Battlemage

by Stephen Aryan

  Sabu started to edge away, not wanting to be included in the ire of the palace servant and the Queen she served.

  “No, no. I can get them. Later today,” promised Gunder, wiping sweat from his brow. “I just need to fetch them from the warehouse.”

  The servant looked at the padded seats by the front window and sat down. “I will wait here.”

  Gunder turned away, his smile dripping off his face, morphing into a grimace. He crooked a finger at Sabu and then wrote down three items on a piece of paper, which he handed to the boy.

  “I want you to run, don’t walk, all the way to the warehouse and fetch these spices. I will take the rest from stock.”

  The boy opened his mouth, no doubt to complain about the distance, but then saw Gunder’s expression. He flew out the door and a few seconds later Gunder heard his sandalled feet pounding down the road. When they receded into the distance, he brewed a fresh pot of tea for his guest and sat down in the opposite chair.

  “What are you doing here, Roza?” said Gunder in a hoarse whisper. “Weren’t we scheduled to meet tonight?” This was the first time she’d approached Gunder during the day, which worried him.

  “Do you have any idea what’s been happening in the palace?” said Roza. “It took me hours to get inside and speak to our people. Everyone is afraid for their lives.”

  “This has to do with Filbin’s visit, doesn’t it?”

  “If only it were about him,” said Roza, her voice trembling.

  “Let me fetch the tea. It will look suspicious if I don’t,” said Gunder. If either of them were being followed, or a stranger came into the shop, they needed to look the part.

  He returned a few minutes later and poured two glasses of tea, by which time Roza had composed herself. Playing the good host, Gunder fetched a plate of delicacies, spicy pastries and seasoned dates. He took a pair of dates, placing them on the edge of his plate.

  “A week ago, the Queen was supposed to make a public declaration,” said Roza in a steady voice. “The paper mills were working day and night. Notices were supposed to be posted everywhere in the city. Messengers were ready to be dispatched. Everything was in place, but then she changed her mind. She went against Taikon’s order.”

  Gunder took a mouthful of tea and sucked at a slice of lemon, but it was neither which made him grimace. He knew Taikon was unpredictable and dangerous, and that was when his orders were being followed. Being ignored would normally be lethal, but even he couldn’t openly kill the Queen of Yerskania. At least not yet, with the alliance barely holding together. The Queen had gambled and from the look on Roza’s face it had not paid off.

  “What did he do?”

  Roza stared at the dates on Gunder’s plate and shuddered. “High Priest Filbin arrived two days ago with a large retinue.”

  “I know, I met with him on his first night here.”

  “Did you know some of his people are Chosen?”

  “Who are they?” asked Gunder.

  “They’re what Taikon calls his fanatics. Last night Filbin persuaded the Queen to change her mind, but he also came with a message from Taikon. She was to be punished for delaying his plan. The Chosen castrated the Crown Prince.”

  Gunder choked on his tea and quickly put the glass down before he dropped it. The Queen had four children, but only one son. Two of her three daughters were already married and the youngest had the mind of a small child, preventing her from ever sitting on the throne. It hadn’t mattered as the Crown Prince was the eldest and the jewel of his mother’s eye. He possessed her intelligence and sharp wit, and the business acumen of his late father. Everyone had anticipated him becoming an even greater ruler than his mother. The crown of Yerskania had been passed down through their bloodline for nearly four hundred years. Now that was at an end.

  “They should’ve just killed him,” muttered Gunder.

  “The public declaration is going out today. Messengers are already on their way north and south.” Even as Roza finished speaking, Gunder saw a unit of the City Watch nailing declarations outside shops, on the side of wagons and onto stalls in the market. Crowds of people gathered around to read them, and from where he sat their shocked expressions were clear. A group of four swarthy Zecorrans, dressed in blue and white uniforms, walked past his shop window. They seemed oblivious to the outrage.

  “She’s abdicating?”

  “Yes, and worse,” said Roza with a grimace. “She’s announced Taikon as the Regent in her stead.”

  Gunder sucked at his teeth in shock. There was no need to hide it now that it had become public knowledge. It would be the only topic of conversation in every tavern across the city.

  “Do you have any good news?” asked Roza, clearly desperate for something to lift her spirits.

  “The war on the battlefield is going well. Taikon has the numbers, but they’re not as disciplined. He killed another group of Generals because the army didn’t meet his expectations.”

  “He’s insane,” said Roza. “How could his own people trust him? Couldn’t they see his insanity?”

  “He’s very charismatic. Not everyone in Zecorria supported him and we’re hoping Filbin will help with that when he returns home.”

  “Do you have any new orders from Talandra?”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to like it,” said Gunder. “I need you to hire someone to burn down a temple of the Maker.”

  Roza raised an eyebrow. “Is that a joke?”

  “No.” He scratched at his head and made a mental note to wash the hairpiece. He was fairly sure it had lice. “So far it’s only been pagan temples Taikon’s followers have burned down in the north, but Talandra wants people here to fear the worst. Their Queen has been forced out and now their religion is being overwritten by his cult. We need the people of this city to get involved.”

  “It will be dangerous,” mused Roza. “But it’s possible.”

  “I’ll leave the details up to you. If you need money to grease the axle, let me know.”

  “What do you want me to tell our people in the palace?”

  “To do nothing that might jeopardise their position. But if they feel in danger, to get out to a safe house.”

  Sabu came flapping back into the shop, red faced and breathless. Gunder moved to the counter and carefully weighed out the ingredients Sabu had brought with him. He wrapped up the herbs and spices in a Drassi paper box, which he decorated with a blue ribbon.

  Roza approached him and reached for her purse, but Gunder waved it away. “It’s my gift to her Majesty. A pleasure to serve.”

  Sabu nervously hopped from one foot to the other, as if he were desperate for a piss. They both knew that approval from a palace servant by itself meant nothing, but if it became publicly known that he was supplying the palace kitchens, his shop would gain a lot of prestige.

  “If the quality of your goods proves satisfactory, I will make sure you are credited,” promised Roza.

  “Thank you,” said Gunder with a wide grin.

  Without another word Roza swept out of the shop and down the street. When she was out of sight Sabu began to dance a little jig. Gunder smiled at the boy and let him have his moment.

  The situation in the north was dire and seemed to be getting worse every day. They were winning the war on the battlefield, but that wouldn’t matter if the west became one kingdom under Taikon’s rule.

  The people on the street were upset about the abdication notices being put up. He could hear them talking in loud voices and complaining about the news. They would need to do a lot more if they wanted to continue enjoying their current level of freedom.

  CHAPTER 18

  It seemed like only moments ago that Balfruss had closed his eyes and now someone was shaking his shoulder. He stubbornly ignored it and slapped the hand away but it came back, more urgent this time. As his groggy mind started to come awake, he slowly remembered where he was and sat up sharply, nearly hitting his head on a tent pole.

  It was pitch
black, and the dark figure crouched over him was hard to identify until it spoke.

  “Balfruss, you must wake,” said Ecko. “You’re needed. It’s urgent.”

  The little tribesman retreated outside and Balfruss could see him stoking up the fire and adding fresh wood. Rubbing the sand from his eyes Balfruss pulled on his boots and ran his fingers through his hair and beard. Both were getting long and unkempt. He’d needed to get his hair cut since returning to Seveldrom, but hadn’t found the time. He’d been so tired last night he’d gone to sleep in his clothes, but now it was a blessing as he was already wrapped up against the cold.

  “What time is it?” asked Balfruss, emerging from his tent and sitting down by the fire. The others were asleep, and looking around he saw no signs of alarm or distress in the camp.

  “Not yet dawn,” said Ecko, hanging the teapot on its hook.

  “What’s happening? What’s so urgent?” Balfruss was still woolly headed and his arms and legs felt heavy. Looking at the sky he guessed he’d been asleep three hours at most.

  At first Ecko said nothing and kept fussing with the fire. When the water began to boil he brewed some of his stinky tea and offered Balfruss a cup. He was going to refuse, but then realised he didn’t know much about the customs of the First People. The last thing he wanted to do was offend a new friend. They’d spoken about Ecko’s family and his home, but more often he seemed happy to listen to the others when they talked.

  “They are coming. Very soon now,” Ecko said eventually.

  He sipped at his tea and Balfruss stared at the brew. It was made from a black root and ground leaves, and some little white bits floated on top. The smell made him gag, and the first couple of mouthfuls were difficult to swallow. Despite that, he kept drinking it and by the time he reached the bottom of his cup the fuzziness of his thoughts was beginning to fade.

  A few minutes later they heard a frantic pounding of hooves as two warriors rode into their camp with a third horse in tow.

  “Are you Balfruss?” asked one of the riders.

  “Yes.”

  The man was rigid with tension and his eyes were haunted. “What’s happened?” asked Balfruss.

  “I’m Garrow. You must come with me. You’ve been summoned to the palace.” He turned his tired horse around and gestured at the empty saddle. The two men must have ridden through the night, as the capital was several hours away. A cold prickle of dread crept up Balfruss’s spine.

  As Balfruss climbed into the saddle he glanced over his shoulder towards Ecko. The tribesman seemed deep in prayer, but Balfruss was sure one eye opened and then closed again.

  The sentries made no challenge as the three of them rode out of the camp at a gallop. Balfruss asked Garrow what had happened, but he wouldn’t answer so they rode in tense silence.

  After a couple of hours the horses were starting to tire. They would not make it all the way back to the palace before collapsing, so the riders were forced to divert off the main road and approach one of the staging areas. They were challenged long before they saw the Morrin on duty, but Garrow called out a password and they were allowed to approach.

  The Morrin sentries were kind enough to light a couple of lanterns, but they kept their backs to the light to maintain their night vision. As his eyes adjusted to the faint glow, Balfruss saw the Morrin were heavily armoured and each had a sword on his belt and a crossbow in hand. He could hear soldiers snoring, and could just make out dark hillocks of the supply dumps rising above his head. Even this far into his own territory King Matthias was not taking any risks with provisions.

  They exchanged their horses for fresh mounts and climbed back into the saddle. As soon as they reached the main road they went as fast as they dared in the dark. With only a few stars to light their way, the landscape around them was a sea of grey and purple shadows. The sound of the hooves scared away any nightlife, but Balfruss heard the faint whisper of bats on the hunt.

  The urgency of the summons and the closed-mouthed warriors started to prey on Balfruss’s mind. He started conjuring up countless scenarios and tried to prepare himself for the worst.

  They seemed to be racing the dawn, but the sun crested the horizon and had risen well above it before Charas came into view. The replacement horses were starting to tire as well and he was afraid what would happen if they pushed them for much longer, but when Balfruss suggested they slow down he was told to keep going, even if it meant riding the animals to death.

  By the time they rode through the city gates they’d already passed a dozen wagons going in the opposite direction. The city was awake with traders setting out their wares in the streets. The warriors led him directly towards the Old City and then up the winding streets to the palace. As if they could sense the end of their journey was near, the horses found a sudden burst of energy that kept them going until they reached the palace gates.

  The warriors leapt off their horses, while Balfruss managed to slide off without falling onto his face. His thighs burned and he felt it as if his legs wouldn’t support his weight. They didn’t give him any time to rest and he stumbled after Garrow towards the front doors. The back of his neck itched, and glancing around he saw at least two dozen warriors on the walls. Every man wore a bleak expression, as if blighted by a personal tragedy. Two heavily armed guards stood either side of the main doors, their expressions a perfect match for the others. Any time he passed a servant in the halls they looked on the verge of tears and many had red eyes. Balfruss focused his will and drew power from the Source. As it filled his being the aches and pains receded, until he was striding along at the same pace as the warriors. He would pay later for borrowing energy, but right now he needed a sharp body and mind.

  To his surprise they entered the royal living quarters. The number of armed guards increased, until there were at least two stationed every few paces along the corridor. Eventually they reached an area that seemed to be the centre of all activity. Vannok was sat outside a door dozing on a chair, but as they drew near he came awake with a start, drawing his sword.

  “Easy, Vann, it’s me,” said Balfruss. Vannok slowly relaxed and eventually let go of his weapon. Balfruss was about to ask what had happened when he smelled it. All he had to do was turn his head and look into the room, but he didn’t. Not just yet. From the bags under his eyes and colour of his skin, Vannok had been awake all night.

  “Get some rest,” suggested Balfruss, but his friend stubbornly shook his head.

  “Bring the others,” said Vannok and the two warriors marched away.

  Sensing that the immediate threat had passed Balfruss released the power he was holding.

  “When?”

  Vannok shook his head. “See it first, then ask your questions.”

  Balfruss braced himself and turned to look properly into the room. The first thing he noticed was the door had been staved in and broken off its hinges. The stout wood had not given up easily, as there were large splinters littering the threshold.

  The curtains had been thrown open and a faint breeze stirred them, but it wasn’t enough to dislodge the overpowering stench of death. As he stepped over the threshold Balfruss felt a faint remnant of power. An echo of what had happened. It also told him who had been here. The seed of fear in his stomach began to sprout.

  The private quarters were spacious, bigger than any he’d seen in the palace, and yet they were sparsely decorated. No riches or great works of art decorated the walls. There were only a few personal items, and none of them looked valuable. He was only delaying the inevitable by not looking at the thing on the bed, but he wasn’t ready.

  Hung on the back wall, above a huge stone fireplace, was a six-foot sword with serrated edges like shark’s teeth. It would be impossibly heavy and totally useless as a weapon. There wasn’t a man alive who could wield it, and yet he knew there would be stories of men who could. In the far corner he spotted a small shrine devoted to the Maker with an old battered stone icon.

  Beside it a tarnished
old helmet sat on a shoulder-high pedestal. Balfruss guessed it was either a remnant from another age or a family heirloom. On the mantelpiece he saw a small faded painting of a beautiful blonde woman, but he didn’t stare. It was too personal an item and he was starting to feel like a grave robber searching the pockets of the dead. No doubt all of the items had enormous sentimental value, and even a cursory glance told him there would be many myths and legends surrounding them. They were alive with history and pulsating with energy that enriched them, making them invaluable.

  Unable to ignore it any longer, Balfruss walked through the open doorway into the master bedchamber. A large four-poster bed framed a bloodbath that he knew would haunt his nightmares for a long time. The shredded remains of a man’s body lay spread out across the sheets. At first he thought there must be two victims as there was so much blood, most of which had dried and turned a ruddy brown. Pink flesh and stark white bones protruded where none should be showing. Bright purple and rich red innards spilled out of the torso, like scattered treasures tossed out of a chest of dead flesh. Purple coils of human rope were strewn around the floor, staining the rugs with filth. The stench of dead flesh filled his nostrils, working its way down into the pit of his stomach.

  And the eyes. Unmercifully they remained intact in a face permanently marked with horrific pain. King Matthias’s corpse stared at Balfruss. Bile rose up and seared the back of his throat. He struggled to swallow and was forced to turn away and take a minute to catch his breath. He had seen death and brutality before but this was something else. This murder had been conducted with malice and the victim had been terrorised. This was worse than anything he’d seen in an abattoir. The butcher showed mercy for the cattle, killing them as quickly and cleanly as possible. None had been shown here. The King had died in horrific agony.

  “How?” someone asked. Balfruss didn’t turn around as he was still trying to think it through. “How was this done?”

  Balfruss waved the question away, struggling to believe what he was contemplating. “A moment, please.”