Shadowmasque

by Michael Cobley

  Tashil smiled to herself. Yes, that’s really what we could do with now — a lost heir to the throne who can wield devastating powers. Sadly, they seem a little thin on the ground in this age…

  Then her attention was pulled back to Calabos’ discussion when Dardan spoke up.

  “No, Calabos, this is an invitation to disaster,” he aid. “We agreed last night that it would be you, me and Sounek who would track down the dark sorcerer’s lair, together. Dividing us would be folly.”

  “I am thinking only of your safety and the Watchers’ long term survival,” Calabos said gravely.

  “Yet together we would present a tough obstacle for our adversary,” Sounek said.

  “You must understand that he will focus his attacks on me,” Calabos said. “And if I fail, how long might either of you then survive?”

  Dardan glowered at this but Sounek smiled.

  “Ah, but my dear Calabos, if he has to go through us to get to you, think how weakened he may become.”

  Calabos sighed and shook his head. “You are both stubborn, stubborn men!”

  “Indeed,” said Dardan.

  “And whatever I say, you’ll still foist yourselves upon my company when I go ashore at Yared’s Wharf, yes?”

  “Just so,” Sounek said.

  “Then it seems that I must yield to your impetuous demands. Perhaps you should decide between yourselves who should be first to face our enemy’s ruthless power.”

  “Naturally, we hope that events will not develop in such an unfortunate way,” Sounek said.

  “Yet we shall be prepared,” Dardan said.

  For a moment all three men smiled at each other, and Inryk laughed.

  “Then its settled,” he said. “We put you three ashore at Yareds Wharf, then the rest of us sail down to the bay then along to this safe house on the south shore at…what’s the village called again?”

  “Rishtu,” Dardan said.

  “You should hear from us by the time you reach the house,” Calabos said. “If you hear nothing from us by, say, an hour after nightfall you should assume the worst. The papers of the Order, including a full list of all secret caches, houses and assets, I have placed in a sealed casket in my shouldersack which I’m leaving with you, thus you can decide what course of action to follow, in the event of….”

  “What a dismal summary,” said Sounek.

  “The facts of our situation cannot be made jolly, I’m afraid,” Calabos said as he stood stiffly with the aid of a stick. “It won’t be long before we reach Yared’s so I must go aft to let Captain Jodec know who’s going and who’s staying.”

  Tashil sat forward as he sidled past and climbed a narrow set of steps to the cockpit where Jodec and his helmsman sat. Like the rest of the Watchers, Calabos wore ordinary townsfolk attire, in his case a heavy red doublet over a light green tunic and plain brown troos with a soft, brimless hat of some dark gray material, yet he somehow contrived to look commanding or even kingly. As she watched him ascend the steps it occurred to her that she had never been seized with worries about his safety, until that encounter with the Archmage Tangaroth a couple of days ago. When Calabos passed out and fell to the floor before them all, it had been a shock to realise that he was vulnerable and mortal. Yet it was something that she knew Dardan had already been aware of, and in discussions last night she had volunteered to go with Calabos in search of the adversary’s lair. But the ensuing vigorous argument (of which this discussion was merely the aftermath) put paid to her playing such a part. She had been full of anger and resentment but rumination and a good night’s sleep had done away with such self-centredness. As her old mentor Tregaylis once said, ‘No matter where we are, we are in the right place’, which led her to wonder if she was there for the right reason.

  Standing, she left Inryk, Sounek and Dardan talking tactics and went along to the for’ard end of the deckhouse, where she could sit and gaze over the side at the rippling waters or the sights on the riverbank. She smiled to see the folk of the little townships they passed, farmers and carpenters, thatchers, sheepherders, children who would gleefully wave at her while running to keep pace, barking dogs and scolding mothers. There had been times when the humdrum ordinariness of a life free from the beck and call of the Lesser Power seemed very appealing, but such feelings had faded over the years to be replaced by a resolute understanding of the word ‘duty’.

  Hearing someone approach she turned to see her brother Atemor sitting down next to her. He gave her a faint smile and for a moment or two said nothing as he stared over at the crofts and stable of the riverbank. But she knew he would not be silent long.

  “’Sheel,” he said. “How long must I stay with you and your friends? I have to return to our family and warn them about your mad emperor.”

  “I’m sorry, Atti,” she said. “I’m not sure but I’ll speak to Calabos to see if we can spare money to buy you passage back to Besh-Darok when we reach Rishtu.”

  Atemor frowned. “How long could that be? Several days? Could you not put me ashore somewhere along the north bank with enough coin for a new horse?”

  “It’s a good plan,” she said, “But we’ll have to get Calabos’ agreement. I’ll ask him before he leaves us.”

  They did not have long to wait. Some minutes later, the Merry Meddler rounded a sheer-sided promontory to see where a limb of land jutted from the south bank into the Valewater. Among the bushes and stunted trees was a collection of cabins and animal pens clustered near a rudimentary L-shaped pier which had to be Yared’s Wharf. The riverboat came in slow enough for Jodec’s deckhands to jump onto the pier and lash the fore and aft hawsers, during which Calabos emerged from the deckhouse with Dardan and Sounek. Tashil caught his attention and outlined Atemor’s discontent and his proposal to which Calabos readily agreed.

  “I am sad that you’ll be leaving us,” Calabos told him, clasping his hand. “It may be just as dangerous for you near Besdarok as here, but I wish you the best that fate has to offer, Atemor. It has been refreshing and most pleasing to meet one of my colleague’s relatives. Fare you well, ser.”

  Then he turned to Tashil and Inryk. “I’m going to say to you what I’ve said to Dybel and the others — we may be going to face our doom….or not. The next hour, day, or week is not written, thus we will not say goodbye except to say — may the light be with you when you walk in dark places.”

  The Merry Meddler rocked as the three mounted and crossed a short gantry onto the pier. Calabos paused to look back and give a nod to Captain Jodec who then ordered his deckhands to cast off and very soon the boat was drifting back into the main flow of the river as once more the sail was rigged.

  Tashil stayed by the side, looking back, even though the three Watchers themselves were swift to leave Yared’s Wharf behind. She could not avoid the sense of loss she felt but was determined not to give into despair, so she set herself to thinking about the practicalities of what lay ahead, whether or not they should stay our of sight as they neared the centre of Sejeend, what to do if river wardens stopped them, and just where to put Atemor ashore.

  Just after Yared’s Wharf was where the outskirts of the city actually began, larger buildings and storerooms for the grain and meat that was gathered from the western districts of Roharka prior to shipping to the main markets. Denser rows of houses, fewer farmsteads, more lumber yards, tanneries and forges. The afternoon, however, was nearing its end and with the sinking sun and the arrival of grey clouds some lamps were being lit, ashore as well as on board. The riverside roads became busier as some people headed for home and the carts of bakers and brewers rattled off to the city’s inns and taverns. Once, Tashil saw a wagon on an open stretch of road, speeding citywards in the shadow of the cliffs with three passengers, two of whom sat in the back while the third shared the driver’s bench, a man who was wearing a red jerkin and a shapeless grey hat….

  But before she could say anything, the road took the wagon away from the bank and out of sight beyond houses and
trees. Then she realised that drawing attention to themselves and what might have been Calabos and the others would not have been entirely wise.

  Further on, the Merry Meddler sailed with the sun dipping ever lower and a sharp coldness creeping into the breeze at their backs. The cliffs south of the Valewater pushed closer to the bank and soon the Melvio Stairs came into view, its long rack of steps made visible in the deepening shadow by torches that burned at intervals all the way up. As they passed it by, Tashil glanced back Dybel who was stretched out on one of the benches, asleep beneath a cloak. He was still frail from the healing last night at the inn at Murstig, and it would be more than a week before he regained something like his former vitality. Tashil had suggested that he should stay in Murstig to recuperate but Dybel had argued vehemently for accompanying them, and Calabos had agreed. Such were the dangers from the spirit-hosts, he argued, that Dybel would be safer with the rest of the Watchers than by himself. The sense in that was obvious so Tashil gave her assent.

  With the Melvio Stairs sliding away behind them, the Valewater curved slightly to reveal a densely-wooded hillock in front of which was a tall warehouse with a blackened, burnt-out roof. She glanced round at Inryk, who was sitting further inside the deckhouse, peering out a gap in the canvas.

  “I think we’re passing the Amatellis Retreat,” she said. “Do you see it?”

  He turned away from the canvas, grimacing. “I’ll forgo the pleasure if you don’t mind,” he said darkly. “Not a place I want to be reminded of.”

  “My apologies,” she said.

  “Accepted,” Inryk said with a mock loftiness.

  Grey cloud had been crossing the sky in tails and patches that grew into an unbroken shroud, even as the sun slipped towards the horizon. There was no rain and as the light faded the surroundings seemed to lose a little colour, becoming vaguely grainy in appearance. The riverboat was approaching the centre of Sejeend now, and the air of tension on board was rising as they passed river warden boats heading upriver, or attracted the brief attention of guards patrolling the bridges or standing sentry on either bank. Tashil had already discuss this part of the journey with Captain Jodec who said that if stopped he would claim he was heading to Norshen to pick up a load of timber and had taken on a few passengers along the way. She then had everyone think up a simple story of where they were going and why — then sat back and hoped for the best.

  The nearer they got to the mouth of the Valewater, the more the city’s sea defences became visible. Where the Valewater spilled into the bay, two immense gates stood open yet ready to be winched shut with hawsers and chains at first sight of a seaborne attack. In addition, massive walls stretched along the north bank to a bastion linked to the garrison of Hubranda Lock, and south to meet a series of lesser walls that led straight up to the sheer cliffs and cut off the docks from the rest of Sejeend. And overseeing it all was Hojamar Keep, a straight-sided, circular fortress of pale stone.

  As the Merry Meddler drew nearer to the sea gates, Tashil gazed up at the Keep, wondering how many troops remained to defend Sejeend now. A huge banner bearing the regal crown-and-tree device of Khatrimantine flew from the battlements. Several yards along from it, looking almost dwarfed, was a solitary cloaked figure standing with both hands resting on the crenellations. Intrigued, she focussed her perception through her magesight which brought the figure closer in her vision, but annoyingly just as he turned and took a step or two away. Tashil was about to shrug and give it up when the man came back to assume the same posture, his features now clearly apparent. It was Corlek Ondene.

  “Mother’s name!” she gasped.

  And even as the shock of recognition jolted through her, Ondene snapped round to look straight at her and his face seemed lit from within by a malefic glee. In reflex she broke out of the magesight as she staggered back and would have tripped on a coil of rope had Inryk not been close enough to steady her.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “I saw Ondene at the top of the Keep,” she said. “He looked…possessed, and he saw me!”

  Inryk nodded, face grim as he leaned on the wooden rail and stared across at Hojamar Keep. Then he looked quickly at the dockside and the wharfs, then round at the seagates and the bay beyond.

  “There’s trouble coming,” he said.

  Almost as soon as he spoke, Tashil spotted the squad of soldiers emerging from the Keep’s main doors and running down towards the wharfs, with some splitting off to head for the sea gates. With a glance she gauged the speed of the Merry Meddler against that of the running soldiers and realised that they were not going to make it.

  She whirled and dashed through the deck house past a surprised Atemor and Enklar, leaped up the steps to the cockpit and came face to face with Jodec just as he was uncorking a leather bottle.

  “Later for that, captain,” she said and swiftly outline their predicament. Jodec’s expression went from annoyed to puzzled to panicky in short order.

  “This weren’t what I agreed ter,” he said. “Trouble with the river wardens’d bankrupt me! I should drop anchor and wait for them to take you…”

  “Come now, Jodec,” she said. “You’re already implicated, so you better put on every scrap of sail and pray that we don’t get captured. Because if we do, we’ll tell them that you’re one of us and have been for years…”

  “Mother damn you!” he spluttered.

  “Spare me the histrionics,” she said. “Just get us through the gates before they close.”

  Leaving Jodec cursing and stamping, she hurried back down to the deckhouse where Inryk was explaining the situation to Dybel, Enklar, Rog and Gillat. The two guards were already donning armour and helms, even as a volley of arrows struck the boat from the south bank, prompting another burst of invective from the captain. As everyone retreated to the wholly-wooden part of the deckhouse, Dybel drew Tashil’s attention back to Hojamar Keep which he was observing through a small, slatted porthole. When she looked and saw that the regal banner had been replaced by several smaller coloured pennons, she groaned and dashed forward to see what was happening at the mouth of the Valewater. And sure enough, the gates were starting to close.

  A black sense of angry despair welled up within. Then a couple of arrows clattered on the deck nearby while a third struck the planking an inch from her foot and jutted there, vibrating. Quickly she dived back under cover then craned her head out to look back the way they had come but saw three river warden boats starting out from a jetty 100 yards upriver.

  And the gates are less than 100 yards ahead, she thought, and closing fast. We’ll have to turn about — there’s no other choice.

  Then a handon her shoulder brought her back in to face Dybel.

  “Keep going,” he said, indicating Inryk who was balancing a short spear in one hand, face full of concentration. Tashil stared for a moment, then said, “Cast?”

  Dybel smile, and she nodded and hurried aft to the covered cockpit where the captain was cowering on the floor, cursing them all.

  “”I’m turning back!” Jodec wailed. “We can’t…”

  “You’ll hold this course,” she said menacingly at the fearful young helmsman grasping the tiller. He met her gaze for just a moment before nodding vigorously.

  “Good,” she said, then looked round in time to see Inryk standing outside the deckhouse, amidships as he drew back the spear and smoothly threw it straight towards the fortified chain house that sat on the right of the sea gates. Tashil followed its flight, a graceful, undeviating, flat curve through the air. The chains that were hauling on the massive gates were being winched in by a stepped series of huge cogs driven by falling weight mechanisms in two squat towers either side of the gates. She knew that the only vulnerability in the entire assembly was where the great chain passed between two heavy cogs before being wound onto its drum. In the greyness of sundown and the faint mist that was starting to rise, the spear fell into the shadows by the harbour battlements.

  Tashil thought sh
e could still see some figures running around the gantries near the cog sheds, and for a moment there was nothing as their riverboat sailed on towards the still-closing gates. Then there was a loud sharp crack which reverberated along the dockside. She had no explanation for it, but she could see that the right hand gate had stopped moving altogether…then her fierce exultation faded as Inryk cried out and slumpd to the deck with an arrow in his shoulder. Tashil had Rog and Gillat venture forth to carry him back to the deckhouse.

  “Got it right into one of the chain links,” he said, smiling despite his wound.

  “We’ll take care that properly once we’re through,” Tashil said. “We’re a bit busy just now…”

  They were less than 50 yards from the ajar gate, and infuriated guards along the wharfs were firing volley after volley of arrows onto the Merry Meddler. They were also in range of the archers along the gates themselves and as they approached they attracted a steady rain of bolts, slingstones and arrows. The distance shrank and when they were less than a dozen away Tashil could at last see that one of the great winch chains had snapped and one of the twin cogs had been wrenched out of its bearings.

  Then they were drawing level with the tall, heavy gates themselves, passing through the open one, and out into the darkening bay.

  “We did it,” said Dybel said, shaking his head.

  “I’m afraid we’re not quite in the clear yet,” Tashil said, peering round the side of the deckhouse at the river warden boat which was just emerging from between the gates. These were small craft driven by three pairs of oarsmen and usually carrying about half a dozen wardens. As it pointed its prow at the Merry Meddler, another three glided out into the encroaching dusk.