More cackling, following by a bout of wheezing that seemed destined to end in death. “How am I feeling, you ask? Never better!” the old man leered. “And you, my friend? How are you feeling?”
Chyrin looked from the man to his mate and back, baffled and terrified by the other man’s condition and, even more, his attitude. Without so much as a fare-thee-well, he turned and fled from the fellow’s doorway, raced down the hallway, rushed out onto the steps and hurried down to the street below. Only then did he pause to collect himself and slow his breathing. What in Mahnus’ name had he gotten—taken—from the other man? He began to shake almost uncontrollably and sat on a nearby stoop whilst the episode passed.
What had he done?
Almost before he knew it, he was wandering the streets, frantically looking for something, for…food. For sex. For diversion. He rounded a corner and came upon a small white cat, basking in the sun. He pounced on it and wrung its little neck before suddenly realizing he might have been seen. He glanced all about himself and, comfortable he had not been witnessed, carried the cat deeper into an alley, where the shadows were nigh onto impenetrable. He held the cat up to his face; it was still warm. The next thing he knew, he’d buried himself in its innards and was gobbling away as fast as he could swallow.
He was repulsed by his actions, and yet the cat tasted so damnably good. Too late, he saw that he’d spattered his robes with blood and other, less desirable fluids. He ate the cat’s bones. Sucked its brain right out of its broken skull. Lastly, he licked his fingers clean, just as a cat might do when finished with a mouse.
But he wanted more.
And that was when he smelled it; the unmistakable though new-to-him odor of a female dog, a bitch, in estrus. His stomach rumbled, and his loins became tumescent.
He howled in frustration at the night sky above, scarcely recognizing his own voice; once again, he’d forgotten his promise to return home soon. Mellie would be so, so disappointed with him, the poor thing. How could he have allowed himself to be so selfish a second time?
He dashed home, as fast as his hands and feet would carry him, his tongue lolling lazily out the corner of his mouth, and the wind ruffling through the hair down his shoulders, back and arms. He sprang through his door, sailed over the counter, and landed on the far side of his front room. Cautiously…stealthily, he peeked into the room he shared with his daughter and found her lying on her side on her little mattress.
She looked so innocent. So vulnerable.
And so delicious.
Swordman’s Holiday
By Martin Owton
Out of the corner of his eye Aron scrutinized the man who had been watching him. He was so powerfully built that it seemed his shaven head sprouted directly from his shoulders. He was plainly dressed, carrying no weapons openly, yet there was a sense of menace about him as he watched as Aron teach his afternoon class of basic bladesmanship in stable yard of The Spotted Cat.
I haven’t been in Laranda long enough to upset anyone, so I wonder what he wants? Of course he could be Caldon’s man, or even Sarazan’s.
Aron had arrived in Laranda just under a moon ago, chasing tales of Saxish clansmen. The tales had proved false but he’d stayed, attracted by Laranda’s wealth and the easy going reputation of its ruler, Duke Falis. His face and name were too well known in the Holy City just now for him to return, and he had nowhere else to go.
He’d taken lodgings at The Spotted Cat; cheap enough that he could afford to pay for several weeks, but not so cheap as to make him look disreputable, and passed word around the city of his availability as a personal escort and tutor of bladesmanship. Business had been slow. His class today had comprised only three pupils, but there was plenty of time for things to improve as word spread of his abilities. He had been looking forward to a long carefree summer, maybe even a little romance to help him forget the ladies of Nandor; then the man had arrived.
A little knot of tension began to tighten in Aron’s stomach as he took his pupils through the basic drills with their wooden practice swords, and the stranger’s silent vigil continued. Aron dismissed his pupils and turned to face the watcher. The watcher stood up and nodded in Aron’s direction. If he were here to harm me he’d have brought more men. Nevertheless Aron’s right hand sought the hilt of the throwing knife he wore in a sheath in his left sleeve as he approached.
“You can teach, I’ll give you that,” said the big man, looking Aron in the eye. “But can you fight?”
“I believe I can back it up,” said Aron, still on edge. “Perhaps you should ask Mikael of Sarazan.”
“So that was you.” The big man smiled. “I saw that fight. You’re exactly the man my boss is looking for if you’re available.” He held out a meaty calloused hand. “The name’s Tyrone. I work for Theodis of Laranda. He’s a successful merchant in the city.”
Aron took his hand. “What’s the job?” said Aron, the tension draining out of him.
“His daughter was abducted yesterday. If you come along with me he’ll tell you the details.”
The warehouse of Theodis was filled with goods and much activity despite the lateness of the day. Tyrone brought Aron through to the office upstairs where they went straight in.
Theodis was a short plump man with greying hair and beard. The rings on his fingers spoke of wealth, the deep shadows under his reddened eyes spoke of worry.
“This is Aron of Darien, boss,” said Tyrone. “He is the swordsman I told you about.”
Theodis stood up and offered his hand. “Theodis, merchant of Laranda.”
“Aron of Darien, Bladesman of the Academy,” said Aron. “Tyrone tells me your daughter has been taken. How can I help you?”
“I’m gathering a team to get her back. She was taken yesterday morning in the market. Two men picked her up, put her into a large basket and made off. The maid she was with tried to chase them but she was tripped from behind. When she recovered her feet they were gone.” Theodis told this with his fists clenched all the while. “There’s only five of them. I’ll pay whatever is necessary to get her back. She’s only sixteen.”
He reached into his desk, withdrew a small bag and dropped it on the table with a heavy clink.
“How do you know there’s only five?” asked Aron.
“A wizard found them for me,” Theodis said grimly.
“Has there been a demand for money?” said Aron.
“Not as yet. It will not be long in coming I’m sure.”
“Have you approached the Constable?”
“Useless. He told me that Ghislaine had probably eloped. The man’s an idiot and sober for less than half the day.” The bitterness in Theodis’s voice almost smothered the words. “Fortunately I have some friends in this town. They told me of you. I have a few good men, but none of your qualities. Were you truly at the Academy?”
“I was, indeed I am still. I’m merely on extended leave.”
“Then I hope you will join us.”
“How many other men do you have?” asked Aron cautiously.
“Well, there’s Tyrone there. He’s my caravan master. There’s Brin, he’s an archer. Nicoll and his brother Colam, they are my kinsmen. With you in the party, I am sure we have enough to deal with five bandits.” Aron’s heart sank as Theodis named his relatives. He hoped they were tough fellows, able to handle themselves in a fight, but he had a strong suspicion they would turn out to be callow youths with big ideas about adventures. Aron was minded to decline the proposal, but two things stopped him: firstly the fact that Theodis had already sought out a wizard, precisely as Aron would have done, and secondly Tyrone’s air of muscular competency.
Aron wondered whether he might have misjudged Theodis. He was clearly a successful merchant and someone like Tyrone would not work for a fool. Perhaps the good men Theodis had named would be exactly that. There was little harm in his finding out more. If Theodis was right, and the rescue was straightforward, then the money and improved reputation would be most welco
me.
“I think I would like to talk to Tyrone and your kinsmen before I commit myself,” said Aron. “I’d like to meet this wizard too. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Of course. I would have had grave doubts about you had you not wanted to know more,” said Theodis evenly. “I’ll take you to him myself.”
Aron felt uneasy; he had passed some test without being aware of it and he had misjudged Theodis again.
“Is there anything else you can remember of the place?” asked Aron. “The smallest detail could be crucial.” He and Theodis stood in a dimly lit room behind a pork butcher’s shop in a poor area of the town. Heavy curtains covered the windows and the scent of cheap incense filled the air. Master Alberic, the wizard, was a short man with a luxuriant beard. He wore a long purple robe which Aron reckoned would have appeared moth-eaten in stronger light.
“Who are you to question me in this manner?” said Master Alberic, glaring at Aron from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Do you doubt the truth of my words?”
“Master Alberic. The young man means no offence,” said Theodis soothingly. “He seeks only the last scrap of information.”
“I’m the one who’ll be going into this cave to fetch Ghislaine out. Any surprises, and I’m the first man in line to receive them,” said Aron, answering the wizard’s glare with a hard look of his own.
“Come now gentlemen. Let us not fall out over this. Surely we are all on the same side. Master Alberic, I would consider it a personal favour if you could visit my daughter once more. I am desperate to know that these bandits haven’t harmed her, and of course if you should see anything else of use to Aron.” Theodis left the sentence hanging as he dug in his belt pouch. Gold glinted between his fingers.
“Very well,” said the wizard with an oily smile. “The fee is the same as last time. Do you have the girl’s comb?”
Theodis passed over a tortoiseshell comb and Master Alberic drew from it a few strands of red hair. “Please sit down while I prepare. Do not speak to me until I speak. I need complete silence in which to concentrate.”
Aron and Theodis sat on a couch which puffed out a cloud of dust as it took their weight. Master Alberic settled himself cross-legged on a rug with a woven pentagram in the middle. He sat in the precise centre of the pentagram, placing the palms of his hands on two of the points. Aron sneezed as the dust filled his nose.
“Hush,” said Master Alberic fiercely. “I must have complete silence.”
Then he began to rock gently back and forth humming a monotonous low chant. Aron watched the performance in silence. He had seen this magic worked before, but with far less theatre; it did not increase his confidence in Master Alberic.
At length, Master Alberic ceased his chant and noisily took a deep breath. “I am with Ghislaine,” he said.
“How is she?” asked Theodis, his voice hoarse with anxiety.
“They are holding her in a cave. She is chained by her ankle, but otherwise unharmed. The men have not touched her,” replied Alberic in a dreamy sing-song voice.
“Thank the Gods,” sighed Theodis, his fists clenched tight. He asked no further question so Aron felt it was his turn.
“How many men guard her?” asked Aron.
“Four. There was another, but he left before they reached the cave,” replied Alberic, still in the strange voice.
“What weapons do they have?”
“Knives and swords. She hasn’t seen anything else.”
“Tell me what you see when you look out from the cave.”
“There’s a flat area before the cave, beyond that there’s a slope down to the stream. There’s a little hill on the other side of the stream with trees on it. I can’t see very far away to the right because of the bend in the valley. To the left the stream broadens and there’s a rock face at its edge. I’m losing the contact.” The last phrase was spoken in Alberic’s normal voice.
“Do you have enough? We already know where this cave is,” Theodis said, his first words for some while.
“I think so,” said Aron after a moment’s consideration. “If it is not all some showman’s trick.”
Master Alberic glared at Aron but said nothing. Theodis hurriedly opened the door to usher Aron away from the wizard before another argument began.
Nicoll and Colam, Theodis’ kinsmen, turned out to be tall dark-haired men in their late twenties with an air of brawny solidity that reassured Aron greatly. No callow youths these two, nor Brin the archer. He was a muscular shaggy-haired hillman who would look stocky until you realised how tall he was. Tyrone nearly broke Aron’s hand with his handshake and called for ale for all of them when Aron told him that he would join the rescue party. Colam wanted to know if Aron could join straightaway as they intended to leave in the morning. If the wizard’s vision was accurate, then with these fellows, Aron thought, the rescue would be money easily earned. One thing only troubled him; Theodis had still not received a ransom demand.
Theodis had maps of the region and, with Master Alberic’s information, had located the cave in a small area a day and a half’s ride from Laranda. The five rescuers rode out in the mid-morning, with enough supplies for eight days in the wild and a spare pony for Ghislaine to ride back. They made good time through the morning and, as the day aged, they turned off onto a smaller lane that wound towards a ragged line of purple hills. As dusk descended, they arrived at a country inn and took lodgings for the night.
“Mind what you say in here,” cautioned Tyrone as they approached the inn. “We are close enough to the area where the kidnappers should be that someone might carry them warning if we arouse suspicion.”
It was easy to avoid loose talk in the tavern as there was almost no-one else there. The tavern keeper was interested in only the quality of their silver and, once satisfied, he showed them to their room in silence. The rescue party were the only diners at supper. Later in the evening three or four farmhands, as Aron guessed them to be, came into the taproom taking to a corner to play some obscure game with cards and dice. After one mug of the sour ale Aron could understand why the tavern was not more popular. He returned to their room leaving Nicoll, Colam and Brin, who were clearly more used to the local brew.
Tyrone was sitting on his bed sharpening a dagger which he put aside when Aron came.
“I’m glad you’ve come back. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about tomorrow,” Tyrone said. “That is assuming we catch up with them tomorrow.”
“As you wish. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s this. I have known Colam and Nicoll since they were children, Brin almost as long. You, I met yesterday. I know I can trust the others in the tightest corner, but can I trust you?” Tyrone looked Aron squarely in the eye as he said this. “I’ve seen you fight in the arena, and you’re a fine bladesman, but can you, will you, kill when the moment comes?”
Aron relaxed. If that was what most bothered Tyrone, then he need not be concerned. “I’ve probably killed more men face-to-face than you have, though I do not needlessly seek it. You need not worry about that.”
There was a moment of silence as Tyrone studied Aron.
“What do you intend to do with any of the kidnappers we take?” asked Aron, more to break the silence that had descended than because he wished to know.
“No prisoners. I’m not the Constable of Laranda to be fetching them back. They’d only hang anywise, so we’ll save ourselves the trouble. Have you any problem with that?” Tyrone looked hard at Aron again.
“They’re no family of mine,” said Aron. He’d have been surprised if the answer had been different. “It’s a hard world. They’ve made their choice.”
This seemed to satisfy Tyrone. “I’m sorry to doubt you, lad, but I’ve known Ghislaine all her life. She’s like my own daughter. I can’t risk anything that could put her at any more risk.” He picked up his whetstone and returned to work on the dagger. “So you reckon you killed more men than me eh? You must have been a busy fellow.”
The r
escue party left the dreary tavern shortly after dawn, continuing towards the hills on a narrow and rutted track. The countryside changed as they rode into the hills; in the early morning they had passed through pasture land with cattle grazing. By midday rocks were showing through the thin soil and the cattle had given way to sheep. In the middle of the afternoon they came upon the first of the landmarks that Master Alberic had seen in his vision. Tyrone pulled out the notes that Theodis had made. After a few moment’s reading he directed them away from the track across through the rough scrub of the hillside. Every so often Tyrone would nod or grunt in approval and consult the notes. From this Aron understood that Master Alberic knew the countryside well or, just possibly, had the true sight.
As the shadows lengthened the five rode in single file following a rough stony path down a valley that narrowed between the outstretched arms of a limestone height. Hoof prints in the dust showed that others had passed this way since the last rain. Aron felt the muscles in his chest and shoulders tighten in anticipation. A stream chattered over the pale stones beside them as they came to where two shoulders of the ridge closed in, creating a gateway across the valley. Here they dismounted, tethering the ponies in a thicket of young trees whose foliage gave good cover. Tyrone drew out Master Alberic’s notes once more and gestured to the others to draw near.
“If I have it right, then they lie just beyond.” Tyrone pointed to the hill at their backs. “If we climb this hill then we should be able to look directly into the cave. There should be woods on the far side of the hill so let’s use the cover. Master Alberic said they keep no lookout, but that is no reason to be less careful.”
Tyrone had it right. From the crest of the hill they crouched in the undergrowth and were able to look across the narrow valley into the cave unobserved. But instead of three or four ruffians guarding Ghislaine, the slope below the cave was crowded with armed men all wearing dark full-length robes. Aron’s heart sank. The area immediately before the mouth of the cave had a great pile of wood on one side, on the other side a stake taller than a man was driven into a crack and between the two a white circle had been inscribed on the flat rock. As they watched two men stepped forward from the cave and looked down the valley to where the sun was sinking towards the horizon.
Blackest Spells Page 23
