by Duncan Pile
Belash returned at midday, his arrival causing quite a stir among the women, who abandoned what they were doing and rushed to form a line in front of the pavilion – an airy construction of polished wood and flowing silk, taking centre-stage at the heart of the roof garden. Hephistole’s lip curled in distaste as the crime-lord passed up and down the line, examining the women as if they were goods on a stall. Finally, he chose not one but three of them and ushered them into the pavilion while the others dispersed, relief evident on most of their faces. Appalled, Hephistole turned his back, trying to ignore the sounds filtering through the silken walls of the pavilion.
At long last Belash emerged, as did the three women, who descended the stairway that led from the roof garden. Hephistole willed the crime-lord to follow them but he showed no signs of leaving. Hephistole was getting increasingly nervous. If Jonn reached the roof garden when Belash was still in residence, a confrontation would be unavoidable.
Without consciously choosing to do so, Hephistole reached for his power, readying himself to help Jonn. The moment he did so, the magic of the vow flared into existence. The warning was clear – if he cast a spell against Belash, the magical bonds he’d subjected himself to years ago would activate. The bonds were powerful, enforced by some of the most ancient spells known to his order, and though Hephistole was widely considered to be a highly accomplished magician he didn’t fancy his chances if he broke the vow. Anxiously, he tried to anticipate every possible scenario, all the while willing Belash to leave. But Belash stayed where he was, and to Hephistole’s dismay he was joined by several of his henchmen. The first was a short, wiry man with an ill-bred look about him, who matched Jonn’s description of the Wrench. Next came a group of five, all of whom were armed to the teeth and moved with the grace of seasoned fighters. Lastly came a person Hephistole had never expected to see again in his life – Kenril, a rogue magician whose proclivities had seen him banished from the city and its environs. Hephistole had given the order himself and escorted him to the city boundary, and yet here he was, back in Helioport, working for the city’s most notorious crime-lord.
Hephistole had to adjust his thinking, and quickly. Jonn was now seriously out-manned, facing not only the guard on duty but five extra warriors and a magician to boot. Hephistole gritted his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t sit back and watch Jonn be captured, but the vow wouldn’t let him intervene. Or would it? Hephistole’s heart rate quickened as his gaze came to rest on Kenril. The vow said nothing about taking action against another magician! Summoning an infinitesimal amount of power, he directed his thoughts towards the renegade, readying himself to attack. There was no arcane warning this time, no flaring of prohibitive magic. In a flash of inspiration, Hephistole turned his attentions to Belash, and this time the magic of the vow lay dormant. Hephistole smiled tightly in satisfaction. Kenril’s presence had made the crucial difference. This was no long a simple matter of law enforcement – he was dealing with a rogue magician, and that allowed him to act against those he was in league with.
Hephistole stayed on the alert, knowing that when Jonn emerged through the hatch there would be an explosion of activity and only moments in which to act. Jonn’s life was in his hands.
Time passed with agonising slowness but he kept himself sharp, ready to spring into action, and when the moment finally came, he wasn’t caught unawares. The hatchway flew open and hit the ground with an almighty crash. Jonn sprang free, killing the guard on duty. Hephistole tensed, drawing power to his fingertips but not actually forming a strike, lest he alert Kenril to his presence. All they needed now was Adela, but Belash’s guards reached Jonn first, swarming ahead of Belash and the Wrench, who looked visibly shocked to discover his pet henchman was actually an interloper. Adela rushed in, but was easily taken captive by the Wrench and held at knifepoint. Hephistole waited, poised to act but knowing he must choose his moment with the utmost care.
Hephistole’s heart was in his mouth when Jonn launched himself at Belash. He drew himself up, ready to strike, but there was nothing he could do while the Wrench held Adela at knifepoint. Kenril stepped towards Jonn, holding something before him, and then the unthinkable happened – Jonn’s disguise dropped. Hephistole’s eyes widened. Kenril must be holding a nullifier, but how could that be? They were extremely rare, and the only one Hephistole knew of was safe in the Observatory. Suddenly, Hephistole remembered Professor Worrick’s shifty behaviour when he came to borrow the reticulator.
“Antonius,” Hephistole breathed with a disbelieving shake of his head. He put it out of his mind. There was no time to think about it now. Belash rushed into the pavilion and returned with a mirror, forcing Jonn to look at his reflection. Words were exchanged, but Hephistole couldn’t make them out, and then Jonn was seized by his arms and hauled to his feet. With a thrill of alarm, Hephistole realised that there wasn’t going to be a perfect moment. Focussing his power, he struck out at the pair of guards who had hold of Jonn. Twin jets of red light shot from his hands and struck both guards in the back. They reacted as if struck by lightning, their limbs jerking and spasming as they tumbled to the floor. Jonn took advantage of the confusion and attacked a third man, wrapping an arm around his head and snapping his neck with a wrench of his shoulders. He grabbed the fallen man’s sword and rushed at the nearest enemy.
Kenril spun around, looking for the source of those strikes. Filled with cold fury, Hephistole shed his invisibility and stepped into the open, his fists ablaze with power.
“Chancellor!” Kenril said, gawking at the sight of the looming arch-mage.
“Don’t just stand there! Get him!” Belash bellowed.
Kenril jumped as if scalded and drew power of his own.
Belash looked at Adela, held captive by the Wrench. “Kill her. I’ll take care of Jonn.”
“No!” Jonn cried as the Wrench tensed, ready to slit Adela’s throat, but then the henchman froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as his hand opened and the knife slipped from his grip. He released her and spread his arms, all the while glancing at his own body in bewilderment and fear. Belash came to a sudden halt, frozen to the spot. The remaining guards dropped their weapons, looking quite as stupefied as the Wrench did. Kenril slumped to the floor, his legs splayed like a child.
Hephistole frowned in fierce concentration, manipulating the men with his power. His temples began to throb, a deep ache blossoming at the base of his skull – controlling another person took immense concentration, let alone five people! He couldn’t keep it up for long. “Get over here,” he said through gritted teeth.
Jonn burst into motion, throwing an arm around Adela’s waist and propelling her across the rooftop. “Hold onto me,” Hephistole muttered, his temples pounding. They each grabbed one of his arms. With a sigh of relief, he released his spell. Belash, the Wrench and the remaining two guards rushed at them the moment they were free. Kenril shook his head as if waking from sleep and started to rise, but Hephistole was way ahead of them. He visualised the Observatory and spoke the word of command, whisking them away from the roof garden, from danger, and from Belash.
…
Jonn appeared in the Observatory and released Hephistole’s arm. For a long, frozen moment, he and Adela stared, wide-eyed at each other, and then she was in his arms, burying her face in his neck with a ragged cry of relief. Jonn wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as it slowly began to sink in; He’d done it! He’d infiltrated the criminal underworld and worked his way into a privileged position. For months now he’d been living in constant danger, forced to see and do things that made his soul recoil. He’d hidden deep within himself, hardening his heart to the suffering around him in order to achieve a single purpose; to rescue the woman he loved. Now that it was done, now that he held her in his arms, he could finally let himself feel once more.
Adela released Jonn and took hold of Hephistole’s hands. “With all my heart, thank you.”
“I’m so glad you’re safe, my dear,” Hephistol
e said hoarsely. “You’ve been through so much.”
Adela hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek.
“What are you still doing here?” Hephistole said, wiping his eyes and briskly straightening his robes. “I’m sure you have plenty of catching up to do.”
Jonn took Hephistole’s hand, clasping it firmly. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“So don’t try,” Hephistole said. “Now go!”
…
Adela’s apartment wasn’t safe anymore so Jonn rented a room in the Traveller’s Rest. For as long as Jonn had known her, Adela had been wary of physical contact, but she surprised him by taking the lead, kissing him hungrily and unbuttoning his shirt with hurried hands as soon as the door was closed. The next few hours passed in a sweaty, intimate haze, leaving them utterly spent. Afterwards they lay in an exhausted tangle, talking for long, exploratory hours – an oasis of trust within which all barriers were cast down.
Jonn could hardly believe what was happening. The previous day, the woman he loved had been held captive by Belash and his own life had been in jeopardy. Today, against all the odds, they lay safe in each other’s arms. In the back of his mind, an insidious voice whispered that it couldn’t last, that he was incapable of being happy. The thought cut him to the quick. It had been many years since he’s known happiness, and having tasted it once more with Adela, the idea of losing it again was horrifying. Banishing dark thoughts, Jonn let himself revel in Adela’s nearness. This was the best he’d felt in over a decade and he wasn’t going to let anything ruin it. He intended to build a life with Adela, full of love and joy, but there was something he had to do first.
“What do you mean, you have to go back?” Adela said, pushing herself up on his chest.
“I saw the cages,” Jonn said.
Adela’s gaze flicked back and forth, switching rapidly from eye to eye. “You mean to kill him.”
“I do,” Jonn said. “And I mean to release every last one of his slaves.”
Adela sat up. “But he has many underlings. It’s suicide.”
“I’m going to speak to Trask. Believe me, by the end of the day, I’ll have hundreds of warriors under my command.”
Adela’s expression hardened. “Then do it,” she said, her eyes flashing. “I couldn’t live with myself if we left them in his clutches.”
Jonn squeezed her hand. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Of course I understand. How could I not? But Jonn…”
“Yes my love?”
“Come back alive.”
…
“Sit down, Antonius,” Hephistole said, indicating the upright chair on the far side of his desk. Voltan stood to one side, his arms folded. After much discussion with the warrior mage, Hephistole had decided to confront Antonius directly. He held to the hope that Antonius had been coerced or otherwise tricked into stealing the nullifier, but there was every chance his old friend had been leading a double life.
Professor Worrick shuffled to the desk and sat down, eyeing Voltan uncertainly. “You sent for me Hephistole,” he said, doing a feeble imitation of someone who has nothing to hide.
“Why did you take the nullifier?” Hephistole said.
Antonius froze and for a moment it looked like he was going to bolt. Hephistole drew power, as did Voltan, but Antonius sagged forwards, burying his head in his hands. “I had no choice!”
“Why not?” Hephistole asked.
“Because he’ll kill them!” Antonius cried, and started to sob.
Hephistole felt a vast rush of relief and waved a hand at Voltan, who released his power. Hephistole rose to his feet and moved around the desk to help Antonius to his feet. “Everything’s going to be alright. Come with me, my friend.”
Antonius let himself be guided to a more comfortable chair and sank into it gratefully. “You believe me?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“You haven’t told me anything yet, but I believe you were forced to steal the nullifier. What happened, Antonius? Tell me everything.”
Antonius started from the beginning, speaking of his childhood and about the brother, who had chosen a dark path and disappeared from his life. He spoke of their fateful reunion several years ago, when he’d come to understand that his brother was now a crime-lord in Helioport’s underworld. He confessed that Belash had owned him ever since, threatening to harm his wife and children if he didn’t do as he was told. Belash hadn’t sent for him often, at times dropping out of contact for years at a time, but the threat against Antonius’ family cast a shadow over everything he did. He never felt like an ordinary person, who rose and went about their business without fear. Instead, he lived with the knowledge that his life was not his own, and that one day Belash would ask him to do something that would lead to disaster. That day had finally come when he’d been forced to steal the nullifier and give it to Kenril, who in turn had passed it on to Belash.
Hephistole listened with growing sympathy, and was anxious to comfort his friend. “Well, it looks like your nightmare is finally over.”
“How can it be over?” Antonius cried. “He’s still out there, and if I take a single step out of line he’ll kill my family!”
“What I mean, Antonius, is that even as we speak, Tobias Trask is leading the entire garrison into the Thieves’ Quarter. Within hours, Belash will no longer be a crime-lord, and if Jonn has his way he won’t even be alive. Just wait a little longer my friend and you will be free of your brother for good.”
Antonius stared at him in wonder. “You mean…are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
Antonius slumped heavily in the chair, all the tension draining from him at once “Thank God for that,” he muttered, running a hand over his eyes. Ever so slowly, he lifted his head and met Hephistole’s gaze. “I’ll vacate my office tomorrow morning.”
“What in the world for?” Hephistole asked.
Antonius looked confused. “I stole the nullifier. I kept Kenril’s presence in Helioport a secret even though I knew he’d been banished. I’ve been lying to you for years!”
“Not a chance, my friend,” Hephistole said with a smile. “You’ve been living in fear this whole time, and yet you’ve always been a fantastic teacher and a caring Dean of Students. I want you to stay on and enjoy your newfound freedom here in the college.”
Antonius’ eyes grew moist. “You always were the very best of men,” he said, reaching out and clasping Hephistole’s hand. “Thank you.”
“You are more than welcome,” Hephistole said, sinking into his chair with a satisfied sigh. “Voltan, this is turning out to be a very good day.”
Nine
Gaspi placed the magically enhanced weapon in the crate to his left, resting it atop dozens of other swords, and rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. In light of the upcoming battle, the entire fifth floor of the Tower had been given over to enchantment, each room filled with orderly rows of desks. The very walls had been enchanted to encourage concentration, humming with deep, calming sonorities. To Gaspi’s right was a barrel, bristling with the hilts of ordinary weapons, each daubed with a blue, circular mark for easy identification – if a man died in battle, his enchanted sword could be picked up by another, who could wield it against a demonic foe. On the desk before him was a shallow bowl, containing altar fragments from the Temple of El-Amyari.
Gaspi spent long hours behind his desk each day – he was by far the most powerful enchanter in the college, and felt honour-bound to produce as many weapons as he could. He worked till his hands were weak and his vision blurred, and came back the next day to do the same. Only Professor Worrick outstripped him, working from morning till night with feverish concentration. For reasons Gaspi didn’t understand, the professor was clearly a driven man.
Blinking gritty eyes, Gaspi took stock of his work. The altar fragments were almost gone, embedded in the hilts and shafts of the weapons stacked to his left. The enchantment was a difficult one. A delicate touch was required t
o tease the demon-bane powers of the fragment into the weapon, and then to imbue every inch of the blade, but Gaspi could tell by reaching out with his senses that each sword, dagger, mace and axe had fully accepted the enchantment.
Gaspi looked around and saw that everyone except himself and Professor Worrick had left for the day. He rose to his feet and stretched his limbs, easing the stiffness that had set in after a long day sitting down. “I’m heading out, Professor.”
Professor Worrick looked up, staring at him blankly for a moment. “A good shift Gaspi. See you tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you going to stop too?” Gaspi asked, concerned for the exhausted-looking teacher.
Professor Worrick shook his head. “Not just yet. I still have a couple of daggers to finish.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Gaspi said, but Professor Worrick had already returned to his work and didn’t respond.
Gaspi made his way out and shut the door quietly. If Professor Worrick wanted to work late, then so be it. He walked to the transporter and magicked himself down to the Atrium before leaving the tower. He was tired, and hours of fierce concentration had given him a headache, but he didn’t fancy going to his room. After spending the day in silence, he wanted some company. Emmy was busy helping Lydia prepare for the wedding – there were endless details to attend to, and Lydia clearly had no problem requisitioning his girlfriend whenever she wanted help.
Gaspi didn’t mind, as it gave him the chance to hang out with Taurn. His friend, whose nerves were getting worse by the day, needed him right now. Smiling wryly to himself, Gaspi strolled through the campus, passed the gate, and walked down Main Street to the Traveller’s Rest. He bought a drink and made his way to one of the snugs, where Taurnil was waiting for him, nursing a pint of his own.
“Hi Taurn,” Gaspi said, dropping into an armchair with a noisy sigh.
