by Gray, C. M.
The tall Dhurban swung towards them and bowed deeply. ‘May you please forgive me,’ he said in perfect Freyan. ‘I did not see you seated amongst this noble gathering.’ He indicated the other guests in the room with a bow and a casual gesture of his hands, then turned back to Azif and, bowing once more, swept aside his cloak with a flourish to show two belts crossing his chest holding a selection of deadly knives. ‘My great Lord Azif Benhoudin Sharif, noble guests. If it pleases you I shall display my humble talents, for I am Mustep the Knifeman, greatest blade thrower in the entire known world.’
‘I bet he’s not,’ whispered Pardigan. ‘What do you think bread?’ He held up his bread with the eye wrapped in between looking out. It looked like the bread was a real eye in a furrowed brow. Pardigan made it blink a couple of times then turned it from side to side. ‘The bread is watching him and isn't convinced.’ He laughed but had the sense to hide his mirth behind his hands.
‘Shhh,’ cautioned Tarent with a glare.
Mustep clapped his hands and a scruffy looking boy ran into the tent and stood in front of a large board. The boy stood still as the knifeman arranged him with arms outstretched and had him hold burning candles in each hand, he then placed a small pomegranate on top of the boy’s head. The boy stood trembling, his eyes tightly closed. Mustep marched back, close to where Azif was seated then spun around and threw his first knife. It flashed across the tent snuffing the candle in the boy’s left hand. A second knife quickly followed the first, snuffing the second candle. The diners all clapped enthusiastically, although it seemed to both Tarent and Pardigan that they’d all seen the display before. The third knife was sent spinning and the pomegranate split in two, juice dribbled down the boy’s frightened face and he blinked it away from his eyes.
‘If he’d set the knife to land flat rather than straight, he could have done that without spilling any juice,’ muttered Pardigan. ‘He’s definitely not the best...but I'm keeping my eye on him.’
‘Shhh, shut up you fool!’ hissed Tarent.
Next, a young girl ran in and stood opposite the boy in front of a different board. Servants came in and set candles in each of her hands, and fresh pomegranates were placed upon their heads.
‘My Lord, today I have extended my performance and shall amaze you by doubling the danger. I shall prepare myself and throw fast but true, proving once again that I am the greatest knife thrower in all the kingdoms.’
Azif glanced up from the conversation he was having with a small round gentleman in a bright flowing robe and waved his hand. ‘Yes, yes I am sure it will be a most wondrous display, Mustep.’ He quickly returned to his conversation.
‘And dangerous,’ pointed out Mustep, ‘for this requires great practice and preparation.’ He bowed low offering an oily smile before returning to the centre of the room.
‘Not dangerous for him though, is it,’ snorted Pardigan a little too loudly. ‘If I was one of those two, I think I’d run for the door about now.’
Tarent dug him in the ribs. ‘Shhh. For the love of the Source, Pardigan, why can’t you just keep quiet?’
By now several people had heard him even if they hadn’t quite caught what he’d said. Mustep the knifeman turned a stony face to Pardigan before addressing Azif.
‘My Lord, I do believe that your young guest is trying to show his courage by volunteering to stand at the board for the young lady.’ Azif leaned forward to peer at Pardigan who had sat back in shock.
‘Young man,’ cried Azif. ‘I am heartily impressed with your valour, indeed with anyone brave enough to stand in front of Mustep's knives; they are not always known to find their mark. If they do, they are often in the children he uses as targets.’ This brought a roar of laughter from the seated Dhurbar causing Mustep to turn red with shame and anger.
‘Come, boy, show your courage,’ urged the knifeman gruffly. Pardigan glanced over at the girl. She was holding out the candles with a pleading look in her eyes, the pomegranate wobbling precariously on her head. He glanced over at Tarent who shrugged.
‘I did try and warn you to keep your big mouth shut. Now get up there, close your eyes and say nothing if that’s possible, then sit back down when it’s over, all right?’ Pardigan took a breath.
‘At least I can stretch my legs and don’t have to eat the muck in that bowl,’ he whispered. He saw his Dhurbar neighbour prodding suspiciously at the piece of bread that had the eye peeking out. ‘Oh, and keep an eye on my food will you, Tarent, it keeps winking at people?’ With a sigh he stood up. ‘Very well, I would be happy to stand for the lady. I have great faith in your ability, oh wondrous knife man.’ He walked over and a servant helped him with the candles and pomegranate.
Mustep paced to the centre of the room and let fly his first knife. It flew towards Pardigan who screwed his eyes shut and stood completely still. He heard it thud into the board to his left and he opened his eyes to see that the candle in his hand was split in two, the knife only a hairsbreadth from his fingers. Hot wax dripped onto his hand, but he gritted his teeth and held firm. Mustep grinned at him showing black rotting teeth. Pardigan glanced across to Tarent who shook his head and frowned. The message was clear, just hold still and get it over with.
The next knife flew at the boy and the candle in his hand was snuffed out, another knife immediately followed towards Pardigan who again closed his eyes and prayed to the Source. It thudded home and his mind reached out to see if any pain had accompanied it before he opened his eyes, the candle was snuffed. Loud clapping came from the diners and even Azif was applauding happily. The next knives flew and the pomegranates on both Pardigan’s and the boy’s heads were split, dribbling juice onto their faces. Pardigan squinted open his eyes and saw everyone, including Tarent, laughing and pointing at him. Pardigan hated being laughed at; it had always been a problem and had gotten him into many a scrape. He felt his anger rise and the urge to spin the knives back at Mustep began to overwhelm him. He took a step forward and saw Tarent shaking his head urgently, but Pardigan just smiled and pretended not to notice.
****
Chapter 19
Walking The Knife’s Edge
It had taken almost two days to get to Freya, which was where Matheus Hawk was sure the thieves had gone. He’d renegotiated his position with Bartholomew Bask and they’d agreed that Matheus would now receive any magical goods as well as a third of any captured cargo or coins. He was especially pleased with the deal, as magical goods would most certainly include a boat that transformed into a flying creature. The trail was somewhat cold but Matheus wasn’t known as the best tracker in the entire kingdom for nothing. They’d questioned the nervous official from the Customs boat on leaving Minster, and been told that a small craft had been seen heading away from the island in much the same direction as the bird thing, towards Freya.
After arriving and much rooting around in the port, they had found the boat and Matheus had watched, amused as Bartholomew half destroyed it in his anger at finding neither the thieves, nor indeed any sign of his goods. Bartholomew had finally realised that the boat itself would possibly be worth something, and ordered two seamen to patch it up and sell it. Happy to be at least a little up on the deal, they were now supping Elder ale in front of Blake’s while discussing where to go next. The heat was intense, more so here in Freya than in Minster, or of course the open sea, and Bartholomew was constantly mopping his brow with his now shabby lace handkerchief.
‘By the life of me, I have no idea where the brats would be going. I’ve half a mind to call it quits and get on with me business now that damn demon has seen fit to depart.’ He drank deeply from his tankard, and then wiping his mouth on his sleeve glanced around for a serving girl to order more.
‘Half a mind is about right, my fat friend. It was I that departed our demon tormentor; I’ve explained that to you. It would be bad business to abandon our search now when we’re so close; besides, I think the prize is far richer than just the contents of your cabinet. There’s too
much interest in these young thieves. This is all about some bigger prize, you mark my words; your cabinet was just one small piece of this puzzle.’ Matheus drained his tankard, a thoughtful expression on his face.
‘Yes but it was my small piece of puzzle, wasn’t it, and I won’t be robbed,’ snarled Bartholomew, his temper rising once more but then he sagged back down; it was too hot to get cross and he wanted more ale. They sat and continued to drink as the day went on, until finally the sun set and the shadows became night. When a girl came out to light the oil lamps in front of the inn, the two of them were laughing together like old friends, making jokes about demons and drinking far too much ale for their own good.
A short way to the left of Matheus Hawk a small tear appeared in the fabric of space and a finger forced itself through making a faint ripping noise. Muted sounds of panting and a struggle could be heard, but it wasn’t until the hole finally forced itself closed again with a small pop, that Matheus finally noticed.
‘What was that?’ he glanced around, startled.
‘What was what?’ said Bartholomew dreamily, staring into the bottom of yet another empty ale pot.
‘A sound,’ said Matheus peering into the shadows. Seeing nothing, he returned to his drink. ‘Come on, we should get back to the ship, we’ve still to plan what we’ll do from here. We know those brats can’t be too far ahead of us.’ They stood up and leaning on each other, staggered back to the Esmerelda to plot their next move.
****
Belial sat back exhausted but happy. He had worked out how to follow the trail back to the right dimension and was satisfied that he could find it by concentrating his magic on the Hawk. Now he simply needed to gather his strength and some followers and he would be ready.
****
Loras was feeling two emotions as he studied the old man in the over-large turban. The first was complete and utter awe that he was facing a real live magician, one that had obviously spent a lifetime studying and perfecting his art. The second was a small amount of fear and uncertainty that he may be about to embark on his first magical duel with this strange opponent.
It had all started innocently enough; they’d been escorted into the throne room of the palace to find the sultan, seated on a large cushion raised upon a platform. He was deep in conversation with three advisors, one of whom was this funny little man. They had bowed deeply and Quint had started to speak.
‘Your Majesty, we have come here...’ Although Quint had got no further, a guard had struck him from behind and everyone had started screaming, it was as if the world had suddenly gone mad. As Quint lay prone on the floor the guard had lifted his spear as if to stab him, which had been enough for Loras. Before the guard had time to strike down, Loras had frozen him with a simple wave of his hand. He’d changed the heat in the guard’s body for something opposite, cold, and the guard had literally frozen to the spot.
Mahra, by this time, was crouching on all fours, a Black Panther, teeth bared and growling, prepared to leap at the other guards who had at first rushed in but were now scrabbling to back out. The magician had stepped forward and thrown a ball of fire directly at Loras who had merely swatted it aside, which was why Loras was now prepared for a duel, his emotions already at war.
The magician lifted his robes around his skinny legs and leapt high into the air with a strange ululating cry, ‘aaaaya-ha-ha-ha!’ He came down not three steps from Loras and pushed his hands out, and a thick wall of air knocked Loras to the ground.
‘Wow!’ said Loras instantly understanding what the magician had done. ‘That was great, and so easy!’ The magician shrieked, formed a flaming sword out of thin air and ran forward, his robes flapping wildly and yelling his strange shrill war cry. Loras simply formed a similar wall of air, which the magician bounced off, landing on his bottom; the sword disappeared. Loras grinned down at him and held out his hand.
‘Can I help you up?’ he offered. ‘How did you make the sword? It was really good!’ The magician started spluttering with rage and slapped Loras’s hand aside. The other advisor jumped down; a regal looking Dhurbar with a forked beard and a huge curved sword. Quint, who had made it back to his feet, drew his own sword, ready to do battle.
‘I’m with you, Loras,’ he muttered, swaying a little as he sized up his opponent. Seeing things were starting to get out of hand, the sultan stood and bellowed in Freyan, ‘Enough hold fast!’ and everybody stopped. The sultan scowled down from his platform. ‘Who are you that brings madness to my court? Children shouldn’t travel without an adult.’
Quint by now had recovered most of his wits but was still staggering slightly from the blow.
‘May I speak, your highness?’ he rubbed the back of his head, checking his hand for signs of blood.
‘When I give you leave young man, then you may speak. Until I give leave, it is an insult. Yes...now you may speak, but do so quickly before my magician and my men are allowed to kill you.’ He glanced uncertainly at his magician, whom he’d believed invincible, right up until he’d seen him foiled by a small boy.
He waved his guards back and sat down, Mahra resumed her human form and Loras grinned at the magician who stared at him shaking in anger, his eyes promising the exchange wasn’t over.
‘So who are you? Speak,’ said the sultan with a scowl. Quint spoke. He spoke of their regret at causing any insult to the sultan or his court and then he spoke of their Quest and the skulls they sought in the name of the Source, and of the balance that was necessary to stop the world from tipping into Chaos. When he finished speaking some time later, the court was silent and the sultan was sitting stroking his beard thoughtfully.
‘I must think on this story. My men will take you to rooms and you will be guests of my palace. Please do not attempt to leave without my permission, it would be most insulting.’ He clapped his hands and the guards formed up and escorted them out of the room.
They were taken to a suite of rooms high up in the palace that gave a good view of the gardens where they’d landed earlier; The Griffin was no longer there but Loras wasn’t concerned.
‘She’ll come back when we call,’ he said dismissing Quint’s concerns. ‘This is an incredible place! How did the magician make that sword? That’s what I want to know,’ he continued excitedly. ‘I wonder if I’ll get the chance to speak to him?’ Mahra and Quint exchanged glances.
‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Quint, addressing Mahra.
‘Well, without the book we have no direction, so we just have to wait for Pardigan and Tarent to turn up.’ She sighed. ‘I just hope they’re all right.’
****
Pardigan was all right, but Tarent’s day was taking a bad turn as he watched his friend approach Mustep. Why can he never sit back and keep quiet? He fumed.
Every eye in the tent was on Pardigan as he walked towards Mustep, wiping juice from his face.
‘Have you finished with your party tricks or are you going to do something really clever now?’ Mustep frowned at Pardigan’s words.
‘My lords, our friend Mustep here is indeed a great knife thrower but then he is, I believe, using trick knives.’
A murmur of voices filled the tent. ‘What are you doing, boy?’ hissed the knife thrower.
‘Are they trick knives? How do they work?’ asked Azif, showing more interest now than at any other time in the spectacle.
Pardigan ignored Mustep and pulled one of the knives from the board behind him.
‘Well I think they’re trick knives, let’s see.’ He picked up a large melon from the closest table and hurled it over his head. A heartbeat later he sent the knife flashing over his shoulder, making it obvious to all that he hadn’t taken aim. The knife caught the melon at the top of its flight and split it in two. One half fell to the floor, with the knife stuck in it, the other half fell and landed on Mustep’s head. The room erupted in laughter and Pardigan turned to see Mustep shaking away melon pieces and wiping juice from his face, glaring at him. Pardigan gave him a b
ig grin.
‘I’m not sure what you did but make a joke of me boy and you make an enemy of me as well. You’ll do well to watch your back, for one day I’ll come back and I will have my revenge.’ He stomped off out of the tent to derisive hoots and laughter.
‘Come, sit, boy, bring your friend and talk with me.’ Azif beckoned them over to where he sat and room was made for the two boys.
‘You’re going to get us into a lot of trouble one day, Pardigan,’ hissed Tarent as he sat down. ‘Now one of the greatest knifemen in the kingdom is going to be out to get you.’
‘Us, Tarent, I’m sure he’ll want to get both of us,’ said Pardigan grinning. ‘But at least we’re going to get to Dhurban now, aren’t we, and anyhow, he’s not the greatest knifeman in the Kingdom, I am! The book saw to that.’
As they were welcomed into the caravan - Pardigan was delighted while Tarent felt a deep unease that he tried not to show.
We may be going to Dhurban, but at what cost? he thought as he watched his friend talking with Azif. Why couldn’t I have gone with Mahra and the others? I’m sure they’re having a far easier time.
****
It was two days before the caravan got underway amid a well-organised chaos of movement. The stabling grounds had been a hive of activity with tents being disassembled, people shouting, horses being saddled, camels being loaded and several covered platforms or palanquins as they were called, hastily constructed. Each palanquin was swung between two camels and then draped in a colourful mixture of silk and canvas to protect the occupants from the boiling sun and harsh conditions of the desert. Pardigan and Tarent had been persuaded to purchase the use of one of these and because of their newfound popularity with Azif; they rode second in line behind him. The other fare-paying passengers were towards the back of the long line; either in palanquins if they had sufficient coin, or on camels or horses exposed to the heat and dust if they didn’t.