Lessek_s Key e-2

by Rob Scott

  ‘I’m Brexan Carderic. This is Sallax. Please don’t worry – we came to get him.’ She gestured towards the hummock of flab splayed awkwardly across the floor. ‘He’s a killer, a traitor.’ Brexan pulled a chair up and sat down. ‘Rishta, I need to set your nose. It’ll hurt like a rutting mule kick, but it’ll have to be done. I see you’ve had a bit of fennaroot-’

  A bit too much,’ Rishta admitted. ‘I might throw up.’

  ‘I don’t care. I hate these rugs anyway. You can chuck up all you like. If you’ve got a little fennaroot in your system, this won’t hurt as much as it would if we waited an aven or two.’

  The prostitute trembled. ‘Do we have to? Is it bad?’

  ‘It’s fine if you want to smell what’s cooking off to starboard for the rest of your life.’

  Again Rishta laughed. ‘All right, go ahead, but try to be quick.’

  ‘Okay, let’s have you lying down. I think it’ll be easier that way.’

  Rishta pulled the blanket tighter and allowed herself to be stretched out on the soft cushions of Carpello’s sofa. ‘Maybe this way I can bleed and throw up on his furniture too,’ she mumbled, trying not to show her fear.

  ‘We’ll make an evening of it,’ Brexan agreed. She reached for the girl’s shattered nose, clasped it firmly and, without warning, shifted it back into place. As the cartilage crunched beneath her fingers she felt her stomach flop and a gust of nausea blew through her.

  Rishta’s screech faded to a moan.

  ‘You rest there for a while,’ Brexan said. She looked around and picked up the napkin that had been covering the fennaroot platter. ‘Here, for the blood,’ she said, passing it to Rishta.

  ‘Thank you – I think. Is it straight?’ She mopped up the fresh blood and squinted with her one good eye, but she couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘Nearly perfect.’ Brexan said as she considered her handiwork. ‘It looks a good deal better than mine, even all swollen and bloody. Imagine that.’

  Rishta giggled, wiped away tears and blood, and rested her head back against the cushions while Brexan turned to Sallax.

  ‘Is he dead?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘No.’ Sallax grimaced.

  ‘Good. Let’s wake him up.’ She picked up a jug of water standing on a sideboard and walked back to Carpello. ‘I’m surprised that didn’t kill him, Sallax,’ she said, looking down at the swollen, bloody lump bulging from the back of his head, then poured the water over him and stepped back.

  He groaned, and tried to roll over, then caught sight of Brexan and Sallax. He began to sob. ‘What are you doing here?’ he whimpered.

  ‘We’ve come to kill you,’ Brexan answered matter-of-factly

  ‘But I posted guards!’ Carpello whined. ‘I’ve had an escort ever since you escaped.’

  ‘Guards?’ Brexan was amused. ‘My sister could have run them through with a knitting needle. Sallax eats guards like that to stay in shape.’

  ‘I like them with red wine,’ Sallax interjected.

  Brexan grinned; Sallax’s first real joke.

  ‘You can’t just come in here and kill me,’ Carpello moaned, ‘I did nothing to you, it was all Jacrys, he killed Gilmour, not me. Why would you come here?’ He turned to Brexan. ‘And who are-?’ He froze, a dawning recognition in his face. ‘You? But you can’t-That swim; it was too-’ His voice tailed off and he went even whiter. ‘You can’t have lived,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, but I did,’ Brexan said. ‘We both did.’

  ‘Versen.’

  Brexan flushed with anger and kicked Carpello hard. ‘Don’t you ever say his name again, you-! Don’t you ever say it! Do you understand?’

  Carpello wailed, ‘It wasn’t me, I didn’t want anything to happen to you, I would have brought you back to Orindale, but you had to-’

  ‘Shut up, just shut up!’ She kicked him again.

  Behind her, Rishta slipped out of the blanket and began hurriedly pulling on her clothes.

  Brexan shouted, ‘You tied him up, you dragged him behind your ship: you don’t tell me what you would have done because you didn’t. I was there!’

  Rishta looked around for her shoes.

  ‘Your Seron?’ Brexan lowered her voice a little, but to Rishta she sounded even scarier. ‘Old scar-face? It took almost all day for him to die. I watched him. With you it will take longer.’

  Carpello lifted his face to Sallax and cried, ‘Please, don’t let her do this to me! Please don’t.’ He was as reprehensible a human being as Sallax had ever seen, his whole fat, filthy, sweat-soaked, blood-streaked body quivering. It made Sallax feel sick just to look at him.

  He kneeled beside Carpello and leaned in close. ‘Ren,’ he whispered, ‘do you remember Ren?’

  Versen’s voice reverberated in the merchant’s head. You’ll be dead, and she will make it last for Twinmoons… He wiped his arm across his face. ‘What was she to you, Sallax? That was a long time ago.’

  ‘You cut off your mole,’ Sallax said.

  ‘He did,’ Brexan said, ‘and I wanted to do that myself, to put it on a string for Brynne to wear on holidays.’

  ‘Brynne? That was her name?’

  ‘Brynne was – is – my sister, and you should thank the gods of the Northern Forest she’s not here with us today.’ Sallax lashed out with his knife, so fast it was almost blurred, and sliced the end off Carpello’s nose.

  Not realising what had happened, he reached up, feeling for his face like a blind man. His fingers came away soaked in blood, and Carpello began to scream.

  Rishta screamed along with him and ran for the chamber door. Before Brexan and Sallax could stop her, she was out of Carpello’s apartments and into the hallway.

  ‘Rutters,’ Brexan cursed. ‘That’ll bring the neighbours. We have to get him out of here.’

  ‘Right,’ Sallax said, and clubbed Carpello with the hilt of his knife. ‘How are we going to carry him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Brexan looked nervous. ‘We’ve got to take him to find out what he’s shipping to Pellia. Garec and the others need to know and this bloated piece of rancid meat is the only one who can tell us.’

  ‘Not the only one.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head firmly. ‘We’re not talking with him.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Bind him. Bandage his nose – wrap his whole rutting head if you want. Wait a quarter-aven, then haul him down the stairs. I’ll find a cart or a wagon and we’ll wheel him up to the Topgallant. We can interrogate him there.’

  Sallax nodded agreement.

  ‘Oh, and take whatever silver you can find – when the investigators come, I want them to think it was a robbery. Plus, we owe Nedra.’ She pulled up her hood, slipped into the hallway and ran swiftly down the wooden stairs to the street.

  THE LARION SENATORS

  The almor screamed from somewhere inside the palace. The shrill echo ran into every corner, violating every space and silence, the terrible cry of a soul sentenced to an eternity in Hell. Mark imagined the flames in the cavernous Larion fireplace cowering, shrinking back from the sound.

  Garec jumped at the demon’s shriek. ‘Demonpiss, but I will never get used to that thing,’ he growled.

  Mark nodded. ‘Maybe it thinks if we can’t get any sleep, we might make a mistake and drink from a fountain or something.’ He shuddered; he’d seen some hideous things since his arrival in Rona, but Rodler’s death would haunt him for ever.

  ‘It may not have to wait for us to misstep,’ Garec said. ‘It might just starve us out.’

  ‘Or keep us here while the army surrounds the palace. That’d be a fun day, huh? Weak from lack of food, we burst through the main gate to deal with a tireless demon-hunter and the legions of soldiers Nerak has sent to make certain we all die.’ Mark slid closer to the fire.

  Winter had arrived, imprisoning them at Sandcliff, for the regular snowfall meant the almor could reach them anywhere outside the palace. It was too dangerous to leave the dry st
one of the upper levels. Gilmour had shut down the waterwheel feeding the shattered pipes in the north wing, but the halls and chambers had frozen over and the almor was probably lurking up there, waiting for them to make the fatal mistake of trying to pass through.

  No one blamed Steven; he had saved them all when he neutralised the acid clouds, and he had beaten the almor, singeing it with acid and leaving it crippled and furious in the damp soil outside – but he hadn’t killed the demon. All he had done was annoy it, and now it reared up periodically to scream a reminder that it was there, waiting, and it would remain until it had sucked each of their emaciated frames to a husk.

  Now Garec and Mark sat together in the great hall, feeding what wood they had left into one of the huge fireplaces. They had burned the long-untouched stores of firewood, the empty wine casks Mark discovered in the cellar, and much of the furniture in the hall itself. Soon they would be forced to go foraging for more tables and chairs – there were plenty scattered throughout the old keep, but no one relished the idea of wandering around; it would be too easy to step into a room that had developed a leak and become the almor’s next victim.

  ‘I wonder why he hasn’t come himself?’ Garec mused.

  ‘Who, Nerak?’

  ‘Why haven’t we seen him again?’

  ‘Maybe because he knows we’re trapped and running out of food. The wine is wonderful, but one cannot live on wine alone. And we can only refill our water when we hear the bastard almor screaming outside. So maybe Nerak hasn’t shown up because he knows this situation is handled.’

  ‘Or perhaps he’s busy taking care of other business while Steven and Gilmour are locked in here.’

  ‘Could be,’ Mark agreed. ‘What was his daughter’s name? Malagon’s daughter?’

  ‘Belle- No, Bella something,’ Garec said. ‘I don’t remember. Do you think he’s gone back to Welstar Palace to take her?’

  ‘Judging from Eldarn’s history, that’ll certainly be high on his to-do list. People have got to be wondering what’s happened to their dictator, regardless of how nasty the old bastard was. If he’s dead, they’ll want a fresh start; it doesn’t matter how long they’ve toiled under the thumb of a grade-A prick, they’ll all be praying for a new beginning under Whatshername’s rule. If Nerak has any doubts about sorting us out, or working the spell table – wherever that is – he wouldn’t leave Eldarn to flop around like a fish on dry land, will he? He’ll get back there and start running things as Bellawhatshername.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Garec said, ‘especially if Malagon’s body came floating up on shore in Orindale. Those generals won’t know what to do, but I’m sure most of them would rather cut off a hand than take orders from a girl.’

  Mark laughed. Some things didn’t change, no matter what world you were in. ‘He’ll take her – the poor kid never had a chance – and do something ugly right from the start. They’ll all get the message that Daddy’s little girl is just as cruel as the old man.’

  Garec laughed. ‘Imagine being a doll in her dollhouse!’ He looked around. ‘Where are the others now?’

  ‘Steven is upstairs staring at the wall again, and I don’t know what happened to Gilmour this morning. He’s been in quite a funk,’ Mark said. ‘The fight was good for him; he was almost back to normal, but now he’s reverted to being all wet and beaten up. I suppose he’s spending these days working spells to make up for lost opportunity; I guess he figures Nerak knows where he is so he can make as much mystical noise as he wants.’

  ‘I’m worried about him,’ Garec agreed. ‘He just about came apart when he saw that empty spell chamber.’

  ‘Who can blame him?’ Mark sighed. ‘If I were him, I’d be downstairs locked in the wine cellar. It’s probably good that he’s back there blasting away. Gives him a chance to bone up on his skills while we wait.’

  ‘That is what we’re doing, isn’t it?’ Garec asked, ‘waiting?’

  ‘I don’t know what else you’d call it. Waiting for someone to figure out where we’re going or what we’re doing, waiting for the snow to melt so we can get past the almor, waiting for Gita and the Falkan Resistance to get to Traver’s Notch, waiting for Gilmour to discover something in that Windscroll he brought down with him? I don’t know, Garec. I wish someone would tell me.’

  ‘Steven’s not had any luck either?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘If he had, he wouldn’t be in there staring at it.’

  ‘I’m not sure he’s going to get anything out of it.’

  ‘He hasn’t had a glimmer.’

  ‘What does it say? I can’t remember it exactly.’

  Mark laughed, hollowly. ‘I have it memorised. It says: It’s been gone for a long, long time, Fantus, and you’ll never find it. Eldarn itself wards the spell table for me, Eldarn and Eldarn’s most ruthless gatekeepers. Forget the spell table, Fantus. It’s mine. It always has been mine. Steven wrote it using ashes from the fireplace. That was a bit odd, actually, with all the sealed canisters of ink in the library, but the ashes worked.’

  ‘He’s still convinced there’s a hidden meaning, even though he’s stared at those words every single day…’ Garec’s voice trailed off as he gazed into the flames.

  ‘Not so much a hidden meaning. I’m with him on this: Nerak’s a brash sonofabitch, too confident and too certain of victory, and it’s quite possible he said something that will lead us to the spell table. But it’s been what – twenty days? – since Nerak was here and none of us have come up with a damned thing.’ He dipped a ladle into one of the buckets they had drawn from the cistern the evening before, filled a goblet and handed it to Garec, then filled another for himself.

  ‘Thanks,’ Garec said, then asked, ‘sunonabitch?’

  Mark shrugged. ‘Close enough. I add it for colour; it’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  He thought about it, then said, ‘In a literal sense it’s an insult to one’s mother.’

  ‘Those are always effective.’ Garec drank.

  ‘But the way I use it is more to say that Nerak is a great pile of cat-shit.’

  ‘All right, thanks.’ Garec grimaced. ‘You know, there really is nothing worse than cat-shit.’

  Mark laughed. ‘How did we get here?’

  ‘We’re here to save Eldarn and send you back to Colorado. Have you forgotten?’

  ‘Oh, yes, right, save Eldarn. Of course, I had better write that down. I’ll see if Steven has any ash left. I’ll scrawl it here on my water goblet so I don’t forget.’ He refilled his cup.

  Garec reached back for a piece of chair, tossed it on the flames and said, ‘But first we have to figure out how Eldarn itself might ward the Larion spell table.’

  ‘And then we have to get through Eldarn’s greatest gatekeepers.’

  ‘Most ruthless gatekeepers,’ Garec corrected.

  ‘Sorry, most ruthless gatekeepers,’ Mark said.

  ‘I wonder what aven it is.’

  Mark looked surprised. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘We’re sitting here drinking water. Whose idea was that?’

  ‘You think it’s late enough for wine?’

  ‘We’d have to go back down into the cellar. I don’t like it, but I’ll risk it.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d hate to get caught down there. Too dark, too many damp places. That miserable almor could be down there anywhere waiting for us. Maybe we’ll stick with water for a while and send Steven down there when he takes a break. At least he’ll have the staff with him.’

  ‘Right,’ Garec said. ‘We wouldn’t want to get trapped down there.’

  Mark had leaned over the water bucket when he heard Garec’s goblet clatter to the floor. The Ronan was already running towards the stairwell at the far end of the great hall. ‘Hey,’ Mark shouted, his echo coming back at him from fifteen stone hallways at once, ‘where are you going?’

  ‘Sunonabitch!’ Garec called without looking back.

  Garec burst into Steven’s
chamber without knocking and was surprised to find Gilmour there, considering the crooked ash letters Steven had scrawled on the grey stone wall. ‘I know where this is,’ he panted, heaving in great swallows of air. Gilmour and Steven offered him twin blank stares as he waved a hand at the writing and gasped out again, ‘I know where this is. The spell table, I know where we can find it.’

  ‘Sit down, boy, relax.’ Gilmour was obviously unconvinced. ‘Get your breath back and tell us how – or rather, where.’ He looked at Mark questioningly as he too ran into the room, but Mark just shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I just figured it out downstairs with Mark. We were-’ He stopped and laughed nervously; he didn’t want to be wrong after bursting into the room like a bad actor in a second-rate melodrama. ‘Well, we were downstairs, drinking water we collected yesterday from the cistern – it isn’t bad, but it tastes like lake water, all full of minerals and fishy things. And we were talking about going downstairs to get some wine, which is a good deal more pleasant, anyway, we decided to wait and send Steven down there, because to tell the truth the almor scares the dog piss out of both of us, and neither of us wanted to go down to fill the flagons.’

  ‘Gosh, thanks Garec,’ Steven said dryly.

  ‘Well, at least you’d have the staff with you,’ Garec explained.

  ‘Oh sure. Talk about hoping someone else will pick up the bar tab.’ Steven grinned. ‘Here at Sandcliff Wine and Ale, drinking really is hazardous to your health.’

  Gilmour, clearly not amused, interrupted again. ‘I hate to be such a killjoy, but get to the point, please, Garec. Where is the spell table?’

  ‘It’s buried beneath a pile of rocks on the bottom of a river flowing out of the Blackstones into southern Falkan.’ Garec found himself squirming under the scrutiny of a Larion Senate leader, not the kindly gaze of his mentor and longtime friend. ‘I wondered if that might be the place where Eldarn itself would ward the table, but when I heard Mark clarify the part about the gatekeepers, Eldarn’s most ruthless gatekeepers, I knew that had to be it.’