Glimpses: an Anthology of 16 Short Fantasy Stories: An exclusive collection of fantasy fiction

by Kevin Partner

  “Agreed. There are far too many places to search in a limited time.”

  We edged through the corridors of storage and made our way to a work area in the middle of the top floor of the three floors we had seen on the map, hoping to find a computer. Sure enough, a number of terminals lined one wall.

  I rummaged through desk drawers until I spotted a random word on a post-it note stuck inside a notepad. I shook my head in bewilderment. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? I typed the password in to see if it matched the username displayed when I booted up the computer. I held my breath as it loaded excruciatingly slowly. Sure enough, seconds later, I had full access to the museum’s records.

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Thank you, Mr Landman,” I said to the absent museum worker whose login details I’d used. The greatest security protocols in the world were useless if users didn’t implement basic common sense when choosing or hiding passwords.

  “Two floors down,” I said, reading the details from the screen. “Corridor C, unit 28.” I scribbled the complex item reference number on a scrap of paper.

  I powered the PC down and we headed towards the artefact. We were halfway down the stairs when we heard a door shut above us. We froze. The unmistakable buzz of magic danced through the air. The sudden chill in my bones warned me of approaching danger.

  “Arin?” Skylar queried.

  “Move.” We raced downstairs without hesitation, and as quietly as possible. The silence of the stairwell was broken by the soft tread of footfalls above us. We had to find the stone.

  I hissed, as once again, the lights in the room responded to our presence and lit the floor like a flare in an otherwise dark night. “Corridor C.” I pushed Skylar into the recess and we frantically scanned the cabinet labels. “Twenty-one… twenty-five...”

  “Twenty-eight,” Skylar said. He tore open a drawer and withdrew a box. He opened it and sighed with relief.

  I took the box from him, and held the stone aloft, marvelling at the light reflecting through its translucent core. A faint trace of magic seeped into my fingers, too little to warrant the attention of the Magicai.

  “Here,” I said, tossing it to Skylar. “You hide. I’ll draw Arin and whoever’s with him away. Then you get the hell out of here.”

  Skylar nodded and patted me on the shoulder. “Stay safe,” he said.

  I returned the gesture. “You too, my friend.”

  I moved out of the corridor, into the main hallway, and away from the staircase. It seemed like an age passed before the stairwell door opened and three men stepped through.

  I stood on full display and eyed the men. Desperation chewed at my insides, but I couldn’t let it show. The two outside men glanced at the man stood between them as though waiting for instructions.

  “So, you’re Arin,” I said, raising my chin at the middle man.

  “And you, of course, are Nathan Scott,” he said. “I have studied your exploits as a Traveller. It seems our reputations precede us both.”

  “Not really.” I took a few steps to the side in an attempt to keep their focus on me. “I don’t know the first thing about you, mate. Just that you’re an arse who wants this here stone.” I lifted the empty box and waved it at Arin.

  “You will soon know that I am a very dangerous man to cross.” He smiled “Why don’t you save yourself a lot of trouble and hand it over?”

  “Why don’t you come and get it?” Magic soared through my body, and I released a surge of power at the lights overhead. We plunged into darkness, and I slipped further away from the stairwell.

  “I’m sure you think yourself very clever, Mr Scott, but I’m afraid your tricks won’t work with me.”

  Damn it! I hoped Skylar had enough sense to stay hidden where he was until Arin could be goaded into action. “What’s the matter?” I said. “Afraid to try and take the stone from me?”

  I peered around the corner, but darkness enveloped our underground surroundings.

  “I have no need to take the stone.” An inferno of light accompanied his words and the air reverberated with immense power. The magical plane shook. It felt like existence was being torn apart. I was shaking. My heart thundered, ready to explode.

  The light vanished.

  “The Kushite Stone,” Arin said. “It calls to its sister. I’m sure you agree; the results would be devastating, should they meet.”

  “Another reason not to give you the stone.”

  Arin laughed again. The sound made me want to punch him in the face.

  “You have no fight with me. Give me the stone and I will spare your world. Fight and you will die – and I will see to it your precious London is destroyed in the process. All I have to do is open the lead box shielding the Kushite Stone from its sister, within minutes your city will perish.”

  I heard the truth of the words in his voice. Arin was a mad man. Who knew what he would do with the power of the two stone: raze cities, destroy worlds, anything was possible.

  A thud sounded in the dark, followed by the rumble of a scuffle. My heart sank, at Skylar’s frantic voice, as he fought his attackers.

  I reignited the fluorescent lights with a blast of energy. Without hesitation, a second blast of power shot from my hand and towards Arin, alone by the door.

  He deflected the shot, and rushed into an aisle away from sight, but not before he retaliated. I grunted as his blast seared my arm: a burning flesh wound, more painful than damaging.

  I fell against the wall and took a few breaths to steady myself. There was no time to waste. Arin couldn’t be allowed to take the stone. I raced down the corridor after him. The whole room crackled with magical energy like the sky before a lightning strike.

  I rounded a final corner and came to a halt. Skylar was pinned against the wall by a magical field. The stone clutched in his hand.

  “You’re too late,” Arin said, baring his teeth in a menacing grin. “The stone is mine.”

  Sweat beaded Skylar’s brow as he fought to keep his fist closed around the stone, but an unseen force pried at his fingers, tearing them apart.

  I raised my hands and called my power. Arin’s two goons approached me, their own magic blazing in their hands. There was no way in hell I would let them win.

  I advanced, adrenaline coursed through my veins and my heart thundered. I hurled volley after volley of power at my attackers. They tried to escape, but my onslaught was too fast, too furious. I hurled them against the walls, pinning them, as Arin had pinned Skylar.

  Arin had a split second to react before I unleashed the full force of my magic against him. The blast struck home. He fought against me, but I couldn’t let him go. If I released my focus either he or his goons would escape, and it would be game over.

  I drew more power into me, feeding off the ley lines the way a plant absorbs light. My head pounded, and my legs faltered, but I kept my magic trained on Arin.

  I couldn’t hold out much longer.

  The magic engulfed me, threatened to tear me apart.

  I gritted my teeth and pushed forward with everything I had.

  I struck home.

  Arin’s screams were silenced by the thunder of magic and the quickness of his demise. He disappeared in a cloud of dust, disintegrated in an instant.

  Skylar fell to the floor as Arin’s magic disappeared along with his body. “Thank you,” he spluttered.

  “Anytime,” I clapped him on the shoulder, and sunk to my knees. “Your megalomaniac is my megalomaniac.”

  I meant it too, as a Magicai and a Traveller, I had a duty to protect all worlds from those who would abuse the power of the ley lines, home-grown or otherwise. Although, for now, duty could wait until after dinner with a certain dear friend.

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  Blade and Bone

  Adrian G Hilder

  Shallow breaths. Mouth closed. Ear pressed to the rough wooden door. The man waited for silence so he could be sure there were no city guards outside. He kept from his mind distractions such as the home that was a four-day horse ride across the Plainlands. Enemy lands. An old enemy ragged and exhausted from a quarter-century of war. He had a job to do, the clock was ticking, and he never contemplated the ethics of what he must do.

  Pernicus was the kind of slender man that could be mistaken for a woman, were it not for the fact he lacked feminine curves. It made this night’s job less risky than it might otherwise have been.

  Easing the door latch up, he used the knuckles of his other hand to push on the door and open it a crack. Darkness gifted with a milky glow by the smile of a crescent moon greeted him. The chill night air brought relief from the suffocating atmosphere of the hut. Warm light from a wood burning stove flickered across the wooden walls while he fastened silver buttons on a blue jacket.

  Ferocious haggling had won Pernicus the jacket in the main market two weeks ago. Traders glared, painting a picture of his face in their minds. They would remember him the next time he came to their stall. Pernicus’ eyes carried the same shade of blue as the jacket, and those eyes looked out from under a trimmed mop of blond hair. So engrossed in his bargaining, Pernicus never noticed one pair of brown eyes, in particular, looking at him. They belonged to a quiet man of a similar stature to himself selling belt buckles and other works of metal. Pernicus expected no form of approval when he next appeared before his master. The response he did get was not expected either.

  Clutching at his temples and storming out of his study, Master Usan growled, “Fetch me tea now! I have a headache… What’s that thing you’re wearing?” Tearing a hand away from his head, Usan pointed at Pernicus, the sleeve of his purple robe flapping like a flag in a storm. Pernicus hurried away to prepare the aromatic tea ignoring the question. Drinking the tea always seem to calm Master Usan if he had been working too long. Pernicus never wanted to know what he worked on, but he had ideas. Two weeks ago, he’d watched Usan directing two strangers carrying a Hessian sack the length of a man into his office. One of the strangers startled him with a glare from brown eyes that seemed to say ‘mind your own business’. What truly alarmed him came after the strangers left. Strangled word-like sounds that no man should be able to speak escaped from Usan’s office. When the sounds ceased, a figure walked out of Usan’s study. Its body was concealed in the sacking — worn as a hooded cloak. Each step the stranger took made a sound like the wooden leg of a chair striking the floor.

  “Follow me.” Usan had intoned leading his new servant upstairs. Pernicus caught a glimpse of a foot as the curious man climbed. Toes, just dull white bones sticking out like knurled twigs, flexing as it walked. Pernicus stood for a full minute before he rediscovered the presence of mind to move, all the while the ‘tock’ ‘tock’ ‘tock’ of the grandfather clock standing guard at the foot of the staircase echoed in his ears. A ‘tock’ almost like the newcomer’s footfalls on the stairs.

  With the grace of a dancer, the man stepped into the narrow road, turned and closed the hut door. The sensation of a tiny worm burrowing into his scalp sharply announced the presence of an itch. He screwed up his eyes as his hand jerked to his head, digging fingernails into the blond mop. He sighed then dropped his hand to his side. Moving on, he left the dark of the narrow road like a man slipping out of his lover’s bed. Walking into the open market place felt like entering a deserted battlefield. When not wet, muddy and treacherous, the surface was sun baked and rock hard as it was now. Ruts cut into the ground by wagon and chariot wheels created rows of hard mud walls. Few roads in this city were more than just compacted mud. He skipped across the walls of the ruts highlighted in the moonlight. Pausing briefly at the far side of the marketplace, he reached behind and adjusted the position his contingency measure. The job would work out so much better if he could avoid using it. The serrated dagger tucked into his trousers and under the jacket was far from comfortable.

  He headed west out of the marketplace toward two men standing in the gloom. They were right on schedule. He could barely see them, but he knew they wore leather and chainmail armour and carried short swords at their sides.

  “Pernicus.” One of the guards grunted a greeting.

  The man replied with a grunt and a dismissive wave of his hand.

  Usan’s house materialised out of the night. The man closed his eyes for several paces to adjust his eyes to darkness, then opened them to keep on course. Examining the road outside the house, he imagined himself running across the tops of the ruts and into the dark alley opposite, memorising the route. Why Usan chose this part of town to live was a mystery. A foul odour from nearby tanneries permeated the air and hitched a ride on every breath. Looking back at the door, he closed his eyes once more and reached into the jacket pocket finding the hard length of the door key and withdrew it. Caressing the door with his fingers, he found the keyhole. He inserted the key, turned it and the lock clicked open. Pushing the door, he stepped through and opened his eyes. Faint moonlight made it into the house, but his eyes now forced to adjust to complete black interrogated the dark and extracted some of its secrets. The mental picture of this room held in his mind filled some of the gaps; he had been here before. He pushed the door with his back, just far enough for it to appear closed. The key remained in the keyhole outside. The grandfather clock greeted him with the ‘tock’ ‘tock’ ‘tock’ beating of its mechanical heart. At the foot of the stairs, the man stared through the glass door into the clock's inner workings. Soft light painted onto the man’s face by a gentle stream of moonlight from a window revealed his reflection in the glass. Brown eyes looked back at him, and unlike Pernicus’ eyes, they did not match the blue of the jacket he wore. He stepped up the stairs in time with the grandfather clocks beating heart.

  Master Usan was master of more than just this house. He was a master of magic. The man on the stairs’ general called a man like Usan a battle mage. The man had watched battle mages on both sides of this war immersed in their craft many times. A snarl of angry words — a sound like no natural voice of man. Hands thrust skyward, like a demand from the gods and mage fire is summoned from the ground. Erupting flames burning soldiers hundreds at a time. When he thought of the scene, their shrieks still pierced his ears. Some claimed a man’s bone marrow sizzled in the instant before merciful death. Archers always targeted battle mages first, only for their arrows to be turned aside by invisible shields made by magic. The man admired a duel between battle mages. A violent show of sound and light from traded magic energy, which at best obscured the vision of the opponents. All battle mage’s conjure shields to keep out flying weapons and the magic of their enemies. Like water dashed against a rock, bolts of energy, fire and other unseen magic strike in a flash, with the energies racing around the spherical shields in a spectrum of pulsing colour. A frantic stalemate only broken when one mage or the other finally succumbs to the side effects of raging energy scorching through their mind. The head pain and stress frequently left survivors a delusional shadow of the mage they once were.

  “How do you kill a battle mage quickly?” The man’s general had growled, whirling around their castle briefing room, grooming his beard with one hand.

  The greatest of the general’s battle mages went silent for a while. He stared out from under the hood of his blue-green robes into a place that only existed in his mind. He did that sometimes, and the room went silent with him, knowing it would be wort
h the wait. Eventually, the mage had sighed, his shoulders collapsing. “All I can think of — in their beds while they sleep before they reach the battlefield.”

  The general had gripped his mage by the shoulders and said “Yes! Yes, this has potential!” And then the general had turned and looked into the brown eyes of the man now on the stairs in Master Usan’s house.

  Step and ‘tock’ and he reached the top of the stairs. He continued his steps in time with the beating of the grandfather clock until he stood before Usan’s bedroom door. Fishing a small bottle of oil out of his trouser pocket, he pulled out the stopper. A gentle tap and a few drops of oil fell onto both of the door hinges. He stoppered the bottle and put it back in his pocket.

  Closing his eyes, he rehearsed in his mind his next moves thinking again of the ‘contingency’ pushed into the back of his trousers. Pernicus was inclined to vent the frustrations he had with his master when suitably relaxed. A girl called Meredith knew just the right way to relax him. She didn’t object to pillow talk time with Pernicus after the main event. Pernicus had manners, blue eyes and blond hair after all. Pillow talk was far removed from the less tasteful things some people paid her to do.

  The man was about to find out if Pernicus was right.

  Lifting the door latch sent a sparkling wave of adrenalin washing through his body and his muscles tensed. Opening the door on its silent hinges, he made a single bound to the bedside with his arm outstretched. Fingers reached out, found the cold hilt of Usan’s own dagger beneath the pillow. Pernicus was right! The dagger was there. Thumping sounds like a wooden chair hurled in rage across the floor came from his left. He focused on thrusting the dagger aloft, his personal breed of a precious holy symbol. Fixing his eyes on Usan’s pulsing throat, he struck down with the blessed dagger. A warm splash struck his hands. Gurgling sounds fought their way out of Usan’s mouth and into the room.