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

by Peter A Flannery

  ‘You’re going to…’ began Isaac, but Amos cut him off.

  ‘Quiet now,’ said the stable master. ‘We have to time this just right while the guards are on the other side of the keep.’

  They waited in silence for a few seconds until a loud bell rang the first chime of midnight.

  ‘Drop down,’ said Amos as he picked up the hammer and waited for the next chime to sound.

  The bell sounded and Amos gave one of the spikes a tap. That first blow was a little tentative because he needed to get his timing right. However, as the third chime sounded, Amos struck a hefty blow that drove the steel spikes deep into the mortar between the stones. A fourth chime sounded, and a fifth, but Amos could not use all twelve. They needed to break open the cell before the guards returned to this side of the keep.

  As the tenth chime sounded, Amos gave one of the spikes a final hit before giving a low whistle. Almost immediately, the ropes attached to the bars were pulled taut. There was the creak of straining fibres, a faint grinding of stone and then a crash and clang as the bars of the cell were torn free.

  ‘Now!’ said Amos, reaching a hand down into the gaping hole. ‘Isaac, give me your hand.’

  Jumping up, Isaac grabbed the hand and the stable master hauled him out of the cell.

  ‘Run to Sienna!’ said Amos as he cut the ropes and began gathering them up as he followed Isaac back towards the disused coach house. He had just reached the corner of the adjoining street when four guards emerged around the side of the keep, quickly followed by a man in the black cassock of a priest.

  ‘Stop!’ cried the priest, but Amos ducked into the street where Sienna was now holding the reins of two sleek horses.

  ‘Mount up!’ she told Isaac as Amos bundled the coiled ropes into the disused coach house and reached for the double doors. There was just enough light for Isaac to glimpse the rumps of the two much larger horses standing quietly in the darkness.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Amos giving Sienna a parting nod as he began to close the doors.

  ‘Amos…’ began Isaac in a small voice, but there was no time for goodbyes.

  ‘Ride fast,’ said the stable master as the doors to the coach house closed.

  ‘Isaac! Come on!’ cried Sienna.

  For a moment, the young man just stood there as the sound of running feet grew closer. Then he took hold of the free horse and stepped up into the saddle.

  ‘Yah!’ said Sienna, and both horses sprang forward as four guards and a priest rounded the corner of the street.

  Leaning low over the saddle, Isaac glanced back. Even from a distance, he could feel the priest’s anger. He could also feel the power rising through the man’s body. A fierce ball of searing white flame appeared between his hands and Isaac knew they were dead.

  ‘Sienna!’

  ‘Just ride!’ cried Sienna, but she did not know what was about to be unleashed.

  Isaac felt defensive energy rising in his body then he screamed as the cuffs on his wrists burned into his skin with a searing heat. His power was shackled and he was unable to save them.

  Behind them, the priest was just about to unleash his power when there was an almighty crash and one of the coach house doors burst open, smashing into the priest and knocking him to the ground.

  Coming back to his knees, the priest shot a furious gaze into the disused coach house where a great bear-of-a-man was trying to calm an agitated horse.

  ‘Oh, my lord,’ said the man. ‘A thousand apologies! Poor old Starke doesn’t know his own strength. He just got spooked by all the commotion outside.’

  The priest gave a snarl of fury as he realised the prisoner was gone. Divine Servant Arden had spent a great deal of time with this prisoner and there had even been talk of him being sent to the capital for cleansing.

  ‘Are you all right, my good sir?’ said Amos as he emerged from the coach house and began to dust off the priest’s cassock.

  ‘Get away from me, you oaf!’ cried the priest, and Amos was fortunate that neither the priest nor any of the guards recognised him from his visit to the keep. With further self-recrimination he backed away into the coach house and closed the door, leaving the priest and the guards wondering how they were going to tell Divine Servant Arden that his most valuable prisoner had just escaped.

  Sienna and Isaac didn’t slow up until they were out of the city and onto the forest road heading north. Only then did Sienna slow down to check if they were being followed.

  ‘Sienna,’ said Isaac as she scanned the road for any sign of pursuit. ‘Sienna, where are we going?’

  ‘We’re going to lie low for a few days,’ replied Sienna as they continued on their way. ‘And then we’re going to see someone who might be able to help?’

  ‘Does he live in the forest?’

  ‘No,’ said Sienna. ‘He lives in Guile.’

  ‘Is he a magic-user?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘And does this kind-of-a-magic-user have a name?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sienna. ‘His name is Decimus Fate.’

  44

  To Never See the Sun

  Two days later, Fate and the Tutor were standing in the pleasant surroundings of the Nymphacie water gardens. Concealed by the autumn colour of decorative trees, they watched as a young couple walked along the twisting pathways of the gardens. One was Jane, the young woman that Inganno had ensnared with a love potion; the other was Fidanza, the young man whose memory had been wiped clean by one of Inganno’s cruel and powerful potions.

  Just a few days earlier, Weasel had reported that a man fitting Fidanza’s appearance had been helped by women in green robes after being attacked on a street of ill-repute. Fate happened to know that a religious order, known as the Scions of Abnoba, wore green robes and often frequented such places in the hope of helping some of the ‘fallen women’ who worked there. So it was reasonable to assume that they might have helped Fidanza.

  Sure enough, they had found Fidanza in the temple of Abnoba being cared for by the same people who had helped Sienna Blade when she was injured in a fight with the Tutor. After trying to reassure the confused young man, Fate had arranged for him and Jane to meet in the water gardens, the very place where they first met.

  Now the two young people looked shy and self-conscious. Fate and the Tutor could see Fidanza’s confusion and Jane’s efforts to keep her own feelings in check.

  ‘It’s sad,’ said the Tutor as the young couple stopped to watch the tumbling water of a fountain. ‘He really doesn’t remember her at all.’

  ‘No,’ said Fate. ‘But I wouldn’t give up hope.’

  ‘You think his memory will return?’

  ‘Perhaps… and perhaps not,’ said the sorcerer. ‘But a house remains a house even if the plans for building it are lost.’

  ‘You’ve been spending too much time with the monks of Tan Jit Su,’ said the Tutor and Fate laughed.

  ‘Fidanza might not remember that they were engaged,’ continued the sorcerer. ‘But he’s essentially the same person and I wouldn’t be surprised if they fell in love all over again.’

  ‘You’re really quite the romantic, aren’t you?’ said the Tutor and Fate arched an eyebrow as they turned to leave.

  Having done all they could, the two men returned to Blackfell House where Motina had prepared a lunch of hot soup, meat pies and freshly baked bread.

  ‘There’s a letter arrived for you,’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘Anyone I know?’ asked Fate as he and the Tutor took a seat at the table.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Motina. ‘Although the address looks like it was written by a woman’s hand.’

  Fate glanced at the letter while the Tutor looked down at the food.

  ‘Pies?’ he said as Motina reached for a ladle to dish out the soup. ‘Are you sure these are safe to eat?’

  Fate concealed a grin and there was a hollow ‘clock’ as Motina turned round with the ladle that just happened to clip the Tutor across the side of hi
s head. The demon hunter flinched as Motina took her seat.

  ‘You don’t need to have any if you don’t trust me,’ she said in an affronted tone.

  ‘I’ll take two,’ said the Tutor and Motina gave a snort at his attempted charm.

  ‘I assume you’ve heard about the mysterious death in the Fourth Quarter,’ she said, ladling out soup while the Tutor cut some bread.

  ‘Mysterious death?’ queried Fate.

  ‘The son of a wealthy widow,’ said Motina. ‘She died over a year ago and now her son’s been found dead in the basement.’

  ‘The basement?’ said Fate as he and the Tutor exchanged a look.

  ‘Yes,’ continued Motina. ‘It’s all very mysterious… They say he was found in a room with a metal door that was locked from the inside. Terribly gruesome,’ she added. ‘The young man’s throat was torn out and he was lying in a puddle of tar. Apparently, he was a potion maker with a flair for conjuration.’

  ‘Sounds like he meddled with something dangerous,’ said Fate and the three of them shared a smile.

  They ate in silence until Fate turned to Motina.

  ‘And did you see Madam de Lorni?’ he asked.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s sad, of course,’ said the housekeeper. ‘But she’s better for knowing that Luca is alive.’

  ‘You told her?’ exclaimed the Tutor. ‘I thought we couldn’t risk anyone finding out that Luca was still alive.’

  ‘Madam de Lorni is a gifted actress,’ said Fate. ‘I was confident that she could play the part of a grieving mother.’

  ‘But she’ll have to play that part for years.’

  ‘Well, for a year at least,’ said Fate. ‘Just until the contract on Luca’s life expires.’

  ‘You’re terrible,’ said the Tutor.

  ‘I think he has a soft spot for her,’ added Motina.

  Looking a little awkward, Fate turned their attention to an object lying in the centre of the kitchen table. It was a slender length of yew wood, the smooth grain a pleasing blend of honey gold and cream.

  ‘Have you used it yet?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m frightened to,’ replied Motina.

  ‘The realm of Faerie can be unsettling,’ said the Tutor. ‘But it should be respected, not feared.’

  Fate nodded while Motina just stared at the wand.

  ‘Warrior maid indeed,’ teased Fate and Motina blushed.

  ‘I can’t help it if that’s how a Faerie Lord sees me,’ she quipped and Fate suddenly became serious.

  ‘He’s not the only one who sees you as that,’ said the sorcerer. ‘I’ve thought very much the same since you blasted me in the chest with a powerful spell.’

  Now it was Motina’s turn to appear awkward. Bending down to her soup, she changed the subject.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open your letter?’ she asked.

  Picking up the letter, Fate looked at the red wax seal, an elegant ‘A’ wound about by a single peacock feather. He didn’t recognise the seal, but it all made sense as he opened the letter and began to read. The letter was from Countess Cévaro, but she had used the seal and signed the letter using her maiden family name.

  Contessa di Aragona

  ‘Anything interesting?’ asked Motina as Fate laid the letter down.

  ‘It’s from the countess,’ Fate replied. ‘The demonic attacks on the serving girl are getting worse.’

  ‘The poor child,’ said Motina. ‘Is there anything to be done?’

  ‘The count threatened to kill the girl for bringing ‘evil’ into his house. So, the countess has taken her to Abbess Shimitsu at the Shīku temple.’

  ‘That man’s a bast…’

  ‘A wise move,’ interrupted Motina. ‘I’m sure the abbess will be able to help.’

  The housekeeper sounded confident, but the Tutor did not look so sure. If the girl’s soul really had been promised to some dark entity, then even the monks of Tan Jit Su would struggle to keep the demonic forces at bay. He and Fate shared a look of concern as Motina changed the subject once more.

  ‘Oh, and there’s another thing…’ said the housekeeper between mouthfuls of soup. ‘Remember the sorcerer that Bohr arrested in Confluence? Well, I now know who it was.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Fate, unable to conceal the note of interest in his voice.

  ‘It was Archmage Dahlian.’

  ‘Dahlian!’ said Fate, his brows drawing together in a frown.

  ‘Do you know him?’ asked the Tutor.

  ‘A little,’ said Fate. ‘He’s a powerful member of the Arcanium. Arresting him is a bold move indeed.’

  ‘Bohr won’t stop until he controls the entire world,’ said Motina and the Tutor gave a dour nod of agreement.

  ‘You’ve had dealings with the Emperor’s sorcerer?’ asked Fate.

  ‘Of course,’ said the Tutor. ‘It was Bohr who corrupted the demon hunters. He changed them from a force for hunting evil into an arm of the emperor’s will.’

  ‘The emperor’s just a pawn,’ said Fate.

  ‘I know,’ said the Tutor. ‘The emperor signed my death warrant, but it was Bohr who sent the demon hunters to kill my family.’

  ‘Bohr’s influence is growing,’ said Fate. ‘Even the world of Faerie is paying attention.’

  ‘Maybe you should write to the Arcanium,’ said the Tutor. ‘Find out if anyone else is under threat.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ mused Fate.

  ‘But not today!’ said Motina with a note of exasperation. ‘Today we’re going to rest and give thanks for the lives of two innocent young men.’

  Fate’s inward gaze made it clear that his thoughts were now focused on Oruthian Bohr and what his ambitions might mean for the world. But the Tutor could sympathise with Motina. Pouring them all a cup of tea he leaned back in his chair.

  ‘So, you told Madam de Lorni about the Butcher of Guile?’ he asked in a tone of surprise.

  ‘I didn’t tell her all the gory details,’ replied Motina.

  ‘Then what did you tell her?’ asked the Tutor and even Fate looked up to see how she would answer.

  ‘I didn’t call him The Butcher at all,’ said Motina. ‘I said his name is Samuel Culpepper, and he can never see the sun.’

  Fate and the Tutor smiled, but Fate’s smile was tempered by the thoughts running through his mind. He was thinking about the only living sorcerer whose power had matched his own; a feral mage who had a plan to break the bonds that kept the human world safe from the terrors of the demonic realm.

  Fate was thinking about the emperor’s personal sorcerer, a man by the name of Oruthian Bohr.

  Epilogue

  Bohr

  Bound by shackles that negated his magical powers, Archmage Dahlian swept his gaze around the chamber in which he now stood. Thirty feet in diameter, it was like a great bowl sunk into the marble floor of the imperial palace, the sides sweeping up to form three-quarters of a complete sphere. The chamber was lined with blue ceramic tiles that gleamed and shimmered as if the ocean had risen up to contain him. It was impressive and unsettling, and Archmage Dahlian could feel the thrum of the magic running through it.

  ‘Don’t worry old friend,’ said a deep resonant voice. ‘The pain of cleansing is intense, but it will only last a few seconds. Or so I am led to believe.’

  Archmage Dahlian looked up into the eyes of Oruthian Bohr; deep green eyes that glittered with flecks of gold. The emperor’s personal sorcerer was standing behind a column of stone on which three marble spheres sat in cradles of twisted gold.

  ‘Cleansing?’ challenged Dahlian. ‘Is that what you’re calling it?’

  Bohr smiled, the expression accentuating the angular features of his face.

  ‘That’s what the priests of the Divine Spirit call it,’ he said. ‘And I am happy to indulge the whims of my new disciples.’

  ‘Disciples?’ said Dahlian. ‘I thought you were all servants of the Divine.’

  ‘Indeed we are,’ sai
d Bohr. ‘But no one can match the power of my devotion.’

  Bohr looked down as a ball of white flame appeared in his hand. The ball of fire grew hotter and brighter until Dahlian had to shield his eyes and look away.

  ‘No,’ said Bohr. ‘The priests of the Divine Spirit follow me because I am a living testament to the power of their god.’

  ‘You don’t believe that,’ said Dahlian. ‘All this talk of your conversion… it’s all lies.’

  ‘True,’ said Bohr with a smile. ‘But those lies allow me to reach far beyond the limits imposed by Confluence. With Confluence out of the way, I will be able to go anywhere and do anything.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Dahlian. ‘Kill us all?’

  The smile faded from Bohr’s face and his green eyes glittered with a dangerous light as he looked down into the chamber.

  ‘Let’s just take this one mage at a time, shall we?’

  With that, he picked up one of the marble spheres from its golden cradle and placed it in the first of three hollows in the stone pillar. Immediately, the sphere of the chamber was completed by a shimmering wall of energy.

  Realising he was now trapped, Archmage Dahlian began to struggle against his bonds. He tried to summon his magic and cast a spell, but the bracelets on his wrists flared with magical symbols and he cried out in pain. Feeling a sense of desperation he tried again, but the skin of his arms began to blister and burn as Bohr placed the second sphere into the activation column.

  Dahlian gasped, and his eyes went wide as his own magical essence begin to resonate with the energy of the chamber, then he slumped to his knees as he felt that same energy being drawn out of his body. His mouth gaped open as he felt its absence inside of him, a horrible sense of defilement and emptiness as though a part of his mind and soul had been sucked out against his will.

  Knowing he was about to die, he looked up as Bohr lifted the third and final sphere. The green eyes of the feral mage were filled with a terrible light, and his grey hair flew up with the waves of energy that were now rising from the recepticule on which he stood.

  And now, Dahlian knew that the rumours were true. Oruthian Bohr was draining the power of magic-users and channelling it into himself. For years, Dahlian had fought against Bohr’s relentless pursuit of power, and now his own magical powers would strengthen the enemy he had resisted for so long.