by Markus Heitz
“Nôd’onn, not Nudin,” the dark-haired woman corrected her. “The maga has placed a bounty on their heads. I was thinking we should find ourselves some likely suspects and hand them over to the guards. Presto, the money will be ours.”
“Good thinking,” said the man enthusiastically. “Knowing Andôkai, she won’t bother with putting them on trial. Who can we frame? It can’t be anyone who’s liked or admired by the citizens with coin.”
“I know just the person,” said the fair-haired woman, clapping him on the back. Her dark-haired companion laughed. “What makes them think that Nôd’onn still has followers in Porista?” she enquired.
“Apparently, Frud and Granselm were carrying weapons embossed with the magus’s crest,” explained the man. “I don’t believe a word of it: They weren’t exactly friendly with the magus, and they avoided magic like the plague.”
“Unless they were given those weapons by whoever was holding the purse strings,” reasoned the fair-headed woman, stealing a swig from her companion’s goblet. “It’s almost like someone wanted Andôkai to believe in a conspiracy. There’s something funny about this business.”
A sudden noise sent them scrambling to their feet. The leper had woken up and was coughing and sputtering. They shifted along the bench to avoid being showered with phlegm.
Still gagging, the leper hauled himself upright and staggered to the door. The other drinkers drew back and held their breath until he was safely out of the tavern. As soon as the door closed behind him, the publican rushed over with a bucket of vinegar solution and started scrubbing the table and bench.
“Quick,” said the fair-haired woman, jumping up from the table. “I reckon his purse is going to need a new owner sooner than we thought.” They piled out of the tavern and stopped on the pavement, listening intently.
The tinkling bell on the man’s ankle, designed to warn of his approach, drew his pursuers straight to him. With a smile, the fair-haired woman whipped out her dagger, holding it flat against her forearm to hide the blade from view. She set off after the tinkling leper, while her two companions hurried after her, watching her back.
The man came into view. He was hobbling at great speed and seemed to have heard them coming. Cursing, he glanced over his shoulder and slipped into an alleyway. The tinkling stopped.
“He’s seen us. After him!” They raced into the alleyway, the fair-haired woman charging ahead. After only a few paces, she tripped over a pile of dirty clothes and hit the cobblestones. The dagger flew from her hand. The man’s right foot got caught in a leather band to which a small metal bell was attached. They heard the familiar tinkling.
Spitting angrily, the woman got to her feet and held up the discarded rags. “Look at this,” she said slowly. “He was only pretending to be a leper. This smells of… talcum powder or ointment or…” She ran her hands over the stains. “Paint!”
“He was spying for the maga,” growled the man, checking the alleyway for signs of the impostor. “We need to catch him or we’ll be finished.” He sent the women in different directions and they fanned out, determined to secure the man’s silence once and for all.
Rodario watched motionlessly from the doorway of a house as the fair-haired purse-snatcher tiptoed past him and continued along the alleyway, stopping occasionally to listen for telltale noises. The city was eerily quiet.
It was a relief after countless nights of eavesdropping in the dingiest taverns of Porista to finally hear something of consequence, but he hadn’t allowed for the rapacious nature of the criminal mind, and his current predicament put a dampener on his mood.
There could be little doubt that the trio intended to kill him: The look on their faces and the mention of the “guild” were evidence enough of that.
So Frud and Granselm were paid to attack us, he thought, watching with relief as the woman disappeared from view. But I still don’t know who hired them, and I probably never shall.
His mind chafed at the possibility that the daggers had been planted to make it look as if Nôd’onn’s famuli were behind the attack. He wondered whether someone held a grudge against the magus’s pupils and wanted them dead. But why bother with framing them? A tip-off would suffice… A smile spread over his handsome face. What a wonderful idea for my next play—a thrilling drama full of local color.
He was about to disappear into the alleyway when the door behind him flew open. Pale light streamed out of the house and before he had time to react, someone grabbed him and pulled him backward. The door slammed shut, trapping him inside.
“My apologies, worthy citizens of Porista,” said Rodario. “I can explain…” His arms were bent up behind him, and someone turned him round. He saw three figures wearing malachite robes and masks. One of his captors was a woman, as he could tell from her curves. “He’s a spy,” hissed the man, holding Rodario in a vice-like grip. “He was eavesdropping for the usurper.”
The woman leaned over and examined his face. “I know him. He’s the actor in charge of the building work. The maga hired him when the other fellow was attacked.”
Rodario had seen and heard enough to know whom he was dealing with. Under other circumstances he would have relished the prospect of rooting out Nôd’onn’s famuli, but not now. “Worthy citizens, you’re mistaken,” he said, trying to extricate himself from the situation with his dependable smile. “I’m not the fabulous Rodario—although he and I are very much alike.”
“Only an actor would talk so prettily,” said the woman with a laugh. “It’s him, all right.” She nodded to the man behind Rodario. “Good work, famulus. It’s our chance to discover the maga’s next move.” She pointed to a chair. Rodario was hauled unceremoniously toward it and made to sit down, while his hands were tied behind his back. The woman leaned over and looked him in the eye. “We know you’re in league with the maga. What does she mean by her games?”
“I’m a lowly impresario,” he said sweetly. “All I want is to rebuild my theater but, after what you did to my poor friend Furgas, I’ve been lumbered with rebuilding the city as well.” He didn’t think for a moment that the famuli were responsible for the ambush, but he wanted to keep his newfound knowledge to himself.
The woman immediately corroborated his suspicions. “We didn’t attack your friend,” she said angrily. “If we were going to attack anyone, we wouldn’t use daggers embossed with the magus’s crest. What bothers us is that Andôkai is bent on telling everyone that we were involved. First she steals Porista from its rightful owners, and now she’s turning the city against us. What does she mean to do next?”
“Gentle lady, your grievance is with the maga, not with me. I wasn’t spying on you; I was fleeing from three unscrupulous reprobates who were after my purse. Your doorway offered protection, I took shelter, and your friend here mistook me for a spy.” He looked up at her imploringly. “If you let me go, the maga will never learn of our encounter. I’m none too fond of her either—she’s a cold-hearted, unfeeling woman who likes to make other people feel small.” As he talked, he pulled on the rope that bound his wrists, freeing himself by degrees. One of the men had stopped watching him and was sitting by the window, peering into the street. “I could spy for you, if you like,” Rodario offered boldly.
He could tell from the woman’s face that she was ready to believe him, but his hopes were dashed when a fist appeared out of nowhere and punched him on the chin. “You treacherous windbag,” barked the second man. “Stop trying to deceive us with your silver-tongued lies. We know the maga is up to something. Why else would she leave the palace at the dead of nigh—”
“Shush,” hissed the man at the window. “Keep your voices down. Someone’s outside.”
“Can you see who it is?” whispered the woman.
“Three people. They’re armed and they’re standing outside the door.”
“They’re…” At the last second, Rodario, who was about to identify the trio as his purse-snatching pursuers, changed his mind. He gave the rope a
final jerk; it was loose enough for him to break free at the first opportunity. “They’re my guards,” he lied, deciding to add to the confusion by claiming to be a spy after all. “They’re under orders to put an end to your treachery.”
The woman slapped him. “You almost had me fooled.” She glanced at the men. “Kill him. We’ll escape through the back.”
“They’ve covered both exits,” said Rodario quickly, managing to sound confident and disdainful in spite of his fear. “Give yourselves up and your lives will be spared. I’m sure the maga will be merciful, provided you confess.”
“Confess? We haven’t committed any crime. No, I’d rather die than throw myself on the mercy of the usurper.” She drew a dagger from the leather belt across her shoulder and tried to plunge it into his heart.
Rodario kicked her as hard as he could in the crotch. “Count yourself lucky you’re not a man!” he muttered unsympathetically when she groaned. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the back of the chair and brought it down on the head of the man who was rushing toward him. A wooden leg snapped off, flew through the air, and shattered the crown glass window.
“They’re coming!” shouted the other man, unsheathing his sword. “Death to the supporters of Andôkai!” He darted outside and charged toward them. Rodario couldn’t see what happened next, but he knew from the sound of clattering steel that the famulus and the thieves had met.
Meanwhile, the woman had recovered sufficiently to launch a new attack. He fended her off with the broken chair while her companion rushed out to help his friend. Lightning crackled and Rodario caught a glimpse of a flickering red glow on the pavement outside. Voices shouted in panic; then a man let out an agonized scream.
“Die, villain!” The woman’s dagger hurtled toward him.
Rodario had enough time to step aside and thrust the back of the chair into her belly. Then, flipping it over, he slammed it seat-first against her head. The chair broke apart, tearing her hood. She slumped to the ground, blood gushing from her head. The dagger embedded itself in the floorboards.
The impresario swooped down and crouched over her, clamping her arms to the ground with his knees. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “It seems the gods are on my side,” he laughed, ripping off her mask with a theatrical gesture.
He saw a charming little face. Blood was trickling through her long dark hair and into her eyes, which gave her a slightly rakish look. He guessed her age at twenty cycles.
“Well, pretty one, it’s time for you to talk,” he said, fighting back his natural exuberance, which was urging him to celebrate his unexpected victory with a kiss. “You said you saw the maga. What was she doing?”
She tried to shake him off. “You know perfectly well what she was doing,” she said, gasping for breath. Her resistance subsided, and she resorted to threats. “Let go of me this instant or I’ll send you up in flames.”
Rodario grinned and stroked his beard. “I’d like to see you try. Why would you use a dagger if you could attack me with magic instead? You’re just a novice, aren’t you?” He pulled the blade from the floor and placed the tip above her heart. “Tell me what you saw. What was the maga doing?”
“Talking to two men,” she said angrily. “Why am I bothering? You know all this already.” Her legs shot up and wrapped themselves around his neck, her calves pushing against his throat. Bracing herself, she pulled back with all her might.
Rodario’s neck creaked in protest. Fearful that his spine was about to break, he shifted his weight.
The famula freed her arms and slid away with the slipperiness of a serpent. Scrambling to her feet, she kicked him in the crotch. “Too bad that you’re a man,” she said spitefully.
He doubled up, holding the dagger in front of him while he recovered from the pain.
Just then one of her companions appeared in the doorway. Blood was pouring from a gash in his arm and he could barely hold himself upright. By now the whole neighborhood was awake and people were shouting for the guards. “Quick, Nufa,” he panted. “We need to get out of here.”
The woman ran over and half carried him out of the room toward the back door. Before she disappeared, she shot a final, murderous glance at the impresario.
But Rodario wasn’t finished with her yet. According to the famula, Andôkai had left the palace in the dead of night to meet two men, but Andôkai was mistress of Porista; she could summon anyone to the palace whenever she liked.
Something’s going on here, and I’m going to find out what. He straightened up carefully and shuffled out of the room. Little Rodario and his two plump brothers were throbbing in protest, and the pain was almost more than he could bear.
Nufa and the famulus were at the door. “Get back!” she shouted, grabbing her wounded comrade’s sword and waving it threateningly at Rodario. “Next time I set eyes on you, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a part in my play?” he asked, still clutching his groin. “I’m looking for a new actress and when I see you standing there, sword in hand, so daring, so courageous… You’d be a natural on stage.”
A dark figure landed behind her and straightened up, revealing his imposing height. There was a sound of grating metal.
“Watch out!” shouted Rodario, who, for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to him, wanted to save her.
The famula ducked as a blade measuring two full paces whistled through the air. The gleaming metal sliced through the ends of her long dark hair and bit into the man’s torso. The two halves of his body fell to the ground.
Rodario knew that Andôkai’s bodyguard would carry out his mission with ruthless efficiency, but still he hobbled forward, positioning himself in front of Nufa. “Do as I say if you want to survive,” he whispered over his shoulder. “You’d better tell me everything you know about Andôkai.” She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. “Don’t hurt her, Djern,” he told the metal visor. “We need her alive.”
A terrible purple light shone through the eyeholes. Djern waited, frozen in position. His hand was outstretched and his sword was perpendicular to the ground. The famulus’s blood trickled down the blade, collected around the hilt, and splashed onto the cobbles.
“ Djern,” he said slowly, “I need you to spare her. She hasn’t answered my questions, and Andôkai will be angry if you kill her. The woman can’t hurt us; she’s not armed.” He stepped aside to prove that Nufa wasn’t a threat.
There was nothing he could do to prevent what happened next.
The giant’s arm shot up in a flash of metal, and his long sword whizzed over Rodario’s head, past his face, and into Nufa’s collarbone. Screaming in agony, she sank down, blood gushing from the wound.
“No!” cried Rodario, throwing himself onto his knees. “I’m so sorry, Nufa. I didn’t think he would… I mean…” He glanced at the open wound and felt a rush of nausea.
Her bloodied fingers reached for his collar; she pulled his head toward her and whispered in his ear. “The maga… two men… a pouch,” she gasped. “Dagger… magus’s crest…”
He was suddenly struck by an improbable thought. “Do you know their names?”
Nufa nodded. “Gran…” Her eyes filled with fear. “No!” The sword brushed past his shoulder and sliced through her mouth, cleaving her skull from top to bottom.
Rodario looked at Djern in horror and disbelief. He stroked Nufa’s arm and straightened up to face the giant. “You killed her, you monster! Don’t you realize she was about to…” It dawned on him that the famula had been killed for a reason; another ill-considered word, and he would share her fate. “She was about to tell me the names of the other conspirators,” he continued. “Andôkai will be furious.”
The maga’s bodyguard sheathed his sword. It wasn’t possible to tell whether he had heard or understood anything that Rodario had said. There was nothing but darkness behind his visor. Turning, he strode down the alleyway and disappeared.
Rodario, shaken
by what had happened, sat down on an empty barrel beside the back door and gazed at the bodies. She would have made a good actress, he thought sadly as he looked at the famula’s once-pretty face.
Djern had brought the sword up and down so cleanly that the famula almost seemed to be asleep. But the giant’s ruthless deed was the spark that ignited Rodario’s smoldering suspicions. His worst fears had been confirmed. I might have guessed that no good would come of spying for Narmora.
VII
Dsôn,
Kingdom of Dsôn Balsur,
Girdlegard,
Spring, 6235th Solar Cycle
The black velvet glove caressed the diamonds on the blade, stroked the shimmering inlay of precious metals, and slid down the haft of the ax. The fingers closed around the sigurdaisy wood and lifted the weapon gently from its bed of dark brocade. “It’s heavy,” said the melodious voice of a male älf.
The bearer of the gift was kneeling at the bottom of the black marble steps that led up to the pair of thrones. She held the cushion aloft, but her gaze was fixed on the stairs; ordinary älfar were forbidden from looking at their rulers. “Indeed it is, Nagsor Inàste. For many miles I bore its weight.”
“You should have sought our approval beforehand, Ondori,” the female älf said gently. “By rights you should be punished, but the success of your mission absolves you of your guilt.”
“You are most generous, Nagsar Inàste,” said a humble Ondori, watching as the gloved fingers returned the ax to its cushion.
“What happened to the groundling?” enquired the male älf.
“He fell into a pond the color of the night, your Highness. His companion drowned as well. We waited two orbits, but they didn’t surface. The weight of their mail must have dragged them to the bottom.” Ondori’s face was flushed with anger. “I almost had him, but his weapons belt broke and he fell from my grip. I wanted him to die by my hand, not in the muddy waters of a nameless ditch in godforsaken Lesinteïl. My sisters and I lost our parents to the groundling. I swore to kill him slowly and cruelly: His death was too kind.” It was clear from her tone that she took scant comfort in her victory over the dwarf.
