Battlemage

by Stephen Aryan

  “What do you want?”

  “We need to speak to Marissa,” said Shani, taking a pouch of coins from her belt, which she held up and shook. “We’ll make it worth her while.”

  “Wait there.” The hatch closed and Talandra heard the sound of heavy feet retreating inside.

  “Are they always this friendly?” asked Talandra.

  “Marissa is very careful. She has to be, given her clients.”

  Talandra heard a loud scraping of bolts and the door opened to reveal Red, a man so tall his bald head nearly touched the ceiling. He was dressed only in a kilt that showed off hairy legs almost as wide as her. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap her in two like a twig. Talandra reconsidered whether coming in person had been such a good idea. Despite being familiar with Shani the big man held a dagger in his free hand. The expression on his wide face wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but his eyes watched for the slightest hint of trouble. They slipped inside and the big man relocked and bolted the door behind them.

  “Can we see Marissa?” asked Shani.

  “You’ll see her when I’m happy,” snapped Red.

  “Calm down, Red,” a woman said in a husky voice. “We’re all friends here. Isn’t that right, Shani?”

  “Yes, Marissa. We are,” said Shani, sketching a deep bow. Shani had told Talandra what to expect, but she’d said almost nothing about Marissa. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she was one of the most beautiful women Talandra had ever seen. Voluptuous and curvaceous without being overweight, mature without any lines around her eyes and mouth, and with striking features that suggested a mixed heritage Talandra couldn’t identify. Raven-black hair fell to her narrow waist and a single white streak ran through it that was surely an affectation. Her modest red and black dress hugged her figure, showing little bare flesh and yet revealing much of what was underneath. Talandra tried not to stare too much, but she found it difficult as she was particularly envious of Marissa’s ample bosom. If she tried to wear a gown like that it would have gaped in all the wrong places and made her look like a flat-chested boy by comparison. Shani caught her staring and raised an eyebrow.

  “Follow me,” said Marissa with a smile that warmed Talandra.

  Marissa led them along a short corridor decorated with expensive glass vases from Shael, unusual oil paintings that looked Zecorran in origin, and several carved figures made from brightly coloured crystals. The plain exterior hid an interior that spoke of extensive wealth and comfort.

  At the end of the corridor Marissa gestured for them to enter a small room which Talandra expected to be an office. Instead she found herself in a bedroom decorated with silk hangings, dark wooden furniture and a desk off to one side of the room. Marissa gestured towards a table which held several bottles of whisky.

  “Thank you,” said Shani.

  “How about you, my dear?” she asked and Talandra shook her head. With a small shrug Marissa poured two generous portions and handed Shani a glass. “You can take off the hood. Anything that happens inside the building is never made public knowledge.”

  As Talandra dropped the hood Marissa’s eyes widened slightly but quickly returned to normal. “Do you know you look a lot like the Princess?”

  Shani squirmed but Talandra just laughed it off. “I’m often told that.”

  “I take it you’re not here about a job.”

  “No, we’re here about one of your clients.”

  Marissa shook her head. “Shame. You’d make a fortune. I know of many men and women who’d love to fuck the Princess, and you’re the next best thing. With the right dress and a bit of make-up, they’d never know the difference.”

  “An interesting offer, but I’ll pass.”

  “If you ever feel like a change of career, let me know,” said Marissa. “So, do you work for Shani?”

  Shani was taking a drink at the time and started to choke. Eventually she recovered, although she was still flustered. “No, I work with her.”

  “So, what is this about?” asked Marissa.

  “Ambassador Mabon has been a bad boy.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “We meant the other way,” said Shani.

  “Ah. Well I meant what I said earlier. What happens inside these walls is completely private.”

  “We just need to speak to him for a few minutes. We’re not here to hurt him or reveal any of his secrets,” promised Talandra. “Quite the opposite in fact. We’re here to help him.”

  Marissa added a small amount of water to her whisky then swirled it in the glass before taking another sip. “Is this going to affect his relationship with my establishment?”

  “We hope not,” said Talandra. “But I’ve been authorised to make sure you’re suitably compensated if he decides to take his business elsewhere.” Shani placed the heavy bag of coins on the table. “This is just a token of our appreciation.”

  Marissa didn’t glance at the money, and judging by the display of wealth in the building she didn’t need it. Talandra wondered what did motivate the Madame. Instead of answering straight away Marissa studied both of them intently. Talandra tried to stay calm and give away as little as possible in her body language.

  “You’re hiding something,” said Marissa, “but I don’t think it relates to Mabon. You’ve always been a good friend, Shani. I would hate it if this spoiled our relationship.”

  “It won’t,” she promised.

  “We’ll see,” purred Marissa. “Mabon is upstairs in room eight. Send Kitty down to me.”

  Despite the thickness of the doors, Talandra heard all sorts of strange noises and groans of pleasure. Men and women’s voices mixed together in cries and whimpers of pleasure and pain. A door on her left briefly opened, revealing a naked man on all fours with a bridle around his head being ridden around the room by a woman dressed in leather. The door closed but she still heard the crack of the whip as it struck his bare flesh and the squeal of pleasure that followed. As Shani opened the door at the end of the corridor Talandra realised the man being ridden was the Head of the Scribes guild.

  Another unusual vista greeted her eyes in room eight where the Zecorran Ambassador Mabon hung naked from a cross attached to the wall. A web of chains held him aloft by the arms, facing the wall. A tall woman dressed in only a pair of knee-length boots stood off to one side with a whip in her hand. There were already numerous red welts across Mabon’s buttocks and lower back.

  “Marissa would like to see you for a few minutes,” said Shani, holding open a long cloak taken from the back of the door. The woman accepted the cloak and stepped into the corridor, followed by Shani, who closed the door behind her.

  “Kitty? What’s going on?” asked Mabon. His restraints prevented him from turning around, but he tried to crane his neck to look behind him.

  “She’s stepped out,” said Talandra.

  “Is she coming back?” asked Mabon.

  “Soon, Ambassador, but I thought we’d have a little talk.”

  Mabon twisted around but couldn’t see, so Talandra helped him by stepping to one side of the room.

  “Maker’s balls!”

  “They’re not that impressive,” said Talandra, nodding towards his shrivelling sack. “But we’re not here to talk about that, or how you spend your free time.”

  “What do you want?” asked Mabon.

  “I’ve been told that Taikon has imprisoned your family back home. That’s he’s going to cut them up, even cook them, unless you send him intelligence about our defences.”

  “My son is five years old,” begged Mabon, tears leaking from his eyes. “My daughter is twelve. She will be thirteen in three months. Please, please. You can’t put me in prison. If I don’t keep sending them reports, he’ll kill my children. But I don’t have anything to tell them, I promise!”

  “Don’t worry, Mabon. I’m going to help you. In fact I’m going to make sure you regularly send them information about all sorts of things in Charas.”

  “You are?
”

  “Yes, but it will be information that I supply. It will be pure fiction, but it will sound reasonable.”

  Mabon heaved a sigh of relief, slumping against his restraints. “And what do you want me to do in return?”

  “Nothing,” said Talandra with a friendly smile. “I won’t do anything to put your family at risk. I swear it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I suspect you’re being watched, so don’t change your routine in any way. If you do they may get suspicious and word could get back to Taikon.” The possibility of that actually happening was slim, since she knew all of the Zecorran spies in the city and regularly had them followed, but she needed Mabon to remain anxious.

  “Why?” asked Mabon. Until now he’d been a loyal subject to Zecorria, but also quite moderate in comparison to some. A steady, calm voice would be useful and perhaps more influential in the future when the alternative was a rabble of noisy extremists.

  “When the war ends, I expect you’ll be recalled and sent home. One day, at some point in the future, you will owe me a favour. And when I collect, you will repay me in full.”

  The possibility existed that he would talk at the first opportunity when he returned home. It was a gamble, but he would be useful until then as his missives would be another useful source of misinformation flowing into Zecorria about Seveldrom.

  Mabon heaved a deep breath. “I understand.”

  “Good. Then I’ll let you get back to your evening’s entertainment.”

  “You’re very confident about winning the war, Highness,” said Mabon. “What happens if you lose?”

  Talandra had spent a great deal of time considering that possibility and making plans, just in case. She was doing all she could to make sure it didn’t happen, but it always paid to be prepared.

  “You’ll still be sent home and I’ll be the one in chains. I hope that if it does happen, you’ll look kindly on your time here and how you were treated.”

  “Highness,” said Mabon, inclining his head. The gesture was faintly ridiculous given his position, but she sketched a short bow in return.

  “Ambassador.”

  Talandra stumbled towards her chambers, barely looking where she was going. Her head was swimming with plans for her agents and her intelligence network, tactics from the battlefield, and she was struggling to remember all of it and keep everything in perspective. Somehow her father could watch the battle, anticipate what was about to happen, and give orders to counter disasters before they developed.

  Talandra considered herself reasonably good at playing Stones, but now they were at war she realised she was an infant in comparison to her father. He was able to see more than a few moves ahead, think through all of the likely outcomes, and make plans accordingly, and all within the space of a few heartbeats. The only person who’d ever been able to challenge him was her mother. Her father had not touched a Stones board since her death.

  A yawn made Talandra’s jaw crack as she rounded a corner and thumped into something that sent her flying. A strong hand grabbed her arm, keeping her upright.

  “Careful, Tala,” said Graegor. As usual the grizzled General was dressed in black armour with that wicked axe hung at his belt. He might be only a couple of years from his sixtieth summer, but only days ago Talandra had witnessed how lethal Graegor could be if needed. By the time she’d arrived, most of the assassin had been mopped up, but Graegor had been covered in gore. He’d taken no notice of the blood, as if it were just red paint adorning his face. For someone who was normally very loud, the icy stare and silence that hung around him had been unsettling.

  “Sorry, I’m asleep on my feet. I’m heading to bed.”

  “You look awful.”

  Talandra was tempted to ask if he’d looked in the mirror, but such comments were never well received.

  “I thought you and my father were headed back to the front?”

  “We’re going in the morning.”

  Looking along the corridor she saw Graegor was alone. Also, for the first time in her life, she thought he looked nervous. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m curious about something. Thought you could help,” he said, walking beside her along the corridor.

  “Of course. What do you want to know?”

  “The Battlemages. What do you make of them?”

  The question sounded reasonable, given that they were an essential part of the war, but she sensed something else. Talandra wasn’t imagining the hesitation in his voice. The man never hesitated. If he wanted something he chased it, heart, body and soul, until he succeeded. Tact and diplomacy were alien concepts to him.

  He adjusted his eye patch again, a nervous twitch. The eye and two fingers on his right hand had been lost in a brutal war eighteen years ago. He refused to talk about it, and it would have remained a mystery if Talandra hadn’t begged her father for the story as a girl. For months afterwards she woke up screaming in the night.

  “I think the Battlemages have done very well,” said Talandra. “All major attacks have been repelled. I know it looks as if they’re just standing there—”

  Graegor waved that away. “I’ve seen what they can do. I know they don’t need to jump around to fight.”

  “Then what are you asking?” They rounded another corner and her chambers were at the end of the hall.

  “What do you know of them, personally? Their backgrounds.”

  Talandra raised an eyebrow. “You think one of them can’t be trusted? They might be a spy?” It was something she’d considered, and one of her people was making gentle enquiries. But if the General had suspicions she might have to dig more deeply. The man had only one eye, but he saw more than most.

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” said Graegor, starting to get annoyed. She could see all the familiar signs that he was losing his temper. With considerable effort he regained control, which made her raise an eyebrow. He was putting a lot of effort into their conversation.

  They reached her bedroom door and Graegor stared at the wooden surface, as if it would reveal the answers he sought. Talandra gave him time to find the right words. She leaned against the wall and the cold stone chilled her hands, temporarily sharpening her mind.

  “What do you know about Balfruss?” Graegor finally asked. “Where does he come from?”

  “I don’t know the name of the village, but Vannok would be able to tell you,” said Talandra, expecting that it would be enough, but the General still wore a blank expression. “They grew up together,” she added.

  Something seemed to click into place behind Graegor’s remaining eye and he nodded grimly, as if confirming something. All traces of anxiety faded from his expression and body language until the impenetrable warrior stood before her again.

  “Does that help?”

  “Goodnight, your Highness,” he said, stomping away before she could ask him anything further.

  If she hadn’t been asleep on her feet Talandra would have attempted to unravel what had just happened. Instead she decided it could wait until the morning and pushed open her door.

  “I thought the old bastard was never going to leave,” said Shani, sitting up in Talandra’s bed. She wore only a blanket and one long pale blue and white leg poked out from underneath.

  Talandra checked the corridor and then quickly stepped inside and locked the door. Technically she wasn’t betrothed and could sleep with whoever she wanted. However, Talandra was fairly sure her father would think it imprudent of her to sleep with one of her own spies.

  Normally Talandra felt a thrill at seeing Shani in private, and she always appreciated her energetic exertions, but not tonight.

  “It’s late, Shani,” said Talandra, sitting down on the end of the bed and pulling off her boots. “I’m tired. Maybe another night.”

  “Are you serious?” said Shani. All traces of the temptress faded from her amber eyes. Her long black hair shimmered like a curtain of silk in the light from candles scattered about the room. The room sme
lled of jasmine, and not all of it was from the flowers outside her window. Shani knew it was her favourite scent and undoubtedly wore some of it on her skin. Talandra’s libido stirred briefly at the thought, but her mind was turning in slow circles, and her ardour faded.

  “If all you want to do is sleep, you’re welcome to stay,” said Talandra. “But I suspect you have something else in mind.”

  Shani had a half-smile on her face, as if she still expected Talandra to tell her it was all a joke. When she didn’t oblige, all traces of humour slid off Shani’s face. With stiff movements she slipped out of bed and quickly pulled on her underwear. Not for the first time Talandra marvelled at the smoothness of the white skin on Shani’s pert backside. The skin on her back was a marbled mix of white shot through with seams of blue, while tendrils of colour ran down her legs and arms.

  Normally she enjoyed watching Shani getting dressed almost as much as seeing her clothes come off, but tonight there was nothing sensual about it. Shani managed to dress in black breeches that hugged her shapely legs, a white shirt and black jacket in less time than Talandra thought possible. After pulling on her belt, daggers and boots, she moved towards the door. Talandra knew she would regret it later if she didn’t offer something.

  “Shani, wait.” Shani had one hand resting on the door handle, her back towards the bed, and didn’t turn around. Talandra chose her next words with great care, but was struggling to think clearly. “I need you. More than you know.”

  It wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but she was exhausted and it was the truth. It was enough to make Shani turn, but there was still no warmth behind her tawny eyes.

  “The war is pulling me in all directions and I’m just exhausted. There’s so much going on. It’s just not a good night.” Talandra wasn’t sure if her words were having any effect on the Morrin, as her expression remained neutral, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

  “Get some rest. You look exhausted.” Shani finally relented and moved forward to gently touch her cheek with one hand. “I’ll come by in the morning.”

  “I do like your surprise visits, just not tonight.”