Dreams of Darkness Rising (28 page)

The Air-mage grasped her bruised jaw and she gasped in pain; he dropped a splash of the clear liquid into her mouth. The taste was bitter, like a concentrate of almonds. Emelia felt a warmth course through her body. The pain in her jaw and tongue eased. The warmth dissipated and a strange empty feeling remained, like part of her had been ripped away.

“You’ve clearly not picked up any manners from hanging around with the tin britches,” Hunor said.

Ekra-Hurr slipped the bottle back into his robes and turned to fix his blue eyes on Hunor.

“Their code of honour precludes them simply executing you here and now, thief, but be aware that I am not bound by such a protocol. Your blade left me with this clawed hand. Make no mistake that my magical power is enough to slowly burn your body to an impudent crisp.”

 “You allow his incisive wit to cut you far too readily, Ekra-Hurr,” Lemon-bite said, dragging on his pipe. “Are all of you Air-mages of such a stormy temperament?”

“A minor penalty for mastery of the skies, Wild-mage. Recall that our allegiance is but a temporary necessity.”

“That’s enough gentlemen. Leave your petty magical quibbles for another forum,” a crisp voice ordered. The female knight was approaching the prisoners, pulling her cloak back around her shoulders.

She hesitated to glance at Emelia and then turned formally to address the three captives.

“Thieves, my name is Lady Orla Farvous, captain of the Silver Wing of the Knights of the Air. I have a warrant for your arrest signed jointly by the High Commander and the Council of Eeria. Your crime, on this occasion, as I don’t doubt there are many more, is the burglary of the property of Lord Talis Ebon-Farr. More precisely you have stolen a crystal heirloom, an antique sword and one of his contracted servants, the maid Emelia. In addition the damage to the property you wreaked was extensive and shall be duly punished before a court in Coonor.”

“The room was trashed by baldy head here, not by me and Jem,” Hunor said with a shrug. “And we didn’t steal Emelia—she decided to elope with our handsome selves.”

“Impudent dog!” the male knight said and slapped Hunor across the face. The thief staggered and then righted himself, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Sir Minrik, control yourself!” Lady Orla barked. Minrik flushed and nodded, stepping back.

“Make no mistake, thief, you shall pay for your crimes,” Lady Orla said. “It would go well for your case if you divulge the location of the crystal you stole.”

“Sorry, darling. It was a need to know sort of job and I didn’t need to…if you catch my drift,” Hunor said, blood oozing from his split lip.

So that was what they were after, he thought. It would give him some leverage perhaps. He caught Lemon-bite’s eyes, which were peering at him with a strange intensity.

“I’m positive he’s lying, Lady Orla. He is tricky to read though. Its probably the association with these other Wild-mages has given him some resistance,” Lemon-bite said. Ekra-Hurr snorted with derision.

Hunor cursed the Wild-mage inwardly and did his best to look innocent and simple-minded. Lady Orla sighed and nodded to Sir Minrik, who grabbed hold of Emelia.

“My warrant is for the arrest of you and your fellow thief Jem. You are bestowed a certain degree of courtesy on the basis of the Treaty of Parok, albeit primarily a trade protection act and the Declaration of Birin.

“The errant house maid Emelia, formerly of the House of Ebon-Farr however enjoys no such leniency. As a contracted servant under the Statute of Servitude she is conferred a diminished position within Eerian law. This is further modified by the Proclamation of the High Commander, supported by the Master of the Rolls, that in the course of reclamation of a magical treasure of significance to Eerian national security that whatever measures necessary may be undertaken.”

“I love it when you talk in long words, love,” Hunor said. “It’s far more stimulating than Jem’s patter.”

“In summary—it is permissible, though regrettable, for me to execute the maid here and now for her escape.”

Emelia struggled furiously as Minrik drew his sword. Hunor kept his expression neutral as he stared at Lady Orla. His mind raced as he weighed the knight up: was she bluffing?

“Where is the crystal?” Orla asked.

“I have no idea, love,” Hunor said, trying not to look at the sobbing Emelia.

Minrik pushed her to her knees on the floor of the Inn.

“Once more, where is the crystal?” Orla asked, her voice still even.

“I haven’t got a clue, knight.”

Minrik looked pale and grim as he raised his sword. The lantern light glittered off the polished steel. Olthik was muttering a prayer behind the bar.

“Then you leave me no choice. Minrik, make it swift,” Orla sighed.

Hunor’s yell mingled with Emelia’s scream as the blade swung down towards her neck. With a grunt Sir Minrik halted its deadly descent and the chill steel rested on her neck.

“You cold-hearted bitch,” Hunor said, rage in his eyes.

Orla regarded him coolly and then gestured for him to continue.

“It’s in Thetoria, in one of the Western Baronies,” Hunor said, his voice flat. Emelia shook like a leaf, the sharp edge of the sword still pressed on her neck.

“How do you know this?” Orla asked.

“When we took the job from Linkon Arikson in Kir I noticed the seal on the scroll on his desk. I recognised it. It’s the seal of one of the Western Barons. Let us go and I’ll tell you which one.”

Lady Orla approached and grasped him under the chin. Despite the tension her haughty beauty intrigued Hunor and he smiled as her grey eyes met his.

“You take me for a fool, Hunor. I would say a better idea is that you accompany us to the Baronies and to the noble patron that has procured my uncle’s property. And given that we will be flying there at a height of a thousand feet I would strongly advise against any escape attempts.”

“As you say, m’lady,” Hunor said. Tension hung in the air between them and then Orla let his chin go.

Lady Orla handed Thintor Lemon-bite a bag of coins. His face contorted with another tic before he spluttered his thanks. With a cheery nod at Hunor he began to stroll out, then halted before Emelia as if seeing her for the first time. Emelia looked up at the scruffy Wild-mage, her body still shuddering and the two silently observed each other. Lemon-bite abruptly walked away, his usually cocky demeanour not as apparent, and left the Black Lamb Inn.

Inkas-Tarr turned to Lady Orla, the tension in his pose diminishing.

“Captain, we should perhaps make haste to the common and to Sir Unhert and Sir Robert. Loath as I am to say this but the thieves are likely to be well connected locally and we would not wish a further unnecessary skirmish to delay us.”

Orla nodded and indicated to Sir Minrik. He hoisted Emelia to her feet and shoved her to join Hunor and Jem, who were now beginning to stir.

“Come, my trio of thieves, we have a long journey ahead of us this week. Plenty of time to contemplate the errors of your ways and make peace with whatever gods patronise you,” Orla said. She flung the door open with a swirl of her travelling cloak, the stormy air lashing against them all.

The six strode into the whistling Azaguntan storm, the shutters rattling behind them. Olthik Slanteye forced the door closed with a sigh, bolting it securely and peace once more settled in the Black Lamb Inn.

Chapter 4    The Half-Ogre

Blossomstide 1924

On the first night out of Bulia they struck camp amongst the rocks that loomed high above the mouth of the river Dun, ninety miles south of the city. The rocks were the site of the ruins of an ancient lighthouse, now but a shell of its former magnificence. Ivy had weaved its tendrils around the worn stonework, which still glistened with the rain that had dogged their journey south.

The remnants of the tower provided shelter from the incessant wind that whipped from the sea to the south of them. The Sea of Mists ran from its western shores on the coast of Goldoria, bordering the north coasts of Mirioth and Midlund until it crashed against the western coast of Eeria. Its name was apt: for much of the year thick sea mists would roll in without warning, precipitated by the strange currents that ran its warmer waters up into the icy Northern Ocean.

On this night the mists hung low, far below the heights at which they had camped. Amber light shone from a new lighthouse on the rocky island out in the bay. Its derelict predecessor now glowed to a different lustre: a campfire lit by the knights and their companion, the Air-mage Ekra-Hurr. The griffons rested a short distance away, weary from their laborious day in the air. They tore at the flesh of a deer seized towards the end of their journey.

The three prisoners were jammed in the rear corner of the shattered building, their backs against the damp stone. Emelia could not recall having ached so much from a day’s travel before. Her legs were constantly cramping and the limitations to the positions she could adopt, due to the thick rope that bound her wrists, did not help matters.

The nearest guard was Sir Unhert, a young knight whom had carried Emelia on his griffon that day. He sat idly sharpening his sword with a blade stone, the golden firelight reflecting from his armour. His helmet was at his feet and his chainmail coif was rolled back around his neck.  Emelia had already evaluated that he was perhaps the kindest of the knights, in obvious discomfort about the manner in which the patronising Sir Minrik addressed the prisoners.

“I’d say at this pace, once we’re through the rains of this crappy island, we’ll be looking at a week or so to get to North Thetoria,” Hunor said to the other two in a subdued voice. “Might be that I can stretch that a little with my directions, I don’t think they are too familiar with my old homeland. Might give us more opportunity to jump ship, if you know what I mean?”

Jem regarded him coolly. He was dishevelled and obviously irritated. “I’m not so sure how much credence we should place with your plans at the present time, Hunor.”

“Eh? Oh…look, I’ve said I’m sorry. Seriously, Emelia, I didn’t think that she… she’d take it that far.”

“They almost beheaded me, Hunor,” Emelia said, eyes as damp as the stones. “What in the Pale’s name were you playing at?”

“I…I…look I’m really, really sorry. Really! I underestimated these knights. I promise you I’ll never put you in that situation again.”

Emelia jutted out her chin, a tear appearing at the corner of her eye. Damn it, she thought, she wanted so much to put on a braver face for her mentors.

Jem interjected, his voice low but hard.

“This isn’t a game of Kirit’s eye, Hunor. We can’t afford to gamble with these characters. The Air-mage won’t need much of an excuse to accidentally kill us all, stolen treasures aside.”

Hunor looked forlorn at Emelia and her anger diminished at his expression of pain. “It’s just ... that I’m, I’m concerned. I’m concerned that I’m a liability to you.”

Emelia could feel a wave of emotion bubbling like a hot spring to the surface.
Get control of this, Emelia
, Emebaka hissed,
they will not respect you if you show such frailty
.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jem replied, a touch too swiftly. “We are a team. You’ve proved your worth time and again and will no doubt continue to do so. No, the problem is our lifestyle.”

The silence that followed weighed as heavy as their aching limbs. Emelia looked with puzzlement at Jem, his normally neat hair matted to his forehead by the rain. He had a fervent look about him.

“How do you mean?” Emelia asked.

Jem shuffled with discomfort against the stones. Green moss coated the relic of a large fireplace. Emelia was reminded of that night they had first met in the Keep, at Jem’s disgust of being covered in ashes and dirt.

“This existence,” Jem said. “This limping from one job to another, enduring times of boom and bust. We live the life of vagabonds, content with a scam well run and a bloated purse of gold. Yet we know ultimately our mark on the world is as instantly forgettable as footprints in the sand erased by the incoming tide. We need some purpose, some task, something to aspire towards. We need something worth dying for.”

“This again? No one forced us into the way we live, Jem,” Hunor said. “No one put a crossbow at our heads and made us thieves. We decided eight years ago when… all that madness happened, that digging around ruined temples and wading knee deep in goblin gore wasn’t for us anymore. You decided that too. You seem to forget that during the tricky times.”

“What would you fight and die for then Jem?” Emelia asked.

“What would I die for?” Jem said, taken aback. “I’m not certain Emelia, but I know we have a greater direction than this. The gods gave us our gifts, you and me, for a higher reason than lightening the treasure chests of Azagunta.”

Jem and Emelia’s eyes locked for an instant and she saw in his thin pale face a fervour that she had not witnessed before; perhaps it had always been there, she had just being looking in the wrong light.

“Well in the interim,” Hunor said. “While you’re waiting for a glowing tablet of stone to descend from the clouds and proclaim our quest to end all quests you’ll forgive me if I work out how we’re going to live long enough to fulfil our ‘greater purpose.’”

“How? That elixir the mage has given us has somehow taken our magic away.”

“Indeed, it’s Goldorian Pure Water, taken direct from the Spring of Goldoria,” Jem said. “It costs a fortune—they must really want to take us back alive. Perhaps that will weigh in our favour.”

“Is it permanent?” Emelia asked.

“No, no. I think a sip will last a day,” Jem said. “Mind you whilst we’re tied up we can’t use our spells even if they hadn’t dosed us up with the potion.”

The three suddenly became aware that the knight had stopped sharpening his sword and had turned to face them. Emelia noted his chiselled features and well-groomed moustache that he now smoothed with discomfort.

“I think that’s enough chatter from you three. Get some sleep, tomorrows journey will be more wearying than today’s. And don’t let the captain hear such talk—she’ll separate you at night and dangle you from the griffons by the day.”