by Luke Scull
The White Lady was potentially a very useful ally – but Eremul didn’t approach anything without a healthy dose of scepticism. Expect the worst and you can’t be disappointed. Optimism is the luxury of the young, the foolish and the dullard.
His arms shaking from exertion, the Halfmage wheeled his chair up to the rotting old door at the foot of the tower. It was overhung with a thick mass of cobwebs that had not been disturbed in many a moon. He sagged.
They aren’t here. Have they been discovered? Dorminia and Thelassa are technically at peace, but any fool can see war is imminent. The White Lady’s agents could be protesting their innocence in the dungeons of the Obelisk at this very moment.
Without warning, the door suddenly creaked open. Husks of long-dead spiders and ancient, clinging cobwebs showered him, torn away from the wall above the door by a sudden breeze. He cursed and shook his head violently, brushing his hands carefully over his robes. He hated spiders.
Yet another layer of finery to add to my glorious attire. Sweat, dirt, shit, and dead arachnids and half-eaten insects. At least I haven’t pissed myself. Yet.
‘Enter,’ commanded a feminine voice from within. Eremul plucked away a spindly leg dangling from one eyebrow and pushed his chair into the building. The interior was a damp and filthy ruin. A trio of thick candles on a table in the centre of the circular chamber provided the only light. There was a stairwell on the other side of the chamber, and the draught from that black maw caused the flames to dance as they illuminated the women around the table.
There were three of them. Each of the women was slender and pale and wore a plain white robe down to her ankles. They watched him expectantly. Something about their eyes seemed strange, he thought. And there was something else—
Eremul stared in shock. None of the women cast a shadow.
The tallest bowed slightly. ‘We appreciate you coming here,’ she said in a voice that was soft, controlled and completely devoid of emotion. ‘You may refer to me as First Voice. I speak with the authority of the White Lady. These are Second Voice and Third Voice.’ She gestured to the women to either side of her.
Eremul raised an eyebrow. So it’s going to be like this. ‘You can call me Halfmage,’ he replied. ‘I would bow in return and kiss each of your hands, but you would surely grow tired of lifting me off the floor. In any case, I find formality overrated.’
First Voice nodded, unperturbed by his poor attempt at humour. ‘You are known to us, Eremul Kaldrian. You are far more than you appear.’
He shrugged. ‘Not a particularly impressive feat, it must be said.’
‘We uncovered one of your agents in Thelassa,’ replied Second Voice. ‘He was most forthcoming.’
Eremul nodded. He had expected as much. ‘Is he unharmed?’ he asked, almost fearing the answer.
‘He is. When it became apparent that our interests were similarly aligned, we had no reason to use more… creative means of coercion.’
‘What did he tell you?’
This time First Voice replied. ‘He told us much about you. You were once a favoured apprentice of the Tyrant of Dorminia. When Salazar ordered the Culling and those with the gift were put to death, he chose to spare you. Why was this?’
The Halfmage frowned. He had asked himself the same question often enough over the years. ‘I would like to think my wit and charm made me indispensable,’ he began, ‘but I fear the truth is somewhat simpler.’ He leaned forwards in his chair. ‘My magic was too weak to pose a threat. Even a ruthless murdering bastard like Salazar recognized that having another wizard around might one day prove useful to him. I was maimed and cast out of the Obelisk, with one final set of instructions.’
‘Which were?’ asked Third Voice softly.
‘I was to act as a spy and informant for his lordship. Who better to masquerade as an insurrectionist than one who had suffered so visibly at his hands? I have thwarted many a nefarious and wholly incompetent plot against Salazar.’
Second Voice took a step towards him, and he saw immediately what was wrong with the eyes of the women. They were entirely colourless save for the black pupils at their centres. ‘You serve the Tyrant of Dorminia? Tell us why we should not kill you now.’
Eremul sighed. ‘Trust must be earned before it can be betrayed, no? Believe me when I say I hate Salazar more than anyone in this city. But the only way I can truly work against him, the only way I can survive, is by pretending I am a loyal servant of his regime. To maintain that illusion, I must sometimes feed the magistrates useful information.’
‘Information that means the deaths of the unfortunates involved,’ said Second Voice, again without emotion.
Eremul gripped the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. ‘Those are the sacrifices that must be made.’ He let out a deep sigh and sagged in his chair. ‘Look, I could wheel myself up to the Obelisk while proclaiming Salazar to be a cunt of the highest order. Apart from a fleeting sense of satisfaction, that would achieve precisely fuck all, except to earn a rather messy death. So I play a longer game.’
First Voice held out a hand and beckoned to Second Voice, who returned to her side. ‘If your intentions were truly in any doubt,’ she said slowly, ‘you would not walk away from here.’
Eremul raised an eyebrow.
‘You would not leave here,’ First Voice amended.
‘Are you threatening me?’ Eremul asked, almost pleasantly. He drummed his fingers on the sides of his chair.
‘You have no idea what you face,’ answered First Voice. ‘Your magic would be of little use against us.’
‘What are you?’
‘You may call us… the Unborn. We walk in places others cannot. In time you will not remember our faces. I trust you are not planning to test your magic against us?’
The Halfmage shook his head. ‘I prefer to avoid unnecessary violence. Waving one’s prick around and spoiling for a fight always strikes me as the privilege of the barbarian or some other testosterone-fuelled brute. I’m a survivor.’
First Voice nodded. ‘Then we are of accord. You will not betray us.’
‘I don’t plan to,’ Eremul agreed. ‘Now that we’ve established I am on your side, why did you summon me here? What do you want of me?’
‘Nothing,’ replied First Voice. ‘The White Lady simply wished to establish your intentions. She will move against Salazar soon.’
‘Salazar… or Dorminia?’ asked Eremul carefully. ‘I would rather this city didn’t become another Shadowport.’
First Voice folded her hands beneath her breasts. Her strange, empty eyes gave nothing away. ‘The White Lady wants to liberate Dorminia, not destroy it. She grieves for Shadowport and what was done to the people of that city. She has concluded that Salazar must die.’
For the first time in the course of this clandestine meeting, Eremul found himself smiling. ‘Tell me how I can help.’
‘You cannot,’ First Voice said. ‘Preparations have already been made. The risks are great, and it is possible we may fail. If we do not succeed, the White Lady will contact you again.’
‘Any hints as to what you’re planning? Give a poor crippled mage something to cling to. It helps keep me warm at night.’
First Voice shook her head. ‘The less that you know of our plan the better.’
‘Fine,’ Eremul said, rather irritably. ‘If we have nothing more to discuss, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ Besides, my arse is throbbing and I desperately need to piss.
‘Remember,’ said First Voice, as her sisters placed a hand on each of her narrow shoulders. ‘Speak of this to nobody. Betray us and you will suffer consequences beyond your—’
‘Bah, shove your threats,’ Eremul interrupted. ‘I’ve heard it all before. I’ve suffered it all before. I may be a traitor and a turncoat, but at least do me the honour of taking me at my word when I tell you—’
He stopped short. He was speaking to thin air. The candles on the table had burned down to tiny stumps that flickered feebly
, surrounded by pools of wax. The pale women had simply disappeared.
Eremul shivered. There had been no magic at work, or at least none that he could sense.
He spun his chair around and wheeled himself back outside, breathing in the crisp night air and listening to the sounds of water lapping against the cliff below. He tried to recall the faces of all the men and women whom he had betrayed to the magistrates. People like him, united in their hatred for the city’s despotic ruler and determined to bring about a future free from his tyrannical rule.
Sentenced to death. By me, the unassuming, maimed scribe hiding in plain sight among the fakeries of book and tome and scroll. A… spider, damn it, yes, the irony… a spider at the centre of a web of deceit. Bitterness welled up inside him. He swallowed it down. One day Salazar and his cronies would learn that this spider had venom.
Shoulders slumped and bladder bursting, Eremul forced his aching arms into motion and pushed his chair back down Raven’s Bluff towards the harbour – and, for want of a better word, home.
The Great Escape
Cole took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. He squinted up at the purple sky where the glowing orb of the sun was just about visible behind a thick band of clouds. Dawn was upon them.
The Redemption had crossed into the Swell in the early hours of the morning. The captives had been allowed on deck shortly after first light. They had enjoyed a breakfast of thick gruel, dried nuts and salted beef, washed down by a generous cup of fresh water from the barrels stored in the small hold near the mizzenmast at the stern of the ship. With strict rationing, the provisions on board would last for months.
He had spoken with eight of the prisoners while on deck the night before. Seven had agreed to his plan. The last had said nothing, only looked at him with a hard expression before glancing off in the direction of the captain. Cole’s heart had felt as if it was lodged in his throat as he waited for the lank-haired fellow to run over to Kramer and tell him everything. Instead, the man had simply looked down and spat on the deck.
Still. Eleven men. With the exception of the engineer, Soeman, every one looked like he could handle himself in a fight. If everything went smoothly they would be sailing away to freedom before the morrow.
He looked around one last time, meeting the eyes of each participant in this daring plot. He saw the hint of worry on one face, excitement on another. Three-Finger positively smirked at him. Cole gave his co-conspirator a confident nod, a gesture he hoped conveyed an iron certainty that, for some reason, he wasn’t really feeling.
Red Bounty’s small crew waited by her railing for the men on the smaller carrack to board. A small rowing boat had detached from the cog and now bobbed alongside the Redemption on her starboard side. Rope was thrown down and the first group of prisoners was lowered onto the vessel under the careful gaze of four Watchmen. It took only a couple of minutes for the boat to cross the small expanse of water. The passengers were hoisted up the side of the cog, and then the rowing boat swung around to collect more men.
Cole was ferried across in the third and final group. Soeman sat next to him, his thin face ashen and his hands twitching with nerves.
Not that the soldiers staring across at them had any cause for suspicion. Just about everyone aboard the two ships was feeling the strain of sailing on the Swell. Prisoners, sailors and Watchmen alike had reacted poorly to the news they had crossed into the dreaded stretch of water. The hold had been an unpleasant place to be at that moment, with prisoners retching all around him, others moaning in fear, and Three-Finger accidentally pissing on his leg as he shifted to avoid another man’s vomit.
He reached across and squeezed Soeman’s arm. A Watchman saw the gesture and sneered. Cole frowned in response and then turned and spat over the side of the boat, just as he imagined Brodar Kayne would have done.
He immediately regretted the gesture. It was because of that old bastard he was in this mess in the first place. To make matters worse, the Highlander still had his birthright, his precious dagger. He wanted Magebane back. If he had to take it from the old barbarian by force, so be it. That was exactly what he would do.
The boat bumped against the hull of the cog and Cole shipped his oars. The old seadog, Jack, clambered up the hanging rope like some wiry monkey. Soeman tried to haul himself up next but slipped and crashed back down into the boat, sending it lurching to one side and soaking everyone with cold seawater. A Watchman hauled him to his feet and shook him so hard Cole thought his teeth were going to fall out.
He wouldn’t have minded giving the man a shake himself, but he needed Soeman for his plan to work effectively. It came as a relief once the engineer was finally over the side of Red Bounty.
‘You next,’ ordered a Watchman. Cole glanced around and stretched theatrically to make sure everyone was focusing on him. Then he sped up the rope like an acrobat. He reached the top and vaulted onto the deck of the ship, landing in a smooth roll.
He immediately regretted his bravado. Agony exploded in his swollen groin. His bruised ribs hurt even worse. He wanted to fall to the deck and wait for the pain to subside, but everyone was watching him. Teeth clenched, he shrugged and strolled over to the rest of the captives.
‘What was that about?’ asked Three-Finger, a puzzled expression on his ugly face.
‘Morale,’ Cole replied. ‘The men can’t fail to have been impressed by what they just saw. A leader has to inspire confidence in his ability.’
‘Whatever you say.’ Three-Finger looked around the ship and counted under his breath. ‘There are six Watchmen aboard this vessel. That means there are six more back on the Redemption. And that cocksucking Augmentor.’
Cole nodded. The rowing boat was now back alongside the other ship, where the sailors were attending to the rigging. Captain Kramer stood near the rail, conversing with his first mate. Falcus lurked nearby.
A booming voice brought Cole’s attention back to Red Bounty. The speaker was a huge bear of a man with a bristling beard. His assistants cowered behind him on the aftcastle as he stared down at the indentured workforce with undisguised contempt.
‘I’m Foreman Armin,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m supervising this mining operation. If any one of you so much as puts a foot out of place, I’ll have the flesh stripped from your hide.’
Cole glanced at the soldiers behind him. They wore eager looks on their faces, no doubt keen to get stuck into the business of mistreating their prisoners. Whatever one might say about Kramer, the captain ran a tight ship. Armin, on the other hand, gave the distinct impression he would be the taskmaster from hell.
‘We have the whole day ahead of us,’ the foreman continued. ‘When I say the word, you cretins will begin unloading equipment from the cargo hold. I want everything tested to ensure it’s operational before work begins on the morrow. Any man not pulling his weight gets to feel the leather of my boot up his arse. Where’s Soeman?’
The engineer hesitated for a second, and then raised one thin arm.
‘You’ll oversee the construction of the platform,’ Armin said. ‘I want it assembled by the time we finish work this evening.’ He paused a moment, savouring his next words before he spoke them. ‘Tomorrow a handful of you bastards will test the water. My men will operate the drill. You lot’ – he smiled grimly, gesturing at the captives – ‘will search the sea floor.’
The uproar was instantaneous. Men cursed and shook their heads. Others looked for weapons as if they would mutiny right then and there. Crimson Watchmen waded in, laying about them with the pommels of their swords and lashing out with cruel whips. The man next to Cole was knocked down and stomped on. He turned his head and spewed bloody spittle and loose teeth all over the deck.
Within the space of a minute the protest was over. Captives groaned, wiping blood from their faces and nursing bruised bodies. Cole shook his head in annoyance. This wasn’t going to make their escape any easier.
‘Now that we understand each other,’ said Armin, ‘let me e
xplain how we’re going to do things. You will search for blue veins in the rock. When you find one, follow the vein and extract as much of the rock containing blue material as you can. That stuff is solidified magic. These waters are rich with it, so you shouldn’t have much difficulty locating good hauls.’
‘How are we supposed to dive to the bottom?’ asked a long-faced fellow behind Cole.
‘The sea is shallow here. Less than thirty fathoms. You will be provided with special helmets to help you breathe.’
‘What kind of helmets?’
Armin frowned. ‘The kind you wear on your head. They’re a Shadowport invention, based on old Fade designs.’
‘I thought the Fade were just a myth.’
The foreman was starting to grow annoyed. ‘The Fade are no myth, you gormless fool. Almost everything we know of engineering and the sciences is taken from their ancient teachings. How do you think Shadowport’s navy defeated ours? They had access to knowledge we did not.’
‘But no one has crossed the Endless Ocean for centuries—’
‘Enough!’ Armin roared. His beard bristled with anger. ‘You’re here to do a job, not talk my bloody ears off. You criminal scum will keep your mouths shut and do as you’re told. I want the cargo hold emptied before midday. And if any piece of equipment so much as gets scratched,’ he added, ‘the idiot responsible loses a finger. Get to work.’
Cole glanced at the prisoner whose face had been ground beneath the boot of the Watchman. It was the fellow who had rejected his scheme the previous night. He had a hand in his mouth and was taking a painful account of his remaining teeth. He caught Cole staring at him and nodded once, a grim gesture whose meaning could not be lost. One more.
He hoped it would be enough.
*
Dusk arrived.
