by Aaron Hodges
Quinn had several contacts on the docks. He had sent out messages to them but had yet to hear back. The delay was frustrating, but there was little he could do now but wait.
Reaching into the drawer of his desk, he took out an old bottle of whiskey. It had been almost a year since his last visit to Lon, and he was pleased to see its contents remained untouched. Pouring himself a glass, he took a sip, savouring the fire as he swallowed.
He looked up as a knock came from the door. Glancing out the window, he saw the distant glow of the rising sun on the horizon and sighed. Exhausted, he lit another candle, but as he moved to open the door it swung inwards. He was about to bark a reprimand to whichever servant dared let themselves into his office, when a figure stepped into the room.
Swallowing, Quinn took a step backwards. The intruder followed him, the very air seeming to blacken with its approach. A dark cloak swathed the small body, its hood casting the pale face in shadow. But there was no hiding from the pitch-black eyes as they gazed around the room.
Quinn. The demon’s voice slithered through his mind like a snake.
Knees shaking, Quinn managed to reach out and grip the edge of his desk for support. With the demon’s presence, all warmth seemed to have been sucked from the room. Terror gnawed at his stomach, but he straightened, drawing on reserves of strength he hardly knew he had. Walking around the desk, he lowered himself into his seat.
The figure followed him, gliding across the room as though it no longer had need for its feet. It was small in stature, barely coming up to his shoulders, but that only added to its terror. Darkness swept before it like a wave, the candles sputtering, the lanterns dimming to little more than pinpricks.
“What are you doing here, demon?” Quinn asked, struggling to keep the fear from his voice. “I did not send for you.”
The Tsar sent me, the creature hissed. He is…disappointed with you.
Quinn gritted his teeth. “I will have them shortly.”
Laughter bubbled through the room, sending icicles dripping down Quinn’s spine. She has evaded you again and again…
“The boy surprised us.”
A mistake that was…beneath you, came the demon’s reply. Its head bent horribly sideways, as though to inspect him. Perhaps age has dulled your instincts.
“No,” Quinn growled, anger pushing back the fear. He stood, hands gripped around his desk. “I will have them soon.”
They have all of Lon to hide in.
“They won’t stay,” Quinn shot back. “They’ll try and flee to Northland. When they do, I’ll be waiting for them.”
So sure of yourself, the demon laughed again. Yet they evaded you at the temple of the Goddess, slipped through your fingers by the river.
“Luck!” Quinn said, trying to keep his desperation from showing.
Perhaps… the demon hissed. Perhaps you want them to escape.
“Never,” Quinn whispered, his face paling. His fingers twitched as the demon moved closer. He felt his magic beginning to stir and pressed it down. “I am loyal to the Tsar.”
Pray that is true, Quinn. The demon stood in front of him now. Before he could move, pale fingers shot out and pressed into his forehead.
Colours swirled across Quinn’s vision, flashing to black. Slowly the darkness faded, and he found himself in a windowless cell, his hands chained to the wall, his body naked to the freezing cold. A shadow moved towards him, blade extended. White-hot agony burned in his side as the blade bit him, driving through his kidney, stealing his breath.
Even as the physical pain tore at him, he felt something else, another force, a dark violation as something cold and terrible slid into his body. The pain fled as ice spread through his veins, then returned a thousand-fold as talons lashed at his insides, tearing him asunder. An awful darkness ripped into his mind, harrying his spirit. Opening his mouth, Quinn made to scream…
And found himself back at his desk. His brow soaked with a cold sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he threw himself back from the demon. His boots scraped loudly on the stone floor as he stood.
“They will not escape,” he wheezed. “I swear it.”
Very good, came the demon’s reply. Its laughter whispered through the room.
Quinn nodded, struggling to calm his racing heart. “Perhaps you could help us.”
He clenched his fists, hating himself for showing such weakness. But if the Tsar had sent the demon, it meant Quinn was at terrible risk. One more mistake, one more loss, and the vision the creature had shown him would soon become a reality.
As much as Quinn hated the dark creatures, its presence would ensure success. Few Magickers could withstand their power. A mortal like Devon would be swept away like sand before the tide.
Of course, the demon said, a sly smile spreading across its face.
Before Quinn could reply, another knock came from the door. Beside him, the demon vanished without a sound, though he didn’t doubt it remained close. Quinn shivered, and called out for the newcomer to enter.
One of his men stepped inside, his eyebrows raised as looked around the empty room. “I thought I heard voices…” He trailed off as Quinn waved a hand.
“You have something for me, Kaylib?”
His man blinked, looking as though he’d momentarily forgotten why he was there. He stared blankly at Quinn, then nodded quickly and cleared his throat. “Ye…yes, sir! We…it appears we may have a lead on our prey, sir.”
Chapter 23
Devon sucked in a lungful of air, savouring the fresh taste of salt on the wind. Overhead, the familiar gulls circled, their harsh cries mingling with the gentle creak of the ship as it rocked against its berth. Shifting his feet, he leaned over the railing and looked down at the docks, checking the progress of the sailors as they prepared to depart.
As far as he could tell, things were running to schedule. The five of them had arrived just before sunrise, having left the inn early to avoid being seen by morning commuters making their way to work. The crew of the Songbird was just beginning their preparations when the party arrived on the docks to board.
Now those preparations were almost complete, with only a few crates of supplies left to be brought aboard. From what Devon had seen so far, the ship was mostly transporting silks and spices to the northern port. No doubt they would fetch a high price, though buyers might be in short supply in the developing nation.
Shaking his head, Devon checked on the others. Alana and Braidon stood at the bow with the priest, their eyes on the harbour. He could read Alana’s impatience by the way she stood at the railing, her shoulders tight, one hand resting on the pommel of her sabre. He couldn’t blame her. They were exposed out here on the docks. He had heard no word of Stalkers entering the city, but that meant little if Quinn and his men were keeping a low profile. If they were recognised before the Songbird set sail, they would be trapped on the ship with nowhere to go.
His eyes travelled to the other end of the ship, where a lantern burned in the window of the captain’s quarters. Kellian was there now, settling their bill with Julian and the captain. The night before he had brought back a small fortune in gold, and not for the first time, Devon found himself cursing his wasteful youth. If he’d set aside more of his salary while he’d been in the army, he might have avoided this mess altogether.
Devon cursed as he returned his gaze to the docks in time to watch two sailors drop a crate. The box shattered on impact, scattering clay jars across the wooden boards. Several cracked open, sending red spices flying as the men raced to save the remaining jars. Beyond the chaos, all progress loading the ship came to a halt as the other sailors waited for the men to clear the way.
Grating his teeth, Devon forced himself to take another breath. His heart was pounding against his chest, his nerves more than a little raw. He shook his head, trying to relax. The sun was still low on the horizon, and they would be away soon enough.
At the thought, the door to the captain’s cabin banged open, and he
turned to see Julian approaching. Forcing a smile to his lips, he waved a greeting.
“Still get that unsettled stomach, ay, Devon?” Julian’s laughter rang out across the docks as his friend joined him at the railing.
Devon flashed the man a scowl. He’d never liked sailing. During the civil war, he’d been on more than his fair share of ships, but his stomach had never grown used to the rocking motion of the sea. “Nothing wrong with my stomach,” he muttered. “It’s the ocean that makes me sick. It’s unnatural, floating all the way out there with nothing but a few planks of wood to keep you from a watery grave.”
Julian grinned and patted the railing. “I wouldn’t worry, old friend. The Songbird’s one of mine. I trust her more than I’d trust my wife.”
“I thought your wife ran off with half your fortune?”
“Hardly!” Julian exclaimed. His eyes flickered furtively at Devon and he forced a grin. “It was a few gold bars and my favourite horse. Hardly half!”
Devon chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. “The single life suits you better.” He turned his eyes back to the dock. The men had finally cleared the spilled jars and loading had resumed. “Are you joining us on this voyage? We should be away shortly, I hope?”
“Ever the impatient one, Devon!” Julian laughed.
A grin spread across Devon’s cheeks. “If I’d known this was your ship, Julian, I would have waited until noon to show up. Once upon a time you couldn’t leave port less than two days late.”
Julian snorted. “Like I told my lieutenant at the time, conditions weren’t right to sail.”
“Tell that to the twenty other captains who arrived on time,” Devon replied.
“Reckless souls, all of them!” Julian said, then the smile fell from his face. “Thankfully those days are past. I wasn’t made to captain ships. My instinct for self-preservation is far too strong.”
“You seemed to have found your calling,” Devon murmured, eyeing his suddenly sombre friend.
Julian nodded, his eyes on the men below. “It’s been a hard year, Devon,” he said. “Business has been slow. I’ve had to make sacrifices.”
Devon sighed. “Things will improve.”
“I can only hope so.” Shaking his head, Julian looked up at Devon and forced a smile. “It’s been good seeing you again, old friend. I had best be going, though. Wouldn’t want to get in the way.” He paused a moment. “You sure you and Kellian don’t want to reconsider this journey? It’s going to be a cold winter in Northland.”
“Sorry, old friend, but our minds are made up!” Devon replied, offering his hand.
Julian gripped his palm. “Until next time then, old friend.”
“Until next time,” Devon replied.
Devon watched as he turned and wandered down the gangplank, wondering at the sudden change in his friend’s mood. The former ship captain paused on the docks, shouting a few words to the men there before continuing through the crowd. The remaining the sailors moved quickly up the gangplank, carrying the last of the crates with them.
His eyes continued on across the docks. The crowds were building as the sun lifted higher in the sky, and other ships were beginning to pull away from the docks now, readying themselves to set sail on the high tide. He caught a last glimpse of his friend’s red cloak through the press of bodies, then he was gone.
Devon was about to look away when something else caught his attention. He frowned, staring into the crowd. His stomach swirled as he caught sight of a black-cloaked figure, then another. Swallowing, he clamped his hands around the railing and licked his lips. Silently, he prayed to the Storm God he was wrong.
Boots thudded on the wooden boards as Alana appeared beside him. “I thought we were leaving?” she asked, leaning against the railing.
“We’re meant to be,” Devon muttered, his eyes never leaving the crowd.
The dark-cloaked figures had come together now, their long strides eating up the distance to the Songbird. Fear clawed its way up Devon’s throat as he recognised the figure in the forefront. It was Quinn. He and his Stalkers would be on them in minutes.
Out on the docks, people were moving quickly about their business, filing between fish stalls and weaving their way between ships. Their presence was hindering Quinn and his men, but it would not delay them long. Already people were noticing the Stalkers and falling back, flinching away from the advancing black tide, almost fleeing in their eagerness to avoid them.
Beside him, Alana cursed as she saw Quinn and his men. Ignoring her, Devon turned from the railing and strode across the deck. Kellian and the captain were in conversation beside the cabin, and he made straight for them. Kellian looked up at his approach, but Devon had eyes only for the captain.
“We need to leave,” he said shortly.
The captain looked around, seeing the last of his men had just come aboard. “Looks like we’re ready to sail, just let me go sign the log book and we can be off.”
“No.” Devon caught the man by the wrist as he made towards the gangplank. “We need to leave now.”
Shaking his head, the captain tore his arm loose and fixed Devon with a glare. “Listen, young man, I understand your journey is somewhat…urgent, but I cannot simply depart without the proper paperwork.”
“You can and you will,” Devon snapped, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt. With his other hand, he pointed out at the crowd. “See those men? They’re Stalkers. They’re here for us, and anyone caught helping us. So, unless you fancy spending the rest of your wretched life in a Lonian dungeon, you’d best get this ship moving!”
The man’s eyes flickered out across the docks, alighting on Quinn and his men. He swallowed, his eyes turning back to Devon.
“Don’t even think about giving us up,” Devon growled. Reaching up, he unsheathed his hammer and hefted it. “You wouldn’t live to see the reward.”
The man swallowed again, eyes wide, mouth gasping. Finally, he gave a curt nod. Devon released him but followed closely as the man marched around the deck screaming orders to his crew. Across the ship, men leapt into action, throwing off mooring lines and raising the anchor. Overhead, cloth rasped as the sails unfurled.
“That won’t work,” Devon said quickly, grabbing the man by the arm. He pointed at the rows of oars below the deck. “They have wind magic. Your men will need to row.”
The captain nodded quickly and began shouting fresh orders. Devon’s stomach lurched uncomfortably as the ship started to move. Freed of its restraints, it rocked gently beneath them and began to drift away from the docks. Still a hundred yards away, Quinn and his men redoubled their efforts to reach them.
“You think Julian betrayed us?” Kellian asked, coming alongside him.
Devon nodded. “He was jumpy,” he said softly, keeping the hurt from his voice. “I should have guessed. He must have sent someone to fetch Quinn.”
Steel rasped on leather as Alana drew her sabre. She didn’t speak, just stared out over the crowd, watching as the Stalkers advanced. From below the deck came the thump of oars being shipped. Behind them, the captain stood at the tiller, slowly turning the ship away from the dock. As Devon had predicted, the sails hung limp above them. The wind had died away to nothing.
A foot opened between the ship and the dock, then a yard, then more. As the gap widened, Devon’s panic began to ease, his heartbeat slowing. His eyes followed Quinn and his men, but he could see now they weren’t going to arrive in time. Slowly, the ship drifted away from the dock and turned towards the open sea.
“Devon!” A voice carried to them on a sudden breath of wind.
Devon turned back, his spine tingling as he saw Quinn had come to a stop. The Stalker’s words carried to them across the open water. “Turn back now, or die.”
Grinning, Devon stepped up to the railing and laughed. The sound boomed out as he lifted kanker above his head and shouted. “Come and get me, sonny!”
With that, he turned away, his anxiety melting like ice before
a flame. Quinn and his Stalkers had almost had them again, but it seemed luck remained on their side. Julian had betrayed them, but his strange manner at the end had been enough to alert Devon in time. He breathed out a long sigh, a smile touching his lips.
“That was too close,” he said, looking at the others.
Just close enough, an ice-cold voice replied, whispering through their minds.
Chapter 24
Just close enough.
Alana spun away from the rail as a dark voice whispered through her thoughts. Her gaze swept the deck, passing over crew and captain to settle on the figure of a boy sitting on the port railing. Swathed all in black, he sat on the railing with legs crossed, hands clenched before him. A hood hid his face, but as the Songbird’s passengers looked on, pale hands reached up and pulled it down.
The jet-black eyes swept the ship before settling on Alana. She knew instinctively what it was, that this was a demon sent by the Tsar to bring them back.
Alana, the voice came again, drilling its way down into her consciousness. How good to see you.
The voice was shocking, like a cold breeze on a summer’s day. Fear tied Alana’s stomach in knots as she staggered back from the creature. She grabbed her brother by the wrist, pulling him close. Dragging him with her, she retreated towards the gap in the railing where the gangplank had been.
“Stop.”
Alana groaned as the demon spoke out loud, the command bringing her feet to a sudden halt. She stood trembling, her brother’s wrist locked in her iron grip, and watched as the creature slowly climbed from its perch. As it moved, its cloak swept out, revealing the dark hilt of a sword at its waist. A smile twitched on its pale face as the black eyes swept the sailors crowding the deck. At its voice, all movement had ceased.
The creature’s awful laughter rent the air. Alana gritted her teeth as it turned back to her. “You have led Quinn a merry chase, Alana,” it whispered, dark eyes flashing. “But it is over now.”
