpted pommel.
Errolas stalked silently across the room to the front of the house. He peered into the morning light through the spy hole in Fal’s front door, whilst Sav climbed to his feet as quietly as he could. He waved his hand to get the elf’s attention.
Errolas turned to see Sav motioning through to the back of the house, before making a walking movement with two fingers, which he then walked up imaginary stairs. He finished by pointing up to the room above. Errolas understood the scout’s signals – another staircase led upstairs.
Errolas followed Sav through to Fal’s small kitchen and back door. They both held their breaths as Sav unlocked and slowly pushed the door open, worried an un-oiled hinge may give them away, but it opened in silence and they both passed through unheard. Sav had picked up his short-sword on the way out of the living room and slowly drew it from its scabbard as he reached the bottom of the external wooden staircase.
Leaning in towards Errolas, Sav whispered as quietly as he could, knowing the elf would pick up the slightest of sounds. ‘The stairs creak. I’ve heard the man who lives above go down them before when I’ve been here, but there’ll be no way in through the front door if whoever’s up there has locked it.’
Errolas nodded and signalled for Sav to go back through the house and wait to catch anyone coming out of the front door.
Sav did as he was asked without question.
Errolas placed his feet slowly and carefully, feeling for support on the old wooden steps. He made his way up them without a sound, keeping one eye on his footing and one on the closed door at the top of the staircase.
Once he reached the top, Errolas realised the door couldn’t have been the intruder’s point of entry; even in his sleep he would have heard whoever it was climbing the stairs. The door would have had to be forced open too, but it remained intact. Whoever was inside must have entered via the front door or a window. It was clear to the elf the intruder was skilled, and so Errolas took no chances.
More movement came from the room above Sav, a faint sound he struggled to hear. Whoever was in there was looking for something, but a burglar would take what he could as fast as possible then leave the building. The intruder had been there a while now and made no attempt to leave. Sav kept his eye against the spy hole in Fal’s door, his left hand on the door handle, ready to rush out should anyone try and exit that way. He'd already unlocked the door using the spare key Fal always left on a hook in the kitchen.
Errolas scanned the back door carefully, there was no way through, so the elf looked over to the window on his right. The window ledge was reachable, but he would draw a great deal of attention by smashing the glass to enter. He decided to try the roof. Silently sheathing his sword, he reached above his head and jumped. Catching the edge of the tiled roof, he pulled himself up and on to it. As quietly and carefully as he’d climbed the wooden stairs, the nimble elf walked up the side of the house, careful not to dislodge any roof tiles as he went. Upon reaching the slightly smoking chimney pot, Errolas saw the intruder’s point of entry. Roof tiles had been pulled away one by one near the chimney until the wooden beams below were visible through a hole large enough for a man to squeeze through. Cautiously leaning over the hole, Errolas saw the room below.
Just then, a man with long black hair and dark clothes passed below Errolas.
The elf was certain the man below him was alone. As he thought this, the dark clothed intruder appeared below again and looked directly up, straight at Errolas, his eyes widening in realisation he was being watched.
Errolas was stunned. He hadn’t made a sound, there was no way a fellow elf ranger could have heard him, never mind a human. The split second hesitation gave the man below a chance to act and with surprisingly fast reactions he threw a knife from his belt.
Errolas dived away from the hole. The knife barely missed as he tumbled sideways towards the edge of the roof. He struggled to catch a grip on the smooth tiled roof before he felt himself drop over the side, thankfully managing to grab the edge as he went. Cursing himself under his breath for the momentary lapse whilst over the hole, he pulled himself back onto the roof and ran towards the opening. As he reached it, the sound of breaking glass erupted from where he had pulled himself onto the roof.
Spinning on the spot, Errolas shouted, ‘Scout! Out back out back out back!’ before running to the edge of the roof where he’d nearly fallen. As he got there he saw a black figure disappear around the corner of a neighbouring building. Errolas jumped from the roof, aiming for a nearby wall as Sav came bursting out of the kitchen door, sword in hand.
‘Where is he?’ Sav shouted whilst running out of the yard and into the alley. He spun to face Errolas, sword held out defensively as the elf landed in a crouch on the wall above him. Errolas pointed in the direction of the intruder and ran across the neighbouring walls as Sav followed slightly behind him in the alley itself.
Turning the same corner as the intruder, both Errolas and Sav saw a deserted alley leading down to a busy street. Errolas jumped down from the wall and they both headed down the alley cautiously, checking behind barrels and crates as they went. Reaching the busy street, it was clear the intruder had fled into the crowd and escaped.
Errolas cursed and turned around. He stalked back to Fal’s place, Sav close behind him.
‘What happened?’ Sav said between breaths. He sweated through the physical exertion and obvious hangover.
Furious with himself, Errolas snapped his response. ‘I made a mistake; he got away.’
‘Did you get a good look at him though Errolas?’ Sav took long strides to keep up with the elf, looking at him from the side.
‘Briefly. He wore black, no cloak but a light leather gambeson. I saw no sword, but he had knives, throwing knives, and long dark hair. Pale skin, gaunt even with a few days of growth on his face. The way he moved… I have seen it before, maybe him before.’