Knight of Stars

by Tom Lloyd

  Protruding out from the shore, the Water Temple occupied one of the few small, mage-built islands that were not given over to crops. A shallow causeway connected it to the mainland, one apparently designed to get the ankles wet as you crossed. It was fantastically decorated in honour of Ulfer’s watery aspect as god of the seas. The tiled floor bore bright mosaics of huge tysarn amid a host of strange fish and crustaceans, all shaded from the glare of the sun by vines strung across the courtyard.

  Only half of the tables were occupied. Lynx and Toil had arrived just as the temple was starting for the day. At first Lynx had assumed his hangover was to blame when Toil had woken him and dragged him from his bed to go to temple. It had taken a burst of blind panic to get him upright, but that’d been just Toil’s cruel humour as she asked him to make an honest woman of her.

  ‘Isn’t this better than lounging around in bed all morning?’ Toil sighed, stretching her arms up to brush her fingers against one trail of vine that had slipped its binds.

  ‘No.’

  She laughed and plucked a sugar-stick from the bowl, chomping thoughtfully on it as she looked around the other patrons.

  ‘Just think of the good you’re doing,’ Toil said after a few moments more.

  ‘No.’

  All the same, Lynx glanced towards the small crowd of beggars who had gathered at the temple entrance, some of whom sat on the rocky shore of the island and ate the same food as Lynx and Toil. The temple charged a high price for breakfast to rich locals and hungover foreigners alike, but fed half a dozen for free as a result.

  ‘Doesn’t it make you feel just a little good?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Still feeling delicate?’

  ‘Bugger off.’

  Toil smirked. ‘How’s the fish?’

  Lynx gagged a little and said nothing, but that didn’t dissuade Toil from removing the dish and helping herself.

  ‘Delicious,’ she declared. ‘I may get some more.’

  Lynx frowned and squinted at one of the beggars being served. ‘Is that cornbread? Some sort of pancakes? If there are eggs and no one’s told me I might just burn this whole shitting place down.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Toil sighed. ‘I think they’re fried corn cakes. There’s no need to shoot anyone, we can order some.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes what?’

  ‘Yes I’m going to get some,’ Lynx growled and pushed himself to his feet. He lurched a little before finding his balance and staggered over, fumbling at his purse. A combination of aggressive pointing and waving money around secured a stack of the bright yellow discs and Lynx tottered back to the table to discover a stranger seated opposite Toil.

  ‘The fuck’s he?’

  ‘Good morning,’ the man said in a pleasant voice. ‘I hope you don’t object if I intrude on your breakfast?’

  ‘Yeah I fucking well …’ Lynx broke off as Toil kicked him hard on the shin. ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t mind,’ she said.

  ‘Bloody do.’

  ‘Shut up, sit down and eat,’ she snapped.

  Lynx shut up and sat down. After a glower at both of them he began to eat. The stranger was not a local – Lynx could tell that much from his accent, though he wore a headscarf. Somewhere on Whitesea Sound would be his guess, though the man spoke perfect Parthish.

  He was an overweight merchant’s clerk-type; a little older than Lynx with pale skin that had caught the sun and small brown eyes. Not a rich, deep brown, more of the runny shit variety. That coupled with the fastidious little pursing of his lips before he spoke and a hangover made Lynx take an instant dislike to him.

  Hey, Whitesea Sound? Weren’t we meant to meet with someone from there? Oh.

  ‘As I had just intimated to your commander here – my name is Hezhi Voronay. I represent the Whitesea Banking Consortium here in the Mage Islands.’

  Lynx let the commander thing slide. For one, he wasn’t sure what he was meant to call Toil and for a second, she’d been ordering him around for months anyway. At some point you just had to give up.

  ‘You have been hired to ensure the bank receives what it is entitled to, no more and no less.’ Voronay offered a short slip of folded paper. ‘Here, I have prepared a brief description of what holdings the contract confers upon the bank.’

  ‘Ain’t we a bit beyond contracts here?’ Lynx asked.

  He received a startled look. ‘We are never beyond the terms of contracts,’ Voronay said gravely. ‘However much we must accept that enforcement often requires alternative means, it is the bank’s strict policy to never overstep its bounds.’

  ‘Oh really? What with you banking types being all moral.’

  ‘Morality is irrelevant,’ the man said in a chillingly practised way. ‘There is no column for morality in a bank’s ledgers. We prefer certainty. It may be that we drive a hard bargain, but without the sanctity of what is written down there can be no certainty for either party. Our business will suffer if we gain a reputation for overreaching.’

  ‘Lynx, shush,’ Toil warned. ‘We’re here to do a job and the validity of that job has been confirmed. Their debtor took one shit load of money and is refusing to repay it or turn over the holdings.’

  ‘We regret it has come to more direct means,’ Voronay added, ‘but this is the Mage Islands and lawyers are not respected here.’

  ‘So who’s the lucky winner of our gentle affections?’ Toil asked.

  ‘A kabat of Nquet Dam named Fioril Siym. As you will see there,’ he said, nodding to the piece of paper, ‘she is heavily invested in drugs and spices, holding the title to four islands and importation bonds with several foreign parties. Her goal was to develop an overland route to the states of Whitesea Sound for these mostly lightweight, high-value goods.’

  ‘Does that need lots of money? Surely you just need mules or whatever?’ Lynx interjected. He received a pitying look.

  ‘The mules must eat, also drink at safe waterholes. The caravans must not be slaughtered as they travel so there must be treaties with the locals. The carts must also have a road of sorts to travel on, part of which required mages to raise a road through the mangrove forest in order to prevent it disappearing every season. This is a distance of several hundred miles through largely unclaimed territory, a route that would be used by many parties if it could be established as safe.’

  ‘But it wasn’t,’ Toil stated baldly.

  Voronay shook his head. ‘Not sufficiently. In another life perhaps you would have been hired to wage war upon a particularly troublesome clan, but the combination of a pest infestation on one island and a drought elsewhere meant the Siym finances took a hit at the worst possible time.’

  ‘How important is Kabat Siym to the rest of the city?’

  ‘Enough that the others will still come to her assistance if there is a fight raging. She’s sold what she can quietly to ensure her Masts crews don’t abandon her. The other kabats are biding their time until they can pick apart the Holding’s assets without a fight. The bulk of her debt is to us and the extent of that is unknown to most of Caldaire. Should there be time to summon other crews you will be hugely outnumbered, but there is a window of opportunity prior to that happening.’

  ‘But you don’t want her dead?’

  ‘Merely control of her holdings long enough for our officials to be established.’

  ‘How?’ Lynx found himself asking in ghoulish fascination. ‘If the other kabats don’t want to accept you and we’re not there to be garrison?’

  Voronay inclined his head to acknowledge the point. ‘They are highly pragmatic people, the kabats. Presented with a threat they react accordingly. Presented with a fact they may choose their response. The Siym Holdings will be ours to dispose of as a result of the default – additionally, once the head of the snake is removed, the body remains. Loyalty can either be earned or bought, after all, and a bank is extremely adept at buying things.’

  ‘So you keep on the staff and guards at a bett
er wage, kick out anyone named Siym and bribe the other kabats to accept it. Why not do it all yourself though? All banks have enforcers.’

  ‘We have the Courier Division, it is true, but to muster sufficient forces would leave us vulnerable elsewhere. Additionally, any identification of bank-sanctioned forces makes the actual enforcement harder. Siym is prepared, but cannot live in a state of siege. I am not currently the bank’s official representative in the city. That dubious honour falls to another and he is engaged in diplomatic efforts still, while under constant surveillance. The bank has lost patience, however. As a gesture of goodwill to the Consortium, Mistress Toil’s employer suggested an elite company suitable to the task.’

  ‘Speaking of whom,’ Toil said, standing, ‘we should probably go see if they’re sober enough to be bailed out of prison.’

  Voronay looked startled. ‘Prison?’

  ‘All part of a clever ruse,’ she said with the full force of her glittering smile. ‘Not at all because they’re drunken lunatics. Ninety per cent at least. Maybe eighty-five. Will you be joining us on the action itself?’

  ‘I … no. I am no soldier. Give me instructions as to when and I will be nearby, ready to enact the more legalistic part of the plan.’

  ‘Time frame?’

  ‘As soon as you are able.’

  She nodded and gave Lynx a kick. ‘Best we get on surveillance then. You about done with breakfast?’

  Lynx smothered his natural instinct to growl and hug the bowls of food to his chest. ‘Do I get a choice?’

  ‘Oh, but you wouldn’t want to miss out on seeing the others, would you?’

  Lynx brightened for a moment then felt a flicker of suspicion. ‘Oh gods, they’re not going to be naked again are they?’

  Toil’s bark of laughter echoed briefly around the temple. ‘Not at my doing, but I wouldn’t put anything past them! Come on, it’s time to work.’

  Much like its military might, the civil authority of the Mage Islands was a nebulous thing. There was no single state but a collection of financial interests and a sense of cooperation born from centuries past when the islands were a haven for the sea’s pirates. As Hezhi Voronay had already reminded Lynx that morning, the law was fitful at best.

  Lounging outside the stronghold of Kabat Shen Ategeo, principal kabat of the Auferno district, Lynx reflected that in most circumstances a bar fight would be nothing remarkable here. Laying out most of the tavern, however, including a decent number of Mastrunners sent to quell the trouble, was a little more serious. Do that and clearly someone felt they had to step in.

  The stronghold was a large square tower that loomed over the rest of the plaza. A bulky statement of power that overshadowed the shoreline palazzo from which Ategeo ran his textiles empire. When his Mastrunners had arrived it hadn’t been to break up a fight and fortunately none of the Cards had pushed their luck. Mage-guns were rare in the islands because of the expense, but the kabats that ruled each district were vastly wealthy. Mage-guns were a good way to make a statement to the lesser kabats, and woe betide any foreign mercenaries who let themselves be made an example of.

  When the combatants had been picked over and checked for signs of life, there had been only three Cards really able to stand. One of them was Reft, however, and it had been clear to Lynx that they were arresting the winning side on general principle. It seemed no one was dead, which was a bonus, and most were simply battered and bruised. Dazed, drunk and exhausted, the Cards were carted off to the gaol in Ategeo’s tower to sleep it off.

  Toil was in the stronghold, attempting to secure their release, but Lynx had decided a quick doze in the sunshine was more his speed. The stink of booze oozing from his pores was already bad enough. A gaol with all the usual accompanying smells and the likelihood of shouting meant he couldn’t face going inside right now.

  ‘Gods-in-shards!’ called a voice from his right. ‘Look at the state o’ you!’

  Lynx jerked around and immediately regretted it as black flowers burst across his eyes. When they faded the view wasn’t much improved by Llaith’s grinning face. The Diviner of Tempest was a tall greying white man with disease-scarred cheeks, hardly the most handsome even when he wasn’t looking darkly gleeful. Behind him were the elegant figures of Safir and Kas – looking almost perfectly matched but for the decade difference in ages.

  ‘No coffee, no bacon,’ Lynx growled.

  ‘None? Broken gods, let’s burn the city down.’

  ‘Pretty much the conclusion I’ve come to.’ Lynx squinted at the three of them. ‘Why’re you here?’

  ‘Figured there might be some walking wounded,’ Kas said. ‘Plus it’s a nice morning and I wanted a walk.’

  He blinked at her. There was something strange about Kas, but it took him a long time to work it out. Just as realisation hit, Llaith laughed.

  ‘You’ve been with us too long, Lynx! Time’s come it looks odder that Kas is in a skirt than Safir!’

  Kas did a twirl, showing off her firm brown legs in a way that made Lynx blink a few more times. Not to be outdone Safir performed a mock-curtsey, although if Lynx was to be honest the man had better legs than half the women in the company.

  ‘I own skirts,’ Kas added. ‘Well, one skirt. But we’re not often in warm parts so one’s enough. Estal’s even talking about getting a dress, which I don’t hold with unless it’s got some bloody pockets, but she’s always been dainty.’

  Lynx coughed at the idea of stocky, scarred Estal being dainty. When he tried to form proper words, however, they got lost somewhere in his throat.

  ‘Aye,’ Llaith said, ‘that’s pretty much what the rest of us said when Kas started going on about her warm parts. Don’t worry, it’ll pass.’

  ‘She’s not the only one who’s dressed up,’ Lynx noted at last. Llaith wore a fine new shirt with a bright band around the throat, and a pale blue tunic, elaborately decorated and hanging artfully open.

  ‘Ah yes, the other reason we’re here,’ Safir added. ‘The Mage Islands have no courtesans but no institution of marriage either, so Llaith has pronounced it the best city on Urden. He wants Layir beside him to distract the rich ladies at some fancy gathering.’

  ‘How do you even find out about these things?’

  ‘I avoid pubs where mercs get into fights,’ Llaith said with a shrug.

  Lynx chuckled. ‘Good luck with your plan. I’ve not seen him today, but I’m pretty sure Layir got more’n a few smacks in the face last night.’

  Kas made a dismissive noise. ‘Llaith’s going to have more of a problem with Brellis, who’s decided to adopt Layir as her own private sex toy.’

  ‘True enough.’

  Before anyone else could speak there was a ragged cheer from the stronghold. They turned to see the battered face of Deern split into a wide smile as the main door banged open and he was admitted through.

  ‘An adoring crowd waiting to give their heroes a welcome?’ he crowed.

  ‘Come to finish what that lot couldn’t,’ Kas corrected him cheerfully.

  At that Deern raised his fists as though ready to box, but Lynx saw the man wince even through his humour. Quickly Deern dropped his hands again, clutching his shoulder and Reft half-swept the man up as he came out of the tower ahead of the rest.

  ‘Bit sore there, Deern?’ Llaith asked. ‘Did you have an accident?’

  ‘Piss on you,’ Deern said through gritted teeth, rubbing his shoulder a few more times before he straightened. ‘Didn’t even notice it happen neither. Feels like a mule’s kicked me.’

  As for the rest, there were more than a few swollen and broken faces following along behind. Layir was indeed heavily bruised all down one side of his face, his left eye bloodshot in what little was visible past the swelling.

  Haphori had lost a few teeth and couldn’t put any real weight on one leg, Toil helping him to walk. Darm’s face looked misshapen even ignoring the scarf around his chin and Estal’s scarred face was unsmiling and ashen as she clutched her ribs.<
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  ‘Victors indeed,’ Safir muttered as he stepped forward to inspect his adopted son’s injuries. Layir winced but smiled as Safir took hold of his head then slapped him on the back.

  ‘You should’ve seen the other lot,’ Layir croaked.

  ‘Hardly seemed fair,’ Anatin said, ‘keeping Reft in reserve until they’re tired. Was pretty sore too, reckon I might be getting too old for this shit.’ He straightened all the same and beamed at the others. ‘But deepest black, I do love the sight of our beautiful white monster tearing through a bunch o’ arseholes!’

  Lynx nodded, despite the protests from his head that had found their stride now. It had been quite a sight, Reft wading into the press and felling men and women left and right.

  ‘Llaith,’ called Toil. ‘Go find a boat to hire.’

  ‘Eh? What for?’

  ‘’Cos I say so.’

  The look on her face was enough to make it clear she didn’t want to debate out in public so Llaith just turned away, heading for a short road beyond which the lagoon’s waters sparkled in the distance. Like the shambling dead the battered Cards left the tower and its guards slammed the door behind them.

  ‘You made friends then?’ Lynx said, nodding towards the door.

  ‘Yeah, they made it clear how pleased they’d be if this happened again,’ Toil confirmed.

  ‘And the boat?’

  ‘Darm and Estal, they could do with seeing a healer. How about you, Layir? How’s the eye?’

  ‘Fucking hurts, don’t it,’ Layir growled.

  ‘You too then.’

  ‘Himbel’s back at the tavern,’ Lynx pointed out. ‘Sitain too.’

  ‘Payl will send ’em on once they’re out of bed.’

  ‘On where?’

  She gave him a broad smile. ‘This is the Mage Islands, they’ve got proper healers here!’

  ‘Sounds expensive.’

  Toil nodded. ‘Enough to make me wince, yeah, but I owe ’em as much. Coming?’

  Lynx paused. ‘If the alternative is to have a hangover around Deern?’