by C. M. Gray
A day later, the city was still in turmoil but somewhat calmer as many that hadn't rested since the wraiths had arrived were now taking the opportunity to sleep during the hottest part of the day, the weary ache of exhaustion drawing them quickly into slumber. Nobody noticed the small black demon as it moved along the palace walls. As it slipped along, jumping from perch to perch, it chattered softly to itself, scuttling from window to tree to column, peeking into rooms and gazing down corridors.
The little demon's ears twitched as it listened and gawped out from the shadows enjoying the freedom, hiding whenever it encountered anyone, slowly making its way further towards the private apartments of the royal quarters.
'Seek out a Royal Prince or Princess,' had been the command given by its master; and this it was doing as fast as it could, skirting any larger common rooms or sleeping areas that were occupied by more than one person. It stared through windows blinking huge lantern eyes, becoming more anxious to find someone alone, aware that, as time passed, its master would be becoming angrier for the delay.
Near the end of the royal complex, it scuttled up onto a balcony and cautiously peered through silken curtains into a darkened sleeping area, its thin serpentine tongue flicked out to taste the air. There, on the bed, lay a single human female. It noticed happily that no handmaidens or guards attended, and that the richness of the furnishings showed this was indeed a royal apartment, silent except for the even breathing of the sleeping figure. Nhasic chattered in delight, called silently, and then slipped into the room to see what mischief he could create before his master arrived.
It wasn't long before a scream broke the calm of the royal apartments and the sound of guards hurrying through the ornately tiled corridors filled the hot afternoon.
'Stop, please… take your hands off… … you cannot take the Princess… Princess! Noooooo!'
Another scream rent the air. Three guards burst into the Princess Fajira's sleeping quarters and, hurrying to the bedchamber, were in time to see the Princess's handmaiden thrown to the floor by a tall, cloaked figure. Wrapped in her sheets and tossed casually across her abductor's shoulder, the struggling Princess was kicking and squealing through the layers of cloth. The guards dashed forward, and the stranger spun to face them, stopping them short.
Dressed in a long black cloak with the hood drawn over his head, evil emanated from him. From the dark depths, red eyes flashed towards the bunched guards, a rumble of deep laughter mocking any attempts they might make to stop him.
Drawing deep upon reserves of courage, the guard captain drew his sabre and leapt forward in defence of his royal charge, sword arm snaking forward in an attempt to wound the intruder, he screamed, 'Unhand the Princess!' But the stranger casually brushed the blade aside and raised a claw-like hand to cover the captain's face. The captain's eyes widened in fear as through the fingers that gripped him he saw thin evil lips pull back in a sneer of contempt, and then a blinding red flash of heat and light filled his vision and then burnt the flesh from his bones.
'One more gift for the Emperor,' cried Matheus Hawk, throwing the lifeless body to the side and striding onto the balcony. 'A royal soul to tantalise his taste buds.' A great red dragon rose up beside the balcony and the Hawk swung his legs over and onto the strange creatures back. As it dropped away, the guards rushed forward, only to be turned away screaming as a red, flaming ball was casually tossed into the room instantly turning the bedchamber into an inferno.
At the last moment, a small black shape dashed past the screaming men, leapt out and just managed to catch onto the dragon's flank as it turned away. Clambering up, it worked its way along to perch on the horny red head and waved a stolen gold bangle at them, screeching raucously.
The voice of the stranger echoed back around the palace, rising over the whooshing sound of the dragon's wings. 'Beware the Soul Eaters for they are coming… but beware Matheus Hawk even more, for I have arrived!'
The dragon struggled to heave its great weight aloft, driven through the warm still air by heavy beats of its thick, leathery wings. The long neck and tail writhing with effort, its legs clawing at the empty air as if clambering up an invisible staircase. With arrows bouncing harmlessly from its scaly hide, it dipped down to gain speed and skimmed the city wall, sending soldiers diving for cover. The rumbling laughter of the Hawk echoed down to the desert-city and the few shocked citizens that stood in witness. By the time the Sultan got word of his daughter's abduction, the dragon was no longer in sight.
* * *
'That one keeps picking his nose,' said Loras pointing and giggling in disgust. He was standing with Tarent, staring through the magical curtain he had constructed enjoying the novelty of being so close to the fierce Barbarian warriors on the other side without being seen. 'I don't know what he expects to find up there, but he keeps checking his finger to see what he's got!
'Oh, behave Loras!' cried Tarent, grinning at his friend.
'It's not me! He's the one playing 'hide the finger!' and look. This one playing dice with his back to us is cheating; at least I think he is. It's a bit different from the 'old jack bones' that we play.'
The Barbarians had left three warriors behind to guard the strange wall. Three warriors, who were apparently quite unaware of their critical audience, had settled in as any guard post would. They were crouching around a small fire they had managed to build amongst some rocks and were doing their best to shelter from the gusting snow. To pass the time they had managed to scrape away a smooth patch of rock and were now throwing four, crudely cut dice in a game similar to the one that The Griffin's crew usually played with a set of six dice.
Loras and Tarent were close enough to touch the warriors and had to be careful they didn't. They still weren't carrying any weapons, which meant they could walk through the curtain, or fall straight through if they weren't careful! For their part, the warriors could neither see nor hear anything from the other side because they each carried both swords and knives and the curtain's magic prevented anyone carrying weapons from seeing, hearing or passing through.
'For the love of all that's comfortable! Why can't we just get going?' moaned Bartholomew for the umpteenth time. Above the fir-lined fringe of his winter cloak, his bright red cheeks wobbled with bubbling frustration. 'There are only three of them!' He glanced about at the others in an appeal for common sense. 'The quicker we leave this Source deserted outpost, the quicker we get back to the luxuries civilisation has to offer… this is an awful, cold, nasty place!' He stamped his feet in frustration.
'It isn't them that's keeping us here, Mr Bask,' muttered Magician Falk in a half-hearted attempt at calming the unhappy merchant. With a shiver, he pulled his cloak tighter as the wind gusted. 'It's the other forty or so that just recently left. We'll be moving soon enough, don't you worry.'
The guards had packed most of their belongings back into the wagon and were now pacing up and down, stamping their feet in an effort to keep warm, ready for the order to be off. Even the horses had been rested, fed and saddled and were shuffling unhappily. In fact, everyone was just waiting for word from either Loras or Tarent to move out, which was something everyone seemed resigned to do, everyone, except of course for Bartholomew. No matter what, he just could not come to grips with taking direction from a 'mere snip of a boy,' as he referred to either of them. He had recently taken to ignoring them completely and speaking only to Magician Falk whenever he wanted to communicate, which, unfortunately for Magician Falk, was often and at length.
'Well, I suppose we might as well get going,' said Tarent, turning from watching the warriors. He had been listening to Bartholomew's moaning and whining for far too long and was ready to move off and put a little distance between himself and the merchant's wagon. He cast about for a rock and walked back a little way picking up two. He weighed them carefully before discarding one and advancing on the warriors the other side of the curtain.'
'Wait!' cried Magician Falk running forward to place a restraining hand on
Tarent's chest. 'What do you think you're doing?'
'Clearing the way,' said Tarent sheepishly. He dropped the rock. 'Maybe it would be better if you put them to sleep?'
'Yes, Priest of the Source, I think it probably would,' said Magician Falk, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked over to the curtain. Taking a handful of something from a pouch, he reached through the curtain and sprinkled a dusty mixture over the seated warriors on the other side, being careful to cover his mouth with his cloak as he did so.
They would have noticed nothing of the dust, but just before falling unconscious; one of the warriors did glance up. His eyes opened wide in fear, and his lips began to form a scream as he pointed at what must have looked like a hand materialising over his friend's head. The other two guards tried to see what had upset him but were both sleeping before they got a chance to see what all the commotion was about.
Tarent led the column past the snoring warriors and, after locating their weapons, gave a last look at the blue griffin on the cliff face to mark it in his mind, then began to plod back up the Bolt towards the ship and safety. Between them, stood the same inhospitable terrain and foul weather they had battled through to get to the Bolt in the first place, coupled with the likely chance of meeting more of Morgasta's warriors. Once again, as the small party picked their way through the wet stones, the sounds of the wagon creaking, the horses' hooves slipping on the rocks and, of course, Bartholomew Bask's incessant moaning, all began to mingle with the whine of the wind.
It was going to be a long trip back to the ship, reflected Tarent. A long, cold, dangerous trip made twice as bad by the presence of Bartholomew Bask. Maybe bringing him had been a bad idea he mused, and not for the first time, but at least it meant The Esmerelda would be waiting for them.
* * *
'Where are you going you stupid girl?' hissed Elisop. 'Don't take us that way! Are you trying to get us caught?' Mahra, Quint and Pardigan pulled up abruptly from their run through the teeming crowds of Bedlam's streets and turned to face the spy. Mahra glared at the dirty little man as he stood with a smug expression, partly hidden in the near darkness on his sooty face. He had stopped close to a narrow street that they hadn't even noticed on their flight towards the river and was tapping his foot impatiently. He appeared quite unaware of making any insult to Mahra as she slowly approached him, growling softly under her breath.
'This way leads us directly down to the river and the biggest bridge across,' she spat back irritably, then turned and glared at a man who had just bumped into her. After taking one look at her scowling face, the man held up his hands in apology and quickly continued on through the crowded street. Mahra turned back to Elisop. 'Well?'
'Come, come!' he waved them on, then dashed down a side ally, only to reappear a few moments later when he realised the others hadn't followed him. He stood frowning at them then took a deep breath. 'This is the main street of the city,' he began in a lecturing voice, pointing down the crowded thoroughfare that they were on. 'It will be even busier closer to the river, especially as it runs near the pit. However, this other, smaller street,' he gestured theatrically to his left, 'runs in the same direction, but will be far less busy.' Mahra glanced at Quint who shrugged and they set off with Elisop quickly pushing to the front. 'Follow me!' he cried happily and skipped ahead. Reluctantly, they followed.
There were indeed fewer people on the new street, but it was awash with puddles and broken or missing cobbles. Closely set hovels lined either side, obviously housing some of the less affluent of Bedlam society. Few lights shone and the whole feeling was one of derelict despair. A ripe smell oozing up from the open drain that ran down the middle was almost overpowering in its intensity. Pardigan stifled a reflex to gag and quickly pulled up the edge of his cloak to cover his nose and mouth against the noxious fumes.
'When we get out of here I want to sit and clean myself for a whole week,' he heard Mahra mutter behind him, and then he groaned as his foot sank into a pile of something that squashed beneath his boot, almost making him slip into the drain. 'This is a horrible place!'
'Shhhh!' cautioned Elisop, then turned and ran on before either could retort.
'I'm beginning to take a serious dislike to that little man,' said Mahra, but both Quint and Pardigan merely shrugged.
It really was an awful part of town, none of the residents would have argued with that. Thick glutinous water ran from broken gutters, splattering onto the ground to collect in large unpleasant puddles and the sounds of scuttling rats came from the shadows and the central open drain.
As the street meandered on, they had to keep dodging obstacles, leaping from one side of the drain to the other to avoid less accommodating footing. They occasionally came upon a flickering lamp or a spluttering torch throwing a welcoming pool of light into their path, but for most of the way, they had to use their senses and the small amount of ambient light that was available to guide them. Mahra, with her heightened feline senses, could see a little more than the others were able, and was able to lead them at a slower pace through the darkest parts avoiding accident. Unfortunately, for her, she could also smell more than they could, which in this street was becoming a curse.
Curse or not, it was those senses that brought them up short as Mahra leapt forward and grabbed Elisop by the collar then held an arm out to stop Pardigan and Quint from running on.
She held onto the indignant Elisop as he struggled with one hand over his mouth, Quint and Pardigan got closer to hear her whisper. 'There are people ahead… at least two. They went into a building a little further… on the left.'
'Do you think they saw us?' whispered Pardigan peering about. 'I can't see anything!'
'They may not have seen us, but they might well have heard us. Wait here,' she said, letting go of Elisop who had finally stopped struggling.
They watched as the dark shape that was Mahra fell forward, disappearing instantly into the darkness in the shape of a grey cat.
The cobbles felt cold and wet under her paws as she made her way past the cold empty doorways. She slowed her progress as she came closer to where the two figures had disappeared and crossed to the opposite side of the street. One of the buildings was set further back from the others by about half a pace and in that shelter were two large men trying hard to stay out of sight. They hadn't heard her silent approach; it was far too dark in the alley for them to see a dark grey cat, so Mahra was able to observe them as they quietly waited. They wore the 'Bedlam black' as was normal in the city and both had matching short pleated cloaks and large floppy hats. However, the strangest thing about them was that they faced the wrong way. Their intent was obviously no good, but it wasn't her and the others that they were waiting for, but somebody coming up the street from the opposite direction.
Studying the darkness ahead, she saw shadowy shapes silently approaching, flitting from doorway to doorway. Deciding this wasn't something they wanted to be involved in, and that the way was blocked, she turned away but then slunk back into hiding as a flare of light swept back the darkness.
The two men close to Mahra had stepped out and uncovered lanterns lifting them high to throw a pool of light over four men who had been creeping silently towards them. The four threw their hands up to cover their eyes and glanced about seeking escape.
'Hold there! Give yourselves up or you die here and now without honour.' Two others dressed similarly joined them from a little further down the alley. 'Return to the pit and you will die as men! The cornered men cast fleeting looks about them saying nothing, their faces reflecting calm, almost relaxed expressions in the flickering light of the lanterns. There must have been more hunters behind them because they made no attempt to turn and flee.
Mahra looked back to where Pardigan and Quint had been and was pleased to see they had wisely found somewhere to hide. She ducked beside a doorstep to wait and see what would happen, she didn't have to wait long.
One of the hunters closest pushed his lantern out as a blinding shield a
nd marched forward swinging a huge club in a whistling arc. From where Mahra was hiding, it was difficult to see where he was aiming, but the club didn't connect. Instead, a hand stabbed out of nowhere catching the hunter a crunching blow to the throat. He collapsed to the ground and lay in a puddle, a few feeble twitches and he stilled, dead eyes staring into the flickering lamp. A shocked silence followed this moment of violence and then a murmur of anger rose from the six remaining hunters. However, none of them seemed ready to make a similar move. They resorted to hiding behind taunts and threats instead.
'Where do yer think yer gunna go?' growled one of the attackers as he sidestepped, searching for a weakness in their victim's guard.
'We got yer, fair n square. Be sensible and come quiet like,' added another, and then he lunged forward, his sword flashing, only to receive a blow to the side of his head for his trouble. He staggered back keeping to his feet and for a short while, the alley filled with shouting, cursing and the sounds of both groups vying for position.
Mahra took the opportunity to creep a little further forward to get a closer look. Something about the four strangers was familiar, and then as she neared, it struck her, they were the same tall grey fighters she had noticed in the pit. She turned back to find the others.
'I'm sorry, Mahra, but it's not our fight.' Quint peeked round the corner to where renewed sounds of violence had just flared. 'It sounds nasty down there.'
'Well we have to get through, or go back and down the main road,' said Mahra. 'I think we should help them if we can. I can't explain, but I have a very strong feeling that we should do so.' She looked at the shadowy outlines of Quint and then Pardigan, but it wasn't either of them who spoke.
