by Mark G Heath
“ Concentrate man,” urged Novac.
The last of the tendrils dropped into the bottle and Ringthane hastily slammed the lid on, secured it and then toppled away from the table. He staggered past Novac and clutched at the chaise lounge falling onto it. Campion moved to his side and reached out to touch Ringthane but then recoiled. The brown locks of the gem invoker had turned white. The gem invoker looked up, his beard was neatly trimmed still but as white as the snow outside. His face was now lined and etched with exhaustion. The tunic was less fitted, the gem invoker’s frame seemingly shrunk slightly. Ragged breaths came from his mouth, the lips thinner and drier.
“ Lostrec, are you all right?” said Campion.
“ I will be,” panted the gem invoker. “ That was a tough one.”
“ You extracted all the essence though?” asked Tsangarides.
“ Yes, yes it is done,” replied Ringthane wearily. Novac showed no interest in the fatigued invoker, instead he was scrutinising the contents of the second bottle, fixated with the essence contained within it. He placed the bottle in the case, the glass sliding against the silk lined interior, to wedge firmly into its compartment.
“ When can you continue?” asked the Arch Priest.
“ Once I have rested,” said Ringthane, “ Thomas, please pass me a drink, there is wine in the kitchen.” Campion nodded and headed through one of the doors.
“ How long will you need to rest for?” pressed Novac.
“ Until I am recovered.”
“ Yes, yes, but what is that likely to be? An afternoon? Until tomorrow?”
“ I will not be able to carry out any further invoking this day. If I rest well overnight, I can continue tomorrow,” explained Ringthane.
Campion returned with a goblet and passed it to the gem invoker. He took it with still shaking hands and drank the wine noisily.
“ Do they become progressively more difficult?” said Tsangarides.
“ Not necessarily, but that could be the case.”
“ So, how long until you have extracted all six?” asked Novac.
Ringthane paused as if carrying out a calculation in his head.
“ I would say that if the remaining four are as difficult as that one, it would take me four days. Should the parting and extraction become less arduous, three days at best.”
“ And if they are more difficult?” said Tsangarides.
“ It really is hard to say, it all depends how much strength is taken from me and how long the recovery time amounts to.”
“ But if you had to estimate,” said Novac.
“ A week, possibly two.”
Novac twisted his face in displeasure.
“ Can you do anything to accelerate your recovery?” asked the Arch Priest.
“ I can, but then that will result in damage to me. The accelerated recovery will need to come from somewhere and it will take from me permanently, aging me and harming me,” said Ringthane.
“ Juren, return to the church and send Low Priest Derran here with Acolyte Darmere. They are to bring half a dozen draughts of replenishment with them and are to post themselves here with Master Ringthane until he has completed the extraction,” said Novac.
“ Didn’t you hear me, your eminence, any acceleration will permanently harm me,” protested Ringthane.
“ I heard harm, not kill,” said Novac.
Ringthane looked earnestly at Campion.
“ May I counsel a degree of caution, your eminence? Should Master Ringthane over exert himself in this task and be unable to continue, then who are we to turn to for the extraction?” said Campion.
“ He said nothing of being unable to complete the task, Priest Campion,” replied Novac.
“ But it is a risk if pushed too hard, surely?”
Ringthane nodded and took another drink from the goblet.
“ Your concern is noted, but this caution has only been raised after the suggestion of permanent harm to Master Ringthane, not death. With the aid of the draughts, he should have this matter concluded within two to three days, possibly even sooner, Manfur willing.”
“ But your eminence,” began Campion.
“ Priest Campion!” snapped Novac. “ I see no basis for you to complain at this time scale for it affords you extra time to complete your own tasks does it not?”
“ Yes, yes it does, your eminence, but if I could beseech you,”
“ Enough. Our work must continue.”
“ Then I shall do no more. I shall work only to my own pace or you won’t receive your essence,” said Ringthane.
Novac darted forward and grabbed the gem invoker’s face in his right hand, squeezing his cheeks together.
“ You will do as I command, Master Ringthane, the grand design must be completed and without delay or prevarication.”
“ You cannot complete it without me,” spluttered the gem invoker through his squashed mouth.
“ Listen well Master Ringthane, you agreed to extract the essence from the six emeralds and you shall be handsomely paid for this endeavour. You are obligated to my timescale, not yours.”
Ringthane shook his head.
Novac released Ringthane’s face and jabbed his index finger down onto the invoker’s left hand, which was resting flat against the chaise lounge. Ringthane cried in pain as the skin on his hand wrinkled, the veins appearing more obvious as the skin thinned and clung to the bones of his hand, losing the middle-aged strength it had.
“ That is permanent damage,” hissed Novac lifting his finger. Ringthane pulled his hand to his chest, inspecting the aged appendage.
“ Priest Campion you shall remain here to ensure Master Ringthane truly understand his obligation to us. Juran and I shall return to the church and send Derran and Darmere to relieve you and maintain a watch and of course, provide every assistance to Master Ringthane so that his work is completed both successfully and promptly.”
“ Yes your eminence,” said Campion.
“ Come Juran, let us return to our carriage. Thank you Master Ringthane, I have been most impressed by your work so far. See to it that you do not fall in our estimation.”
Ringthane said nothing as Novac and Tsangarides left the living room and made their way along the path to the waiting carriage.
Chapter Eighteen
Cyon Lancaster walked along the path, his breath clouding before him. Expensively and brightly attired as usual, he could not be missed against the backdrop of grey bark and snow-covered bushes that lined the path. His step was buoyant as if he had just received some good news. Ahead, he saw two figures walking with purpose towards him. Both were smartly dressed in black, with occasional flashes of silver on their clothing and both wore chains of office around their necks. A silver-haired man, bearded, led the duo as they neared, his face set in concentration. Lancaster halted and stepped to one side to allow them to pass on the narrow path.
“ Good morning,” said Lancaster. The leading man said nothing and did not divert his gaze to look at Lancaster.
“ Good morning,” responded the second man with a quick smile as he trotted along. Lancaster watched the pair pass, noting the half-moon emblem on their sleeves.
“ Must be the Manfurians,” he said quietly as the two men disappeared from sight further along the track. Lancaster frowned and wondered what the two Manfurians had wanted along this isolated track. Unable to reach any answer, Lancaster continued walking until he emerged by the four houses at the end of the path. He strode between the second and third, briefly glancing at the surging river below and turned to his left. A set of wooden steps climbed from the path to a porch. Lancaster ascended the steps and stepped onto the porch, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight. He looked across to the third house, it too had a porch, a rocking chair placed on it, but there was nobody to be seen. Lancaster made for the door to the property and saw something long, black and shrivelled nailed to the door though he could not distinguish what it was. He turned his nose up at the unpleasant
ornament and knocked on the door. He waited, but nobody answered the door. Lancaster knocked again, this time more firmly. Still nobody came to the door. With a sigh, he moved to the nearby window and cupped his hand against it to peer inside. This proved fruitless as the curtains were drawn across the window. Lancaster scratched the side of his cheek and returned to the door, this time banging loudly on it.
He felt something cold slide against his throat and from the corner of his right eye, saw a gloved hand.
“ Who the fuck are you?” whispered a voice in his left ear.
“ Cyon Lancaster,” replied Lancaster.
“ Stay quite still,” ordered the voice. Lancaster nodded and he felt a hand patting across his chest and stomach. It pulled the dagger from its sheath attached to his belt. There was a pause and then the searching resumed, moving partway down his legs. The cold implement remained at his neck as the hand made its way back up, checking his arms and then finally lifting the hat from his head.
“ Good. I am going to check your boots. Move and my knife will be in your back. Understand?”
“ Yes,” replied Lancaster. The blade moved away from his neck and the patting of his person resumed, around his lower legs and calves. Lancaster remained motionless as the knife returned to his throat.
“ Where are you from?” asked the voice.
“ Well, there are three answers to that, really.”
“ Then give me three answers,” urged the voice, the blade’s pressure increasing slightly on his skin.
“ I have come from the Last One Inn, although I ordinarily reside in Lancester. Originally, I hail from Sarm.”
“ Never heard of it.”
“ It’s a city,” began Lancaster.
“ I’m not interested rich man,” hissed the voice.
“ Who sent you here?”
“ Benjamin, the landlord.”
“ Did he now? What did he tell you?”
“ He told me to come to the middle house on the left by the river, no earlier than ten in the morning. He said that I should say always let a scab fall off, never pick it.”
“ Is that right?”
“ It is.”
“ Do you agree with that?”
“ With what?”
“ With what you just said,” said the voice.
“ It depends.”
“ On what?”
“ Circumstances. Sometimes you cannot wait for things to happen, you have to move along, take control of a situation.”
“ Very true.”
The blade left Lancaster’s throat.
“ Open the door and go in,” instructed the voice. Lancaster hesitated.
“ Go on, go in.”
Lancaster reached out and lifted the latch on the door and pushed. The door opened and he stepped inside the house. He entered a dim living room. A fire glowed in the hearth, a low orange light shedding enough light for him to make out furniture set out around the room. He heard the door close behind him.
“ Sit down please,” said the voice. Lancaster moved over to a cushioned chair and lowered himself into it. For the first time he was able to see the owner of the voice. A figure, slightly shorter than himself was stood before the front door. Judging by the voice, Lancaster decided the person was male. He wore dark, probably black clothing, although it was difficult to tell in the low light of the room. A tunic, unbuttoned by two buttons, fitted over a pair of tight trousers, they in turn tucked into a pair of low cut boots. The figure was lean but not skinny and it still held a savage looking knife in its gloved right hand. Lancaster was unable to discern any facial features for they were hidden behind a full length mask, the mask depicting a smiling face, which appeared rather eerie the longer one looked at it. Lancaster could see that the mask-wearer was bald. The figure sat down opposite Lancaster, crossed its legs and tapped its knee with the blade of the knife. Lancaster looked at the masked figure waiting for him to speak, but he merely kept tapping away at his knee, bouncing the flat of the blade up and down.
“ Are you Palea Haspengoun?” asked Lancaster as he began to feel uneasy at the silence.
“ To you I am.”
“ Good. As I said when we first, er, met, I am Cyon Lancaster.”
“ We’ve done that part.”
“ Right.”
The room lapsed into silence again.
“ Did Ben tell you to expect me?” asked Lancaster.
“ Does it matter? You are here now.”
“ Yes. Right. Well I need your assistance,” said Lancaster. The figure stopped the drumming of the blade on his knee and placed both feet on the floor, leaning towards Lancaster.
“ Finally he gets to the point,” said Haspengoun.
“ I have a situation, it is pressing in fact.”
“ Who?” interrupted Haspengoun.
“Who?” repeated Lancaster.
“Who do you want silenced?”
“ Ah, well it is slightly more complicated than just silencing them.”
Haspengoun cocked his head as if puzzled by Lancaster’s remark.
“ Why do you keep stopping? You are here to see me. You want my help. I don’t want to sit idling the day away with you.”
“ Very well. Look, er, I suppose it depends on how you will deal with the situation. I mean, you might not need to kill them, or maybe you will, it depends.”
“Are you always this clear?”
“ Forgive me, you see, I need something and the way you obtain it might mean killing one person, maybe two, or not.”
“ Who does it involve?”
“Samael Thaindire and Kathryn Dromgoole.”
“ Finally.”
“ You know who they are?” asked Lancaster.
“ I do.”
“ But, I need you to take something from Thaindire.”
“ I’m a murderer, not a thief.”
“ I am sure you will reflect it in your fee,” replied Lancaster feeling a little surer, since matters now touched on coin.
“ Carry on,” invited Haspengoun.
“ I need you to collect as much of his white blood as you can and bring it to me. If the girl gets in the way, feel free to kill her but it is not necessary. The white blood is what I am after.”
“ Different.”
“ The acquisition of the white blood is actually the primary purpose of my engaging you. To be frank, if you are able to collect the white blood without having to slay them both, it would not matter to me.”
“ It matters to me. I can’t have potential employers thinking I have given up on the art of killing and have become some milk maid instead.”
“ Fine, fine, kill them then, as I say, the white blood is my priority.”
“ Duly noted. When do you want them removed and this white blood collected?”
“ Immediately.”
“ Immediately?” repeated Haspengoun.
“ Yes, today or tomorrow.”
“ I see.”
“ Can you do it?” asked Lancaster.
“ Yes.”
“ Excellent. How much?”
“ Five thousand gold marks for him, two thousand gold marks for her. Two thousand gold marks for each bottle of white blood I obtain for you.”
“ Agreed,” said Lancaster.
“ Naturally, a percentage is required upfront to show good faith. Let’s say four thousand.”
“ Very well, but if you return having slain Thaindire and Dromgoole but without the white blood, the task is meaningless and thus in those circumstances, you only receive four thousand. Good faith works both ways,” said Lancaster.
“ I agree.” replied Haspengoun. “ Do you have the payment now?”
“ Yes,” answered Lancaster reaching to his belt. “ I have here some sapphires, eight of them will equate to four thousand marks.”
“ No gems,” said Haspengoun.
“ Sorry?” asked Lancaster.
“ No gems. My friend next door will sniff them out like a fat man does a c
ake,” commented
“ Mythral marks bearing the mark of the King? Highest coin you can get. ”
“ Entirely acceptable.”
“ May I?” asked Lancaster opening the first pouch on his belt and indicating to a nearby table.
“ By all means.”
Lancaster counted out ten piles of ten coins each, emptying the first pouch and taking most from the second pouch also.
“ At least I don’t have to carry them all back I guess,” said Lancaster once he had concluded creating the piles. “ There is quite a weight there.”
Haspengoun stood up and walked to the table looking over the collection of coins.
“ Return here this time tomorrow to collect the white blood. Bring plenty of mythral. You may want to bring someone you trust to help you carry it all.”
“ How much white blood are you proposing to collect?”
“ Every last drop,” answered Hapsengoun. Lancaster stared at him but could not fathom if the man was joking or serious.
“ Then I shall see you tomorrow.”
Haspengoun turned and moved to the door. He opened it and waited for Lancaster to step outside.
“ Many thanks, Master Hasp,” said Lancaster, but before he could finish his fare well the door had closed.
Lancaster walked down the steps and returned to the path, passing between the two houses just as three figures came walking towards him. He recognised the man who had responded to his greeting earlier. Two men accompanied him. One wore a slender chain about his neck, less ostentatious than that worn by the man who had spoken to him. The third man wore no jewellery. The second and third men carried a handled casket between them.
“ Excuse us,” said the leading Manfurian. Lancaster again stepped to one side to allow them passage. The first man nodded his thanks and Lancaster watched them reach the end of the path and turn to the right. Lancaster turned and way and began his walk back to the inn.
