The Righteous Blade

by Stan Nicholls

  He was old and grizzle-faced, but his back was straight and his stride steadfast. His apparel consisted of a simple blue robe held fast by a cummerbund, and gold braided slippers; a style favoured by the sorcerer classes. As he walked he smoothed down errant strands of his grey hair and copious beard.

  ‘I have to say your attitude’s more than a little acidic today, Patrician,’ he observed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Phoenix. It’s a fraught time.’

  ‘You’re exhausted, man.’

  ‘The pressure’s on. With the move so near–’

  ‘You can’t bear the weight of the world on your own shoulders. You look as though you’ve got a foot in the grave. You have to learn to relax.’

  ‘Relax? How can I relax? The preparations, the logistics, the number of people involved; the sheer scale of what we’re trying to do is staggering.’

  ‘Even so, you should let go a bit. Delegate.’

  ‘Did you know,’ Karr replied, ignoring this advice, ‘that half a dozen homes of colonial administrators went up in flames last night?’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘That wasn’t our doing. People are starting to take matters into their own hands.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it? The more blows the regime suffers, the better for our cause, surely?’

  ‘Armed rebellion’s not the plan, you know that. We harry them, yes, but we don’t want outright confrontation. Everything we’re trying to do is predicated on the fact that we couldn’t win that way.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, Karr. If the populace feels aggrieved enough to hit out, who are we, of all people, to say they can’t?’

  ‘We don’t need anarchy.’

  ‘I’m not sure I agree with that. The clampdown’s increased recruitment, if nothing else.’

  ‘And it’s all my fault.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Three months of worsening repression. Curfews, innocents rounded up, torture, summary executions; all sparked off by the raid on the records office. I should never have authorised the mission. It was a mistake.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. We hit them where it hurts, and we knew there were likely to be repercussions. This constant blaming of yourself is getting tiresome.’

  ‘Anything we gained has been outweighed by the consequences. The paladins have been given their head. Such small freedoms as we had are even smaller. Why shouldn’t I blame myself?’

  ‘Because it isn’t your fault. Or is your self-regard so great that you can’t see you’re no more of a cog than the rest of us? You’re not alone in trying to steer this scheme, you know.’

  Karr looked chastened. ‘I suppose I deserved that. I guess what’s troubling me is that I hoped we’d have more control at this point.’

  ‘Control’s an illusion, you should realise that by now. The best we can do is ride the surge. Don’t lose faith, Karr, not now. Not when we’re this close, and when our destination’s causing so much strife.’

  ‘Strife’s too hard a word. Some have still to be convinced, that’s all.’

  ‘Not hard to see why, is it?’ The wizard crossed his arms. ‘I mean, of all the places to pick–’

  ‘Don’t start that again, Phoenix, please. The refuge was agreed by all of you in Covenant, and by the full Council.’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m just saying it’s an…unusual choice. And that’s not a rare opinion among those who know about it.’

  ‘The issue’s settled. There’s no turning back now.’

  ‘All I’m doing is reminding you that the decision isn’t universally popular,’ Phoenix pointed out, a testy note creeping into his voice.

  ‘Then you’re saying nothing that hasn’t already been said.’

  Just as they reached a stalemate, Goyter appeared with a pair of new arrivals. One was tall and hardy, his garb black, his eyes dark and penetrating. In his wake came a youth, nearly a man; not shaven like his companion but striving for whiskers, and acting coy.

  ‘Morning, Reeth,’ Karr greeted the older man, glad of the interruption.

  Caldason nodded.

  ‘And how are you this day?’ Karr inquired of the youth.

  Kutch Pirathon said nothing, looking instead to the Qalochian.

  ‘It’s been happening again,’ Caldason explained.

  ‘The visions?’ Phoenix asked.

  ‘And his way of trying to avoid them.’

  Kutch stared at his feet.

  Phoenix sighed. ‘We have to get to the root of this.’ To Caldason, he added, ‘It would help if we knew more about what he was seeing.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I can about that.’ The response was frosty enough to forbid further questioning.

  ‘Come on, Kutch, let’s see if we can talk this through.’ Phoenix took the boy’s arm.

  ‘Just a minute,’ Karr said. He indicated Kutch’s blood-speckled jerkin. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Caldason returned, casually defiant.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you about your brawling?’

  ‘You can say it as often as you like. It won’t stop me acting as I see fit.’

  ‘The last thing we need now is to lose somebody like you, and we can certainly do without drawing attention unnecessarily.’

  ‘A watch patrol caught me,’ Kutch volunteered, ‘and Reeth–’

  ‘It was necessary, Karr,’ Caldason cut in. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer the boy was captured and made to talk?’

  ‘I was being stupid,’ Kutch admitted, eyes downcast.

  ‘And reckless,’ Caldason added.

  The boy looked up. He almost whispered, ‘I don’t think I’m the only one guilty of that.’

  Caldason was going to say something, but checked himself.

  It was Karr who spoke. ‘This isn’t a time to be playing the fool.’ His gaze flicked from man to boy. ‘Either of you.’ Goyter and Phoenix loitered at the fringe of the conversation. He addressed them. ‘By the look of him, the first thing Kutch needs is sleep. See he gets some. Then do what you can, Phoenix.’

  The wizard nodded and made to leave. Then he noticed Caldason staring at him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I think I preferred the ape.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ Phoenix turned on his heel.

  Kutch gave one glance back before he and Goyter followed into the maze of cellars.

  ‘The boy worries me,’ Karr confessed as he watched them go.

  ‘He should,’ Caldason replied. ‘I know what he sees.’

  ‘And we’re no nearer grasping how you came to share these illusions.’

  ‘I’ve spent years trying to work out why I have them, and what they might mean. I feel as though I’ve…infected him in some way.’

  ‘We can only hope Phoenix and Covenant come up with a solution.’

  ‘If they don’t make things worse.’

  ‘Your attitude towards magic’s understandable, but it hardly accords with reality. You’d have us turn our backs on the only possible remedy for the boy. Not to mention the many other benefits.’ He nodded towards the firing range.

  The first batch of dummies, charred beyond recognition, had been dragged away. Now the testers were working on destroying a new group, some of them dressed in the distinctive red tunics of the paladin clans. Eye-aching miniature lightning bolts crackled from the testers’ wands. An arrow was loosed. Bound with a chicane spell, it appeared to be dozens of identical shafts. The glamour bolts imploded on impact and vanished; the real arrow pierced its target. Projectiles hurled from slingshots exploded at the manikins’ feet in a green flowering of crazed venomous snakes.

  ‘I’ll take cold steel any day,’ Caldason said.

  ‘It’s not what Kutch needs.’

  ‘He did tonight.’

  Karr slowly shook his head and laughed softly. ‘We’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?’

  ‘Probably not.’ Caldason regarded him. ‘You said Kutch needed rest. That goes double f
or you. You look worn.’

  ‘Everybody’s been telling me that lately.’

  ‘Then listen; they can’t all be wrong. You’re bearing too much.’

  ‘It’ll soon be a little less, I hope. I’m resigning my patricianship.’

  ‘You’ve said that often enough.’

  ‘This time I mean it. It’s a move I should have made long ago.’

  ‘Good. When?’

  ‘A matter of days. It’s going to feel strange after serving for so long.’

  ‘I don’t believe politicians achieve that much. Even the few decent ones end up tainted. You’re better out of it.’

  ‘I’ve come to think that way myself. And that maybe I’ve wasted all those years.’

  ‘No, not wasted. I didn’t say politicians don’t achieve anything.’

  The patrician smiled. ‘From you, that’s quite a concession. But I’m ready for the change, though it’s going to take away what little protection the status affords me.’

  ‘So do what you’re always urging Rukanis to do; go underground.’

  ‘I’ll have to think about that. Disappearing after I quit could just confirm the authorities’ suspicions about me. It might be best to keep some kind of public profile for a while. But I have a more awkward task before I make that decision.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A social gathering, and a very prestigious one. It’s a ball, in fact, so it combines two things I don’t much care for: official functions and masquerades.’

  ‘They’re not exactly to my taste either, but it doesn’t sound that bad.’

  ‘You haven’t heard the worst of it. It’s hosted jointly by the Gath Tampoorian diplomatic corps and the clans. I’ll have the pleasure of the company of Envoy Andar Talgorian, and no less than Ivak Bastorran himself.’

  ‘I’d pay a good price for a few minutes alone with that one myself,’ Caldason returned grimly. ‘But if it’s such a trial, don’t go.’

  ‘Protocol wouldn’t allow that. Particularly as it’s where my resignation’s due to be announced.’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to smile through it.’

  ‘Yes, and after that I can concentrate entirely on our plans for the refuge. Talking of which…’ He altered course with a politician’s deftness. ‘…I’m having a meeting soon with the owner of the location. I’d like you there.’

  ‘What could I contribute?’

  ‘Something very valuable, perhaps. I can’t go into details now, but will you come?’

  ‘Some idea of what you expect of me would help.’

  ‘Possibly a service to the new state. Perhaps nothing beyond attending the meeting.’

  Caldason thought about it. ‘All right.’

  ‘I’d like Serrah in on this, too.’

  ‘The meeting?’

  ‘This could concern your unit, and she is a member.’

  ‘Who hasn’t been on a mission for three months.’

  ‘I’d like the option of her being included. We can’t afford to have somebody with Serrah’s experience stand idle, not when we’re this stretched.’

  ‘I’d like to have her back. She’s moved on a lot since she tried to kill herself. But she’s still…unpredictable.’

  ‘She’s lost so much, Reeth. Her child, her job, her country, all she believed in. I think that entitles her to be a bit erratic, don’t you? I’m not convinced she’s ready for mission duties yet, but we should at least consider the possibility.’

  ‘As I said, I’d like her back.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll get word to her.’ He looked around the bustling cellar and spotted Goyter returning. He waved her over.

  ‘Any idea where Serrah is this morning?’ he asked.

  Goyter licked a thumb and consulted one of her numerous pieces of parchment. ‘She’s with Tanalvah Lahn.’

  ‘Ah, good. Tanalvah’s steady. She’ll keep Serrah out of trouble.’

  3

  Serrah Ardacris was in trouble.

  Horrified, Tanalvah watched as her charge was driven back towards a wall by the two sentries still on their feet. They had pikes, giving them the advantage, and they were enraged. Serrah fought like a rabid thing, hacking at them savagely with her blade as she retreated.

  To Tanalvah the situation looked dire. But Serrah seemed to be laughing.

  Three of the sentries’ comrades were down. One was groaning and trying to rise. Another sprawled unconscious. The third lay very still in a widening pool of blood. The bench they’d been using as their checkpoint was overturned, and scraps of parchment fluttered in the chill morning breeze. On either side of the wagon that served as a roadblock a small crowd had gathered.

  A loud crack brought Tanalvah back to earth. Serrah had chopped clean through one of the guard’s pikes. Its bearer was disbelieving for a second, then narrowly dodged her follow-up swing. Discarding the useless halves, he quickly pulled back, fumbling for his own blade. She turned her grinning wrath on his companion.

  He had a simple strategy: herding her like swine until he could bury the pike in her chest. Serrah thought him unimaginative. She spun at him, using the momentum to hurry along a low stroke. He recoiled, avoiding it by a hair’s-breadth. Her next blow scoured his fist, biting deep. Wailing, he let go of the pike with his injured hand, upsetting its balance. As he botched correcting it, she went in again. He took the full force of her blow, toppled backwards, and landed flat-out, arms and legs akimbo, the pike rolling clear.

  From where she stood, pressed into a doorway thirty paces distant, Tanalvah could swear she heard a hefty smack as he hit the flagstones.

  Head thrown back, her long blonde hair falling loose, Serrah was laughing. Partly in triumph, but mostly from some darker impulse.

  The remaining sentry charged, bellowing to mask his dread. She stood her ground and met him. Their swords crashed together in a discordant note nobody failed to hear. Then their blades took to chattering; a brittle, malevolent discourse in steel.

  The intensity of her attack began to overwhelm him. He longed to abandon the fight. It was in his face. In his eyes. Even Tanalvah saw it, a good stone’s lob away. But there was no break, and their clamour grew more frantic. The sentry hammered and slashed, while Serrah wielded her blade like a scalpel. He tried to overcome her with force and bluster. She fenced.

  And in a split second, struck. Her blade raked his cheek. He cried out and slapped a palm to the wound. Crimson ribbons dribbled from between his fingers. In pain and fury he rushed at her, brandishing his sword, yelling hoarsely. She swept aside his blade and cut him down. He sank rather than fell, ending on his knees, head lolling. She was already moving away as he pitched to the ground.

  Tanalvah slipped from her hiding place and dashed to her friend. She found her smiling.

  ‘Come on! We have to get away!’

  Vacantly, Serrah stared at her.

  Tanalvah grabbed her wrist. ‘We can’t stay here. Come on!’

  Smile fading, Serrah focused. She glanced down at Tanalvah’s hand. ‘You’re shaking.’

  ‘You’re the one who should be.’ She squeezed Serrah’s arm and implored, ‘This is crazy. They’ll be others here soon. We’ve got to go.’

  The small crowd watched them silently.

  Serrah looked about, as though seeing her surroundings for the first time. Something of her old self emerged. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right.’ She nodded at the main thoroughfare. ‘That way.’

  They ran.

  A smattering of cheers rose from the crowd, and several people shouted encouragement. Others began yelling abuse. As the women jogged away, a shoving, ill-tempered commotion broke out; a scaled-down version of the divisions that plagued Bhealfa as a whole. But Serrah and Tanalvah weren’t pursued. Not by anything human.

  They’d covered a block when Tanalvah tugged at Serrah’s sleeve. ‘Look!’ She pointed back the way they’d come, and up.

  Serrah turned without breaking step. She saw something above, flying at rooftop height an
d closing in on them. Its vast wings flapped in a slow, leisurely rhythm. Though everyone knew it didn’t really need wings at all.

  A shadow fell across the fleeing women. The creature circled overhead, and they could see it more clearly. It was some sort of hybrid, mostly bat with insect traits, the latter providing it with three sets of spindly legs. The effect was not unlike a housefly, albeit one the size of a hay cart and sporting coal-red eyes.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a hunter-killer,’ Serrah judged, scowling irritably, ‘just a damn snoop.’

  ‘Then any minute it’s going to start shouting about where we are.’

  They were trotting now, with the tracer glamour hanging over them, keeping pace. There weren’t many people on the streets this early, but those that were began taking an interest.

  ‘Alert! Alert!’ the glamour screeched. ‘Felons sighted! Summon the watch!’

  Tanalvah mouthed, ‘Oh, no.’

  People were stopping to look.

  ‘Fuck this.’ Serrah’s hand went to her belt.

  Wheeling, the glamour continued its hue and cry. ‘Fugitives! Insurgents! Here! Here! Here!’

  Serrah tugged out a short-bladed throwing knife.

  ‘Alert! Alert! Anti-social elements at large! Summon your…’

  Arm drawn well back, she lobbed it with all her strength.

  ‘…local militia or–’

  The blade struck the creature’s fuzzy underside, and seemed to be absorbed into it. At once the glamour froze. Its serrated wings stilled. Yet still it hung in the air, impossibly.

  What looked like a circular red stain appeared at the spot where the knife had entered. It began to expand. Resembling fire spreading across paper, it started to turn the creature’s apparently solid flesh not to ash, but countless silver motes. Racing faster, the corruption riddled the glamour’s body, veined its wings and stripped its bristly legs. The illusion of ebony tissue dissolved into a mass of tiny radiant pellets.

  They fell as silvery hail, gently popping on the pavement below. What was left drifted down as a soft rain of shimmering pewter, dusting the streets and early risers before vanishing.

  Serrah’s knife clattered to earth somewhere, heard but unseen.