A Demon in Silver

by R. S. Ford

  ‘Okay. Just Kaleb it is.’ She tried another wide smile with that but he didn’t seem to have one to respond with. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘We are travelling north, to Kragenskûl.’

  ‘Why?’ This was like pulling teeth, but Livia’s smile was fixed and she persevered.

  ‘Because the Qeltine Brotherhood demands it.’

  Kaleb spoke as though reciting litanies rather than having a conversation.

  ‘And what do they want with me, Kaleb?’

  He shook his scarred head. ‘You do not need to know why.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Enough questions. We must walk now.’ With that, he limped on.

  Livia watched him go. Wondering if now was the time she should try to escape. If she ran, surely he would never catch her. But then he had found her in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of a wood even she didn’t know she was headed to. Even if she could escape him now would he simply hunt her down, limping relentlessly on until he tracked her once more?

  She continued after him, glancing around at the bleak terrain, still trying to work out whether it would be best to take her chances in the wild.

  The sun had begun to creep through the grey sky as they came to an ancient bridge. Kaleb stopped, looking as though he expected something to come charging along its ancient stone walkway. Livia saw that would be impossible; the bridge had collapsed halfway across. It was a beautiful thing among its bleak surroundings – ancient carved stone that would once have stood white and majestic, traversing a dried riverbed. Perhaps in the past, before the Fall or maybe centuries before that, it might have been a wondrous experience to step across that bridge as the fast waters flowed beneath. Now it was just a crumbling relic in a desiccated valley.

  As they stood in silence, Livia was sure she heard the fleeting ring of a bell in the distance.

  Kaleb suddenly grasped her arm with his right hand. Briefly she looked down, noticing his knuckles, knobbled and broken. He dragged her to the side of the bridge, pulling her down next to him as he hunkered behind the stone bulwark.

  The ringing grew louder. Livia could feel her heart beating like thunder as she wondered what kind of monster could have spooked Kaleb so. It was approaching along the dried riverbed. Unable to contain her curiosity she moved, glancing through an eroded section of the bridge to see what it was. The sight almost made her laugh out loud.

  An old tinker was leading his mule behind him. The beast was over-laden with wares and looked none too pleased, though it followed its master obediently. The tinker looked old and wretched, his only redeeming feature the jaunty cap he wore atop his head on which sat the ringing bell that heralded his arrival.

  Livia relaxed and made to stand. Kaleb tightened his grip, forcing her to remain hidden behind the bridge.

  ‘What we got here?’ The voice echoed up from the narrow valley below.

  The tinker was no longer alone.

  Four men had appeared from nowhere; all of them looked like they’d been in the wilds for days. They dwarfed the tinker, who smiled a toothless grin back at them.

  ‘What’s your name, old man?’ asked one of them, as another began to rifle through the pack mule’s load.

  ‘I’m Jachino Sand,’ the old man replied. Livia could still see that grin but hear the uneasiness in his voice. ‘Purveyor of trinkets. Traveller on the great road of—’

  ‘All right, grandpa. We don’t need the spiel.’

  ‘Apologies. I have been on the road for many days. I haven’t seen fellow travellers—’

  ‘What have we got?’ said the bandit, ignoring the old man’s rant.

  ‘Fuck all,’ said the one checking the mule. ‘Few pots and pans. No silver.’

  ‘Where is it?’ asked the bandit leader.

  Jachino shook his head. ‘I – I have nothing. Times are hard, as I’m sure you kn—’

  ‘I said, where is it?’

  The old man held his hands up. ‘I am a member of the Penitent Order. I have been given dispensation to travel this road by the Lords of Byzantus. I come under their protec—’

  The bandit leader took a step forward. Livia saw there was already a knife in his hand, which he shoved into Jachino’s gut.

  She opened her mouth to scream. Despite all she had seen, the sudden brutality still filled her with horror. Kaleb’s hand clamped over her mouth before she could utter a sound.

  He pulled her away from the gap in the bridge, hand still silencing her. Livia could only listen as the bandits cut the old man to pieces. His cries of pain were mercifully short.

  She and Kaleb hid behind the bridge for what seemed an age as the bandits tore Jachino’s possessions apart, searching for their silver. When they had finished she heard one of them say, ‘Fuck all. The old fart wasn’t lying.’

  They laughed after that. Livia could hear it echoing along the dried riverbed as they moved away.

  When it was silent, Kaleb moved his hand away from her mouth.

  ‘Quickly,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her down the riverbank and into the valley.

  Livia couldn’t help but look down at Jachino’s body for a fleeting moment, wondering how desperate the old man must have been to come and ply his trade in this dangerous country. His mule was gone. The bandits had even taken the old man’s hat with its annoying bell. So much for the Penitent Order and its protection.

  As Kaleb pulled her up the other side of the riverbank her horror at Jachino’s murder was already waning.

  Livia didn’t know what troubled her the most – the fact that she had no idea what fate awaited her to the north, or that it no longer frightened her.

  40

  THE Cordral Extent was imbued with its own savage beauty. In the main it was a vast desert of dust and sharp stones, but every now and again there was a copse or a tree blown into a theatrical pose by the incessant winds, branches clawing at the sky. Sometimes there would be a solitary flower blooming within the carcass of the tree, defiant and vivid against the desolation.

  Half a dozen times Kaleb had spied a monument in the distance, stark against the bleak horizon. Crumbling ruins that were a testament to a glorious past, lost to the ancients. On rarer occasions there were definite signs of civilisation – a well-worn road or distant crops – but the further north they travelled the more desolate this place became.

  Livia was keeping pace with a quiet resolve that Kaleb would have admired were she not so troublesome to him. It wasn’t just her defiant spirit. Every time he looked into her face it sparked a memory from the distant past. It was difficult to hold her gaze, and he found himself avoiding it as often as he could. That task in itself was made all the more difficult by her incessant noise.

  ‘How much further?’ she asked. Kaleb had lost count of the times he had heard that question and it was beginning to try even his patience.

  ‘We are almost there,’ Kaleb lied. The same lie as always. He did not want her to lose heart by telling her the truth of it. This would be a gruelling journey neither of them might survive. Livia fell quiet but he knew it was only a brief respite.

  As they walked he was conscious of her looking at him. He knew he must have looked pitiful – even frightening – but to her credit she simply seemed curious. Despite that Kaleb still felt self-conscious – a sensation he was unused to. No matter how he tried to mask his limp or his withered hand or the weeping from his eye, he knew his ailments were all too obvious. The only way to distract attention from his broken body was to lead them on apace, but still it did not subdue Livia’s enquiries.

  ‘What happened to your face?’ she asked again.

  Memories came back in a flood. A dark room. Not knowing if he was awake or dreaming. A serpent. Pain.

  Kaleb glanced at her briefly but did not answer for the half-dozenth time.

  ‘Only, the scars look like they were made intentionally,’ she continued. ‘I just wondered what you’ve been through.’

  Why would she ask him such
a thing? What purpose could it serve if she knew how he had been given those scars?

  Kaleb turned his attention back to the far horizon, but his silence only seemed to frustrate her.

  ‘What about the hand?’ she asked. ‘Some kind of farming accident?’

  He stopped and turned towards her. No, there was no subterfuge there. She was not enquiring to gain some kind of advantage. It was genuine curiosity born of… concern? But why would she care? He was her captor. She owed him nothing and yet…

  Kaleb turned his head so she could clearly see the wounds on his face. Her brow furrowed at the sight, and Kaleb knew full well the hideous visage he bore.

  ‘Carpenter,’ he said, feeling his left eye twitch, water pooling beneath his left lid. The memory of it haunted him, just the mention of the name on his lips raising the hairs at the back of his neck.

  Livia’s hand moved, her fingertips reaching towards Kaleb’s face as though she might touch his scars. Panic gripped him and his left hand came up on instinct, grasping her wrist. He held it there as they stared at one another. A flicker across her cheek made Kaleb realise he was holding her too tightly, though she tried her best to hide the pain.

  He released her wrist and turned, moving on. This time Livia followed in silence.

  The path led them on for another half day until Kaleb finally spotted the monument up ahead. Livia noticed it too, and he heard her intake of breath as she took in the sight.

  It would once have stood tall, but now the towers that surrounded it were crumbled and fallen. The relic was perched just on the edge of a huge crevasse that seemed to spread as far as the eye could see to east and west.

  Livia suddenly increased her pace, as though eager to reach this semblance of civilisation. Kaleb held out an arm, stopping her as she attempted to move past him.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Someone could be waiting. Or something.’

  ‘What?’ she replied. ‘Nothing’s lived in that place for centuries.’

  ‘There are dangers everywhere in this land,’ Kaleb replied. His words were true enough, and they had not yet reached the Ramadi Wastes. The dangers in that war-torn land were tenfold compared to the relative safety of the Cordral Extent.

  He approached with caution, conscious of his limp, aware that his senses weren’t what they once were. His eye constantly twitched, ruining his peripheral vision, his ear throbbed with a low hum, hampering his hearing, and he bore no weapon. Now more than ever he felt vulnerable as they approached the entrance to the ancient place.

  Before he stepped over the threshold, Kaleb paused. There was a slight breeze that carried no aroma and all he could hear was Livia’s breathing as she stood close by him. Through the archway was a crooked tree next to a small stagnant pool.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ Livia whispered.

  Kaleb had no answer for her.

  He stepped forward into what had once been a spacious courtyard, now eaten away by sand and dust. The walls that surrounded the place had crumbled, the eroded heads of ancient statues lying in the dust as though victims of a mass execution.

  ‘Please tell me this means we can rest,’ said Livia.

  Kaleb nodded, moving forward toward the pool. He stood at the edge, peering into the dank water. If the stories he had heard of nomadic traditions were true there may well be a lifeline for both of them here.

  He examined the base of the crooked tree, brushing away some of the dust at its base and finding a rope secured to it. Brushing away more dust, Kaleb saw the rope ran into the pool, and he grasped it, pulling firmly. From beneath the surface rose an animal bladder secured with twine. The corner of Kaleb’s mouth twitched into a smile and he turned to Livia, showing her his prize.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘That looks disgusting,’ she said. ‘But if it’s brought a smile to that face I’m very pleased for you.’

  When Kaleb ripped open the bladder Livia’s raised eyebrow became an expression of joy. Inside were dried meat and a skin of fresh water.

  ‘Traders and messengers in these lands leave hidden caches for one another,’ he said. ‘It is the code of the desert.’

  ‘Thank the gods for that,’ Livia replied, eagerly taking the waterskin he offered and unstoppering it. She glugged a long draught, then reached for the meat.

  ‘Not too much. Who can say when we might find another.’

  Livia did as he said and they both ate sparingly.

  As night drew in, Kaleb constructed a fire at the edge of the courtyard, beneath the shadow of one of the shattered towers.

  Livia was silent as they sat and Kaleb was thankful for the temporary respite. Still, he found his eyes drifting towards her as they rested in the firelight. There was something familiar about her. Something that stirred a memory from his long forgotten past, before Kragenskûl. Before the Circle.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘You’ve been staring all night.’

  Kaleb had tried to be discreet with his glances. Obviously he had failed.

  ‘You remind me of someone,’ he confessed.

  She looked at him, the light of the flames dancing on her features. ‘Someone else you kidnapped?’

  An attempt at humour. He ignored it. ‘No I… Someone from my childhood. She was…’

  He struggled to find the words. Struggled even to picture her face, but something about Livia made him remember those days with his sister in Tallis.

  ‘Well I hope you showed her a better time than you’ve shown me.’

  Kaleb shook his head. ‘It was not like that. It is not like that. I am not your captor.’

  ‘You’re not my… Well you’re doing a pretty good impression.’ Livia stood and brushed the sand from her skirts. ‘Does that mean I can go?’ She turned and walked towards the dark.

  Kaleb stood as quickly as his painful leg would allow.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Livia cast back. ‘I’m not running. I’m taking a piss. If I’m allowed to do that alone.’

  Kaleb stood and watched her march into the shadows, before letting out a long sigh. He had been set a seemingly impossible task – one he had grasped eagerly to prove he was still worthy of the Brotherhood – but now doubt was creeping into his mind.

  He was a warrior born – an exemplar of his craft, reduced to the status of abductor. It was beneath him, he knew that; a task with little honour or distinction. As he stared into the flames the fleeting thought of allowing Livia her freedom cast its shadow over him.

  The flames crackled and Kaleb heard a faint jingling in his ear. There should have been no doubt – this was his task. He had no will of his own. All he knew was how to obey.

  As he chastised himself, the jingling sound grew louder, until Kaleb realised it was not his damaged senses that caused the noise.

  ‘Hello there,’ said a voice, faintly familiar in the dark.

  Kaleb took a step back from the flames at the sound of the intruder, silently cursing himself for his inattention.

  ‘Woah there, stranger. We mean you no harm.’

  Three men emerged into the light. One was small, with jagged teeth so yellow Kaleb could see their sickly colour even in the wan firelight. The other was skinny but with a ridiculous paunch indicating a man whose diet consisted of nothing but ale. The third was tall, overconfident, wearing a cap with a bell on it.

  The tinker’s cap. These were his murderers.

  Kaleb stood silently, weighing up their fighting capabilities from their stature, their expressions, the weapons they carried.

  ‘Looks like you’re lost out here,’ said the one with the yellow teeth. The leader. ‘Us too. Just wanted to get warm by that fire.’ He pointed at the flickering flames.

  Kaleb didn’t take his eyes from the man but he was conscious that somewhere in the dark Livia was hiding. She must have heard them. Kaleb could only hope she had the wits to stay out of sight.

  ‘You don’t mind us getting warm, do you?’ said the leader, taking a step forward.

  Kaleb didn’t take
a step back but he adjusted his stance to face the man side on. What once would have been a sure transition was now a clumsy movement as his damaged right knee almost buckled.

  ‘He’s a fucking cripple,’ said the one with the paunch. ‘What we waiting for?’

  With that he pulled out a knife, striding forward.

  The leader shrugged, pulling a club from his belt. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Looks like we do mean you harm.’

  Kaleb set his weight on his good leg. As he expected the first attack was clumsy, the one with the paunch striking high, signalling his intent as though he’d written it on parchment. Kaleb hardly moved, turning the man’s elbow with his crippled hand and redirecting the attack with his good one. In an instant the knife was sticking in its owner’s throat and he stared as though he had no idea how it got there.

  The leader came in yelling, waving the club like he was scaring birds away. Kaleb turned his head a few inches, allowing the club to pass him by. His good hand smashed the man’s throat.

  As the leader fell back clutching his crushed windpipe, Kaleb heard the tinker’s hat jingling. Its wearer was drawing a short sword, but Kaleb moved in; even on a damaged leg he was faster than the draw. As the blade left its scabbard, Kaleb grasped the man’s wrist, fingers of his crippled hand redirecting the blade towards its owner’s belly. He shifted his weight, pressing the blade home. The man stared at him for scant seconds before pitching back into the dark, the bell jingling as he fell.

  Kaleb turned, already sensing the presence of a fourth assailant, already making ready to attack, but he was forced to stay his hand.

  From the darkness shuffled the last bandit, his eyes wide with fear. He had Livia about the neck, a knife pressed to her throat.

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill her, I mean it.’

  Before Kaleb could think what to do, a lancing pain struck his side. His knee buckled and he stumbled to the side, his hand reaching down to pull out the knife. The bandit with the paunch was on his knees. He’d dragged the knife from his own throat and struck in a last-ditch attempt at vengeance.

  ‘Don’t fucking move!’ said the one holding Livia.