by A. J. Smith
Taking less trouble to be quiet, he moved round to the front of the stable and paused momentarily, giving the man of Ro a chance to register his presence. The Thief Taker then stepped through the entrance and into the flickering firelight. The broker had his crossbow levelled between Dalian’s eyes. ‘That’s far enough,’ he said nervously.
Dalian stepped further into the stable and lowered his hood. ‘I believe I am expected,’ he said in thickly accented Ro. ‘And that crossbow needs attention. The string is twisted at one end. I doubt the bolt would fly straight. Ordinarily, I would expect you to invite me in and offer me a seat. I have coin, you have information... if we like each other’s currency, this exchange can be over within a few minutes.’
The youth’s hand was shaking. ‘Okay, but I’ll keep you in my sights.’
‘As you wish,’ Dalian said, holding his hands wide and stepping slowly but deliberately into the stable. The cold had begun to creep into his bones and he was glad of the fire to warm his hands. In its light, he could see the young man opposite him had tufts of hair on his chin and his limbs were scrawny, a combination that made Dalian reconsider his original estimate of the boy’s age.
‘How old are you, lad?’ he asked.
‘What... why does that matter?’
Dalian leant back and sighed, keeping his hands extended in front of him. The lad was nervous enough to loose a bolt accidentally. With a lightning-fast movement, he snatched the crossbow cleanly out of the young man’s hands. It was a well-practised manoeuvre and the Thief Taker implemented it perfectly, leaving the boy stunned.
‘Now we can talk,’ he said, placing the weapon on the floor and removing the bolt. ‘Don’t worry, young man, I don’t kill people who aren’t in my way. And you have information for me.’ Dalian crossed him arms in front of his chest and relaxed. ‘A fixer in Cozz?’ he prompted.
The man of Ro took a swig from his bottle of wine in an obvious attempt to steady his nerves. ‘Yeah, he’s a blacksmith – knows everyone.’
‘Might he know a Kirin assassin called Rham Jas Rami or a Karesian called Al-Hasim?’
‘I’ve heard of the Kirin.’ Again Dalian noted the reluctance to say the assassin’s name out loud. ‘He used to kill people for a mobster in Weir.’
Dalian had heard this several times since he came to Weir, but no one seemed to know when the Kirin had disappeared.
‘And the Prince of the Wastes?’ Dalian asked.
The boy nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s a Karesian... I think he’s a pimp or something. The blacksmith would know him. I think he fixed him up with some women.’
Dalian could well believe that his son would make his living as some kind of low life – pimp, rainbow merchant, sword for hire, all these had occurred to him. He had not spoken to Al-Hasim since helping him escape Kessia.
‘How do I find the smith?’ Dalian asked, throwing three small gold coins on to the stable floor.
The lad leapt greedily on the coin, shoving it into his stained tunic. ‘He’s called Tobin. Ask for him in Culver’s Yard.’
‘What are you going to spend it on?’ Dalian asked coldly.
The youth’s hand was still shaking. ‘Why do you care... you got the name?’
Dalian smiled for the first time in several days. ‘I’m an old servant of Jaa, young man. I’ve done hideous things in the name of my god, but I hate the sight of a young man wasting his life. Jaa detests the useless and, in my estimation, few people are more useless than a rainbow addict.’
The young man of Ro looked up sharply with a pathetic expression on his face. ‘Ain’t none of your business.’
Dalian frowned and slowly rocked himself forward into a standing position. He adjusted his cloak and made sure his weapons were well stowed. ‘I do believe you are right, it is none of my business. You are a child of the One and not Jaa’s to punish...’ He paused. ‘You are lucky that your god is ignorant and knows no better.’
The Thief Taker turned sharply, whirling his cloak across the fire and sending a shower of embers into the air as he marched deliberately out of the stable.
Once outside, he shook his head at the ignorance allowed in the lands of Ro. A level of casual lawlessness was tolerated in a way that would result in death in Karesia. The wind claws punished all transgressions against Jaa in as swift and brutal a way as possible. Jaa demanded fear from his worshippers and Dalian knew that nothing promoted fear like seeing your loved ones immolated before your eyes.
These people are strange, lord.
The Thief Taker had to confess that he was not against the principle of invading Tor Funweir, but he would have done it in the name of Jaa. Saara and her vile sisters were bringing war in the name of something else. They had turned from the worship of Jaa and stolen control of the Karesian faithful through enchantment and manipulation.
The wind claw pulled his cloak tightly around him and began the slow trudge north. Izra’s hound pack was camped a few hours into the duchy of Weir, near to the King’s Highway, and Dalian needed to join them before they marched in the morning. The whip-mistress would muster her men quickly. He was sure the people of Cozz would not welcome her efficiency.
Beyond the line of abandoned farmhouses lay an overgrown dirt track which connected the outlying farms to the King’s Highway. Dalian was a lone dot in the lightening morning as he walked further from the city. Jaa willing, he would be able to melt into the hound pack. His face would be known to few below commander and so long as he stayed with the rank and file he should be able to remain anonymous.
* * *
Dalian arrived in Izra’s camp just as the hounds were rising from their tents. He’d had to play the part of an alert warrior rather than a middle-aged man who’d been up all night.
I will fear nothing but Jaa... I will fear nothing but Jaa... As he walked through the large camp, Dalian was gratified that no one gave him more than a cursory glance.... But a glass of wine or a warm woman would be welcome, lord.
Izra’s hounds were lean and ready for action. They each wore black armour, chosen for maximum anonymity, and a steel helm that removed any trace of individuality. On the camp outskirts, while its owner slept, Dalian had procured a set of armour and with his kris blades hidden he blended in seamlessly. He found the entire masquerade distasteful. The hounds were criminals convicted in Karesia and sentenced to this service. It was rumoured that powerful enchantments kept them in line and only the Seven Sisters and the viziers of Jaa could control them.
As he walked towards the corral in the centre of the camp, Dalian’s head was full of Al-Hasim. Although he doubted his wayward son would greet him warmly, the prospect of reunion was still pleasant. Dalian had never been a good or a caring father and he had let his son do as he pleased from an early age. Al-Hasim had always been a precocious child and as he grew older he had become more and more rebellious, even going so far as to refuse to join the wind claws – his hereditary duty. Dalian had always ascribed that rebellion to Hasim’s lack of a mother – his wife had died in childbirth – but privately the Thief Taker was realistic enough to take some of the blame on himself.
At the corral, he raised the visor of his helm and looked around. A circle of guards surrounded a low wooden fence well away from the large iron cage at its centre.
Nothing in a cage is to be feared by men of the Fire Giant.
The cage was wide, but shallow. Within, the Thief Taker could see a number of seemingly dead bodies. He got as close as he could to the fence without arousing suspicion. A strange feeling began to rise within him, a disquieting shiver that ran down the length of his spine. ‘You there,’ growled a nearby hound. ‘Get away from the fence.’
Dalian turned slowly and regarded the man, locking eyes for a moment and showing his confidence. Then he nodded in greeting. ‘I think I may have missed a briefing, friend, why are we transporting dead bodies?’
‘You don’t need to know if you don’t already, old dog,’ replied the Karesian warrior. ‘And they’re
not dead.’
Dalian smirked at the insult. ‘Just answer the question and I won’t have to tear your face off, boy.’ Dalian took a step closer and smiled, letting the younger man know that he was outmatched.
‘Yeah, watch the threats, this isn’t a tavern.’ The young hound relaxed a little. ‘They’re risen men, we’re to kill them at Izra’s command.’ The hound looked uncertain. ‘Supposedly they’ll turn into a beast of some kind... if we need them.’
‘Let us hope we don’t need them,’ replied Dalian conversationally.
The hound stepped in and spoke more quietly, as if indulging in gossip. ‘I hear that the Mistress of Pain has already killed a few... you know, to see what happens.’
Dalian pushed down the uncomfortable feeling that persisted so long as he stood near the cage. ‘And what did happen?’
* * *
Leagues away, Saara the Mistress of Pain rose slowly from her bed. The sky was just beginning to show the first signs of morning and the Karesian enchantress had much to do. The man lying face-down next to her was still snoring and seemed unaware that she was no longer in bed. She stood and crossed to the window, where her blue robe hung from a hook on the wall, and slowly covered herself up.
The morning air of Ro Weir was hot and sticky, but cool in comparison with Kessia. Saara found the stink of Weir all-pervading. Kessia had a constant perfume, maintained by slaves and well-paid incense craftsmen, making it seem cleaner and fresher than it really was. The deception helped the Seven Sisters claim that the capital of Karesia was the greatest city in the lands of men. But as Saara wrinkled her nose she was again reminded that she was far from Karesia.
Since the death of her sister, Ameira the Lady of Spiders, Saara had nursed a constant headache. The enchantments practised by the Seven Sisters were difficult to break and lasted as long as they desired. Now that Ameira was dead, her thralls had passed to Saara, and she found herself overwhelmed. Ameira had enchanted King Sebastian Tiris and several other lesser men, who now all fell to Saara. Her phantom thralls were making her mind more and more unfocused as the weeks went by. She feared what might happen should the dark-blood, Rham Jas Rami, manage to kill another of her Sisters. Each of the enchantresses held multiple men and women within their grasp, and for them all to fall to Saara could, she feared, drive her insane.
She breathed deeply and opened the shutters of her rooms. The breeze helped soothe her aching mind, but as she looked out into the twilight of Ro Weir she could not forget that she had enemies and that those enemies would not be idle.
‘Come back to bed. It’s still dark.’
‘I have much to do, sweet Kamran,’ she replied girlishly. ‘You need not rise.’ She crossed back to the bed and perched next to her consort.
Kamran Kainen was a wind claw of Karesia, a devout follower of Jaa, and one of Saara’s closest allies in Tor Funweir. He had been here for several years, laying the groundwork for the occupation, and Saara controlled his heart and mind absolutely. He now struggled to think independently. Kamran was responsible for keeping an eye on Duke Lyam, and he spent his days intimidating any noble of Weir who spoke or acted out of turn. He was a tall and dashing man in his early forties, strong and well-toned for his age. As Saara cast her eyes over his naked body she felt a heat rise in her, but pushed it away. Much needed doing and, nice as it would be to return to bed and lose herself in sensation for an hour or so, she could not afford the time.
‘I will return to you later, my love,’ she said, stroking his back gently, ‘but I am needed in the gardens this morning.’
Kamran stretched extravagantly and made a series of low growling sounds as he shook himself to full wakefulness. ‘Surely the whip-masters can handle the details, my lady. The risen will turn as you have foreseen, they are caged and being transported, the dark-blood and the old-blood will be captured shortly... things are proceeding as you have predicted, my love.’
‘Much has been accomplished, sweet Kamran, but much more needs to be done. I will say no more,’ Saara responded with a sensual smile.
‘Very well, my lady, I shall await your pleasure.’
He was a sweet man, but, in Saara’s estimation, too devoted to the treacherous Fire Giant to be of much use now that the occupation was proceeding. She found herself requiring the services of Izra Sabal and Turve Ramhe and the armies they commanded, rather than lone warriors like Kamran. Each of her hound packs travelled with a number of captive forest-dwellers, ready to be killed should the Dark Young be needed. As a result, her military strength was greater than any of her enemies knew. The force of Red knights in Ranen was a significant loss to Tor Funweir and she had plans to order the Red cardinal, General Malaki Frith, to take the remaining knights north, thus neutralizing both the Ranen and the armies of the One God.
Her headache returned with greater intensity and Saara walked away from the bed. Her devotion to Shub-Nillurath was without question, but the Dead God’s victory in the Long War was now far from certain and she knew that idle time was working against her, as was this near-constant pain. More worrying was the effect her lack of focus would have on her thralls. The king of Tor Funweir was engaged in her war from the southlands of Ranen. Could her pain unblance a thrall? At least Cardinal Mobius, Purple cleric and advisor to the king, was under the command of her sister, Katja the Hand of Despair.
Saara held her hand to her eyes, breathing deeply. She could feel each of her thralls as if they were a part of her, and each of Ameira’s, unwanted interlopers intruding on her carefully ordered mind.
Give me the strength of the Forest Giants, my master. She hoped that the Dead God would sense her concern and lend her the power to combat it. She had made the same prayer each day since Ameira had been murdered, but Shub-Nillurath had yet to answer.
She left the bedchamber quickly and crossed the dark hallway to her dressing room opposite. Duke Lyam of Weir was a weak old man who had willingly given up most of his offices to the enchantress and her followers, and she had done her best to make them comfortable in the last month. The hounds she commanded needed little comfort, but the merchant princes and mobsters who had arrived demanded more opulence. Money was an important factor in her occupation and, until Izra secured Cozz, Saara needed the wealth of Kessia to keep her followers amenable.
She rubbed her eyes again and reached for a small hexagonal container on her dressing table. The gold and silver box contained a small amount of rainbow smoke. It did help, though the effect lasted only a short time.
She lit a small pipe, took a deep breath, and held the smoke in for a moment before breathing out slowly. She felt the effects flow through her body and her muscles relaxed for the first time since waking.
* * *
At the bottom of the duke’s residence was a lush garden arranged across three levels. It was a well-tended area with beds of flowers and open lawns, with ornate fountains perched on plinths and marble steps linking the levels. Saara had had it cleared the previous evening. Now only a few trusted wind claws patrolled the peripheries of the area, a guard against curious eyes.
She had selected a large forest-dweller the previous evening and had the creature killed and left on the duke’s lawn.
‘My lady.’ The wind claw Kal Varaz stood guard, holding his two ceremonial kris blades across his chest, with his pattern-welded black armour shining in the morning sun.
‘Good morning, Kal.’ Saara coyly fluttered her eyelashes. ‘You have been on duty all night?’
‘Indeed, my lady, though several of my brothers needed to leave once the... transformation began,’ he replied. She thought she saw fear in his dark eyes.
Saara smiled warmly and touched the man’s face. ‘You are my strong right hand, sweet Kal Varaz. What would I do without you.’ She let her hand linger on his cheek. Pleasure rose in her body as she used her power to calm the warrior. Euphoric compliance flowed across the man’s face as his fear disappeared.
‘I live only to serve the Seven Sisters of Jaa, m
y lady.’ The words were stated with zealous conviction.
‘I know... I know,’ she replied. ‘Jaa thanks you for your service.’ It pleased her to deceive the wind claws and she made sure to keep them close to her now that the greatest of their number, Dalian Thief Taker, had escaped her influence. ‘Show me the creature, Kal.’
The warrior nodded and turned sharply towards a tall water fountain and the statue of a noble-looking knight of the Red that dominated the top level of the duke’s garden. At the base of the fountain, surrounded by a recently erected fence, was the corpse of the forest-dweller. No wind claws stood anywhere near the body and Kal Varaz shrank visibly as he approached the Dokkalfar, coming to a halt several feet away. Saara smiled. The creature before them, sprouting from the remains, had no disquieting effect on her.
Overnight, the body had folded itself in half, with arms and legs stretching up almost vertically. The creature’s mid-section had begun to meld with the earth. The limbs had elongated and the Dokkalfar’s flesh was starting to crack like bark. Its face, a mask of twisted horror, was fused with the flesh of its legs. The shape was impossible to imagine as a living thing, but to Saara’s eyes the Dark Young was beautiful. Even Saara felt humble before the priest and the altar.
She planned to ensure they were seeded in every corner of the lands of men. From far Karesia to Fjorlan, the darkwood trees would enforce the chaos of pleasure and blood among the followers of the false gods.
She turned back to Kal Varaz. His eyes were cast downwards and he was making some effort to avoid looking at the monstrosity taking form before him. ‘Sweet Kal Varaz,’ said the enchantress, with tenderness, ‘we will need to know how long the transformation takes. Please remain and observe.’ She flashed a coquettish smile and touched him again, helping him focus through his fear. ‘I need fifty risen prepared for a long sea voyage... and that takes preparation.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ responded the Karesian. ‘It will take time.’
