The Mortal Blade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 1)

by Christopher Mitchell

  ‘Well?’ Gaimer cried. ‘Are you a man?’

  Daniel turned, his head still pounding from the hangover. This was the last thing he wanted, but he had already decided; he wasn’t going to back down.

  Gaimer was standing with his feet apart and his fists raised. ‘If you apologise for your comment, and beg for forgiveness, I’ll go easy on you.’

  Daniel kept his hands loose at his sides. ‘I’m not apologising to you. Your relatives have been milking my family’s fortune like a prize cow for years. Last night, that ended.’

  A few of the lieutenants laughed. Gaimer was known as a solid fighter, and Daniel had no doubt who they expected to win. What none of them realised, not even Todd or Gaimer, was that Daniel’s mother had paid for more than just his commission, and the engagement gifts given to Clarine; she had also paid for intensive, physical combat training for her son.

  ‘You’re going to regret those words, Aurelian,’ cried Gaimer. ‘It’s time someone brought your family down a peg or two.’

  He charged forward and swung his fist. Daniel ducked back and to the side, and Gaimer’s arm flew through empty air. A few of the lieutenants glanced at each other.

  Gaimer roared in fury and lashed out again. He was big, and strong, but Daniel was faster. He skipped back, dodged, then unleashed his fists. One cracked Gaimer square on the nose, and then the other sank into his waist. Gaimer staggered, a hand going to his bloody face, and Daniel punched him again, striking his old friend on the chin and sending him to the floor.

  The room descended into a silence for a moment as the lieutenants stared at the body of Gaimer sprawled across the floorboards.

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone else would like to question the honour of my family name?’ Daniel said, keeping his tone light; his hands down by his sides again. ‘I find that a good scrap does wonders for my hangover.’

  The lieutenants glanced away, and the group surrounding the two men dispersed. Todd hurried forward and Daniel narrowed his eyes at the sudden appearance of his, by now, only friend. Todd stared at Daniel, then knelt by Gaimer, a hand feeling for a pulse in the man’s neck.

  ‘He’s out cold, and I think you’ve broken his nose.’

  ‘Sorry. Obviously, I should have let him win.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you fight once, and then you do this?’ Todd shook his head. ‘Do I even know you?’

  ‘He lunged at me with fists swinging; I didn’t want to fight him.’

  ‘Then you should have apologised.’

  ‘For what? I’m sick of this; all of it. I can’t win, no matter what I do.’ He shook his head and headed for the door. He stopped, telling himself not to antagonise the only person who still liked him. ‘I’m going to my company; they’ve got drills I’m supposed to be supervising. Will I see you at lunch?’

  Todd said nothing. Daniel waited for a moment, then nodded and left the mess-hall.

  Chapter 9

  Illicit Cargo

  The Circuit, Medio, The City – 4th Izran 3419

  Thick, grey mist drifted in sheets over the cold waters of the canal as the barge glided between high, abandoned, concrete warehouses. Ahead, the battlements of the Union Walls loomed like a dark shadow against the swirling purples of the sky beyond. Dawn was fast approaching, and all over the Circuit workers would be rising from their beds and leaving their tiny, squalid apartments for another day of toil.

  The summer sun would soon burn off the dawn mist, as it did every day during the hot month of Izran. Named in honour of her father long before he had been executed, it was Aila’s favourite month. At the end of the Civil War, the old month of Yendran had been renamed to Balian at the command of the City’s new ruler, Princess Khora; such was the loathing felt towards Princess Yendra at the time. Aila had been worried that Izran would also be renamed, but nothing had happened, and she imagined that it was the killing of Prince Michael that had made the difference.

  She dug the bargepole against the bottom of the canal to slow down their movement as her arms began to ache. She may appear to any onlooker to be a burly bargeman, but her muscles were her own, and although they were stronger and more toned under her clothes than Lady Ikara might imagine, no amount of training and practice would turn her into a six-foot-plus muscle-bound oaf like the new champion of the walls was rumoured to be. Lord Naxor had been correct, as, annoyingly, he usually was – Corthie Holdfast had proved himself over the first two months of summer as a renowned slayer of greenhides, thrilling the peasants of the Circuit with his daring and with the tales of the crazy risks he took, seemingly because he enjoyed it. The propaganda machine of the City was in full operation, and Aila doubted half of the stories were true, especially the one about him having battle-vision. She almost wished she were allowed to go into the Bulwark to see for herself, but the law was clear, and the authority of Princess Khora’s rule came to an end at the dividing line of the Middle Walls; beyond, the Bulwark was under the control of Duke Marcus, and to enter she would need his permission. That would mean talking to a man she despised almost as much as she had hated Prince Michael, the duke’s father, and, as she had spent three hundred years avoiding talking to him, she was wasn’t about to start.

  The barge slid to a slow halt and bumped off the side of the canal. A wooden gate tipped with iron was blocking the waterway as it went under the ancient Union Walls on its way to Outer Pella, and a handful of soldiers emerged from a small guardhouse built by the base of the wall.

  You see me as Stormfire, assassin and spy.

  She laid the bargepole down and threw a rope to the approaching soldiers. Their pale green uniforms marked them out as Reapers, members of the Pellan militia, and Aila waited until the ropes were secured before stepping off the barge to join them.

  She handed their sergeant a bag of gold, and the soldier slipped it into the folds of her long overcoat.

  ‘I have two for you this morning,’ Aila said.

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Anything we need to know?’

  ‘The gangs are after them. They’re going to have to lie low for a while until the hunt has calmed down.’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘They do something bad?’

  ‘Mistaken identity,’ Aila said; ‘they’re innocent, but the thugs searching for them won’t listen to reason.’

  ‘Alright, bring them out.’

  Aila went back onto the barge and unlocked a below-deck compartment. Lying side by side in the cramped space were two figures, a man, and a younger woman. They both looked terrified, and stared about at the mist and the faces of the nearby soldiers.

  ‘Get up,’ Aila said, and the young woman glanced in fright at the scarred features of Stormfire.

  ‘Where are we?’ said the man, as he clambered out of the hold, his eyes darting around.

  Aila nodded upwards at the dark bulk of the battlements. ‘Union Walls. These soldiers will take you as far as a safe house on the edge of Outer Pella. Do not try to return to the Circuit, understand me? If you do, I won’t be coming to rescue you again. Do exactly what the soldiers say, you can trust them.’

  The young woman started to cry. ‘Why can’t we go home? We haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘For some reason,’ said Aila, ‘the gangs believe you killed Olvin. Several witnesses say you delivered the poison.’

  ‘But it wasn’t me! Someone was dressed like me, and.. and…’

  ‘I believe you,’ said Aila. ‘I know it wasn’t you.’ She passed them a bag of gold. ‘Take this; it’ll help you start a new life in Pella.’

  The man took the gold, then helped his daughter get up out of the compartment. They walked to the edge of the barge, and the soldiers stood back as they crossed to the wharf. The sergeant eyed them both up and down, then nodded to Aila; and the demigod watched as the two civilians were led away by a pair of soldiers towards the tunnel that led under the walls.

  ‘Before you go,’ the sergeant said to her, ‘can I ask your advice on something?’

  Ai
la nodded. Her relationship with the Reapers guarding the canals on the Union Walls stretched back decades, with generous bribes going to each new batch to secure their silence and cooperation. The sergeant led her towards the low arch where the canal went under the walls. A small dockyard had been built there, with a wharf large enough to hold several barges. In the darkness under the heavy bulk of the walls, Aila could see a vessel tied up.

  ‘Don’t be offended, Stormfire,’ the sergeant said, ‘but you’re not the only person who bribes us to be allowed safe passage under the wall.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if I were.’

  The sergeant pointed at the barge. ‘Contracts are usually on a no-questions-asked basis, but something about the demeanour of the two bargemen didn’t sit right, and I had their vessel searched.’

  Aila’s heart sank as they walked towards the barge. She had seen the depths to which some people could sink, and a mixture of nausea and dread began to rise within her. She stopped. ‘Look, if it’s children in there I don’t think I can handle…’

  ‘It’s not,’ said the sergeant as she stepped onto the deck of the barge. She crouched down, and removed the thick chain and padlock from a long compartment. She slid the three bolts free, and opened it. Aila flinched, then peered inside.

  ‘Weapons?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the sergeant, raising a nail-studded club, ‘but none of them are regulation, or look like they’ve been stolen from the stores of any militia. They appear handmade, but look at this.’ She dropped the cudgel and picked up a flail. It had a short handle, and a chain that linked it to a spiked metal ball the size of an orange. The sergeant held up the base of the handle. ‘This has been converted from use as a mace, and the armoury stamp has been scratched off.’

  Aila leaned over to take a closer look.

  ‘Altogether,’ the sergeant said, ‘if we include the other compartments, I estimate maybe six hundred weapons.’

  ‘And they were coming from Auldan, into the Circuit?’

  ‘Yeah, and many of the ones I’ve looked at have the same scratched-off stamps; like someone’s gone to a lot of effort to pretend that they haven’t been stolen from an armoury.’

  Aila picked up a machete, its blade gleaming in the dim light. Were the bosses stock-piling for a gang-war?

  ‘Anyway,’ the sergeant said, glancing at her, ‘I knew you were coming here this morning, and thought you should know.’

  ‘What do you plan on doing with it all?’

  The sergeant shrugged. ‘We’ve already been paid, so I guess we’ll have to let it through.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should alert the governor, or her adjutant?’

  ‘What, and have them find out about the money we’ve been taking? The entire platoon would be clapped in irons. No, agreeing to take the gold was the same as agreeing to keep our mouths shut.’

  Aila nodded. ‘Where are the two bargemen?’

  ‘They’re currently… resting in the guardhouse.’

  ‘May I see them, alone?’

  ‘Do you promise not to harm them?’

  ‘Alright.’

  The sergeant nodded, and locked the compartment, sliding the bolts back into place. They went back onto the wharf, and walked to the rear of the blocky guardhouse. The sergeant opened a door and they entered a lamplit passageway. She took a key from a belt and unlocked an inner door, then swung it open. Inside a small room were two men. One was sitting in his corner with his knees drawn up onto the bench, and looked terrified, while the other, who was a little older, glanced up at Aila, his features calm.

  The sergeant nodded to her. ‘Five minutes.’

  Aila stepped inside, and the door was closed behind her.

  She let her black cloak open slightly, so they could see the array of illusory weapons that Stormfire had strapped to her belt, then smiled at the two men.

  ‘Who is the delivery for?’

  ‘There’s been a mistake,’ said the older man. ‘We were promised no questions, and no hassle. If you touch a hair on my head, there will be consequences.’

  ‘You’re narrowing my choices with every word. If you refuse to tell me the truth, then I will kill you both. I don’t care how much you paid the soldiers, I guarantee that my pockets are deeper than your boss’s. The only question is whether I kill you here, then hole your barge and let it sink to the bottom, or whether I accompany you to your destination, then kill you after I find out who is waiting to take the delivery. Then kill them too.’

  The younger man shuddered, and cowered behind his knees. The older man glanced at him with contempt, then turned back to Aila.

  ‘I was warned about you,’ he said; ‘a ruthless, scar-faced assassin that haunts the streets and canals of the Circuit. You’re a worthy opponent, but don’t underestimate the power of those I work for. You’ll find killing us a lot easier than trying to escape the punishment that will come after you. So, go on, do your worst, cause I’m saying nothing.’

  ‘He doesn’t speak for me!’ cried the younger man. ‘I had to come, they have my family and said they’d kill them if I didn’t help. Please, I’ll tell you everything, I…’

  The older man lashed out, his hand concealing something that glinted in the light. With a controlled swipe, he slashed the younger man’s throat then, before Aila could react, he plunged the short blade into his own thigh. He grimaced in pain as next to him the younger man toppled dead onto the rough, stone floor. Foam appeared on the lips of the older man, and Aila saw a faint green tinge to the edge of the knife blade that was protruding from his leg. With a groan, he slipped onto the floor, and sprawled lifeless over the body of his companion.

  The door behind her burst open and the sergeant ran in. She stared at the ground, her mouth opening.

  ‘I didn’t touch them,’ Aila said. ‘The older man killed the younger, and then poisoned himself.’

  The sergeant eyed her. ‘And you had nothing to do with it?’

  ‘I threatened them, but I was bluffing. Apparently my reputation proceeds me.’

  ‘Malik’s ass,’ the sergeant muttered. ‘You’re going to have to help me clean up this damn mess, and I don’t just mean the bodies. If those weapons aren’t delivered, there’s going to be trouble.’

  ‘No,’ said Aila; ‘your responsibility ends as soon as the barge clears the walls and enters the Circuit. After that, if it happens to be attacked and ransacked by a band of Evader criminals, then that would be no fault of yours. Let’s get these two weighted and slung into the canal, and I’ll take care of the rest.’

  Aila knelt down and turned the older man over onto his back. ‘I wonder…’ she said, then took out a knife and sliced through the man’s thick tunic, uncovering the upper left arm. A wide, red patch of scar tissue appeared through the ripped fabric, and Aila glanced up at the sergeant. ‘Exactly where a Bulwark tattoo would be.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘There was something funny about his accent.’

  ‘He sounded Reaper to me.’

  ‘Yeah, but he sounded like some trying to sound like a Reaper, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘A Blade?’

  ‘That would be my guess, unless he’s deliberately trying to mislead us, and make us think so. He certainly acted like a soldier; he obeyed his orders to the end.’

  ‘But what in Malik’s name is a Blade doing out of the Bulwark? That flouts the most basic laws of the City.’

  ‘Well, either he deserted and somehow got through the Middle Walls undetected…’

  ‘Or?’

  Aila frowned. ‘Or someone sent him.’

  Aila punted the purloined barge for over a mile of deserted side-canals, until her arms were exhausted. For most of the journey, she had made herself appear like the older bargeman, in the hope that at least one witness would be able to back up the soldiers’ story that they had allowed the vessel to pass in peace. The sergeant and her squad by the wall blamed her for the trouble that they imagined was coming
, and Aila had found it necessary to dip back into her purse to placate them.

  She switched back to appearing like Stormfire as she saw the building she had been looking for, and steered the barge into a tight canal that finished in a dead-end. She pushed the pole against the far side of the narrow waterway and the barge bumped against the crumbling brickwork of a wharf. She stepped up onto the solid surface and tied a rope to an iron hoop attached to the side of the canal.

  ‘Raise you hands, slowly,’ said a quiet voice from the shadows, and Aila caught a glimpse of a crossbow.

  ‘It’s me, Stormfire.’

  ‘Stormfire?’

  Aila stood, and turned, her empty palms facing outwards. The young man’s eyes widened.

  ‘Is Bekha here?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll.. I’ll eh, get her.’

  He ran off into the building and Aila followed him inside. It was an old warehouse, but had been converted into a series of makeshift rooms, and they walked to a large open space in the centre, where a dozen people were sitting or standing. They stopped talking and glanced over.

  Aila nodded to Bekha. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Stormfire? I thought you were lying low for a while?’

  ‘I was, but there was something I needed to do and, well, one thing led to another.’

  Bekha nodded. ‘We’ll help if we can. What do you need?’

  Aila led her and a few others out to the wharf as the sun was rising over the tops of the buildings behind them. It was going to be another warm day in the Circuit. She clambered down to the barge, and opened the compartment so the others could see.

  ‘Weapons?’ said Bekha. ‘How can we help you with those?’

  ‘Take them off my hands?’

  ‘How much do you want for them?’

  Aila frowned. ‘Nothing.’

  Bekha smiled in confusion. ‘You’re giving us all these weapons?’

  ‘Look, you’d be doing me a massive favour if you were to take them; but not the barge. The barge has to go to the bottom of the canal.’