Dreams of Darkness Rising (38 page)

Such was his fascination that he almost forgot to replace the open book to its original page. It depicted a blue stone held aloft with a dotted line passing to a body with all its organs showing.

“Oh father, what in Mortis’s name are you letting Quigor do?”

He left the plinth and slumped in an alcove. The wine made him feel weary. He rested his head against the stone.

He had perhaps had a transient nap when he heard the click of the door opening and to his credit was instantly alert. His hand gripped the dagger he had taken from the table.

From his hiding place he saw Quigor enter the room, the reddish glow lighting his greasy face. Across the chamber he could see the door wide open.

Quigor seemed preoccupied and walked straight past his plush chair and diminished cheese board. He took a large jar from a shelf and placed it beside his alchemy bottles on the table. He pulled out two eye balls, a severed nose and a long tongue, and then placed them on the table.

Quigor stepped back and held out his hands. Strange words came from his mouth, macabre and convoluted.

The collection of pickled flesh began to glow a purple colour and then rose into the air. Aldred stared in fascination. Although he had met a number of mages socially at the prince’s functions he had never seen true spells and as a consequence it was a greater shock when the floating eyes, nose and tongue began to speak.

“You have responded promptly to my message, Quigor,” it said, the sounds slurred.

“Naturally, master, the voice was especially strong. I must commend your ability at dream-speak. I confess I am perturbed as to what warrants such a drain on your powers. Surely a black-hawk is more traditional?” Quigor said.

“This is true and less conspicuous than you rising at such a dark hour for the missive. However circumstance forced my hand. Word has come from Master Xirik that the Darkmaster himself has taken an interest in you.”

Quigor grasped the table and his voice croaked as he spoke.

“The Darkmaster? Surely he has greater concerns as he heals from the Return than I? I mean, of course I am honoured, Master Garin, but...confused.”

“The Darkmaster’s reasons are ever his own, as are Xirik’s. Suffice it to say that his attentions focus in part on Thetoria and on the crystal that you experiment with.”

Quigor eyes darted about the chamber and Aldred wondered whether the horrible face could see this.

“Master, you know that the infernal crystal is resistant to every charm I have utilised to establish its true nature. It may be simply a lucky charm crafted to entertain some vacuous Eerian noble.”

The face stared at Quigor, its bobbing eyeballs unrelenting in their observation of him. Aldred could see sweat trickling down the mage’s forehead.

“Charm or no, the command is clear. I know not how the Darkmaster learnt of our experiments nor why he is interested in you and not Ligor in Thetoria City or Ajacre in Nulor. You assured me that your tracks were well concealed those years ago.”

“Indeed, Master. I sent assassins to silence the guildmaster we had utilised for the procurement of this crystal and the other four blue stones. He was overseas in Azagunta, far removed from me. It was foolproof. I don’t understand.”

“No matter, it may yet play to our advantage. Xirik commands great support but such a service for the Darkmaster may swing things to our favour in the new order.”

“But to take the crystal now? After all this work I have performed here to determine its nature. I will struggle to get the baron to allow me to have it. He keeps it well hidden and close.”

“There can be no mistakes, Quigor. He commands you take the Elixir of Thrall so that he may sense your progress.”

“The Elixir? Well, of course, if that is the command.”

Quigor bowed whilst the magical glow around the floating pieces of flesh faded and they fell with a splatter onto the table.

Aldred emerged from a daze as the grisly spectacle ceased. He slipped from the alcove and moved towards the door keeping low behind the cabinets.

He was ten feet from the door when the treacherous avian cawed loudly once more. Aldred’s blood froze as Quigor whirled and stared in disbelief at the young Thetorian. Aldred bolted for the open door.

He never made it.

A flash of purple light engulfed him and it felt as if every nerve on his body was washed in acid at the same instant. He tumbled to the stone floor, skidding into the wall with a thud.

An instant that may have been an eternity passed before the excruciating burning stopped. Aldred found himself staring at the smiling Quigor.

“My lord, if you had given me a little notice I would have tidied up. I’ll confess I did wonder where you had wandered off to yesterday but naively assumed you had gone searching for another celebration with your vacuous comrades. It would seem I underestimated you.”

“You devil,” Aldred said and clambered to his feet, his dagger glinting.

“I see four years in the big city haven’t improved either your manners or your Thetorian temperament,” Quigor said.

He gestured and the dagger in Aldred’s hands transformed into a red snake. Aldred screamed and dropped the creature and it slithered to Quigor’s feet then up his black robes.

“Now please be seated.”

Aldred felt his body sear with pain. Tears sprang to his eyes as he staggered to the chair and collapsed into it.

Quigor leant against one of the stained tables, rubbing his pale chin. His dark eyes bore into Aldred’s.

“I will assume you were party to my communications with the master...which does now present a certain dilemma.”

“Damn you and your slippery words, Quigor. My father will have you executed for this sorcery in our house.”

Quigor laughed and shrugged.

“My dear little lord, how touching your trust in your father is. No—no—he is more than aware of my talents. That is why he asked his cousin to arrange my coming.”

Aldred flushed, a creeping sense of dread arising in his gut. “The Pale take your lies and deceit.”

“The Pale has an ample supply already, Aldred. Did you think your father such a saint? Ah, the faith of children. No, your father required me here to assist him in a spell, one he found transcribed in the ogre tome of sorcery. It’s a vile book, you should read it. Bits of it make even me cringe!”

At that instant Aldred hated nothing in Nurolia the way he hated Quigor. If he had had his chance he would have risen and throttled the last breath from the sorcerer, savouring every last gasp and gurgle like the finest liquor. The fuel for such disdain was the simple fact that Aldred believed him.

“He would still never allow anything to happen to me.”

“Indeed not. No, he still has love for you, although every look at your face drives a dagger into his heart. He sees your mother in every fibre of your being. None the less his desire for this magic is near total and I think he would not be distracted too long by your accidental demise. Well perhaps long enough for me to secure the crystal.”

Aldred realised Quigor was pondering the method of his death.

“Quigor, please don’t. I won’t tell, I promise. I...I...”

“Sshh, don’t fret, little lord. It won’t be too painful. It’s not something to rush into. I need a modicum of planning to make it appear an accident. Make peace with yourself and your god. When I return, you shall die.”

The Azaguntan swirled his hand and muttered words of power. Black sorcery flowed from his robes through the air and onto Aldred. He shouted in panic as the oily substance flowed around him then solidified into bands of jet-black metal. It bound him to the chair as reliably as chains and manacles of iron.

The dark mage lifted down an hourglass from the cluttered shelf. He turned it over with a chuckle and the dark sand within it began to hiss through.

“When all the sand has passed, then I return.”

Taking a small vial from the shelf as he strode past, the mage left the chamber.

Aldred stared at the grains of sand. His life was sifting away.

***

Holbek Gartson stretched as he leant against the shaft of his pike. It had been a long day and he relished the prospect of returning to his bed in the guards’ quarters in Blackstone Castle. Duty at the front gate was always hectic but today had been worse than normal. Lord Jerstis and his entourage had arrived for the feast and Holbek had been obliged to glance at every wagon that passed.

Despite his grumbles Holbek was proud of his post. He still carried within his chest a glimmer of the excitement he had first felt as a ten year old boy brought by his father—a cooper—to the mighty castle. He had been the envy of the other children in Eviksburg and when the chance came later to join the Baron’s guard he had leapt at the opportunity.

Holbek turned and strode under the arch of the main gate and looked up at his castle of dreams. The curtain wall hailed from the time of the Artorians and drifted around a vast bailey. To the south of the bailey were the tournament grounds and tents, dormant until the Festival of the Sun in early summer. North of this area was a collection of cottages and workshops for some of the tradesman that chose not to live within the black walls of the castle. A small chapel dwelt amongst the buildings, the setting sun glinting off the spire.

The dwindling light framed the castle in flame. Holbek could see the distinct wings of the castle even from here. The large central wing was dominated by its four round towers, one at each corner. That was the oldest part: the original Eerian fortress built atop the smaller fort of the ancient Thetorians. To the north, south and east lower structures protruded, their walls less worn and their towers square with open roofs not turrets. These were the Artorian additions. A bastion ran from the south wing and partly down the south-eastern slope.

The far side of Garan’s Motte, the hill that the castle sat upon, was a steep drop to a small stretch of land between the base of the hill and the northern section of the curtain wall. On the north side of this wall ran the broad River Eviks, working its way from its source in the western mountains to the Bay of Thetoria in the south and east. Holbek could see why the castle had never fallen to attack, whether from goblin raiders or from squabbling barons.

A whistle broke Holbek’s flight of fancy. His companion, a new lad brought in by the latest master-at-arms, was gesturing him over. The boy was too jumpy and his eyes were too close together, a sure sign of a disreputable heritage Mrs Gartson always said.

Six figures were approaching the gatehouse and Holbek could discern the glint of armour and sword pommels.

“Look lively, lads. Get the crossbows loaded.”

Holbek could see that three of the figures were bound, one with manacles. They were lead roughly by a broad man in shining plate armour. By his side strode a female knight, the breeze blowing her grey hair behind her like smoke. She had two swords hung from her belt. Both knights were without helmets and wore loosened coifs around their necks like chainmail scarves. The final member of the group was a hooded man, lingering towards the rear of the party.

“In the name of Baron Enfarson, halt! State your purpose, if you wish to pass into the castle grounds,” Holbek said.

To the guard’s surprise it was the female knight who replied.

“You address Captain Orla Farvous, third lance of the Silver wing of the Knights of Air. I have journeyed with my men and our captives to this castle for an audience with Baron Enfarson.”

Holbek did his best not to gawp.

“My lady, I beg your pardon. Is the...is the baron expecting you?”

“I am sure even a Thetorian watchman would appreciate the honour we bring upon this house from distant Eeria. Expected or not, I shall anticipate the audience forthwith.”

With this declaration Lady Orla strode forth. Sir Minrik followed and dragged the prisoners with Ekra-Hurr behind him. Holbek looked in surprise and then jogged after the visitors.

“M’lady, please excuse me. Indeed such prestigious guests as you are a rarity. My watch is ended. Bestow me the privilege of walking you towards the castle on the motte.”

Lady Orla nodded and Holbek grabbed a lantern from a brass hook and propped his pike against the stone of the arch. He led them along the pebbled road that ran from the curtain wall’s gatehouse towards the main castle on the mount.

The unusual party progressed in silence. Holbek glanced at the dour knights, chewing his lip as he scurried by their side.

“M’lady, m’lord...I had always expected Knights of the Air to ride from the skies atop golden griffons.”

“You are to be disappointed this eve then, guard,” Sir Minrik said. “Our weary steeds are resting near the bridge east of your castle. We felt an unannounced arrival from the air may scare some of your faint hearted colleagues to loose a crossbow bolt or two.”

“My lord, I can assure you all of the baron’s men are of the highest calibre,” Holbek said.

“None the less, it would have been a discourtesy to not present ourselves in the first instance to the outer gate,” Orla said.

Holbek nodded, his mind a whirl of protocol and etiquette. They were a touchy bunch these Eerian knights.

The group walked through the collection of cottages and small dwellings that sat either side of the road. Several children stopped their games to stare at the knights. Above them the silhouette of Blackstone Castle loomed.

“May I ask if any of you have visited the castle before?”

Holbek was surprised when the only reply came from one of the prisoners.

“I’ve been here once, mate, though it was a few years ago,” Hunor said. “No, I know, I’m older than I look! It was when I was a lad. I came here with my father and brother. I can still remember the rush of excitement as I ran up this road. I thought this must be where Mortis himself rests his head.”

Holbek smiled and said, “It fair takes your breath away, eh?”

“It does, mate, it does. Of course that was a few years back, when the baroness was still with us. I expect things have changed?”

“Sadly so,” Holbek said. “Place is full of foreigners and southerners now, no offence meant. All sorts, even some bloody Azaguntans.”