Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  No answer came from inside the townhouse. No sound of muffled surprise, no holler or shout that they should wait a moment.

  ‘Not a promising start,’ said Steiner, taking shelter at the side of the street.

  ‘Come on, you old bastard,’ said Marek.

  ‘We should go,’ said Kristofine, her eyes darting to the end of the street. Steiner saw her then for the tavern-keeper’s daughter that she was. He felt a pang of guilt for dragging her into the chaos of his life. Marek opened his mouth to speak as the door creaked open. A woman peeked through the narrow gap between door and frame. She had a serious look on her deeply lined face that changed to a scowl as she realised there were three of them.

  ‘Well? Are you just going to stand there?’

  ‘I’m here for Tikhoveter,’ said Marek so quietly the rain near drowned out the words. The diminutive woman looked from Steiner to Kristofine. Her scowl deepened and she opened the door. ‘You’d best come in.’

  The townhouse was a place of dark wood panelling and darker shadows. The candles remained unlit and the fireplaces held no cheer. The only light emanated from the lantern the woman held. Now they were inside Steiner could see her properly. Barely five feet tall, she had the olive skin and the dark eyes of the Spriggani.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ said Marek, catching the look in his son’s eye.

  ‘This way,’ said the woman, crooking a finger at them. The stairs creaked under their weight and every footfall seemed a crime against the silence of the house. The woman opened double doors onto an empty room and gestured they should wait inside.

  ‘What happens now?’ whispered Steiner after the Spriggani woman had disappeared.

  ‘Now we wait,’ replied Marek, peeling off his wet cloak. ‘And hope he speaks with us.’

  ‘And what if this friend of yours still works for the Empire?’ said Kristofine with a frown. She shook the rain out of her cloak and her eyes darted around the room.

  ‘He was never a man that followed orders easily,’ said Marek and crossed to the window where he could watch over the street below. ‘Mistress Kamalov isn’t the first person to turn her back on the Empire. Or even the second,’ he added, as if remembering his own former allegiance. Steiner peeled off his own cloak before settling in to make a fire.

  Tikhoveter, when he finally appeared perhaps half an hour later, did not look like the Imperial soldiers they were avoiding, nor did he look like an Envoy. Tikhoveter did not look like anyone the Empire would employ for anything. He was stooped with the passage of years, at least fifty of them if Steiner had to guess. Wild corkscrews of white hair fell about his shoulders and he was wiry-thin. His beard was trimmed but in all other aspects Tikhoveter was a shambles. His britches were patched and stained, his shirt and jacket no different, and the smell of drink was overpowering. Tikhoveter belched loudly, leaned wearily against the door frame, belched again and blinked a few times.

  ‘Hoy there,’ said Marek. ‘Did we wake you?’

  ‘On a day like this there’s little to do except nap and read old books.’ Steiner struggled to place the accent. The wiry man drifted past them and presented his backside to the fireplace. He smiled a moment and whispered, ‘There is nothing more wonderful in all of creation than having a warm arse in damp weather.’

  ‘Are you Tikhoveter?’ asked Steiner. Marek made a growling sound and Steiner fell silent.

  ‘No Tikhoveter here,’ said the man. ‘He died about ten years ago.’ His words sloshed against each other, and there was a tipsy sing-song quality to the way he spoke. ‘We still get Imperial sorts wandering in here from time to time. Looking for shelter mostly, or somewhere to hide for a night or two.’

  ‘That’s a real shame,’ said Marek. He remained at the side of the room watching the street outside through the window. ‘But we’re not Imperial sorts. At least these two aren’t.’ He nodded to Kristofine and Steiner, then returned his gaze to the street outside. ‘And I haven’t been for over twenty years.’

  Their host turned his back on Marek and held out his hands to warm them. ‘Is that so?’

  Steiner frowned, confused at the two men who seemed to be speaking yet ignoring each other.

  ‘I met Tikhoveter once,’ said Marek, not breaking his vigil at the window. ‘He was a sickly little runt with a hacking cough. The Empire had posted him to Arkiv Island. They had him working in the library but the dust was no good for his lungs.’

  The man by the fireplace stiffened and turned his head just a fraction to glance over his shoulder. ‘Never met him.’ Steiner noted the drunken pretence slipping away.

  ‘And the strange thing about him,’ continued Marek, as if he hadn’t heard the man, ‘was that he had long hair that fell all about him like corkscrews. Never touched a drop of booze on account of his health, but always had an eye for women. Especially Spriggani women.’

  The rain continued to drift down in the street and Steiner couldn’t help but smirk. Tikhoveter gave a long sigh and his shoulders slumped forward. He was very quiet for a moment.

  ‘Fuck my boots,’ he mumbled in defeat. ‘So who the Hel are you then?’

  ‘I’m the soldier who had you reassigned from Arkiv Island,’ replied Marek with a slow smile. Tikhoveter stood up straighter and frowned a moment.

  ‘Marek Vartiainen?’

  Marek turned to the man at last and nodded once.

  ‘Have you come to kill me?’ asked Tikhoveter, a wary expression crossing his face like a dark cloud.

  ‘Do you think we’d just calmly knock on the door if the Emperor wanted you dead?’ said Marek.

  ‘I’m not so charming as to warrant a social call after all these years,’ said Tikhoveter. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Are you still playing both sides?’ asked Marek.

  ‘Not so much these days. I get word to a few old friends who prefer to avoid the Holy Synod. The Empire leaves me alone by and large.’

  ‘Something big happened at Vladibogdan recently,’ said Marek. ‘We need to learn just how much the Empire knows.’

  ‘Information doesn’t come cheap,’ said Tikhoveter, running a hand across his beard. ‘And information about the Empire is more expensive still.’

  Steiner reached into his pocket and fished out a guilder. ‘What do you know about Matriarch-Commissar Felgenhauer?’

  ‘Hel’s teeth, Steiner,’ muttered Marek.

  Tikhoveter eyed the guilder and pursed his lips. ‘So the boy has money?’

  ‘He’s no mere boy,’ said Marek, anger flashing in his eyes as the fire roared in the hearth. ‘And he’s done more to fight the Empire in a few months than you or I have in two decades.’

  Tikhoveter held up his hands. ‘I meant no offence.’

  ‘Yes you did,’ replied Steiner, hefting his sledgehammer. ‘But I’m more interested in Felgenhauer than trading slights.’

  ‘Last I heard,’ Tikhoveter cleared his throat, ‘is that she was summoned to the Emperor himself by an Envoy. They almost made it back to the Imperial Court at Khlystburg when she went renegade.’

  ‘Renegade?’ Steiner stood open-mouthed for a second. ‘And then what?’ Tikhoveter shrugged and looked away. Steiner tossed him the guilder and the wiry old man snatched it from the air.

  ‘Just rumours,’ said Tikhoveter. ‘Some are saying she’s started a mercenary company operating around Slavon Province. That’s all I know about her.’

  Marek held up another two guilders. ‘We need to know what the Empire is talking about, and we need to know it quickly.’

  ‘Come back tomorrow,’ said the old spy. ‘This kind of work can’t be rushed. I’ll reach out to a few contacts and see what I can discover.’

  ‘Can we stay here?’ asked Kristofine. Tikhoveter started laughing, a cruel sort of sound that gave way to a painful cough.

  ‘You don’t have to be so rude,’ she replied.

  ‘Safer for everyone is we stay at a tavern,’ said Marek. Steiner led them down the stairs.

  �
�I’ll have word by tomorrow,’ said Tikhoveter from the top of the staircase. He did not see them out. The rain had slackened during their brief stay at Tikhoveter’s house but the temperature was dipping.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Kristofine. ‘It takes weeks for a man on horseback to carry messages from one town to another. How does he expect to have answers for us by tomorrow?’

  ‘It’s what makes the Vigilants of Vozdukha so necessary,’ said Marek. ‘They can set whispers on the wind and send them over hundreds of miles, faster than any man on horseback could ever dream of riding.’

  ‘Like Mistress Kamalov?’ asked Kristofine.

  Marek nodded. ‘It’s why a Troika of Vigilants usually has one graduate from the Vozdukha Academy in its ranks.’

  ‘So they can stay in touch with the Empire, wherever they are,’ said Steiner.

  ‘And some folk with witchsign,’ explained Marek, ‘those who are too sick or troublesome, are pressed into service as envoys or spies.’

  ‘Folk like Tikhoveter,’ said Steiner, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Can we trust him?’

  Marek shrugged. ‘Who knows. But he’s our best bet right now, so we have to take that chance.’

  Steiner looked back at the townhouse and tried to feel some hope, but uncertainty carried a dread all of its own.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kimi

  The noise could be heard a few streets away. Kimi and Marozvolk exited the blacksmith’s where they’d purchased swords.

  ‘Smoke,’ said Kimi, nodding to the pale blue sky. Dark clouds had crowded in over the city and it was just starting to rain. She set off against the flow of people who hurried past them, hurrying away from trouble. Violence had come to Svingettevei and Kimi knew in her bones it was no mere sailor’s brawl. Panic was written across the face of every person who fled down the street or cowered in a doorway.

  ‘It could just be a house fire,’ said Marozvolk. They exchanged a glance that confirmed neither of them really believed such a thing. A brisk walk became a jog and then, on some unspoken agreement, they both ran towards the sound. Kimi shouldered her way through the crowd, staring down any that blocked her way. She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword to make her intent clear. There was a wail of pain from ahead of them, cries of dismay, people calling out to each other. Most of the voices were children.

  ‘It has to be the novices,’ muttered Marozvolk.

  ‘What in the Hel is …’ Kimi got no further. Marozvolk rounded a corner and almost ran into three soldiers, lurking at the edge of the street in their black cloaks and heavy armour. No doubt the soldiers were as shocked as Kimi, trying to make sense of the unfolding chaos in Virag’s streets. A wagon was bright with fierce flames and a handful of children lay strewn on the cobbles, unmoving, bleeding or both. Mistress Kamalov and Kjellrunn stood in the centre of the street, shielding the children as best they could. The renegade Vigilant looked both severe and forbidding, while Kjellrunn was ashen with fear, her eyes wide with shock.

  ‘This is bad,’ muttered Marozvolk.

  Kimi searched for Steiner, cursing under her breath when it was clear he was nowhere to seen. ‘Where is that damn fool?’

  ‘Stand down and cease all use of the arcane this instant!’ bellowed a man’s voice. Kimi noted the speaker; he stood on the opposite side of the street, holding a short sword to a young novice’s throat. It was the Imperial Envoy they had seen earlier. Kimi gritted her teeth in frustration. She should have gone back to the ship to warn people.

  ‘He won’t do it,’ muttered Marozvolk, nodding to the Envoy.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ whispered Kimi.

  ‘The children are more useful to them alive. Always have been.’

  A burly sergeant with a two-handed maul kicked one of the children on the ground, who cried out and curled up into a ball. Somehow the many soldiers – Kimi guessed over a dozen – hadn’t noticed the Yamili women emerge from a side street. Nor had they seen the vast cloud of birds that stared balefully from the rooftops, nor the knot of Spriggani who appeared beside the burning cart. Mistress Kamalov, Sundra and Kimi shared a nod and all the terrors of Hel descended on Virag that day.

  Mistress Kamalov reached into the sky, urging a commotion of gulls, cormorants, and gannets to dive from above, summoning them with the arcane. Her lips moved silently and she frowned in concentration. The various birds buffeted the soldiers. Individually they had no hope of harming the armoured men, but their confusion was all Kimi needed. Kimi caught the first soldier square across the back of the neck with her sword. There was a bright gout of blood as the blade cut deep, all but decapitating him. Seconds later he was an armoured corpse littering the cobbles.

  Marozvolk grabbed the nearest soldier from behind, one hand clamping over the man’s faceplate, blocking the eye slit. The soldier jerked backwards but Marozvolk pulled with all of her strength and the helm came free. Confused and off balance, the soldier had barely turned to see his attacker before Marozvolk slashed him across the throat in a bright torrent of crimson.

  ‘Worth every penny,’ said Marozvolk, hefting the new blade.

  Kjellrunn used the cover of screeching birds to circle around the soldiers and reach the Envoy. A fallen mace leapt up from the cobbles and her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t meant to use the arcane, but the weapon had come to her as if summoned. The Envoy stared in disbelief, hands shaking, face pale, as Kimi and Marozvolk carried out their grim trade of death, besting the soldiers.

  ‘Surrender your weapons at once!’ the Envoy shouted as Mistress Kamalov’s birds swooped and slashed at him with their claws. Kjellrunn closed on the Envoy with a snarl on her face. She pulled back the mace, every muscle tense for the strike to come.

  ‘You will surrender!’ shouted the Envoy in desperation.

  Sundra glowered at the scene, her eyes a dark and terrible grey. A soldier raised his mace to strike her brother, Tief, as he fought another attacker. Sundra muttered an invocation to her goddess and streaks of grey covered the soldier’s armour. The man inside the armour stiffened and became still, until with a final gasp the soldier was petrified. Tief shoved the newly formed statue, grunting a curse. The soldier fell backwards and shattered apart on the cobbles with a terrible crash. Tief snatched up the soldier’s mace and, wielding a long knife in his other hand, snuck up to a soldier attacking the children. The long knife took the soldier in the back of the leg. The soldier fell to his knees and turned just as Tief caved in his helm with three savage blows.

  Marozvolk and Kimi bludgeoned and slashed a bloody path through the soldiers, but were soon split up. Marozvolk fought to defend the many novices, while Kimi surged forward to kill the Envoy. The children, initially cowed after the loss of their friends, saw their allies fighting for them and began to rally. Trine, the dark-haired, fire-breathing novice, hurled a javelin of arcane flame, which punched through a soldier’s armour and into his chest. Another of the men was lifted into the air by a trio of Zemlya novices, only to crash to the ground seconds later. He screamed as his legs broke.

  Kimi was a dozen feet from Kjellrunn when she reached the Envoy but no matter what she did, she couldn’t find a way past the soldiers. Kimi deflected and dodged their strikes and replied with thrusts of her own, but she drew no closer.

  The Envoy still clutched at the young girl, his short sword at her throat, his hand visibly shaking. He backed away from the fight but there was no escaping Kjellrunn. Her first strike came down on his sword arm, smashing the elbow. The sword fell from the Envoy’s numb fingers and clattered on the cobbles. The second strike almost connected with the Envoy’s head, but was nothing more than a glancing blow to his temple. The young novice slipped free of his grasp and fled.

  ‘Who are you people?’ mumbled the Envoy as he staggered backwards, holding his head with both his hands. Kjellrunn didn’t answer him, but hefted the mace, making her intentions clear. The Envoy’s expression hardened before spreading his feet wide and gasping down
a breath. There was a tell-tale orange glow at the Envoy’s throat that Kimi had seen before.

  ‘Kjellrunn! Get down!’ Kimi was locked in combat with another soldier a dozen feet away and had no way of reaching her. The Envoy breathed a gout of fire that engulfed Kjellrunn’s head and torso.

  ‘Kjellrunn!’ screamed Kimi. She slashed the knee of the soldier she was fighting with her blade and sprinted towards Steiner’s sister. The Envoy stared ahead in disbelief. The young woman he had immolated had not dropped to the ground in agony. Kjellrunn had barely flinched. Her blackened skin showed traces of stone beneath the scorch marks. She threw down the mace from granite hands and seized the Envoy by the throat before punching him with a series of wet smacking sounds.

  ‘Kjellrunn! Stop. You’re killing him.’ Kimi stared from the Envoy to the barely recognisable girl. ‘I didn’t know you could change your skin.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Kjellrunn. She released the bloodied Envoy and stared at one hand, a look of sickened worry on her stony face. Her granite skin shimmered a moment before returning to its normal colour. Marozvolk emerged from the violence to stand beside them.

  ‘Kjellrunn,’ said the former Vigilant in quiet awe. ‘It takes years to learn how to do that.’

  But Kjellrunn paid no attention. She gestured at a cobble by her foot, which she wrenched out of the road by arcane force. Then cobble shot over Kimi’s shoulder, barely missing her ear.

  ‘You nearly took my head off!’ Kimi shouted before turning to follow Kjellrunn’s furious gaze. The cobble had dented the sergeant’s chest plate and knocked him back a step, but he was still within arm’s reach. Kimi raised her sword but staggered backwards as the soldier slammed her in the face with the butt of the maul. Kimi fell into Kjellrunn and they both sprawled across the Envoy in a heap of limbs.

  ‘Get off of me!’ complained the Envoy, through a bloody and ruined mouth. Kimi stamped on the man’s face as she regained her feet. Marozvolk parried the sergeant’s next strike, stepping aside and looking for an opening. His armour was scored and dented, but the man showed no sign of giving in.