I had better hurry up, he thought, worrying that the man he was supposed to meet would already be there. I sincerely hope Telimar appreciates the trouble I’m going to for him. I don’t see him here, risking his shadowless ass by coming to a major city.
The lamps were being lit on the street as Surgín walked along the road, still gazing in awe at the metropolis. The city was a bustling, noisy place, even at this hour, and Surgín had to weave his way through the crowd until finally he saw the Black Lion Inn.
Its patrons, many of whom seemed to be travellers, were standing outside on the street, drinking and discussing the burning issues of the day. Wide-eyed, Surgín pushed his way in to the bar and began to search for his contact.
After a minute or so, Surgín saw a man in black robes standing at the end of the bar.
That has got to be him, he thought, and started making his way over.
‘Are you Amrodan?’ he shouted over the noise.
The black-robed man turned. He pointed at the door then walked over to it, signalling for Surgín to follow. Once out of the inn, the man strode down the street and only then, when the din of the crowd was far enough away, did he speak.
‘There are too many sell-swords in that inn. My name is Brother Delevé, I have been sent by Brother Amrodan to get Telimar’s answer.’
‘Telimar has instructed me to tell you that his answer is yes. He says to tell Amrodan that whenever the time comes he can count on him to take up the fight and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him against the gods.’
‘So be it,’ Delevé said. ‘Tell Telimar that Brother Amrodan will be in contact closer to the time. I must go now. Safe return to Vestrowe.’
With that, he shook Surgín’s hand then slipped quickly away, disappearing into the encroaching darkness.
Surgín watched as Delevé walked away, until he was no longer visible. He then began the process of retracing his steps in an effort to make his way back to his own inn.
If I’m going to get the ship that leaves at first light, I must make sure that the innkeeper gets me up early, he thought, as he walked along the street.
Surgín began thinking about his friends in Vestrowe and how they would never believe what he had to tell them. He wished they could have come with him.
He walked through the emptying marketplace and down the avenue towards Watertap Fountain. The streets were more much quieter there, and punctuated by dark, narrow alleyways. As he walked past one of them, Surgín heard a muffled cry for help.
He squinted down the alley trying to get a better look at where the noise was coming from. Light spilled from the street into the alley, partially illuminating it. Piles of empty crates and caskets were stacked in it, with their straw packaging strewn on the ground.
A person was lying on the ground, on all fours, crawling and groaning.
‘Help me, please.’ A woman’s voice.
Without hesitation, Surgín bolted down towards her. The woman was slumped in a doorway, moaning and reaching up an imploring hand. She was wearing a cloak, her face mostly covered by a low-hanging cowl.
‘What happened? Where are you hurt?’ he asked.
The woman pulled back her hood to reveal bright red hair and red eyes. She pulled a crossbow pistol from under her cloak and pointed it at Surgín.
Surgín felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and then everything went black.
‘He’s starting to come round.’
‘Throw water on him, I want him fully conscious.’
Surgín felt sick. Restrained in a chair, his head was pounding and his arms felt heavy. Slowly, he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred.
‘I told you to knock him out, you imbecile, not smash his head in.’
I recognise that voice, he thought. The woman from the alley.
He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. Four figures stood in front of him, one of whom stepped forward and poured a bucket over Surgín’s head.
The water was cold and soaked him through, running into his eyes. He tried to bring his hands up and wipe his face but quickly felt the bite of tight rope on his wrists. Shaking his head to try and get rid of the water, he looked around in panic.
He was in a rundown warehouse, draughty and with boarded-up windows. Behind the woman from the alley were two men and one other women. The men looked rough and unshaven and the women sullen and serious.
‘Who are you? What do you want? I don’t have any money.’
The red-haired woman walked towards him. Bending down she grabbed Surgín’s foot and pulled off his boots. She crouched before him and held up her hand, expectantly. The larger of the two men, who had tattoos covering both arms, moved forward and put a pair of iron pincers into her hand.
‘I’m going to ask you some questions,’ she explained calmly. ‘For every wrong answer you give me I’m going to remove a toe. Do you understand?’
Surgín began to shake. He nodded rapidly.
‘Let’s start with something simple. What is your name?’
‘Surgín,’ he stuttered.
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Vestrowe. I’m from the island of Vestrowe.’
Still holding the pincers, Pandimonia stood up and strolled behind him, patting him on the head.
‘You’re doing really well, Surgín,’ she said, ‘I’m so proud of you. Now, tell me, why have you come all the way from Vestrowe to Wittinshade?’
Surgín could feel the rope burning into his wrists as he shook uncontrollably. His mouth was dry and there was a pressure on his bladder.
‘I’m here to see a friend,’ he said, his voice wobbling.
The two men in front of him frowned at Pandimonia and closed in on Surgín, as if about to seize him.
He recoiled, trying to pull himself from the chair.
‘Wait,’ Pandimonia said, looking at the men. ‘What did you speak to your friend about?’
A sorrowful look formed on Surgín’s face.
‘I came here to borrow money,’ he said.
‘Hold him down,’ Pandimonia ordered.
Surgín was kicked by the largest of the men, toppling both him and the chair backwards. The other man then gripped him by the foot and twisted it. Screaming and crying, Surgín tried to kick his legs but one of them was grasped tightly and no matter how much he struggled he was unable to move it. A few seconds later an excruciating pain shot up Surgín’s foot. The agony was unrelenting.
The men let go of him and stood laughing as he writhed in pain, unable to reach down to stem the blood flow.
‘Put him back upright.’
Surgín felt queasy and light-headed. He stared down at his severed toe lying on the ground.
Pandimonia set the blood-stained pincers on his lap.
‘Now then, Surgín, let’s talk about Telimar.’
The temple had seen better days. Its ancient stained-glass windows let in draughts, and the floor on which the priest was kneeling to pray was cracked. Dirt had worked its way into the crevices and dulled the once brightly coloured mosaics.
The priest ran his thumbs over the holy medal on the end of a chain that was attached to his waist. He felt its embossed surface and its grooves, pressing each feature gently and memorising it in turn. Closing his eyes, he muttered a litany.
Kunal Treslow had been the high priest of the Temple of Bahrôc, in Shokrill, the capital city in the Realm of Caulderon, for over ten years now, arduously working his way through the ranks. Being the head of the temple, Kunal cherished the respect it brought him, he adored the lifestyle that came with it, but most of all he loved the power. The Cavenná Royal family may have been the public face of leadership, but the high priests knew that without the temples keeping the population in check, chaos would ensue.
‘Show me that you are happy with me, Bahrôc; give me a sign.�
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There was a gust of wind from the back of the temple. It blew the candles out and dispersed blue smoke from the incense burner.
The priest flung back the hood on his orange robes and opened his eyes, alarmed by the sign he had just received.
‘Are you displeased by my actions?’ he said.
He heard footsteps behind him, and the realisation that someone had opened the doors to the temple dawned. He put his hand to his chest and felt the thumping of his heart.
‘High Priest Kunal, the other temple leaders are here, in your study,’ Dregdan said.
Putting one hand on the altar and climbing heavily to his feet, Kunal turned to see the teenage acolyte who had spoken; he was standing at the bottom of the dais. Kunal clouted the boy on the side of the head.
‘Knock next time,’ he shouted at the cowering figure.
It was early summer and the flower beds and trellises were in full bloom as Kunal walked through the temple gardens to get to his study. He passed the alabaster pillars of the temple basilica, up the steps of the outer courtyard and in through the doors of the communal dormitory towards his private rectory.
He could hear the chatter from outside his study as he approached the door. When he opened it, the talking stopped. The high priests from the six other main temples in the city were sitting around a table and helping themselves to the contents of his decanter.
Dressed in different coloured robes, the colour of each man’s attire was indicative of the god he worshipped and the temple he represented.
‘Glad of you to join us, Kunal,’ the grey-robed priest said.
‘The pleasure is all mine, High Priest Ornal,’ Kunal replied.
‘Would you like a glass?’ Ornal held out a bottle containing a dark-brown liquid.
‘How very generous of you, but no; on this occasion I must decline.’
He pulled back the empty chair at the head of the table, and sat down in it. Bolt upright, he glared at the men sitting around the table, a stern look upon his face.
‘So, then, why has this meeting been called?’ Kunal demanded.
The room fell silent, and five of the other priests turned and looked at their associate, a man wearing dark-green robes.
‘Etar, your peers have volunteered you as the unofficial spokesman of this meeting. So tell me, what issue, worry or woe compels you to call this gathering a full month before it is due?’ Kunal said.
Etar glanced at the others sheepishly.
‘Come now, do not be coy. Am I to assume that this problem is so great that you cannot share it with your fellow high priests? What is it, have you been caught with your fingers in the collection plate again? Has someone walked in on you and one of your young boys?’ he asked, sitting forward in his chair.
Etar ignored the jibes. ‘I had an unexpected visitor yesterday,’ he said. ‘A high priest from the realm of Valadöria.’
‘Excellent. How did he find the mead here, was it to his liking?’
‘He was a high priest from the Temple of Verceníus in Dolasie.’
‘Good for him. I have always said, that is what this city needs, a temple to honour Verceníus. Praise to the God of Snakes and Serpents,’ he said.
‘He said that his temple knows about Pandimonia.’
Kunal slumped back in his chair. The others were talking amongst themselves, but all he could hear was a low droning sound. Like a fighter who had received a blow to the face, he shook his head to regain his senses.
Dimly, he was aware that someone was calling his name.
‘Kunal.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Give me a second,’ Kunal snapped, gathering his thoughts. ‘What exactly did this priest say, Etar?’
‘That you had someone working for you. That it was a woman who did not have a shadow, and her name was Pandimonia Toŕl.’
Fuck, he thought.
‘Did this high priest tell you how he came to be in possession of this information?’
‘He told me that he had received a letter that told him in great detail about your relationship with this woman.’
Kunal tapped his lips with his finger.
‘So this man has a letter, nothing more? No witnesses, no proof?’
‘That is not the point, Kunal. The Temple of Verceníus in Dolasie knows about her. How long before the other temples find out? How long before the other realms find out?’ Etar said.
‘This is bad, Kunal,’ another priest said. ‘Pandimonia has light-red eyes, does she not? Her father is Verceníus. When a high priest from that god’s temple comes to your doorstep and starts asking questions about her, then it is time to sit up and take heed.’
Kunal reached for the brandy decanter, pouring himself a large glassful. He exhaled deeply after drinking the whole glass.
‘Pandimonia is not some gullible harlot who had the misfortune of being born without a shadow, Pockál,’ Kunal began. ‘She is a killer. Any others I have encountered seemed to be driven by some unwritten code that bound them together and swore them to look out for each other. Pandimonia is different; she actively seeks out and kills those without a shadow. She is a Shadowless who hunts other Shadowless.
‘Now I know that the nature of her very existence is abhorrent to you all. I know that we have each taken an oath to weed out and destroy these beings wherever we find them. But let me tell you this; we have ten units of Shadow Watchers, walking the length and breadth of this realm, patrolling its cities, towns and villages.
‘In the past five years, Pandimonia has found and executed twice as many of her own kind than all of these units put together. Her ability to read people’s thoughts makes her the perfect instrument for uncovering the location of these creatures. I know that using her as a weapon in the fight against these things is wrong. But when the weapon in question is so effective and precise then I believe the results outweigh the risks.’
‘If the people find out, there will be uproar,’ Etar said.
‘Never mind the people,’ Pockál snapped, ‘if the king finds out he’ll have us all hung. Is that what you want, Kunal?’
The priest in the purple robes, the oldest at the table, had said nothing thus far, appearing to listen carefully to the conversation. Now he spoke.
‘This is a dangerous game you are playing, Kunal.’
‘They have no real evidence, Blydrä.’
‘They have suspicion,’ he roared, getting to his feet. ‘That has always been a good enough reason for us to burn people at the stake, why not the king?’
A hush descended. Blydrä glared at the other high priests before his gaze rested on Kunal. He dropped back in his chair and folded his arms, clearly awaiting a response.
Kunal loosened the robes from around his neck.
‘Pandimonia is our best method of cleansing the realm of these creatures. She has executed more of them than anyone else I know. Let us not forget that she has killed the offspring of the gods from each of your temples, gaining all of you that god’s favour in the process.’
‘That was acceptable while her existence was still unknown,’ Blydrä agreed. ‘Now at least one of the other temples know about her. Your secret is out. She has become a liability.’
‘All they have is a letter, Blydrä. It means nothing.’
‘Where is she?’
Kunal shifted in his seat.
‘Answer him,’ Etar hissed.
‘She does not know it, but one of her group is working for me, relaying information. I received a letter from the informant yesterday to say that Pandimonia had uncovered a Shadowless hiding in a village on the island of Vestrowe. She is on her way there now.’
Blydrä drank the brandy. On his way to the door, he put his hand on Kunal’s shoulder.
‘This woman is going to be the noose around all our necks. You know w
hat you have to do.’
The white sand beaches of the island of Vestrowe shone in the bright sun. The fishing boats vying for a catch drifted gently on the waves with their long nets trailing behind them.
A tanned, muscular figure stood on the beach, gazing out to sea, naked but for an animal-skin loincloth and a diving dagger strapped to his thigh. He held out his hand to a young boy who ran quickly to him and gave him a net bag.
The man fastened the bag to his waist and tightened the straps of the sheath before walking forward.
‘How long will you be, Telimar?’ the boy asked.
‘As long as it takes, Tolda,’ he said, walking into the water.
Telimar waded into the sea. The warm waves lapped against his chest as he got further from the shore, and when he saw that they were about to engulf him, he dived under. Aiming for the sand bank up ahead, Telimar kicked his legs and descended into the clear water. Thirty feet down, he saw the coral reef appear out of the blue haze. Swimming deeper, he dived until he reached it. He had been under the water for almost eight minutes: now was the time. Grabbing the reef to stop himself from floating to the surface, he exhaled the air from his lungs, forcing it out until he was red in the face.
Now came the uncomfortable bit.
Inhaling, Telimar took as much liquid into his body as possible. His lungs and windpipe filled instantly, the sea water abrading the soft internal tissues.
His choking and gagging reflexes were triggered and Telimar fell to his knees. Then the pain and coughing stopped. Slowly, he began to inhale and exhale normally, the sea water entering and exiting his body when he respired. He could breathe.
This gets more difficult the longer I leave it, he thought. I should do it more often to let my body get used to it.
With his lungs full of water, Telimar got to his feet and began to walk on the seabed alongside the reef. He took out his diving dagger and began prising oysters from the rocky surface, He put them in his net bag and then moved down the sandbar.
Telimar collected as many molluscs as his net bag could hold and then waded back to the shore. Upon leaving the sea he coughed up the water that had filled his lungs.
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