by Duncan Pile
The Wrench’s search-lamp gaze held him for another moment, and then all of a sudden his posture changed and he relaxed, looking over his shoulder for the innkeep.
“Bart,” he called, raising his hand, and the fat innkeep came shuffling over as fast as his enormous bulk would allow. “Wine for me, and for my friend?” he looked at Jonn enquiringly.
“Another beer,” Jonn responded, thinking it best to accept this man’s hospitality, even if he still had half a pint of ale in front of him. To refuse the offer of a drink might look suspicious; too much like a man trying to stay in control of a situation.
“You heard him,” the Wrench said with a languid wave of his hand, and the innkeep shuffled back to the bar to fix them their drinks.
“You’ve gone to some trouble to find me,” the Wrench said, leaning back lazily in his chair, a man at his leisure. “What is it you wish to talk about?” Jonn observed the change in his demeanour. This was a person who could shift from mood to mood at will, a master of disguise. The hard-eyed inquisitor had been replaced by the convivial conversationalist in a heartbeat, and Jonn instinctively knew that the Wrench was a very dangerous man indeed.
“I want to work for your master,” he said. A straightforward approach made it easier to keep up with his own lies.
“So do many people,” the Wrench responded with another wave of his hand. “My master is a hard taskmaster, and many of those that think as you do come to regret that choice. What is it that makes you so sure you want this?” The innkeep returned at that moment with their drinks, placing them on the table and departing without a word.
“I came to the city to visit my brother. He used to write to me once a month without fail, but six months ago, his letters stopped coming,” Jonn explained, wheeling out the story he and Trask had prepared. “After three missed letters I knew something was wrong, so I set out for Helioport to find him. When I arrived, he was dead. He’d only been arrested for a bit of petty thievery, but someone had messed up and he’d been left in the lower cells on his own without food or water for too long. They said it was a mistake. So here I am with a dead brother and idle hands. What better way to get my revenge than join the Rats?”
“Was your brother guilty of the theft?” the Wrench asked.
“Probably,” Jonn answered with a shrug. “My brother was hardly a law-abiding citizen, but then neither am I.”
“Do you know who was responsible for leaving your brother to die?”
“Tobias Trask,” Jonn answered, sticking to the story they’d agreed to. He had serious reservations about giving Trask’s name, but the drillmaster had insisted on it. A story wasn’t convincing without a certain level of detail, and Trask hadn’t wanted anyone else to be named.
The Wrench sat upright, as if he’d made up his mind. “We’ll start you in the docks,” he said, his manner suddenly business-like. “There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow morning and we’re short on men. Be there at dawn. If you’re late, you’re out.” Jonn knew exactly what that meant. If he was late, he wasn’t just out – he was dead. Now that he’d met the Wrench, there was no going back. He knew too much to be let loose around Helioport, so if he didn’t please Belash, his life was forfeit.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
The Wrench rose to his feet. “If you work hard for us we will make sure you get your revenge,” he said, his tone suddenly flat and hard. “But don’t even think about going after Trask on your own. We’ll let you know when and how it’ll happen. Understood?”
“Understood,” Jonn answered.
“I have other business to attend to,” the Wrench said, stepping lightly away from him and turning towards the door. “Don’t be late,” he called back over his shoulder, and then he was gone.
Jonn almost let out a huge sigh of relief, but he caught it just in time. He berated himself silently. What would that have looked like to the men around him? He was going to have to do much better if he was to get close to Belash, and that was exactly what he had to do, because if he found Belash, he’d find Adela.
Two
Gaspi and Emmy passed through the campus gateway on Feastday evening, making their way to the Traveller’s Rest arm in arm. It was an old habit, and though neither of them had much of a desire for food or drink, they ended up walking that familiar route anyway. It was as if their feet decided for them, and they were just wearily going along for the ride.
The previous day, Everand’s death had been announced to the college, and a sombre mood had fallen over the place – a mood which exactly matched Gaspi’s own. He was still reeling from the tragic events of the Measure. Everand’s death had left a bleak space inside of him that couldn’t be filled, and even Emmy’s company provided little solace. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Emmy’s small hand squeezed his arm. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed back, and they carried on walking.
When they reached the Rest, they made their way through the first large room and exited into the narrow corridor that led to the snugs. Gaspi pushed open the door to their usual snug, only to find it occupied by a rough looking stranger.
“Sorry,” Gaspi murmured, and started backing out of the doorway.
“Hold on!” the stranger said, strangely insistent. “Why don’t you join me?”
Gaspi frowned. There was something familiar about his voice, but he couldn’t place the stranger’s face anywhere. “Er, thanks and all that, but we’d rather be alone,” he said, taking another step backwards.
“Gaspi!” the stranger hissed, his voice a harsh whisper. “It’s me, Jonn. Get in here quickly. I’m in disguise.”
“Jonn?” Emmy asked from behind him, trying to peer over his shoulder. “What disguise? I can’t see!”
Gaspi pushed her away from the door with his left hand and summoned power with his right. No disguise in the world was that good – but then again, that voice, and he knew his name! Gaspi’s mind whirred at break-neck speed, adrenaline flooding his body as he prepared to defend himself. “If you’re Jonn, what was your wife called?”
“Rhetta,” the stranger responded. “Now get in here.”
Emmy started forwards, but Gaspi kept his hand extended and she stayed where she was. “Gaspi!” she said, exasperated, but he wasn’t convinced yet, and there was no way he was letting Emmy go in there until he was! He needed to hear the stranger speak a bit more to be sure it really was Jonn.
“Why are you in disguise?” he asked, still holding his power.
“I’ll tell you in a moment, but unless you want to blow my cover completely, get the hell in here! I promise, it is me!”
It was definitely Jonn’s voice! Gaspi sighed with relief and let go of his power. He lowered his hands and Emmy pushed past him, entering the snug first. He followed her and let the door swing shut behind them.
“Jonn?” Emmy asked, approaching him tentatively.
“What’s going on?” Gaspi asked, perplexed. “That’s some disguise! It must be magical.” This person looked nothing like Jonn. He had messy, medium length hair, brutish features and a long scar running from his ear to his lip.
“Hephistole did it,” Jonn explained. “Sorry for surprising you, but I’m taking a heck of a risk coming here at all. I can’t stay more than a few minutes. So please, sit down and just listen okay?” Gaspi and Emmy did as they were asked, waiting for Jonn to speak. Gaspi glanced at Emmy and saw that she was as worried as he was.
“You remember I told you about someone called Adela?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gaspi answered, mirrored by Emmy.
“I rescued her from some slavers. She’d been bought by Helioport’s most dangerous crime-lord - a man called Belash - and I rescued her while she was being taken to him.”
Emmy let out a gasp of shock.
“Sheesh,” Gaspi said. “No wonder you wanted Emmy to try and heal her memories.”
“Where is she Jonn?” Emmy asked. “I’ll do my best.”
“Please! Just listen,” Jo
nn said. Gaspi and Emmy fell silent and glanced at each other in growing concern.
“Thank you,” Jonn said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I went to find her when we got back from the Measure, but she was gone.” Jonn spoke tightly, his emotions rigidly controlled. “Belash left a note - he found her and has captured her once again.”
“Oh Jonn,” Emmy said, placing a hand on his knee. Jonn smiled at her faintly before continuing.
“I have to go deep undercover, right into this crime-lord’s organisation. I have already found a way in, but now I must live among these people, earn their trust, until I can find Adela.”
“We’ll help you!” Gaspi said fiercely. “Just tell us what to do.”
Jonn paused before speaking. “I can’t let that happen Gaspi,” he said slowly, meeting his gaze. Gaspi realised the eyes he was looking at were Jonn’s own, and not the product of the magical disguise. “You must put all your efforts into the fight against Sestin. This is my battle, not yours.”
“But…” Gaspi started.
“I’m not here to argue,” Jonn said firmly. “I must maintain my disguise at all costs, and any further meetings could expose me. I won’t put Adela’s life in jeopardy.”
“But Jonn…” Emmy said, but apparently she couldn’t think of anything to add.
Gaspi said nothing, desperate to think of anything that might persuade Jonn to let him help him, but his guardian was clearly set on his course of action. Not only that, but he was right about the fight against Sestin. There was no time to spare, not even to help Jonn.
Jonn stood up and looked at them intently. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “If I need help I’ll go to Hephistole, but I wanted to see you while I still have the chance so I can ask you this one thing. I thought about passing on a message but was not convinced you’d accept it from anyone except me. So here’s what I need from you: However much you want to, and however good your intentions, do not seek to find me or help me. Do I have your word?”
Gaspi met his guardian’s gaze and knew there was no deterring him from what he’d chosen. “You have it,” he said quietly.
“Emmy?” Jonn asked gently.
“I promise,” she said.
“Thank you,” Jonn said. He opened his arms and Emmy stepped into them, hugging him tightly for long moments. He released her eventually and clasped Gaspi around the shoulders. “Look after each other,” he said, and with that, he turned and left the snug. Gaspi put his arms round Emmy and she slid hers around him in return. Gaspi stared into space as they hugged, wondering if their feet would ever hit the ground again. He hadn’t even come to terms with Everand’s death, and now Jonn was disappearing on a dangerous mission. It was all too much, and although he knew his emotions were going to catch up at some point, at that moment he felt utterly bewildered.
…
A droplet of water splashed coldly onto Gaspi’s forehead, running down over his temple before he could wipe it off. He smeared it across his cheek in irritation and rubbed at his face with his sleeve to dry it off. Glanced up at the dark ceiling, he shuffled a foot to the right, hoping it would prove to be a drier spot.
He was one of ten people Hephistole had summoned to the tower’s dank cellar. They stood around impatiently, waiting to find out what the chancellor wanted. A large weapons rack stretched the entire length of the back wall, but it was draped from corner to corner in thick black cloth, obscuring all that it covered except for a few enticing lumps and bumps.
He looked around at his companions, wondering why Hephistole would summon that particular group of people. Some of them had much in common: Taurnil, Emmy, Lydia, Rimulth, Sabu, Baard and Voltan, for instance, had all witnessed the dramatic and tragic events of the Measure, which could explain their inclusion, but what was Talmo doing there? Even more strangely, they’d been joined by twin brothers Zlekic and Zaric, who served as city guards. Gaspi remembered them from the annual tournament held only months after his enrolment in the college. They’d made it all the way to the final battle, so they were clearly formidable warriors, but that was all he knew about them.
Most notable was Jonn’s absence – the reasons for which he’d shared with Taurnil, Rimulth and Lydia, but which otherwise remained a secret. Whatever Hephistole had in mind, his guardian would have been part of it if he wasn’t living deep within Helioport’s underworld. Hoping to find out more about what Jonn was doing, Gaspi decided to speak to Hephistole, who must know more than they did. He’d placed the disguise on Jonn after all.
Gaspi glanced at the chancellor, noting that he was once again dressed in black from head to toe. It was less than a week since Everand had been murdered by Ferast, and since that time the usually flamboyant chancellor had only worn mourning clothes. Gaspi understood the need to grieve – he was doing plenty of it himself – but he suspected it went beyond grief in Hephistole’s case; the chancellor was blaming himself for Everand’s death. Gaspi could understand why he might feel that way. After all, a pupil from the college had been brutally murdered by a boy who used to be his classmate. Perhaps others may even blame Hephistole too, but in his heart of hearts, Gaspi knew that it was wrong to do so. Ferast was a dark and dangerous individual, and seeking out Shirukai Sestin had been a natural step for him. The boy was twisted – it was as simple as that – but Hephistole was unlikely to see sense. Gaspi looked at the uncharacteristic droop to Hephistole’s shoulders and was saddened by the absence of his usual energy. As if sensing Gaspi’s scrutiny, Hephistole looked up and met his gaze. Giving Gaspi a small nod, he stepped out in front of the group.
“Thank you all for coming so promptly,” he started. “Only Voltan knows what this is all about, so I’ll get straight to the point. We have been assessing our position, and find that we are lacking in strength. As most of you know, we believe the boy, Ferast, to be in league with Shirukai Sestin. Zlekic, Zaric, Talmo, we will bring you up to speed on the relevant details later, but suffice it to say that our enemy now has an apprentice of sorts, and one whose powers are already something to be reckoned with. We don’t know what kind of evil Sestin himself is capable of, but it must be significantly more than what we have suffered at the hands of his pupil. We also know that Sestin has summoned a powerful demon, known as a Darkman, to aid him. Rimulth, Talmo, you have already seen this demon, when it took the life of your friend. That was the moment of its emergence into this plane.”
“Balkrist,” Talmo said with sadness, and Rimulth lowered his head.
“Yes,” Hephistole responded. “So you already know what this Darkman is capable of. Demons do not make good slaves - it will resist Sestin’s mastery with its whole being. We can only hope that it resists him still, but we have to assume that the renegade will subjugate it to his will eventually. When he does so, he will send it after us. It is a relentless killer, and having never faced such a being before, we cannot say with any confidence that we can defeat it.”
“Stop being so cheerful Hephistole!” Baard growled.
Hephistole gave a ghost of a smile. “We can assume that Sestin has other demons at his beck and call, along with an army of wargs. In short, we are outmanned.” He paused for a moment, looking into the middle distance. “After much deliberation, Voltan and I have come to the conclusion that we must seek the aid of a higher power.”
“What power do you refer to?” Talmo asked, frowning.
“That is the heart of the matter, and my purpose in summoning you today. There is an ancient temple in distant Pell, which houses an altar at its heart. Time was that this altar was the holiest place in the known lands, the sacred heart of worship for the followers of El-Amyari. Even small fragments of that altar are imbued with the power to resist and maybe even destroy all but the very highest demons. If we can obtain those fragments, we will have obtained a powerful weapon to use against Shirukai Sestin.”
“How do we know that’s not just a myth?” Taurnil asked.
“Because I have seen it first hand,” Voltan an
swered. “A fragment of that altar saved me from a bale-beast. The demon almost overwhelmed me, but at the last moment I remembered the fragment, which I wore as an amulet. I pulled it from around my neck and shoved it down its throat. The demon was destroyed instantly.”
“That works for me!” Taurnil said, clearly satisfied with the explanation.
“But hasn’t Pell been overrun by ogres?” Lydia asked.
“I see we have a student of history,” Hephistole responded with a smile, his eyes twinkling momentarily with a fraction of his customary enthusiasm for scholarly endeavour, but then the smile dropped away and his eyes became distant again. “Yes the Ogre Nation currently holds Pell within its territory, so instead of drawing together an army, we have formed this group. If you are willing to do so, you are to infiltrate Pell, and steal as many fragments of the altar as you can manage.” There were sharp intakes of breath from around the room.
“Yer not serious?” Baard said.
“How can we get past thousands of ogres?” Talmo asked.
“It sounds like suicide,” Zlekic said in heavily accented common.
“Agreed,” his brother said.
“Peace!” Hephistole said, holding out his hands placatingly. “Peace!” he repeated, and the mutterings died away. He looked at Voltan, and the warrior mage stepped forwards.
“I know it sounds like suicide,” Voltan said, “but with such a weapon available to us, I don’t think we can refuse the opportunity to obtain it.” He looked around at the group. “We can’t make you go on such a perilous mission, but consider what we’re asking of you first before dismissing it. We’re not asking you to battle ten thousand ogres. This quest will be accomplished more by stealth than by force. The aim is to avoid combat altogether, but if it becomes unavoidable, some of you are magicians, and the rest are formidable fighters. We will not go down easily.”
