Escana (22 page)

'There
is one opportunity remaining for you, Warden Thom of Escana. Should
General Thom of Sah'kel, the Skull Cleaver himself, recall who he
once was then there is an opening in the line of work that I must now
maintain.'

He
didn't want it then and he didn't want it now. They would make him
claw his way up on hands and knees to attain the position he was in
before, more out of fear for the consequences and self-preservation
than any desire to benefit the Empire.

'Well,
I shall take my leave of you now,' the voice said. 'If your addled
mind ever recalls what it was, or if you just wish an end to this
suffering, meet me at the bridge.'

No.
He couldn't go back, he wouldn't go back. They couldn't make him.

El-Vador.
The one that mocked him so, the one that brought a fire to his chest
unlike any prior. It must die, he must kill it. This was his final
opportunity, but not for what the creature suspected.

Thom
slumped back into unconsciousness.

G
arth
didn't know whether to feel relieved or not as he checked Thom for a
pulse. The Warden had dashed off with his usual fervour, it beggared
belief that he'd been left by the wayside to die. Yet there it was,
the signs spoke to a lack of embellishment in the tales as much as
Harvester's fearful face. Nothing scared that man, yet this had him
spooked. The accuracy of the shot that pinned poor Quail to the cart
spoke of the cool and measured attack of a practised marksman.

He
was alive at least. His breathing seemed normal and aside from the
punctured leg he didn't have a scratch on him.

Garth
shifted him into a sitting position and poured a little water over
his head. 'Thom, are you there?'

The
man woke with a start as if from a bad dream. 'El-Vador,' he said,
looking up at him. 'It was El-Vador, I'm sure of it.'

Garth's
eyes widened. 'Thom, you've taken a nasty wound, we need to get you
back to Escana, I have a horse.'

Thom's
right hand shot out and cracked the smith full across the cheek. 'I'm
not delusional you witless fool. It was El-Vador,
it's
here. It's going to meet me at the bridge.'

Garth
visibly reddened, and it was a few seconds before he chose to
respond. 'Fine. Let's go to the bridge and find your damn lost
ghost.'

They
made their way in silence down the winding forest path that led to
the bridge in question, the tension between them growing with each
passing step in which they didn't speak.

'I'm
sorry,' Thom said into the stillness.

The
smith blinked. 'Since when do you apologise for anything?'

He
stopped in the middle of the road, looking at him. 'This has been a
long time in coming. I don't know what's going to happen when we make
it to the bridge. I didn't want our lives to end on bad terms.'

Garth
shrugged. 'Apology accepted, I mistook your daze for a hallucination.
Should have known you wouldn't dream up such a thing after everything
that has happened.'

'Yeah,
well it's been a long time since this has come up, you can be
forgiven for thinking I had gone mad.'

They
nodded at each other and set off again, knowing that they were headed
into a potentially lethal situation and perfectly fine with doing so.

'I
have to do this. You know that don't you?' Thom said as he walked
alongside his big smith friend.

'Some
things a man has just got to do. It'll bring you peace one way or
another.'

A
quiet understanding fell between the men as they kept their weapons
ready. There was nothing more that need be said, no great
pontifications or illuminating conversation. They knew each other
like a walking man's foot knows the soft leather of a well-worn shoe.
The man didn't need to espouse the greatness of the shoe or the
comfort it delivered, it was simply a given.

The
bridge was made of sturdy oak and was ten feet wide, they knew they
weren't walking into a bottleneck but couldn't shake the menace of
the absolute silence that greeted them.

Thom
drew his sword. 'I have arrived. Show yourself!'

Silence.

'I
was told to meet at the bridge, I am here.'

Garth
inspected the banks with a worried look on his face. 'Thom, the water
is completely still. There's no current.'

He
looked back to see Thom talking to himself.

'You
should have come alone,' the voice told him.

'You
told me to meet you here, you said nothing of who I may bring.'

Garth's
concern grew. 'Thom? Is someone there?'

Thom
ignored him.

'It's
just you and I, there are no others. Send the smith away.'

Thom
turned to Garth with great deliberation, as if trying not to attract
unwanted attention. 'You need to leave, didn't you hear?'

Something
in the way Thom spoke made him realise that this wasn't a request,
Garth backed away, leading the horse back down the road.

'He
can't hear what was said, can he? If I kept him here he'd just think
I was possessed.'

El-Vador
chuckled. 'The only thing that has possessed you over these many
years is finding me. Then you stopped. You didn't stop to lure me
into revealing myself, why did you cease your efforts?'

Thom's
mind closed in on itself. 'Why I stopped is of no concern. After all,
if you wanted to be seen by me you would have been.'

There
was a thoughtful pause. 'I gave you the perfect opportunity, I spoke
in front of others, I even demonstrated my power yet still you walked
away like a wounded animal fleeing a fight. Why?'

Thom
turned his back on the voice. 'Life gets in the way, no matter who
you may be.'

Slowly
he felt his head being pried open, spilling out the years in a matter
of seconds. He tried to stem the tide but the inexorable need
triumphed.

'You
have seen much pain, Thom, much death.' The voice no longer carried
through the air, it had a more substantial quality to it. It was
calling him by his name, it was standing in plain sight, it was
engaging verbally, after all these years all he need do was turn
around. 'Yet still it is not too late for you to come to us.'

Footsteps,
he heard actual footsteps.

'Your
flesh can be willed otherwise in time, your mind is still as sharp as
ever. I have felt it.'

Thom's
knuckles grew white on the grip of Skullcleaver, he let out a cry and
swung round, there was nothing there.

Sunlight
blinded him from above, a figure cut down and parried inside the
swipe. Thom recoiled and brought up his guard. A bolt shot past his
head and into El-Vador's shoulder. Thom charged but found thin air
greeting him. Garth sprinted over, discarding crossbow for axe. 'What
in Torr's name was that? Where did it go?'

It
was then that Thom noticed all the small cuts along his sword arm. It
had planned to make it slow then.

'That
was El-Vador, I want it dead.'

H
e
knew he was in trouble this time.

There
was no reprieve from the endlessly spiralling staircase winding deep
into the bowels of the earth. Faint torchlight from behind lit the
way but its flickers spoke of only two things. Firstly it was scant
light for such treacherous footing and secondly the gleam it cast
painted the unwanted silhouette of the sword that continued hovering
an inch from his back. No turning back it would seem, one wrong move
and he was dead. The sword wasn't going to be too discriminate, the
various bones he passed echoed that sentiment with perfect clarity.

He
wasn't considering going back anyway. For once in his life he knew
they had no reason to drag him down here. Soon he'd find out just how
far the rot had sunk in, they couldn't sentence him otherwise, as
much as they'd want to of course. These scattered observations didn't
ease his sense of foreboding any, something was severely amiss and
recent actions had attested to that. He had to assume the worst,
there was no love lost here.

The
spiral ended, widening out into a large domed chamber with a small
circle of light in the centre. The source was known to Hern, a small
vertical passage that led straight to the surface, though why it
provided illumination at night was unknown. He felt the tip of the
blade push at his jerkin and quickened his pace towards the beam of
light.

As
he approached he was greeted by the familiar mahogany horseshoe they
sat behind, surrounding the illumination at a considerable distance.
Nothing had changed, on the surface at least.

'Step
into the light,' a voice from his far left spoke. No honorific in
sight, an ominous development. He did as instructed and was blinded
by the beam, not that the council needed it, hooded and cloaked in
darkness as they were.

'Do
you know why you have been brought here?'

Hern
smiled grimly. 'No I don't.'

There
was the slightest of pauses, a hollow victory.

'You
are here to atone for your gravest transgressions, you were already
informed by the gate master what you have done.'

Hern
customarily turned to the voice on his middle left. 'I am aware of
the supposed violation that you seek to punish me for. I shall tell
you what I told him, I killed both of them in self defence and have
proof as required by guild council statutes.'

This
caused a more profound delay in reaction, the muttering was audible,
Hern didn't want to push his luck too much.

'We
have decided to allow the presentation of your alleged proof.'

The
sword at his back hovered round to rest upon his throat.

'Should
you attempt any unwanted transgressions your services will be
terminated.' This voice came from the central Arbiter.

Hern
turned with great care, watching the seemingly prescient blade follow
his every move. Sweat beaded his brow as he undid his jerkin, this
precarious scenario was far too convenient for his more vocal
opponents.

He
let it fall to the floor and raised his arms with palms outward.

The
ugly wound in his back gleamed in the light for all to see. He heard
several intakes of breath as he carefully turned half circle to
display himself. 'As you can see, the only explanation for such
handiwork is a scarcely evaded attack from behind by two of your
operatives... Or a single master.'

The
voice from the far left cut in immediately at this implication. 'Or
you lacked the grace to evade more than one operative. Or you thought
to dispose of a single detractor but miscalculated in eagerness.'

Hern
knew that was a bold-faced lie rather than speculation, he was also
privy to the voice's identity. To reveal either fact to the council
would mean certain suicide, their strict codes of secrecy overrode
any further information he could impart by breaking them. Hern
awaited Arbitrary judgement but it was a far right interjection that
cut through the silence.

'Nevertheless,
this new evidence casts a shadow of doubt over the perpetrator of the
attack. You cannot condemn this man to death in light of it.'

Another
tremulous voice from the right added to the debate. 'His skill is
without question, a single operative would have kept his back hidden
from the two and would have sensed a second opponent in shadow if he
did attack the first operative. Furthermore, he would not have
sustained such an injury from a single operative.'

A
second voice from the left rose in opposition to this. 'There was an
eye witness that invalidates your theory, there are no other
possibilities.'

The
first voice from the far right returned with a snort of derision.
'Are you forgetting that the eye witness also reported that the
assailant kept his back from harm? The witness has given false
testimony and this wound is very real.'

He
knew it was a risk, but Hern saw an opening to speak. He didn't plan
on letting old men bicker over his fate. 'There was a third attacker,
he was as skilled as a master, and he is the one that did this to
me.'

He
waited for a reaction, a response of any kind. The room had fallen
deathly silent as each of the council of masters realised that if
this implication were true, the attacker was most likely among them.

It
was some time before the Arbiter finally spoke. 'You will explain
yourself now, or face death for your heinous implication.'

Hern
decided he had better start recalling something, fast.

It
had been a long day, twelve sanctioned exhumations and five off the
books. None of them had put up much of a struggle, many were entirely
oblivious as he slipped powdered death into their goblets.

There
was more satisfaction in the subtle and silent work, it felt more of
a craft than a crude garrotting or the messy last resort of spilling
blood.