by Graeme Ing
I stepped inside The Downpipe and paused until my eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior. There were more people than I’d hoped for. Unkempt men with scruffy clothing sat in groups of three or four at circular tables piled high with empty beer flagons. A dozen faces turned to me. Two dozen eyes narrowed, and the muttering began.
The barkeep was a rotund, dog-faced man with a receding hairline. His eyes steered me to an empty table, so I sat, my skin itching without a wall at my back. At least I could watch both front and rear doors. I was glad not to have Ayla in tow. This was no place for a woman. Who was I kidding? It was no place for a necromancer.
A scrawny barmaid ambled over, her hair draped to one side in an attempt to cover an obvious scar on her cheek. I was glad that she walked proud, though, since even the scar didn’t detract from her natural beauty. She placed a mug of short beer in front of me, palmed my coin, and scurried away. After the brandy from last night, my stomach lurched at the prospect of more alcohol, so I simply sipped, head lowered, my ears straining hard to catch each hushed conversation in the room. If only they would stop whispering about wretched necromancers for a single moment, then maybe I could learn something useful.
It was tough to remain calm while overhearing every detail of their plans to get me. After I had sipped half my beer, and most of the bargees had drunk a couple of pints each, I finally caught interesting snippets from a far table.
“…said it got so hot that it were boiling…”
“…died on Gold River. It be true what…”
A rowdy group at the adjacent table drowned out the rest of the conversation but clearly I’d come to the right place. Time to get it over with. Careful to keep my hands in plain sight, I picked my way around the tables toward the far group of three bargees. They stood in unison, chairs scraping on the wooden floor. Beady eyes stared at me from above beards dripping with beer froth. Muscles rippled on their forearms. A one-eyed man cracked his knuckles and stepped forward, and then I was surrounded by a horde of determined men from several tables.
Kristach, this was going to hurt.
“We don’t want your kind here,” One-eye growled. “You’re souring our beer.”
He jabbed a finger into my chest. His cabbage-beer breath made my stomach turn.
“I’m not looking for trouble, just information. I’ll pay for a guide.”
“What kind of information?”
“Throw ’im outta here, Pank,” another said, brushing matted hair back over his shoulders.
I maintained eye contact with the man inches from my face. By the Gods he was ugly, and part of me wanted to tell him so. Not my best idea.
“I want to know what you and your friends were saying about Gold River.”
“Snooping, were ye?” One-eye asked, spraying my face with spit.
I refused to flinch.
“Break ’is arms and throw ’im in the canal,” a whiny, nasal voice said.
“The fire,” I said. “A few nights ago. It’s linked to your boiling river. I’m trying to find out what happened.”
“Never known a necromancer be of any bloody use.”
“Tell ’im nothin’, Pank.”
One-eye jabbed me again. His other hand snatched up a beer flagon.
“Word on the street is you corpse scum caused that fire.”
“That’s not true. We—”
“My brother was running Gold that night. Died of ’is burns. Yer come to ’elp ’is widow pay ’er bills?”
He swung the flagon at my head. I dodged and it smashed against my shoulder, drenching me. His fist was like a sledgehammer against my stomach and I doubled over, blowing out all my breath. I half turned before a stick cracked on the inside of my knee, knocking out my left leg. I crashed to the floor, sending a chair flying. You asked for this, Maldren, you fool.
The mob closed in. Their dirks remained in their scabbards, but I imagined their fists would do more damage. I made no attempt to go for my own knife or else they would kill me. There was a risk that they might in any case. I tried to roll away under the table but One-eye stamped on the same leg, and kicked me in the kidneys. Pain lanced through me.
“Oh, come on,” I cried, hand clutching my side. “I’ll pay for information. No need to break bones.”
One-eye reached down, grabbed the front of my robe, and dragged me to my feet. I groped desperately for something to hold on to.
“Should’ve brought yer skeleton army,” he said, causing his friends to guffaw.
He smashed his head into my nose. Blood spurted all over us. The metallic taste was disgusting. The room spun around me, and for a moment One-eye had two eyes. He released his grip on my robe as if flicking away a spider, and I crumpled onto the floor again.
“Aren’t you going to cast a curse on us?” someone shouted.
“He’s too craven to fight back.”
I moaned and blew blood from my nose.
“I told you, I’m trying to help. Just listen, will you?”
“I’ve heard about enough from you.” He kicked me in the side again.
I wouldn’t take any more. Lak curse them all!
I grabbed One-eye’s boot and yanked him off balance. He careened into the bargee beside him, and I twisted his ankle as they both went down. Then I slithered under the table and pushed up on it with my back, walking it forward until its edge smashed two of them in the face.
Can’t go down without a fight, but my odds were worse than a virgin in a bikka den.
I managed to swing a punch at a man with a deep scar along one cheek, before I crashed to the floor under five bargees, all of them punching and kneeing me. Every part of me ached. My eyes swelled and my vision tunneled.
“Stop! Let him go,” a familiar female voice shrieked above the din of their jeering.
The assault on my body let up. As if from a great distance, I heard murmurs of surprise and the sound of the mob parting.
“Leave my father alone. If you cripple him, how am I going to feed Annie, Mysha, and Nolin, the poor children?”
Ayla. What was she doing here?
I pushed myself up on one elbow, gripped my nose with thumb and finger, and blew out the blood. It hurt, really hurt. She stood in the middle of the taproom, wearing a light blue dress, her hands on her hips, eyes welling with tears.
“All right, lads,” the barkeep said in a bass voice. “That’s enough. Tidy the place up.”
And that was that. The men moved away, muttering apologies to Ayla. She winked at me. I wanted to roll my eyes but they hurt too much. She put her arm around me, and helped me limp into the street, where I collapsed on a bollard, tentatively stretching my limbs, wincing and moaning.
I must have passed out because when I opened my eyes I lay on my back on the seat of a carriage. Every bump and rattle across the cobbles sent stabs of pain to new places in my body that I hadn’t realized were hurting. Something touched my swollen eye and I jerked away.
“Be still,” Ayla said, moving into my field of view. She dabbed my face with her handkerchief.
“It’s a good thing that I followed you. Didn’t you think to dress down? Your Guild robe is far too noticeable.”
“I’m not ashamed of who I am.”
“No, just stubborn. I hope the beating was worth it.”
I shrugged. Pain lanced down my side and I cried out.
“I would have gotten what I needed if you hadn’t stormed in.”
“Yeah, it looked like you had everything under control. Men. Is this how you negotiate?”
My mouth was bloody and swollen, but I managed a half smile.
“Something like that.”
Ayla’s berating continued until she helped me up the stairs to my room.
“You need to rest for a couple of days,” she said, helping me into my chair by the window.
“Not while there’s the danger of another fire.”
She sipped a glass of juice. “Maybe it really was an accident. What makes you think it will h
appen again?”
“I can’t describe what I felt that night. Something unnatural is going on, something from The Gray, or if we’re really unlucky, The Deep.”
I’d been stupid in the way I’d approached the bargees. I squirmed, and pain shot through my body. A girl had saved me! Warmth flushed my cheeks.
I scratched at the stubble on my chin and glanced out the window. The sky had turned gray. A quiet seemed to have settled over the usually bustling city.
“Trust me, we haven’t seen the last of it.”
“You could talk to the Guildmaster again.” She watched me sip my beer through a straw and giggled. How humiliating.
“No.” I glared at her with my good eye. “He’s not going to listen.”
Phyxia had held something back, I was certain of it. I gripped the arms of the chair to get up.
“On no, you don’t.” She stood in my way. “I bet you’ve got bruises all over. You can’t see properly and your face is a mess.”
What had I done to deserve a mothering slip of a girl?
“Thanks for the compliments,” I said. “I don’t have time to sit here and feel sorry for myself. We need to get to the deep sewers and see what’s going on.”
“Well you messed up hiring a bargee, didn’t you? Rest until tomorrow.”
“It’s barely lunch—”
“Tomorrow.”
We stared each other down, which wasn’t a fair contest because I barely had one good eye.
“You’re enjoying this,” I said.
She blew out her breath. “Not really. Now drink that medicine that Mother B. gave you.”
Her nagging made my ears hurt. “Yes, my lady.”
She scowled and headed toward the door, and then paused with her hand on the latch.
“Have you seen my necklace? I took it off when I was in here the other day, trying to dry my hair.”
I shrugged, and regretted the movement. “No. Maybe Mother B. found it.”
After Ayla left and shut the door, I slipped my hand into a pocket and fingered her necklace. I could use it to find her father. Surely the man had been searching all over. All it would take is one messenger and I was certain he would be right here, thanking me for protecting her. Then I’d be free of her nagging. I looked out over the rooftops, trying to relax my aching body. After replaying her performance in The Downpipe it was no longer clear who was looking after whom. She was a spunky girl for sure. I left the necklace in my pocket and closed my eyes.
Lord Caradan gulped his beer, drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and tossed the tankard onto the rug by the roaring fire. Guild paperwork littered his desk next to a bookshelf crammed with dusty volumes. He crossed his cramped office to a coat stand by the door and dressed meticulously in his night-black robe, arranging the sleeve cuffs and collar just so. A chill wind gusted through the open tower window. Thick clouds chewed at the bright disc of Lunas in the sky.
A storm was building. A perfect night for vengeance.
Master Eclias slipped into the room. The man bore a sullen, determined face. The red glow of firelight flickered in his eyes.
“Is everyone prepared?” Caradan asked.
“Are you certain there’s no other way?”
“The time for diplomacy has passed. Remind the men that our actions this night may damn their souls. Have them leave the tower if they have no stomach for this.”
Eclias stood tall. “Yes, it’s time we destroyed the Elik Magi. You handpicked your men. Every one of them is willing to face damnation at your side.”
Caradan glanced around the room, and then exited into the dim hallway, Eclias at his heels. The two men walked in silence to the curved staircase that wound up and down around the inner perimeter of the tower. The first rumble of thunder rolled across the heavens.
On the floor above, they joined six grim-faced men, each dressed in pristine black robes flecked with silver and purple. A pair of spluttering wall torches painted grotesque shadows across the walls and ceiling. Caradan jerked his head at Master Petay, and then nodded at the closed door around which the men had gathered. Petay held up two fingers.
So be it. These two would have the honor of dying first.
Caradan marched to the door, threw it open, and strode into the reception room beyond. Within, two of his wife’s Elik Magi reclined on couches before a fire that bathed the room in a demonic red glow. It emphasized the violet irises of the two sorcerers as they turned in surprise to face Caradan. The Magi were dressed in plain, comfortable clothing rather than the regalia of their order. They lacked the discipline of his Guild, his love for ritual. Caradan grunted.
His men filed into the room, causing both Magi to stand, their bodies tensed, expressions puzzled.
A blinding flash of lightning preceded the deafening thunder and lit the night outside the window. It was time to demonstrate his power.
Caradan sucked power from his gut. His men did likewise, and the room seethed with magic that was palpable, almost visible. Wisps of gray appeared from thin air, transparent yet all too real, and in a single breath the wisps coalesced into creatures that vaguely resembled men. Their edges were indistinct, constantly shifting. The creatures’ torsos revealed massive wounds, huge rends from which spewed organs and guts, while snapped bones hung by torn flesh and muscle. Claws ripped from the creatures’ fingers and fangs dislodged teeth.
Seven such revenants hung in midair, gurgling and shrieking as if in pain. The Elik Magi stumbled backward and the creatures fell upon them.
Caradan observed every detail. Half-formed spells erupted from the Magi as they tried to erect protection shields. Their screams were cut short as claws and fangs shredded their throats. Blood splattered over every surface. Caradan didn’t blink when the hot liquid drenched his face and dribbled down his cheeks. He stood tall and puffed out his chest.
Gobbets of flesh flew in all directions. Bones crunched. Mangled organs splattered against the walls, leaving blood trails as they slid to the floor. None of his own men flinched. The warmth of pride coursed through Caradan’s veins.
The Magi lay on the floor, half disassembled but still twitching.
Caradan paraded once around the macabre scene and then dispelled the revenants with a wave of his hand. A toothy grin spread wide on his face.
The night had only just begun.
I jerked awake. Pain sliced through my bruised sides. My eyes darted around the room, now black as the night outside. Damn Phyxia for mentioning the Caradan legend. I ran my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair and shivered. Necromancers did not have nightmares.
Stiff, I squirmed in my chair by the window. What had been in Mother B.’s potion to put me out all afternoon? The swelling had gone down in most of my body except my nose, and my head no longer throbbed. My grumbling stomach reminded me that I’d missed supper.
I tiptoed onto the landing, careful not to wake Ayla in the room opposite mine. I didn’t need her fussing over me again. I crept down the stairs and through the sleeping inn to the communal bathroom at the rear. Metal cauldrons stood in front of a hearth, and I poured hot water into the nearest copper tub, mixing generous handfuls of soap flakes. Once immersed in the hot water, the tension departed my aching limbs. I lay back and closed my eyes, glad to have the room to myself. I needed a guide to take me to Gold River, but I didn’t think my body could stand more bargee beatings.
An hour later, the cold water drove me out of the bath. My shaving blade trembled in my aching arms, so I left the stubble on my face and combed my hair. Yellow and purple blotches covered me head to toe. I dressed in the clean robe I had brought down with me, and went next door to fix a midnight snack. I felt human again.
Back in my room, I stood at the window and watched the sunrise. A knock on the door disturbed my calm reverie. Would that girl never leave me alone?
“Come in, Ayla.”
The door opened and a gray-haired man stepped inside. Silver and purple runes lined the sleeves and collar of his
black robe, and several garish rings adorned his left hand. Thick eyebrows threatened to overgrow his eyes, and a beaklike nose dominated his face.
I instinctively stood straighter, then winced at the stabbing pain.
“Master Begara, what brings you out here? Please, sit.”
No one from the Guild had ever visited me at home. What did this mean?
Master Begara perched on the edge of the still-made bed. I had been far from his ideal student so I was eager to learn the reason for his visit.
He seemed to study the bruises on my face and calves. “Maldren, what in Lak’s name happened to you? I’d heard you had a run-in with the Prime Guildmaster, but I trust this is not his doing.”
“No, no, of course not. You know me, always getting into trouble.”
“Indeed, I remember.” He twirled his rings with the fingers of his other hand. “When are you going to stop irritating him?”
“I’m not trying to. I want him to give me the promotion I deserve.”
He peered into the corners of the room. I grimaced. My room needed tidying.
“Ordinarily I’d tell you to follow his orders.” He lowered his voice. “But this time I think you’re right to be suspicious.”
Interesting. I double blinked.
“Have you heard of Babbas?” he asked.
An old man with a crooked back and even more crooked sensibilities. Bargee by trade; thief, con man, and pimp by preference. Who hadn’t heard of him? The Guild had used him on occasion but he was as unreliable as the weather.
“Of course,” I said.
“Yesterday he was seen with a Guild journeyman.”
“Who?”
“More importantly, why?” Begara raised one eyebrow.
I rubbed my nose and winced. “It sounds to me as if someone is investigating the source of that fire.”
Someone who knew it had come from the sewers. Was Hallum part of this?
A smile spread across Begara’s face. He stood. “Time I got back.”
“Stay for breakfast? I’m grateful for your visit.”