Decimus Fate and the Butcher of Guile: (Decimus Fate - Book 2)

by Peter A Flannery

  ‘You!’ said Alonso backing away as he caught sight of the demon hunter. ‘I thought you were…’

  ‘Dead?’ interrupted the Tutor as he pushed his way through the thorn bushes. ‘Wounded and bleeding?’ he suggested. The Don’Sha’Vir bodyguard drew a sleek one-handed scimitar and moved to block his advance as the Tutor stepped free of the trees.

  ‘Dorsan!’ cried Alonso, his voice shrill with anxiety. ‘Marcus… Cooper…’

  ‘I’m afraid your men are a little tied up,’ said the Tutor, his eyes moving from Alonso to the Don’Sha’Vir as the two warriors measured each other up.

  ‘Where’s the sorcerer?’ said Alonso, his eyes darting behind the Tutor as he looked for some sign of Fate.

  ‘He had to leave on an errand,’ said the Tutor. ‘But I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Not before you die,’ said Alonso. ‘And then there’ll just be one of you to kill.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ said the Tutor trying not to look over Alonso’s shoulder as Fate’s dim silhouette appeared in the darkness some twenty paces behind him.

  ‘Enough of this!’ snapped Alonso. ‘Kill this fool!’ With a wave of his hand he directed the Don’Sha’Vir to attack.

  The arcane brands in the nomad’s skin suddenly flared as he closed on the Tutor who stepped to the right in an effort to draw the bodyguard away from Alonso. Even though he could not see, the mystic’s ‘gaze’ followed the Tutor’s movement, then he lunged forward with such speed that the demon hunter was almost taken off guard.

  The Tutor reacted instinctively, blocking the Don’Sha’Vir’s sword with his own before attempting a counter-strike that sliced the air as the robed figure leaned away from the Hadean blade. Even in this first exchange, the Tutor got a sense of his opponent’s skill and he sharpened his focus as he realised just how dangerous this desert nomad was.

  Stepping back, he raised his sword to block a blistering series of blows before launching an assault of his own. The energy of his attack now rose to a new pitch and for a moment the Don’Sha’Vir appeared vulnerable, but then the blindfolded figure flung out his free hand and the Tutor reeled back as a gout of orange flame engulfed his head.

  The magical flames burned hot, and it was only the protective energy of the Tutor’s demon hunter tattoo that prevented him from suffering burns. As it was, his face was scorched and the air was filled with the smell of singed hair. The Don’Sha’Vir used this distraction to launch a new attack which the Tutor was unable to completely avoid. He escaped a lethal thrust to his chest then gasped as the nomad’s curved blade sliced through the black leather of his breeches.

  Stepping backwards, the Tutor blocked another series of attacks. Then, parrying a thrust to his chest, he maintained contact with the mystic’s blade and pushed forward to inflict a cut to the Don’Sha’Vir’s shoulder. The blindfolded man hissed through his stitched lips then thrust his free hand forward, unleashing a pulse of energy that struck the Tutor like a kick from a carthorse. The Tutor staggered backwards as the Don’Sha’Vir started towards him, but then the nomad stopped as he ‘sensed’ a fleeting shift in the Tutor’s attention.

  For just an instant, the Tutor’s focus had shifted to the shadowy figure of Fate who was now closing in behind Alonso. Following his gaze, the mystic turned just in time to see Fate raising his crossbow to shoot Alonso. The small weapon issued a muted ‘twang’ but the black bolt shot wide of its mark as the Don’Sha’Vir used some invisible force to grab Fate’s arm as he made the shot.

  Alerted by the sound of the crossbow, Alonso spun round and recoiled in surprise. The sorcerer in the charcoal grey robes was right there behind him and Alonso fumbled for his own sword as he backed away from his attacker who was struggling to break free of the Don’Sha’Vir’s mental grip.

  The nomad’s magical grip was strong, but Fate’s willpower was stronger. Focussing his mind he began to pry himself free, but this required effort and he was slow to notice Alonso rushing in for a surprise attack.

  Fate was forced to twist to one side as Alonso’s blade stabbed a hole in his outer robes. The sorcerer’s movement was still hampered by the grip of the Don’Sha’Vir until the Tutor attacked the mystic and the restraining force vanished. Fate’s rapier whipped up to challenge Alonso and the cowardly lordling turned to flee. Fate knew the younger man could outrun him, so he simply loaded another crossbow bolt and shot Alonso in the back of the leg before he got too far away.

  Alonso gave a cry and stumbled forward as he felt the stabbing pain in the back of his thigh. Glancing back, he saw the dark outline of Fate walking towards him. Distant street lights glinted off his slender blade, and Alonso thought he saw the faint glint of gold in the sorcerer’s shadowed eyes.

  ‘Torvik!’ he cried. ‘Torvik, where are you?’ The desperation in Alonso’s voice was palpable as Fate came closer and closer, but Torvik was otherwise engaged.

  The Don’Sha’Vir turned his head as he heard Alonso calling, but the spoilt young noble was finally beyond his help. A demon hunter stood between them and the mystic warrior gripped his curved sword as he turned to face his blue-eyed opponent.

  In the darkness the pommel of the Tutor’s Hadean blade had begun to glow and the graceful blade seemed to ring with a high melodic note. Once again, the brands in the Don’Sha’Vir’s skin glowed red as he attacked; a vicious attack followed up with arcs of fire and mental assaults that struck like punches from an invisible fist.

  And the Tutor absorbed it all.

  He parried the blade, resisted the fire and shrugged off the blows that were intended to hurt him. Each time one of his mental blows was repulsed, the Don’Sha’Vir recoiled and the Tutor pressed his advantage.

  The Don’Sha’Vir’s scimitar remained dangerous and the quiet of the night echoed with the ringing clash of steel. The exchange was brief and brutal and it ended with the Tutor stabbing the Don’Sha’Vir in the pit of his right arm. The mystic’s sword fell from his grasp and he stumbled back as the Tutor struck down with a killing blow. However, the blow never landed as the Don’Sha’Vir grabbed the blade with his hand.

  Once again they locked wills, Don’Sha’Vir magic versus demon hunter will, as the mystic held the blade with his enchanted flesh. Putting all his strength behind the sword, the Tutor stared into the Don’Sha’Vir’s veiled ‘eyes’. Through his stitched lips, the mystic snarled, but he was not dead yet. Still holding the sword, he raised his free arm and placed his hand on the demon hunter’s chest.

  Almost immediately, the Tutor felt the magical force engulf his heart. He felt his heart beat faster and his vision darkened as the mystic’s fire burned in his chest. A weakness began to creep through the Tutor’s body and he thought his legs might give way. But then, with a final effort, he wrenched his sword free of the Don’Sha’Vir’s grasp and spun around with a horizontal sword-stroke aimed at the Don’Sha’Vir’s head.

  The scything blow removed the top of the mystic’s skull, taking with it the headscarf that covered half his face. In a fleeting moment, the Tutor caught of glimpse of poisoned veins and hollow eyes, the sockets burned black and empty. It was a vision of nightmares, but then it was gone as the Don’Sha’Vir collapsed to the ground.

  For a moment the Tutor looked down at his fallen enemy and then he looked up as he heard Alonso’s voice coming from further up the river bank.

  ‘That’s no choice at all,’ whined Alonso as the Tutor ran over to where Fate had the young Medici cornered.

  ‘It’s the only choice you have,’ said Fate, the tone of his voice cold and final. ‘Either you admit to your crimes and accept your punishment, or you die where you stand.’

  ‘Pah!’ said Alonso. ‘They’ll hang me for what I’ve done.’

  ‘Yes, they will,’ said Fate. ‘But you might stay alive for another few weeks.’

  Fate had Alonso trapped against a small rock face that overlooked the river. It was too steep to climb and the only other way out was past the sorc
erer who stood with his rapier poised.

  ‘Curse and damn those blasted girls!’ hissed Alonso, turning round with his sword in his hand as the finality of his situation dawned. He put his free hand to his head and grabbed a fistful of his own hair then… ‘My father will pay you,’ he said desperately. ‘My father will pay you a fortune if you just let me go.’

  ‘There’s no amount of money that will make up for what you’ve done,’ said Fate and, even in the darkness, he could feel the hatred in Alonso’s eyes.

  Silence followed as Alonso weighed his options until finally…

  ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll turn myself in.’ Relaxing his sword he shambled towards Fate with his head bowed. ‘My father owns some of the best lawyers in the city. He’ll be able to…

  The sentence went unfinished as Alonso suddenly snatched up his sword and lunged at Fate. His blade was aimed straight for the sorcerer’s heart, but Fate was ready. With a mere flick of the wrist, he caught Alonso’s blade with his rapier, forcing the thrust to go wide as his own sword slid down the length of Alonso’s blade and into the depraved man’s chest.

  Alonso’s body went stiff and he coughed up blood. His eyes stared up at Fate and then his legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground. He ended up kneeling, slumped back on his heels with barely the strength to raise his own head. A final spasm of pain twitched through his body and he died.

  ‘The Don’Sha’Vir?’ said Fate without taking his eyes off Alonso.

  ‘Dead,’ said the Tutor.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Cuts and bruises,’ said the Tutor. ‘Nothing serious.’

  ‘Good,’ said Fate, and the Tutor was surprised by the matter of fact tone of his voice.

  ‘Medici will see you dead for this.’

  ‘Yes, he will,’ said Fate with something approaching a smile. ‘Now, help me get him back to the storm drain. It’s time to introduce Alonso Medici to the Butcher of Guile.’

  35

  The Plan Unfolds

  Only one of the Medici guards had managed to close his eyes in time to avoid being blinded by Fate’s exploding sphere. With his hands tied behind his back, the man now stood in the mouth of the storm drain looking down at Alonso’s dead body.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said the guard. ‘Lord Medici might kill me just for delivering the news that his son is dead.’

  ‘Not if you tell him who did it,’ said the Tutor.

  The man looked up at the demon hunter, but the Tutor nodded towards Fate.

  ‘Decimus Fate,’ said the sorcerer. ‘Tell Lord Medici that Decimus Fate killed his son and dumped his body in the river.’

  ‘You’re mad!’ said the man in a disbelieving tone. ‘Lord Medici will tear the city apart to find you. And he won’t stop until he sees you dead.’

  ‘I know,’ said Fate. ‘Now, are you going to lead these men back to the mansion or shall we just kill you here?’

  The guard glanced around at his companions who were all still blinking their eyes in vain attempts to clear their vision.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said the man and with that, they were all hauled to their feet.

  The Tutor cut their hands free and then arranged them in a line with each one resting a hand on the shoulder of the man in front.

  ‘Don’t go too quickly,’ Fate told the guard who would lead them. ‘I’d hate for one of your friends to lose his way and go stumbling into the river.’

  The man tilted his head in a gesture of resignation then, walking somewhat haltingly, he led the line of men out of the storm drain and into the darkness of the night.

  ‘Hey! Wait! Ow!’ came various cries as the flash-blinded guards picked their way through the prickly thicket of blackthorn bushes.

  Fate waited until they were out of earshot then, heading back into the storm drain, he leaned in close to the hole in the wall of the cave.

  ‘Are you there?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re here,’ said the voice of Samuel Culpepper who was standing on the other side of the hole with Luca. ‘It sounds like you’ve had an exciting night.’

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ said Fate as the Tutor, Cradlop and Weasel came to stand beside him. ‘Are you still willing to do this?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Samuel. ‘The question is, are you still willing to go through with it? Luca here, can tell you that it’s not an easy process. ’

  ‘It hurts like hell,’ Luca confirmed, but Fate was determined.

  ‘I have no choice,’ said the sorcerer. ‘It’s the only way to make Medici drop his guard, and to stop him from hurting people in an attempt to find me.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Samuel. ‘Bring the young man’s body round to the Ludgate entrance. And I’d be quick about it, if I were you. From the look of the sky, we only have about an hour or two until sunrise.’

  ‘See you in a few minutes,’ said Fate before turning away from the hole to address the Tutor. ‘Shall we take him together?’

  ‘It’s probably easier on my own,’ said the Tutor.

  Crouching down, the demon hunter began to haul Alonso’s body up from the ground. However, the difficult task was suddenly made easier as Cradlop stepped in to help. The troglodyte was incredibly strong and displayed little effort as he helped the Tutor get the limp body onto his shoulder.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Fate.

  ‘I’m fine,’ grunted the Tutor as he adjusted the weight across his shoulders. ‘Nothing I like better than carrying the corpse of a sadistic killer through the night-time streets of Guile.’

  Fate gave a wry smile then stopped as Weasel started to follow them.

  ‘What?’ said the young wayfinder. ‘I’m coming too.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ said Fate. ‘I need you to do something else.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Weasel suspiciously. He had been looking forward to seeing Samuel perform his ‘magic’.

  ‘I need you to call on Master Veleno.’

  ‘What!?’ exclaimed Weasel. ‘You’ve just declared war on one murderous noble, now you want me to go and call on another.’

  ‘I take it you know where Veleno lives?’ asked Fate.

  ‘I’m a wayfinder,’ said Weasel with an affronted air. ‘Of course I know where he lives.’

  ‘Then get him out of bed and show him this.’ Fate handed the boy his white dragon-handled dagger. ‘Tell him Lord Fate has a proposition for him.’

  ‘What proposition?’

  ‘Tell him, I want him to dump my dead body at the gates of Lord Medici’s mansion.’

  Weasel’s face broke into a smile as he realised he was not being kept out of the action. Instead, he was being given a key role in the deception that Fate had devised. The sorcerer went on to give Weasel some details including the time and place where Veleno would find Fate’s “body”.

  ‘Tell him there will probably be a reward,’ he added as a final note. ‘That should brighten Veleno’s mood after being dragged from his bed.’

  With that, Weasel said a quick goodbye to Cradlop and Luca.

  ‘And one more thing,’ said Fate as Weasel headed out of the storm drain. ‘After Veleno, go to Blackfell House and ask Motina for a set of my robes.’

  ‘Any particular colour?’ asked Weasel, and the Tutor snorted back a laugh at the boy’s subtle wit. With a final grin, the young wayfinder disappeared into the night.

  ‘Come on then,’ said the Tutor. ‘Let’s get this done before I give myself a hernia.’

  Turning away from the storm drain, the two men set off towards the alternative entrance to the tunnels, an entrance that lay hidden in the glazed brick walls of the Ludgate Sluice.

  36

  Lord Medici’s Wrath

  The sky was beginning to brighten as the Medici guard led his five ‘blind’ companions through the main gate of his employer’s mansion. They were met by more house-guards who woke Medici’s valet, who then went through to the Lord himself. Dressed in a silk dressing gown, Lord Medi
ci made his way down the grand staircase into the main reception hall of the house flanked, as ever, by two shimmering patches of air that hovered at his shoulders like barely visible ghosts. Lord Medici moved to stand in front of the guard from the storm drain and his face darkened as the guard delivered the news about his son.

  ‘What do you mean, dead!?’ he demanded, his rage not diminished by the casual nature of his attire.

  ‘He was killed, my Lord, by the sorcerer known as Fate.’

  Medici’s face was tight with fury as he cast a disgusted glance over the incapacitated guards who stood, heads bowed and still blinded by the brightness of the Sutākirā sphere.

  ‘And what about my son’s Don’Sha’Vir?’

  ‘He’s dead too,’ said the guard. ‘Killed by the demon hunter.’

  Medici’s shoulders sagged in shock, but then his lip curled in a sneer.

  ‘But you all survived,’ he said in a dangerous tone.

  ‘We were blinded,’ said one of the men. ‘The sorcerer used some kind of magic to blind us.’

  ‘Magic?’ snapped Medici. ‘I was told he had stopped using magic.’

  The man chose not to contradict his master as the two shimmering patches of air drew in a little closer to Medici who was now looking around as if Fate could be hiding in some corner of the room. He turned to his valet.

  ‘Sound the alarm,’ he told the man. ‘Have the guards patrol the grounds and fetch my Black Pact medallion.’

  ‘You’re going to use it, my Lord?’ asked the man.

  ‘Of course!’ snapped Medici. ‘This is Decimus Fate we’re talking about; the man who slew the demon of the vale. Do you really think this shower of useless bastards can protect me from a man like that?’

  ‘But people say he has given up magic.’

  ‘And these men say he used magic tonight,’ said Medici. ‘No… I’ll be far happier once we have a coven of dark witches patrolling the grounds.’