by Paul Collins
Forcing such a fight need not be hard, Jelindel decided. When Thull emerged from his room on the way to Fa’red’s house, the combined wrath of the taproom’s patrons might slow him down long enough for Jelindel to run and warn Fa’red.
Time passed, and Jelindel wondered how Zimak was. An ostler, barely able to walk, was ejected from the tavern. Moments later he staggered back in, babbling that he had seen a huge black bird land on the upstairs balcony carrying an artisan’s holdall in its beak.
The vintner went upstairs, then came down again saying that there were only two drunks asleep in their room and ejected the ostler for a second time.
Another hour passed, and an armourer entered with two constables. Someone had torn the shutters from an upstairs window of his shop and stolen a set of valuable tools for making chainmail. Jelindel nearly fell off the bench with shock.
‘Can’t hold yer limewater, eh lad?’ remarked a nearby docker, but nobody else noticed.
The constables searched the bags of everyone in the taproom, and the vintner explained that the two men upstairs had not been outside since before the robbery. The constables left after a discreet drink.
Bebia entered, ordered a glass of sweet wine, and asked Jelindel if she would be at the stall the next day. Jelindel explained that she was waiting to see two men who were upstairs and could not give him an answer yet.
Ellien sauntered over to Jelindel during a lull in orders.
‘You know, Jaelin, you’re going to be quite a man in a fiveyear,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the table and folding her arms.
Most unlikely, thought Jelindel, but she said simply, ‘Thank you, Ellien.’
‘Just look at you, loyal to your friend, working hard, saving argents, able to read and write, and able to fight two-hand quarterblade and Siluvian kick-fist technique.’
‘I’m alone and a fugitive from my country,’ Jelindel said with maudlin finality. ‘All that I do is to survive in a rough world.’
‘Tch! You’re brave, generous, even handsome in a sweet, frail sort of way. Not like that weasel Thull and his young bear of a bodyguard.’
Jelindel was just deciding that she had a bad feeling about where all this was leading when Ellien slipped down from the table and onto her lap. She wrapped both arms around Jelindel’s neck before planting a lingering kiss on her forehead.
There was a deafening cheer from everyone in the taproom. Ellien sighed as she pulled back, shaking her head. ‘In a few years time I’ll have to stand in a long queue of girls to kiss Jaelin, but tonight I am first. Hey there, all you other churls. Learn manners, learn to charm, then your only problem with girls will be having too many of them fawning upon you. Watch Jaelin and learn how to be a real man.’
Ellien turned back to face Jelindel. ‘I don’t mean to embarrass you, Jaelin, but girls sometimes need the touch of a true gentleman to sponge away the chill of a lecher’s grasp. Thank you, most kindly.’
White Quell is still punishing me for kicking his temple guard, thought Jelindel, her face burning with embarrassment.
Ellien stood up, stroking Jelindel’s hair. ‘Jaelin, Jaelin, I’ll pray to White Quell that you develop a taste for older girls,’ she crooned as she walked to the centre of the taproom. With her hands on her hips she then shouted, ‘Well, what are your orders?’
Once the taproom had returned to something like normal again, Bebia elbowed Jelindel in the ribs.
‘Whatever you do, don’t tell me that I’ve got quite a way with girls,’ muttered Jelindel.
‘Well yes, but still, you have. Ah, er, I hated to interrupt you two, so I didn’t, but about those two men you were waiting for.’
‘What about them?’
‘Well, while you were being, ah, embraced, two men came down the stairs and went outside. One big fellow and one thin, hawky type. I must have been the only one in here who noticed –’
Jelindel gasped. ‘But the vintner said that only two men were up there!’ she exclaimed. ‘That means – how long ago did they leave?’
‘An hour’s tenth, or less.’
Jelindel dashed out and pounded down the cobblestones for a distance, then twisted her ankle and went sprawling. She limped on, far slower now and silently cursing her own frantic haste.
The eastern sky was loaded with the moonlit clouds of impending monsoons, and the air was stifling with humidity. Although she was fitter now than at any time in her life, Jelindel still gulped the warm air with increasing effort the further she ran.
She avoided constables and gangs, and shunned any street where she might be pursued as an escaping thief. Loitering harlots in rouge, kohl and paint laughed and called, ‘Pay her next time!’ as she ran past, and guard dogs barked from behind closed gates.
As Jelindel reached the street of Fa’red’s house, the two figures of Thull and Daretor came into view. They had stopped by the main entrance. She whispered the words of a mild chameleon spell to blend with the wall behind her, but knew if Thull suspected she were here, none of the weak spells that she had learned to conjure would save her from his vastly superior magic.
She felt the mage’s eyes sweep her presence, yet the feeling was glancing. There were other bodies huddled here and there, mostly the homeless and the drunk.
Still, she was too late. There was no way now for her to warn Fa’red’s guards, and midnight was less than an hour away. Where were Fa’red’s guards anyhow? she wondered.
Jelindel stole across to the massive main gates, which stood open. She had expected to see dead guardsmen, but now she realised that Thull had probably bought them. Six months in the marketplace had taught her that loyalty was easily bought and sold. Perhaps the same thing had happened the night that her father’s house had burned.
Unheeded she crept up to the guard box and peered inside. The flame of a pottery lamp glowed faintly from a lipshelf, but the post was unmanned. Across the courtyard she could see someone pacing by the light of Reculemoon. It was the gate’s guard, earning his bribe by being somewhere else and seeing nothing.
‘And did you work with my father’s guards, too?’ she whispered to the distant figure, suddenly feeling rage instead of fear. For the first time in her life she could have killed someone without any hesitation. She hated the distant guard even more for her loss of innocence.
Dangling from the ceiling of the guardpost was a rope. In a frame above every such guardpost in the port was a thief-bell, so by deduction that lone rope had to be attached to the bell.
Jelindel chewed the skin of her lower lip and considered carefully. If she were to ring it the guard would come running back at once, but by then it would be too late. Everyone would be awake and Thull the Mage would have a fight on his hands.
She smiled maliciously across at the traitorous guard, then whispered, ‘You need a little help to do your job.’
Jelindel reached up, seized the rope, hesitated with a sudden attack of panic, fought it down, then gave the rope six hard yanks and ran into the street. There were already shouts coming from within Fa’red’s house as she ducked behind a cart.
Thull was sure to have his powers taxed by what was to come.
Chapter
7
Daretor awoke with Thull’s cold hand clamped over his mouth. ‘It’s time.’
Daretor brushed the hand away. He swung his legs over the bed and shook his head as though to clear it. He didn’t come fully awake until a thought seized him and he quickly looked to his little finger.
Thull grinned wolfishly. ‘The link is yours. I could have taken it, but I’m happy with my lot.’
Daretor said nothing as they descended the stairwell. A serving wench was kissing one of the drinkers and the others were all cheering. It was a good cover, and they slipped out into the cold night.
Daretor still had his doubts about what they were doing.
‘And what of this merchant who employs mercenaries and owns the mailshirt? I’ll wager it is well guarded!’
‘Then
you would lose your coin,’ Thull replied. He pulled his cloak closer to his body. ‘My informant tells me that Fa’red guards it himself; he distrusts even his closest allies.’ Thull’s lips curled back in a smile to reveal sharp teeth by the light of a smoky street lantern. ‘It will be his undoing.’
‘And what if he is wearing the mailshirt?’ Daretor said as he strode along beside Thull.
‘Then he is a bigger fool than I suspect,’ Thull said easily. ‘Would you sleep in a mailshirt?’
Daretor still suspected treachery, and almost of their own accord his fingers loosened the leather strap of the axe at his belt. He lifted his sword a handspan in its scabbard, then let it drop. He was as ready as he could be for whatever lay ahead.
At length Thull paused beneath an archway guarded by massive but open gates that fronted a cobbled courtyard. Wan light from distant street lanterns cast murky shadows as the pair slipped inside. Thull drew a slender wire and worked it into the lock of a heavily embossed door.
‘Damn, this is some new type of lock,’ he muttered as he worked. ‘A mere century ago there were no locks at all.’
The offhand remark gave Daretor a chill.
‘There are bodies lying in the shadows,’ he said, his eyes scanning the darkened cobblestones.
‘Of course, bodies don’t stand up very well,’ Thull replied blandly.
‘This feels like a trap. There must be other guards.’
‘There are guards aplenty. They are just having an eternal rest.’ Thull cursed, then withdrew his wire and selected another from his robes.
‘I see a guard pacing over there.’
‘He’s in my pay. See here, my cautious warrior, if it makes you any happier the guards beyond this door are not in my pay and are as likely to kill us as fart in the latrine.’
‘Why don’t you use magic to open the door?’
‘Because the lock’s iron, idiot! Iron bleeds the vitality out of magic. Besides, there is a sieve aura over this place, ready to alert Fa’red to any intruder resorting to sorcery.’
‘The guards seemed easily bribed.’
‘Some guards take no small delight in seeing robbery from the house of a rich man.’
The lock gave a dull clunk.
‘There, got it!’ whispered Thull. ‘Wait! Not so eager.’
He swung the door open a little and jammed a wad of cloth into the catch before slipping inside with Daretor. As he pulled it shut behind them they were plunged into total blackness.
‘Come now, Daretor,’ Thull said scornfully. ‘Show some resolve.’
‘Black Quell himself must be afoot tonight!’ Daretor complained. ‘This place –’
‘This place is also protected by a foreboding spell, a little trick to strike baseless terror into intruders such as us. I am his equal in magic. Remember that and ignore what you feel.’
Daretor’s teeth still chattered in spite of the reassurance, but he walked on before Thull without hesitation. They passed several doors before pausing at one that seemed no different to any of the others.
‘It’s in here.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Your link is glowing brightly. I can see the glow through the stitching of your gloves. Quickly now, already the mailshirt will be glowing to warn whoever is awake to watch.’
Daretor felt an icy fear run its course down his spine.
‘Thull –’
But the man had already taken his wire to the door’s lock. This time the door clacked open easily, and he entered. Daretor followed.
It seemed as stygian black inside the room as in the corridor – but not quite. From within a room that lay beyond emanated a reddish-orange glow.
Something grunted from a four-post bed. Daretor barely managed to stifle an exclamation.
‘Take him!’ Thull hissed.
‘I’m a warrior, not a cutthroat!’
‘Do as I –’
A thief-bell began to ring outside, jangling Daretor’s brain after the long minutes of velvety silence and whispered words.
The bed’s bracings squealed alarmingly and a huge, menacing shape rose as the covers were flung back.
‘Hold!’ a man’s voice boomed like a thunderclap.
Daretor heard, rather than saw the sword as it sliced towards him. He dodged backwards, caught his foot on something, sprawled and twisted as a blade chopped down into the floorboards. Blue fire blazed around the huge merchant-mage, but Thull was blazing with the blue light as well.
Blue coils writhed between the two like living tentacles. Daretor got to his feet and stood watching for a moment as the blue fire lashed between the two mages.
In spite of the coils of writhing blue, neither mage seemed touched. Both stood within protective globes enmeshed with the glowing coils. Daretor tried to slash at the brilliant blue cords between them, but the fire blazed down his sword, burning his gloves and singeing his tunic and cloak. His sword fell to the floor, as hot as a stove-top, and he had to wrap his hand in the hem of his cloak before he could pick up the blackened weapon again. The leather binding of the handle was all crumbling char, and the blade was scorched.
He looked up to see Thull still enmeshed by Fa’red’s glowing, writhing coils of blue. Fa’red was free, and was walking purposefully towards him with his sword in his hand.
‘You chose to walk with a loser, boy,’ rumbled the huge man.
Daretor seized a chair and swung it into the path of Fa’red’s blade. The sword stuck fast in the wood of the seat. Daretor released the chair and aimed a punch-snap at Fa’red’s head, but the mage raised the sword with the chair still attached to parry, then kicked the chair free, snapping the tip from his blade.
By the light of the coils that enmeshed Thull they traded a score of blows. Fa’red was very fast and enormously strong, but not as skilled in his technique as Daretor. Every block jarred Daretor’s burned hand, but the young warrior used the huge mage’s strength against him, sending him spinning with forced pommel blocks and dodging back from sweeps.
Their swords clanged and rang like a tuneless peal of handbells, missing flesh but cutting chips of wood from the furniture.
Fa’red backed Daretor into a corner, then closed with him. The younger man twisted from his grip but lost his sword and charred cloak. He rolled free past bare, hairy legs, then more by instinct than skill he grabbed the rug and hauled it from under Fa’red’s feet.
Fa’red bellowed as he fell. Daretor snatched up his sword – then the blue light vanished. Again Daretor rolled and saw lingering blue light play about Fa’red’s mouth. There was a heavy crash and the thump of a body falling.
‘He’s down,’ panted Thull in the darkness. He snapped his fingers and an olive oil lamp kindled on a lipshelf on the wall. Daretor saw the mage draw his knife and reach down to seize Fa’red’s hair.
‘No!’ Daretor cried. ‘I’ll not be part of cold-blooded murder!’
Thull considered this for moment as he bent over Fa’red. He released his hair. Fa’red’s head thudded against the floorboards.
‘Would you have that alive to pursue you once he revives?’ he said, gesturing to Fa’red.
Daretor did not reply. He was listening to the commotion outside. The damnable bell had ceased ringing, but the courtyard was in an uproar. Any moment now some guard would blunder into the bedchamber and he was in no condition for another fight.
‘The mailshirt,’ said Daretor as he got up and stumbled into the next room. He seized the glowing pile of interlinked rings. ‘With the mailshirt I’ll be in no danger.’
The corners of Thull’s mouth widened into a smile and his teeth gleamed in the orange light from the enchanted mailshirt.
‘So … you’re fool enough to show mercy. Very well.’
He sheathed his knife and flung a leather bag to Daretor, who hefted the mailshirt with a shivery jingle. With the drawstrings pulled tight no light leaked out, although Daretor’s link still glowed. He smothered it within the folds of the bag.
Thull went to the outer door.
‘A word of caution, young Daretor. We’re not safe until the mailshirt is complete. Now earn your keep with that blade.’
Thull was flung to one side as the oak door was thrown open. A guard came bursting through, holding a sputtering torch high. The mage grunted with surprise but recovered quickly enough. He spat a thin blue coil that snared the guard’s legs and the man went down. Thull snatched up the torch.
‘Out, Daretor, move!’ he shouted.
Daretor stepped over the fallen guard and into the corridor. He turned to see Thull smash the torch into the pottery oil lamp on the wall, splattering the room with burning oil.
‘You torched the place!’ shouted Daretor.
‘Pah. The darkness was annoying me.’
‘We’ll have to fight our way clear, and –’
‘Not so. Close your eyes and let me guide you.’
Daretor heard him say a strange word, and a deepening blackness blossomed before him.
‘What in the name of Black Quell is –’
‘Close your eyes if you don’t want your mind sucked out through them,’ Thull hissed. ‘Keep your mouth closed, too. We don’t want to attract attention where we walk for the next few yards.’
The air suddenly became ice-cold, and whatever was beneath their feet was unsteady and yielding. Leading Daretor, Thull walked steadily for perhaps three dozen paces, then spoke another word.
Something shrieked at the sound and huge wings began beating. The sound was cut off abruptly, and the air that Daretor gasped was the warm and humid air of D’loom again.
They were standing in the street, just outside the gates of Fa’red’s great house.
‘How did you do that?’ asked Daretor.
‘We stepped through a world close to our own where we are as like to mice in a room full of owls.’
‘And your magic protected us?’
‘No. We were just lucky. Now hurry, the city constables will soon be here.’
Jelindel had run to the smithy along every shortcut and overwalk that she knew. She prayed that the mage and his warrior would be stopped or even killed by Fa’red and his guards.