CLOAK - Lost Son of the Crested Folk (The Wish trilogy)

by Russell Thomson

  He had often compared secrets to wine; once harvested and safe in your own cellar there would be some you drank young and some that you laid down for years to come. Young or old you could choose to either to savour them yourself, gift them to friends or perhaps ‘accidentally’ leave them lying out for others to freely lap up. He enjoyed plundering the cellar of others, savouring the content and occasionally laying aside a secret or two for his own well stocked larder. It was rare to find old secrets of value and rarer still to find those that with time had grown sweeter. Not so in the case of Master Smoke Silverfly, his fine cellar was well stocked, full to the brim of rare and valuable secrets all of which in the right hands were worth a king’s ransom.

  Whilst some old secrets could help resolve an incomplete puzzle, the discovery of new ones often exposed plans or conspiracies yet to unfold, deeds so new that their very existence could be discovered before they happened, their detail exploited thanks to the Troll chamber. The chamber deep within Cold Choke was a well guarded secret and a Questor's dream. Only he and his predecessors knew the chambers true purpose. It was a secret they had each kept safe over several generations, the liberal application of honeyed majic ensuring that the irregular passage of time, the probing questions and the secrets revealed faded from the minds of prisoners and guards alike.

  Most prisoners were first questioned in their cells, the information extracted by his colleagues then presented to him for his evaluation. If thought to be of sufficient merit, urgency or sensitivity he would intervene, the prisoner taken deep below ground to the Troll chamber where he himself would take charge of the interrogation. Master Silverfly capture and his continued presence in Cold Choke was known only to himself, the guards who apprehended the king’s assassin tragically killed. Such drastic action was a risk but also a necessity, it did not worry him that he did not have a warrant to do what he did, he had no loyalty to the king nor to his fawning Inner Council of high lords, his loyalty lay elsewhere, a master who would soon rule the crested lands and bring honour back to its peoples.

  Master Silverfly had warranted special treatment, he was an extremely dangerous and resourceful man and despite the personal peril he put himself in Ember knew the assassin still had his uses.. Smoke thought he recalled all the secrets stolen from him and was already devising a plan to recover the king’s treasures.....but it was not so, in reality he recalled only what he had been permitted to recall. His coded missive about the boy had already been put to good use, his master acting immediately to ensure that his small force arrived in the delta lands before the boy crested. As for Silverfly, the man was too valuable to be let off his leash.......now or ever. He would remain bonded to him for as long as he willed. It was not something he relished, Silverfly would regularly tug on the leash, bare his teeth and snarl at him but with the judicious use of his scentless majic, he would make sure the assassin unknowingly served only his cause.

  Concealing his self-satisfied smile beneath his blanket, Ember slept. Alone with his thoughts Smoke left the confines of the cabin and sought out a quiet spot on the deck close to the prow. His eyes closed the king’s assassin faced eastwards towards the rising sun, relish the low sun and savouring the daylight as he thanked god for his new found freedom. For now the old man and the boy would have to fend for themselves, he now had a more important mission to fulfil, one that required him to be elsewhere, one that he would commence in earnest as soon as he was able to ditch Master Lardon Legs.

  As the day passed the wind held but the weather turned, lumpy white clouds building behind them, their weight pressing down on the sky and turning it grey. Odd spits of rain heralded the first shower, the heavy downpour forcing Smoke below decks once more. When he entered the cabin, he found Ember lying on the floor, his grey white complexion in stark contrast to the fresh blood on his face. Smoke rolled him onto his back, propped his head on a spare blanket and with the corner of his cloak, wiped away the blood. His split lip had burst open again and was bleeding profusely and the skin on his cheek was swollen and bruised where his face had hit the deck. Ember moaned as he regained consciousness. ‘Dastard Troll, the pull has started already, it comes and goes like a swell sickness but I’ve no doubt it’s the pull that felled me. There’s also no doubt it will get worse before it gets better. I am a stubborn man Master Silverfly and I don’t give in easily, it’s one trait of the Inquisitor Sect that I’m proud. I vowed to fight the tow and fight the tow I will.’ Ember slept for the remainder of the day, wearily climbing the stairs to the deck just after dusk. Hooded and with his cloak pulled tight around his rotund frame the Questor tottered on his feet like a babe. Few others were above deck and those who were avoided him, thinking him a sufferer of swell sickness as he leaned heavily on the forward capstan, his pallor ghostly.

  ---

  They reached Delta Crossing mid morning the next day, the ferry anchoring offshore until the tide rose before making for the harbour. The outer and inner harbours were a hive of activity, the wharfs side stacked with goods, timber, livestock, sacks and crates. Beyond the bustling harbour quarter at the end of a quiet side street, Smoke found a small inn. The Glamorous Mare was a dusty tower that smelt of musty straw and old tobacco but the attic room was dry and the window afforded a clear view west, out over the harbour and the sea beyond.

  Ember was restless and fidgety. ‘My hands have begun to shake and I find my eyes occasionally being drawn back to the west. The urge is weak but I recognise it for what it is. I can resist it for now but something from the herbalist would help, Bright Bark crushed with charred Marsh Mushrooms, they infuse it and sell it as a tincture. It will ease my nerves and help me resist.’

  ‘I know the blend. Around the delta the local folk call it Heartease. It should be easy enough to find.’ Smoke turned to leave. ‘Hold Master Smoke,’ said Ember urgently. ‘I think it would be wise if I accompany you, a wise precaution just in case I feel the tow from Cold Choke grow in me. I don’t think you’ll want me wandering back to board the west bound ferry and have you drawn back to Cold Choke after me.’ Smoke froze. ‘My apologies, if I did not make that part clear earlier.’

  ‘Little you say surprises me Squall, you’re a slimy tub of lard who seeks only to look after his own hide. I can see why you ended up in Cold Choke.’

  Smoke and Ember sought guidance from the innkeeper before leaving the Glamorous Mare and making for the craft quarter. The first herbalist they encountered was a poor affair, the second no better, the stall full of last season’s herbs poorly preserved, dry and brittle. Further enquiry led them to short side street near to the south eastern gate, a neat shop front with a large side window, the displays on view well ordered and neatly labelled. The sign above the door read ‘Quality Herbs and Fine Remedies’

  ‘That’s Dolly Chair’s shop isn’t it?’ said Ember.

  Smoke tried not to show surprise at the use of his stolen memories, the king’s assassin acknowledging Ember with no more than a curt nod. The outer door of the shop was wedged open offering the pair a clear view inside. Dolly Chair, royal child stood behind the low counter, the woman was just as Cloak had described her, tall and broad shouldered, the sour expression on her face detracting little from her striking appearance. Smoke tried not to stare.

  ‘Best let me enter and make the purchase,’ said Ember, ‘your constant staring will make her suspicious. Wait here and don’t gawk, indeed, go stand on the other side of the lane until I’m done,’ ordered the Questor.

  As Ember started to cross the narrow cobbled road, Dolly appeared at the door of her store, her voice raised as she angrily ushering a rough looking fellow away from her shop front, shooing him away with a firm push in the back with a broom. As the fellow dodged her second blow he stumbled, bumping hard into Ember and knocking the rotund enquirer to the ground, his arms flailing the air as he fell. Walking away without a sorry or second look Smoke followed the fellow with his eyes. He did not need to know the face, the man’s crest and stench was enough, the
fellow was Echo Grave.

  Ember returned some quarter hour later, eager to tell Smoke his news. ‘The Teller was captured almost two weeks ago and Cloak remains confined to his room. Judgement has already been passed on Blacksky and according to good Mistress Chair, his maiming is in two days time...............I think we should go and watch don’t you?’

  ‘I presume you used honey,’ said Smoke ‘I can’t believe she volunteered that information?’

  Ember smiled. ‘A little sweetener, but not enough to raise the lady’s suspicions. However, having honeyed her I did take the opportunity to ask some further questions, unfortunately, her answer to one particular enquiry leaves us with a serious problem..............she does not know where to take the boy.’

  'But we know..........' Smoke stopped mid sentence.

  'Correct, ‘we’ know, but ‘she’ does not. However, she remains confident that when the time comes, ‘a messenger from the king’ will convey further instructions.'

  Smoke spat a curse. ‘Surely you’re not implying that I am destined to be the one to tell her?'

  Ember shrugged his shoulders. 'You are here and you are still the king's ‘messenger’ are you not, who else is there, indeed, who else would she believe?'

  ‘But the consequences............’

  Ember raised a brow and feigned shock. ‘There are no consequences Master Murder. What will pass here will pass and like it or not, the future you know, the one where Cloak and Dolly get kidnapped and abused will happen exactly as before.’

  The king’s assassin and the Master of Cold Choke walked on, Smoke deep in thought whilst Ember smiled and passed idle comment.

  Stopping suddenly in mid stride, Smoke drew Ember to a halt beside him. ‘Tell me,’ said Smoke urgently, ‘do you recall the rough fellow who collided with you as you crossed the road to Dolly’s store?’

  Ember sneered. ‘You mean her unwanted admirer. He hangs around the store front until she gets annoyed and chases him off with her broom. The poor fellow has a fancy for her. Personally, I’ve never had a craving for large boned women.’ Ember placed his hand on his belt and wobbled a lewd flaccid finger.

  Smoke ignored Embers rude gesture. ‘Then if I am correct, that unwanted ‘admirer’ is none other than Echo Grave.’

  ‘Her rapist............’

  ‘Indeed, and according to Cloak, the man who buried One Button alive.’

  Ember lowered his voice. ‘That aside, you do realise that if the day after tomorrow is the maiming then...............’

  ‘................ then we have but five nights until the boy's flight,’ said Smoke, completing the inquisitor’s sentence, ‘which also means that in order to reach the South Troll’s midden at the appointed time, we will need to make ready to travel far quicker than I thought.’

  ---

  Back in their lodgings, Ember extended an arm, holding it at shoulder height. ‘I have lost my shake and my twitch and I’m no longer being pulled back like a leaf addict to his smoke den. The urge was getting quite powerful but the good lady’s Heartease appears to hold it at bay and I feel full of fight. I don’t see the pull winning me over this night.’

  ‘It’s a risk.’

  ‘A risk I will mitigate with a large flask of peaty spirit, a capon, a rack of lamb with greens and a nightcap of port laced with poppy. After that I’ll sleep soundly until mid morning.’

  Smoke winced at the portly inquisitor’s excess. ‘We’ll eat in the snug. You can swill and swallow all you want just don’t complain to me about a brain pain in the morning. I presume you keep a tight lip when you’re drunk?’

  Smoke ignored Ember’s hurt expression. ‘It is a prerequisite of the job, anyway, I do not intend to get drunk, just sleepy and mellow.’

  The snug sat at the rear of the public bar, the little room separated from the bawdy front room by a head high screen. It was private but not peaceful, the growing noise and scent of cheap smoke wafting over the screen irking Smoke. Ember appeared oblivious, eating like a starved child before finally loosening his belt to ease his expanding waistline. Smoke ate frugally, consuming only a small portion of capon and greens with a single tankard of barley beer. He had spiked Embers drink, adding several drops of the Heartease purchased earlier that day to ensure he was asleep before dusk, enough time to tie him to his bed before taking to the streets.

  As he left the Inn, Smoke recalled Cloak’s brief account of Dolly’s escape, heading west before tracing the line of the outer wall until he reached the northwest gate. The gate was still open, the inner guard at their stations, disciplined troops, well equipped and vigilant. As the gloom of dusk turned to true dark, Smoke turned eastwards and entered the narrow lane called the Glassmakers Vennel, a route that he knew would eventually lead him to the Avenue of the New Moon and thence on to the foot of a grand tower, the home of the Sword of the Keep.

  His mapping of the streets, lanes and alleys was thorough, returning to the Sword’s tower several more times before he was satisfied. The king’s assassin stroked the shadows, testing his majic for the first time since his fall into Cold Choke. Slowly and reluctantly, Smoke withdrew his hand, turned and walked back towards the broad tree lined avenue that eventually led back to the Inn. He had decided on a plan, a simple one with no chance of error but a plan that made him grit his teeth and clench his fists in frustration.

  His plan left his mouth bitter but it was the right choice. If Ember was correct, there was nothing he or anyone could do to stop Cloak’s flight or the torrid aftermath at the hands of Echo Grave. Much as he would have enjoyed slicing off Grave’s cockerel and feeding him his own sack he knew it would not come to pass, the past was carved in stone and the gods would not permit the past to be changed..................only the future.

  ---

  The black of night gave way slowly to a grey morning as dawn light crawled over the horizon. Although the sun had now fully cleared the far hills, the blanket of low grey clouds that swept swiftly in from the sea hid the suns orb from view, diffusing its welcome warmth. As the wind driven clouds lifted and thinned, the sky brightened, the sun burning pockets through the dreary canopy. Smoke sat close to the window of his room, smiling to himself as the occasional bright beams gave life to dark shade. Reaching out from his chair, he touched the long morning shadow, a brief moment of pleasure that dissolved and returned as each passing cloud veiled the rising sun.

  Smoke shook Ember by the shoulder, at first gently then more and more vigorously. He had untied him on his return to the room, the portly Questor sleeping on and none the wiser. Headsore, the promise of breakfast did not help to rouse him, nor Smoke’s threat to pour cold water over his head. Left with little resort, Smoke filled the basin, soaking the Questor and raising him from his bed, but only just. As he sat opposite him at table, Smoke could not help but note the man’s shaking hands, grey complexion and bloodstained eyes.

  ‘God and King Smoke, I feel like someone has tied a rope to my crest and is pulling me towards the sea. I’m still determined to resist the pull but I it is clear to me that if I lost my focus my resistance would son dissolve.’

  Smoke added more crushed leaf to their mugs and filled them both to the brim from the kettle beside the fire. ‘Today is the day of the Teller’s maiming. I need you to assist me which means I need you to master the pull.’

  Ember opened his mouth to speak, the Questor silenced by Smoke’s raised hand. ‘Have no fear Master Squall, I have reluctantly accepted that I cannot change what has past, I cannot rescue Cloak or his guardian mother and much as it would please me I cannot kill and skin Echo Grave.’

  ‘True,’ said Ember, ‘they have already lived a future and it cannot be undone.’

  The king’s assassin set his mug aside and leaned back in his chair, a sly look on his face. ‘That however still leaves me some options....................In three days time Echo Grave will kidnap Cloak and his Guardian Mother. After he delivers Cloak to the tower of young Lord Hinge he leaves and takes t
he woman with him. We could not follow him and could only guess where he took her. That is something we can change.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Tonight, you use your honey on Master Grave and find out where his true home lies.’

  ‘And how do you intend to use this information?’

  ‘I’m not sure as yet but at worst it will tell me where he is or at least where he is heading for.’

  ‘It should be easy enough, a little honey and he’ll swallow anything I ask........I might even persuade him to bathe.’

  Ember giggled like a guilty schoolboy, his childish behaviour irking Smoke. ‘Don’t get cocky. He’s a high crest tracker and he may sense more than he makes out. He’s a man of habit and will likely spend his evening in the Trooper’s Cuss. It’s close to the docks so we’d best go together just in case you decide to step aboard some west bound coaster. After you break your fast I want you to find a horse dealer and buy two mares, saddles and tack. Don’t buy anything fine legged and fancy, just mountain mares, beasts suited for travelling over rough ground. Arrange for the stable master to deliver them to the inn and then return here and wait for me. Above all, remember to take your Heartease and keep a hold of your senses.’

  Ember gave a mock bow. ‘Yes master, and what are you going to do whilst I’m on this dangerous mission?’

  ‘I’m going to find Grave.’

  Ember ate quickly, the pair parting at the door, the Questor turning north whilst the king’s assassin headed for the low harbour. Cloak had mentioned the inn Grave frequented, a cheap hostel called the Troopers Cuss where the peat spirit could make you blind and the smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife. He was taking a gamble, wagering that a low life like Grave would not dwell far from his favourite hostel and that he might just break his fast with a quenching tankard of seaweed ale. It was also a gamble to let Ember walk the streets on his own but leaving him at the Inn with a vacant mind seemed more of a risk than tasking him and giving him some purpose.