‘Perhaps not, and that I can accept. But I’ve heard of two of my old friends being butchered in the last six months. Men like me, with resources, with power. It all amounts to nothing when you’ve got a sheol smashing through your door.’
‘I am sorry for your loss.’
Kollmorgen waved a gnarled hand. ‘Don’t be, don’t be. We all know the risks, the price we could pay for the knowledge we have.’ He leaned across the table, pressing a long, yellowed fingernail against the wood. ‘But this is different, Caleb. The sheol, they are after something, seeking some object or someone,’ he said, his voice trailing off as his gaze shifted to Seb. ‘I wonder what it is that’s so important?’
The silenced lingered. Kollmorgen staring at him, Seb wishing the world would swallow him up as he looked at anywhere but the old man. Caleb simply simmered, his jaw tense as he looked back across the table. A knock at the door displaced the tension, and a young man in a white shirt and black pants entered the room, carrying a tray of drinks. He silently placed the tray on a small table by the fire before vanishing back into the corridor. When Seb looked back, the tension had left Caleb. Kollmorgen let out a deep breath and forced a smile.
‘These are conversations for another time, my old friend. However I do have one concern that remains.’
‘Yes?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’
‘Come now, don’t play games, we’ve known each other too long. It does me no good favours to see you turning up like this, alone.’
‘I’m not alone.’
Kollmorgen gave a patient smile. ‘It’s not safe anymore. The sheol, they pour through the cracks like water through a dam. It’s like they’re queueing at the tears, waiting for a chance, any chance, to come through. People die, normal people, the Unaware, in a war they have no right being involved in. And you. You, my friend. You come here. Alone. Carrying artefacts of value beyond imagining, and where is your escort? For Christ’s sake, Caleb. I remember when you’d have an entourage with you. One of those Brotherhood warriors is worth five of my ex-special forces goons and you know it. Where are they, Caleb? Where is everyone?’
Caleb made as if to answer, and then apparently decided against it. His chest deflated as he slumped into the chair.
‘I don’t know, Brian,’ he said, formality dropping. ‘The Magi are few in number, far fewer than they would like people to know. The Brotherhood is fractured. Many of them doubting even the Oath now. Unsure if they’re still bound by it. I stopped receiving an escort two years ago, and to be honest, I prefer it that way. I’d rather have my own company than some miserable bastard who just stares blindly forward and has all the personality of a rock.’
‘It’s not their personality that you use them for,’ Kollmorgen pointed out.
‘True, but I can look after myself.’
Kollmorgen sighed and sat back. ‘I don’t suppose you’d let me give you a couple of my men would you? On my payroll?’
Caleb snorted. ‘Thanks, but you already know the answer to that. Listen, times are bad, I agree. But we’ve been through this before; we go through these peaks and troughs. It’s nothing new. Now, shall we get back to the matter at hand, it is why we’re here after all.’
Kollmorgen surrendered, raising both hands. ‘Of course, of course. Leave it over there, with the others.’
‘You don’t want to see it?’ Seb said, the sound of his own voice, mute for much of the meeting, startling the two men who jumped as if they’d forgotten he was there. They both looked at him. Any thoughts that it was just his own internal monologue quickly dismissed. Caleb glowered. Kollmorgen seemed merely amused.
‘I know what is there. I’ve been waiting for the manuscript for close to two years. I very much doubt that a further few minutes will make much of a difference. Do you?’
‘I guess not,’ Seb said. In his experience you believed something when you saw it, not just because someone said it was so. Obviously not so here. He gently took out the manuscript and laid it on the table before backing away.
‘I think that concludes our proceedings here today, does it not, Brian?’ Caleb said. He stood and drained his cup. Kollmorgen rose too and held out his hand.
‘I believe so, Caleb. Thank you, once again. And no hard feelings I hope? You know it is only out of concern for an old friend that I speak so boldly.’
‘I understand, and no apology required. You’re just getting soft in your old age.’ Caleb smiled.
‘Perhaps, or just more aware of my own mortality. Farewell old friend, and you, Seb. Look after him.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
***
They left, Seb lowering his head as he went. Kollmorgen watched them leave, the smile not leaving his face, but his eyes betraying a lingering sadness. As the door closed, another opened behind him, one of the goons standing to attention.
‘You okay, Sir?’
‘Yes, fine, Tom, thank you.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ Tom replied in his south-Texan drawl. He made as if to turn and leave before stopping as Kollmorgen called him back.
‘Tom.’
‘Sir?’
‘Send a team behind them. Don’t get too close. Ensure they get back safely.’
Tom smiled. ‘Of course, Sir.’
Chapter 14
The rest of the day passed without incident. There were only a couple more trips to make. Low value drops, Caleb said. Semi-regular customers who kept the cash coming in. They left the last one when the sun was descending over the horizon, the shadows long and stretched. The temperature had dropped as the afternoon progressed, and they’d wound the windows up for the journey home. Both noticed but never mentioned the black BMW 4x4 that followed them all the way before vanishing ten miles from Skelwith. They parked the van up in silence and trudged back towards the back of the building where a more direct entrance to the Drain was positioned.
‘You okay?’ Seb said eventually as they dumped their gear by the door. Caleb hadn’t spoken for the best part of an hour, a tenseness following him since the meeting with Kollmorgen.
‘What?’
‘You’ve not exactly been stimulating company for the past few hours.’
Caleb took a tankard from a shelf on the wall and blew in it. He put it under the tap of a barrel that lay on its side and poured a long draught of ale. He slumped in a worn-leather chair and took a long swig.
‘Put the fire on, Seb, will you? My bones ache to the core.’
Seb threw some kindling from the pile by the fire onto the glowing embers. A single flame flared to life before quickly summoning its kin, lighting up the rest of the fire. A warmth filled the room and Seb took the remaining seat, suddenly aware of how heavy his eyelids felt.
‘He’s right, you know.’
Seb didn’t respond. He looked across at Caleb, the old man seeming even older under the flickering orange light of the fire. His grey eyes were narrow, focused on the flames. His jaw moved in rough motions as Caleb ground his teeth, the noise sending shivers down Seb’s spine.
‘Who?’ Seb said, although he knew the answer already.
‘Kollmorgen. We don’t have any protection anymore. In the old days I didn’t have to carry that bloody phosphorous flare you saw outside. I had it, sure, it always pays to have a line of last resort, but I didn’t ever fear of needing to use it. The Brotherhood were strong then, their numbers plentiful. I’d have two with me and I could have a dozen more if I so much as sneezed.’
‘But you’re a mage, aren’t you? Why do magi need protection?’
Caleb smiled. ‘Am I a mage? Yes, I suppose so. Am I a good one? Not at all. You will learn Seb that knowing of the Weave and its powers is not sufficient on its own. The Consensus limits our ability to act as we would like. In daylight, or near Observers, anywhere where their collective will is strong, our powers are weak, and we are vulnerable to attack. That’s one of the reasons why we had the Oath in the first place. That’s why we called upon the Brotherhood.’
/>
‘What happened?’
Caleb sighed and shrugged. He sank deeper into the chair, draining the last of the pint in three loud gulps. ‘Memories fade. We’ve lost sight of what we are, what we were. The sacrifices made to bring us here. The Brotherhood no longer sees us as their responsibility. We no longer honour the principles that made us who we are in the first place. Was it even all worthwhile?’
‘Was what worthwhile?’
No answer.
‘Caleb?’
A low, rumbling snore escaped Caleb’s throat. His head had dipped, his bottom lip pressing against his shirt. Seb caught the tankard before it clattered to the floor. He put it back on the table and took a shawl that was folded up on a nearby box. He opened it up and placed it over Caleb, the old man snorting as he shuffled in his chair.
‘Nice,’ Seb said.
He pulled the door to and left Caleb to his troubled sleep. He found a bed covered in various items of crap in a small chamber that adjoined the main room. He swept the items to the floor and collapsed onto the bed, sleep racing to claim him. He tried to focus his thoughts; he’d seen so much in recent days, his mind flooded with thoughts and images. He imagined that if he focused he could make sense of what had happened, but try as he might, his mind had only one goal. It had been a long few days, and sleep came easily.
Chapter 15
Seb awoke just before dawn. Through the grille above faint shafts of pink pushed against a receding night. A cool draft filled the chamber, the sensation invigorating on his skin. He lay there for a moment, the sound of Caleb’s snoring echoing round the Drain’s various nooks and crannies.
From somewhere above, in the grounds of the mansion, a harsh sound drifted down, like metal clashing against metal. Someone shouted. A curse of some kind, then a yell of triumph. The din carried on for minutes, Seb idly listening to the duel with interest. It was then that he noticed only one of the combatants was making a sound. Every shout, every yell was from the same person. The other participant was strangely silent.
Curiosity got the better of him and he leapt from the bed. He smiled at that. Even a week before he was content to wallow in whatever pit he had dropped in, but now he woke with a sense of purpose. He didn’t know what he was doing here at all, or where he was heading. He just had something now, even if it was just helping Caleb have a slightly easier life. It was a strange sensation, but a good one.
Silence reigned as he stepped out of the stairwell and into the hallway. Sunlight streamed through the windows, tiny particles of dust dancing in the air. He crept along the carpet, the floor creaking underfoot, the noise amplified in the overwhelming silence. He winced as he moved, certain that Don or one of the other magi would find him and send him packing. Luckily he remained undetected, and he found himself at the rear door, his teeth clenched as he slowly turned the handle. It creaked once, he winced. No shouts of alarm came, and he let out a steady breath as he opened the door.
The sun was healthily over the horizon now, a half-circle of yellow just edging over the tree-line. The air was rich with the smell of flowers he couldn’t identify. He sucked it in nonetheless, the scent invigorating. He fell into a half-crouch behind a finely cut hedge that followed the perimeter of the upper lawn. Down below the sounds of metal on metal sang, but the cadence had lessened now, the sounds of heavy breathing prevalent over that of combat. He came to a halt against a cream-coloured stone post at the intersection of two walls and peered over.
A man, no, a giant, easily seven foot tall stood inside a stone circle on the lawn. His bald head gleamed with sweat. His shoulders heaved, white clouds of breath steaming the air in front of him as he edged around the circle’s diameter. In one hand he held a long wooden staff with thin metals stems seemingly melded in at each end, extending almost a third down the shaft from each tip. One end of the staff was pointed forwards, in the giant’s line of sight, the other was held under a folded arm.
Opposite the giant, unmoving, stood a much slighter figure. The person wore a grey cloak and hood that obscured their features. In each hand was a curved sword, the steel glinting in the light of the emerging day. The hooded figure crouched low, one sword pointing towards the giant, matching the plane of the other man’s staff, the other held high and behind him. Seb watched, transfixed, for the figure didn’t seem to be suffering from exertion at all. His position was solid, unmoving. His shoulders steady, no signs of the exertion that was obviously hindering the much larger man. His breath –
No way.
He squinted at the figure. Something didn’t ring right that he couldn’t figure out. Then it clicked.
It was the air around the figure.
Aside from the complete lack of movement, the air was still. No mist, no condensation. Nothing. How could someone be engaged in a duel with a guy the size of that and not seem to be suffering from it?
As if on cue, the giant moved with a fluidity that was surely impossible for a man of his size. His form barely visible, a blur of white and grey, the heavy staff spinning in a dazzling display of prowess. Seb fell back, stunned by the sheer speed. There was no way the other man could defend against such an attack.
Yet he did.
The hooded man responded in kind. The swords lunged and parried, blocking one end of the staff with a loud clang, the other striking out, meeting the other business end of the staff. The two combatants twirled and danced. The giant jabbed and swung, controlled strikes that seemed to aim at multiple places at once. The hooded figure was equal to all of them, parrying or dodging, always just in the nick of time.
Seconds later, or was it minutes? The combatants came apart. The giant bent and picked up a towel, wiping it across his face. The other figure simply returned to his fighting position in the centre of the ring. Seb’s unease grew at that point. Something didn’t sit right about this guy. He didn’t tire, he didn’t rest. He didn’t even seem to breathe.
Seb moved closer to the wall, raising his head higher to get a better look. Something gave against his elbow, a heavy object that grazed his skin. A sudden weight shifted. He shot a look to his left, a yelp of horror forming in his throat as the plant pot fell from its place on the wall. He reached out, the action in vain as the pot crashed to the ground in an explosion of earth and clay.
‘Shit!’
A force unlike anything he’d ever experienced smashed into him. It wasn’t so much a physical shove, more a mental assault that took the ground from under his legs. He fell into the path in plain view of both combatants, the world spinning around him. Sickness rose in his throat as he rolled onto his hands and knees. He focused on the gravel beneath him in an attempt to keep the world from moving. When the waves had subsided he raised his head. The giant loomed over him.
For a moment, no one spoke. The giant’s face dripped with sweat, his eyes on fire, glaring down at Seb with a mixture of anger and something else that he couldn’t quite discern. The giant’s tunic was drenched and stuck to his torso, the great staff held to one side, where Seb was sure he could make out faint wisps of electricity rippling over the metal rods.
‘Sorry about the plant pot,’ Seb said.
Something changed in the man’s face. The barely restrained fury vanished. He blinked, the anger dissipating from his eyes. His firm expression didn’t change, although Seb at least felt secure that he wasn’t about to be battered into the earth at that very moment.
‘Clean up this mess.’ The man said, before walking past Seb towards the house.
He struggled to his feet. The nausea had passed thankfully, but his knees still felt leaden, barely able to support his weight. He glanced back towards the lawn.
The hooded figure had vanished.
Chapter 16
‘Caleb! You’ll never guess what I’ve just seen!’
Seb skipped down the steps into the Drain. Caleb looked up from his desk, an explosion of documents in front of him.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Outside. The front lawn.
I was at that bit with the arches. Where the stone circle is.’
Caleb nodded and lowered the pen to the table. ‘Ah, you saw Cian’s morning show.’
‘Cian?’
‘Sit, Seb.’
Seb sat down on a wooden stool on the other side of Caleb’s desk. It wobbled, and he shot a hand out against the desk to stop himself toppling over. Caleb watched with one eyebrow raised.
‘Finished?’
‘For now.’
‘The big guy you saw,’ Caleb began.
‘The bald one?’
‘I’d advise you not to mention that in his presence, but yes, that’s him,’ Caleb said. ‘Cain is our Battlemaster, and second in command.’
‘Battlemaster? I didn’t think the magi were the fighting type?’
‘Were you not listening yesterday? We were the first warriors. The best in all the realms. Since the Crossing, and the Oath, the need to maintain these skills has diminished. Cian is what you’d call a traditionalist. He trains now like they did when Aura was whole.’
‘And what about the other guy then? The one he was fighting.’
Caleb rose a little too quickly. ‘Nobody, just the mage equivalent of a training dummy.’ He shoved the documents into one pile. ‘Now come on, it is late already and there is much to get through.’
Seb had more to ask, but Caleb had indicated in a not so subtle way that this conversation was over, at least for now. He followed as Caleb stomped through an archway that lay in near total darkness at the back of the chamber. They walked along one side of a narrow tunnel that opened out into a vast room. One solitary brazier burned next to the entrance, revealing a threadbare rug in the centre.
‘What is this place?’ Seb said. His voice echoed round the chamber.
‘This is where you will learn. Come.’
Caleb led them towards the rug. He lowered himself to his knees and motioned for Seb to do the same. Seb dropped to the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. The cold seeped through his outfit, his skin rippling with gooseflesh.
Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
