He was eventually distracted by movement down the hill. One of the other watchmen lifted a finger in signal, but Lucius had already clocked the danger. The collectors had not yet left the spinster and coming towards the team now was a group of perhaps twenty men. It was the tightness of their gathering that first alerted Lucius, for while friends may travel so closely together, no one walked in such a large group unless they had distinct purpose.
Eyeing the men without looking at them directly, he spotted a few cudgels carried openly, while others sported suspicious looking bulges under their tunics that suggested concealed knives and clubs. He glanced at one of the other watchmen, a young man called Swinherd, who returned the look with a shrug, clearly not knowing how to respond.
It was unlikely that the proprietors of the Street of Dogs had banded together to raise a small army in order to dissuade the Hands from collecting their dues, as the tax was mild enough and Magnus had made sure there was always some tangible benefit to paying; burglaries in the Street of Dogs were quite rare. The Vos guard, if they deigned to get involved in a benign protection racket, would send armoured and uniformed men. That just left the Guild of Coin and Enterprise, and that meant trouble.
While Lucius had yet to learn all the intricacies of the unique sign language used by the Hands, he knew enough to get his general meaning across, and a casual crossing of his hands told the other watchmen to stand ready and make no overt moves. He was gratified to see their assent, and they continued watching as the men approached.
As they moved closer, Lucius realised that they were paying him no attention, but one burly man at their centre nudged another and pointed directly at Swinherd, obviously recognising him as a Hand. As one, the men altered their course and steered directly for him.
To his credit, Swinherd stood his ground, raising his head in acknowledgement as they gathered around him in a semicircle. The first words exchanged were quiet and beyond Lucius’ range of hearing. One of the other watchmen sent a discreet signal, suggesting they move in to support Swinherd, but Lucius shook his head. He guessed that at least some of his fellow thieves had not been recognised either, and while they remained invisible to the Guild men, they retained an advantage, as badly outnumbered as they were. Lucius found himself anxious to move closer, to hear what was being said, but he steeled himself to remain passive and await an outcome.
It all seemed rather amiable, Lucius thought, as he kept a watch out of the corner of his eye, the potter’s wares now completely forgotten. The burly man leading the Guild men kept his hands in plain view as he spoke, and Swinherd was nodding and shrugging as if he were chatting to an old acquaintance. Then things became heated.
The burly man pointed a finger back down the hill, as if ordering Swinherd to leave the street, at which point the young man shook his head in refusal and took a step back. They followed him and men on the flanks began to crowd round, hiding Swinherd from sight as he raised his hands, trying to appease them. Knowing he was about to witness a beating in broad daylight, Lucius gave a quick signal to the other watchers and trotted across the street.
“Swinherd!” he said in greeting as he pushed his way through the tight press of men. Keeping his voice jovial, he also completely ignored the baleful stares that were now being directed his way, and he hoped the other thieves had taken his lead and were just a few paces behind. “We’ve been looking for you. Come, we’ve got work to do, no time to stand and chat with old friends.”
“We’re no friends of that this toe-rag,” growled someone in the crowd.
Lucius kept his eyes fixed firmly on Swinherd, whose gratitude at being rescued was palpable. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
A bearded man took a step to stand directly before Lucius. He held a club low down one leg. “You spineless dog,” he said in a low voice.
“We’ve got no argument with you,” said Lucius, trying hard to put an edge in his voice while ignoring the hostile gazes from the assembled men. “It would be best for all if we went our separate ways.”
The burly man jabbed a finger hard into Swinherd’s chest, though his words were directed at Lucius. “Your time here is over. This street belongs to the Guild now, and we’ll be taking over the collections today.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Lucius said. “This is a fight no one can win.”
He was, of course, referring to a wider war between the two thieves, guilds, but he belatedly realised that such grander thoughts of strategy were likely beyond the men who had been sent to scare them off.
“There’s more of us,” the bearded man piped up again. “I’m thinking we can win this easy.”
“Understand this,” the burly man cut over him. “The Hands are finished. There can only be one Guild in this city, and that’s us. You’ll either join us, or spend the rest of your lives as cripples. Those are your only choices.”
Lucius and Swinherd quickly exchanged glances, and the young man nodded in understanding of what was about to happen. Lucius stared straight into the eyes of the burly man.
“If you don’t leave now, I promise, you won’t walk away from this,” he said, his voice even.
Someone near the back of the crowd laughed. The burly man smiled and nodded at him in a mock salute. He then grabbed the club from the bearded man and swung it hard at Swinherd.
Lucius had been ready for the first attack. He dove between Swinherd and weapon, catching the man’s arms as the club started to descend.
“Run!” Lucius shouted over his shoulder and Swinherd, needing no prompting, turned and fled. Raising his knee Lucius rammed it into the crotch of the burly man, who exhaled noisily before staggering to the ground. Reacting a great deal slower than Lucius, the others began to draw knives and daggers as he turned and ran as well.
The collectors had chosen that moment to leave the spinster, and their faces were almost comical, eyes wide in astonishment as they saw their watchmen running at full tilt down the street, pursued by an angry and cursing mob. They took their cue from their friends and started to sprint away, goaded on by Lucius’ shouts.
Casting a look behind him as he ran, Lucius saw the Hands had scattered, diving into alleyways, vaulting over walls, splitting up to ensure at least some would escape unharmed. He decided to continue running directly up the centre of the street in order to provide the most visible target, but the Guild men were not co-operating.
Swinherd had rocketed past the collectors, then dived into an alley that stretched alongside the long wall of a tavern proclaiming itself to be the Grateful Rest. With no real co-ordination on their part, the Guild men had zeroed in on their original target and were pounding just a few steps behind the young man, who was clearly in fear of his life.
Coming to a stop, Lucius turned back and shouted a challenge at the pursuing men, calling out the bearded man in the lead.
“Hey, pig!” he bellowed. “Was your mother wedded to a hog, or was she a sow whore putting it to every merchant in the city?”
He was answered by an angry, inarticulate cry, and the mob surged up towards him. Smiling, Lucius bolted. It never failed.
Hearing the clatter of leather on cobbles gaining ground on him, Lucius tried to measure his breathing as he sought the strands of energy that were never far from his grasp. Control of his magic was difficult while sprinting, but he was only attempting rudimentary control. He caught the needed thread, feeling its power flush through his entire body. Feeling a new wave of strength, he banished all thought of fatigue and ignored his aching legs as he gained in speed, pulling away from the mob.
Within seconds, Lucius was in the territory of the second collection team, and he saw the surprised looks of their watchmen.
“Guild men!” he shouted, jabbing a finger over his shoulder. They reacted instantly, one diving into a shop front to retrieve his collectors while the others melted away into side streets. Lucius grinned, satisfied that the other thieves were retreating to places of safety. It took just one more glance over his sh
oulder to remind him that he was still in great danger himself. The expressions on the faces of the mob left no doubt as to his fate should he be caught.
Deciding that the chase had gone on long enough, he darted right, vaulting over a fence that ran round a small townhouse. Hitting the ground in a roll, he found himself in an unkempt garden, full of uncut thigh-high grass and weeds. He bolted across the small patch of wilderness and swung his legs over the low wall on the other side. Behind, the Guild’s men were cursing as they became entangled in the undergrowth, but enough were making good headway to convince Lucius not to slow down.
Over the wall, Lucius found himself in a smaller street, its buildings a mixture of shabby houses and shops whose owners were unable to afford the prices commanded on the Street of Dogs. He ran a short distance past the nearest buildings, then jerked left into a narrow alley, intending to lose the men in the network of twisting turns and junctions that were common in these districts of Turnitia.
After a few more minutes, Lucius felt safe enough to stop and catch his breath, leaning against the brickwork of an abandoned house. The magic that had propelled him this far and this fast was now ebbing, and a deep fatigue spread through his body. The complaints his bones made at having been pushed so hard were finally heard. Crouching down as he drew in painful gasps of air, he rubbed his ankles for some relief, but he stopped when he heard new cries coming from a short distance away. They were just one or two streets over from where he stood.
Fearing one of his fellow thieves had been caught, Lucius forced himself to his feet, shoving the weariness away. He retraced his steps cautiously, heading down a short road that led back toward the Street of Dogs. More calls echoed off the walls of the nearby buildings, and he dove into a doorway as three Guild men ran out of an alleyway a few yards ahead of him, coming to a stop in the middle of the road as they looked about them. Pressing himself against the door, Lucius carefully tilted his head to watch them. They were obviously having a disagreement as to which way they should run next, which was finally resolved by one returning the way they had come, while the other two dashed up towards the Street of Dogs.
Lucius released a breath he’d not realised he had been holding, then caught it again as the door behind him opened, which forced him to grab onto the frame to stop himself stumbling. Turning around, he saw a small girl in a dirty shirt looking up at him expectantly. Winking at her and smiling, he fished out a silver tenth from his pouch and flipped it to her, before running across the road into another alley.
Finding himself between two rows of houses, Lucius saw alleys criss-crossing every thirty yards or so and he skidded to a halt at every junction, checking each intersection. Another shout of anger and the clash of metal on metal from up ahead spurred him on, and he rounded a corner in time to see Swinherd pull a knife from the belly of a Guild man, who collapsed, sobbing, onto the hard ground. Another watcher who had been on Lucius’ team stepped out from another alley and, on seeing what had happened, patted Swinherd on the back. Lucius, dismayed, ran towards them.
“What have you done?” he said in a harsh whisper. “What have you done?”
“Bastard tried to jump me,” Swinherd said, kicking the man as he groaned and clasped his hands to his stomach in a fruitless attempt to stem the flow of blood.
“Why didn’t you just keep on running? You should have just ran!”
Swinherd shrugged. “I was trying to hook up with you guys again. I had to defend myself!”
“Yeah, back off a moment,” said the watchman, who seemed to take greater offence at Lucius’ interruption that Swinherd had. “So we have a dead Guild man on our hands. So what? One less suits us just fine, I say.” The watchman bent down to look the dying man in the face. “You hear that, you worthless bastard? You’re going to die soon.”
“You fools!” said Lucius, trying to keep both his temper and voice low. He could not see why these two did not understand what was at stake. “Up to now, we have just had a few beatings here and there. This is the first time a Hand has killed someone in the Guild.”
When they just looked at him blankly, he sighed and continued, speaking a little slower so his meaning would not be lost. “They are going to be after our blood now.”
The watchman looked at Swinherd, then at the dying man, then back at Lucius. “Well... we could hide the body.”
Lucius rolled his eyes. “Where? You planning on hoisting it over one of these walls? One way or another, the Guild will find the body, and even if they don’t they’ll guess what has happened when he doesn’t show up at their guildhouse.”
“So what do we do?” Swinherd asked, now suddenly less elated at his victory.
Thinking hard, Lucius scratched the back of his head. “We’ve got to get back to Magnus, tell him what has happened.”
“You going to tell him it was me?” Swinherd said in a quiet voice.
“Believe me, he is going to have far greater things to worry about than punishing you.”
They split up again, after bearing a lecture from Lucius as to how they would not go looking for more Guild men. They were to take their separate paths back to the guildhouse and get there as quickly as possible.
He just hoped Magnus would have the wisdom to see a way through this, and perhaps make some compensation towards the Guild. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUCIUS CURSED AS the small ball of fire ignited another roll of paper. For the third time in a row. Behind him, he heard Adrianna quietly clack her tongue, though whether it was in amusement or impatience, he could not decide.
Moving quickly for an older man, Forbeck kicked it to one side and stamped out the flames, before replacing it with another roll.
“Try again, Mr Kane.”
As the sun descended beyond the western horizon, Lucius had felt a curious itch in the back of his mind. A prickling on the nape of his neck. Unable to shake the sensation, he had left the guildhouse and the turmoil it had fallen into, and quickly realised the feeling grew stronger as he headed north, but weaker when he turned aside from the path.
Arriving at an abandoned warehouse, the itching growing ever more insistent, he discovered this was Forbeck’s way of summoning him to their first lesson. Lucius was at first irritated at having been called in this manner, but quickly found himself curious as to the measure of subtle control needed for such magic. Knowing the master had managed to pick him out of the entire population of the city, then plant the urge to follow the signal, was impressive, and it left him wanting to know exactly how it was achieved. Forbeck, however, had other plans for that evening, and Adrianna was her usual implacable self.
Within the empty confines of the dusty and cobweb-strewn warehouse, Forbeck had devised a simple test to measure Lucius’ control of his talent. Having quickly divined that Lucius was capable of conjuring fire at will, six rolls of paper had been placed in a row, and Lucius had been asked to summon a small ball of flame, and weave it in and out of the spaces while leaving the papers intact.
It was not an easy test, and Lucius was growing more frustrated with each attempt.
He had thought it a simple challenge when Forbeck had initially spelled it out, ignoring Adrianna’s knowing look, but Lucius’ first try had blasted the first three rolls into cinders. By the third attempt, he had managed to guide the fireball around the first roll, but had watched helplessly as it wobbled into the second. The trial seemed to be going nowhere fast.
The problem was that Lucius had never, since he had first realised his gift with magic, tried to exercise such precise control for anything more than influencing tumbling dice for a split second. Calling upon the power to blast an enemy with a jet of flame, sending him reeling to the ground with the force of the strike even as the fire consumed him, was relatively easy. Aside from the shaping of the necessary energies, it required very little control whatsoever. Just creating and maintaining a small globe of swirling flames for more than a few seconds was enoug
h to make Lucius break into a sweat. Guiding it with precision was seemingly impossible, though Forbeck had earlier demonstrated a successful attempt at the exercise to prove it was not.
“Remember, all it takes is practice,” Forbeck said, as he watched Lucius frown in concentration.
Kneeling, Lucius opened his right hand as a bright spark ignited upon his palm. Growing into a sphere of rolling fire half the size of his fist, he placed his hand on the stone floor and willed the flames to tumble forwards. The fire bounced once and, before he could arrest its momentum, bumped gently into the first roll of paper, lighting it immediately.
“Practice makes perfect,” Lucius muttered. “I’m getting worse!”
“Did you really think you would come here, accomplish everything laid before you with so little effort and then leave, smug in the knowledge that there is nothing you cannot do?” Adrianna said.
Lucius bit his tongue to forestall the first retort that came to mind. “That was not my first thought, no,” he finally said.
A rap echoed across the rafters and walls of the warehouse as Forbeck struck his cane on the hard stone, silencing the argument brewing between his students.
“I wish I could tell you there was an easy way through this part, Mr Kane,” he said, replacing the burnt roll. “I wish there was some secret meditative technique, or command word, that would allow you to control your magic as I have asked. But I am afraid there is not. The only route to success lies in practice, practice, practice. Master your frustration at failure, and direct your energies to trying again.”
The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) Page 11