Secrets of Arkana Fortress (11 page)

Vicana’s eyes flickered as she took in this order. More output? Was all this stress and strain about to get even worse for her and the mages?

‘Now,’
continued the representative.
‘We know that your powers and capacities are limited, so another high mage like you will be coming here in due course.’

Another high mage? Was all this effort not enough for them?

‘He will not be your superior… in fact it will be an ‘all are equal’ affair. We will send you word when he is due to arrive.’
There was an abrupt screech in the air and a plume of flashing smoke. The Providence’s messenger had gone into nothingness – a typical move from one so powerful.

Vicana stood shakily, the realisation of the Providence’s demands sinking into her skin like poison. It was quite the struggle to maintain things as they were now, but how was she to manage so much more? Surely one more high mage wouldn’t make
that
much of a difference surely?

A distant rolling of thunder from outside vibrated viciously through the stonework passages, reaching her ears with ominous foreboding. Her back tingled and shuddered. The presence of evil had definitely been in her room.

Chapter 9

‘The sky looks troubled,’ observed Ilsa as her horse trotted through the wooden archway leading into Hocknis, Byde and Olen either side of her. The skies were turning a depressing shade of grey, with blacker clouds looming on the horizon. ‘There might be a thunderstorm.’

              Byde looked up with childish wonder at the overbearing sign that welcomed travellers into the city. Dust plumed weakly from the heavy steps of the sinewy creatures carrying the three visitors into the city.

              Hocknis did not look like most cities in Salarias, which had built-up structures, grand monuments, and near-impenetrable defences. Instead of which, it was more village-like, bordering on a rural town in appearance. Thatched cottages and sturdy hardwood houses were clumped together like fresh catch in a fisherman’s net; dirt tracks weaved all the way around them, narrow and cramped in places. The main pathways, however, were well-kept cobbled avenues acting as arteries for the entire population of the city.

              This was certainly a rapid change from what he was used to back in the Isles of Dinsk. His wonder and amazement grew more and more as he watched groups of farmers guiding their livestock down the highway to be sold at auction; fishermen riding carts full to the brim with freshly caught tuna and haddock; and carpenters and iron smiths trudging along with various pieces of craftwork, off to see clientele no doubt. The odd stall seller was dotted about along the roadside selling homemade goods and trinkets to people passing by.

              Byde breathed in the mixed up smell of fresh bread, mulled spices, and dried earth that lingered in the air. This was all so new to him. He had been so used to uncertainty and troublesome surroundings, but this city and the activity of it seemed constant and reliable – something he had wanted for a long time. Sure enough there was the certainty and reliability of random magical occurrences in Dinsk, but in everything reliable, Byde thought, there is always an essence of unreliability.

              Being a caster, and one of the last, his life was doomed from the start. Many decades ago their kind had been largely culled in a rapid and unknown movement by hired mercenaries. Who had paid them to commit such a slaughter was never discovered, but the one thing the casters knew was that they were becoming an endangered race. The last few survivors went into exile, scattered from one corner of Salarias to the other. The attack on Byde had proved that the hunt was still going on after all these years.

              The three horses clip-clopped their way through the masses and over to a nearby traveller’s inn outfitted with a small stable to one side. Byde hopped off the mount, his new set of clothes making things much easier to move than his old set of robes. Ilsa had given him an old pair of Olen’s hunting trousers – a sturdy mixture of interlaced wool and cotton in a faded black colour. Olen had also given him one of his shirts – in an unclean shade of white and much too big for him; this was remedied with the belt he had brought with him being wrapped around his midriff. He had insisted on carrying his sword and knife in his belt even though they weren’t expecting any confrontation, and he wore his gold-trimmed brown gloves along with his brooch. These were things he would never part with.

              Olen helped his wife from her horse and guided the three beasts to the young stable hand, slipping him a few rubos coins for good measure. ‘We will be staying here tonight, young Flint my boy.’

              The scruffy haired kid grabbed the reins as best he could and pocketed the coin eagerly. ‘Yes, master Olen; glad you and mistress Ilsa are staying again.’

              Byde watched the transaction with a heart warming smile upon his face. It was uplifting to see familiar pleasantries considering the terrors he had been told were surrounding the world at the moment. It seemed like the sort of connection that had not been seen in a long time. He turned to Ilsa and smiled. ‘I take it you two are regulars here then?’

              Ilsa finished re-arranging things in her backpack and stood up straight. ‘We are, yes. Young Flint over there has been tending our horses for a couple of years now. Lovely kid, and knows how to handle some of the toughest mares and stallions on Cryldis.’ She looked over as Olen approached them, the din of the road users drawing into the distance as they got used to it. ‘He misses us each time, eh Olen?’

              He smiled, his eyes averting upward to the clouded sky. ‘Sure does.’ He glanced back at Byde and Ilsa, then to the door of the tavern. ‘We should go get our room sorted out.’

              Ilsa took Olen’s hand and squeezed it tight before looking at Byde. ‘We’ll just drop our things off then go into the city centre.’

***

Olen, Ilsa and Byde were traipsing their way to the central plaza of Hocknis, Olen’s back heavy with goods for auction – prime cuts of meat, hand-woven clothes, and small carved statuettes. Their homemade goods were always a hit.

The parched earth soaked the light rain up like an eager alcoholic having their first drink of the day as they moved along at a steady pace. The water was a welcome change after a recent heat wave that had hit the land more than a week ago causing a sudden restriction of water usage – only the more needy, or the rich, got more than others.

              The weather conditions had brought out the worst in people too. Psyloss victims had been unusually violent, attacking innocents and hounding the local guards; many of them had had to be put out of their misery. The commander of the local guard had ordered double shifts with orders to put anyone showing the signs of Psyloss into irons to prevent any further disruption; the jails were brimming with maddened souls.

              A sudden, shrill scream came from behind them and Olen was grabbed by a pair of bony, dehydrated hands. A crazed woman batted at his back as he stumbled forwards, dropping his stock uncontrollably. ‘Get off me, you mad bitch,’ he scowled, trying to turn and confront her head on.

              Ilsa jumped forward, her skirt flapping in the rainy wind, and barged into the crazed figure – a woman who had the face of someone in their winter years, but the body of a younger woman. The chances were that she was no older than 30, and that the Psyloss had indeed ravaged her badly.

              Byde stood back, mouth agape, and watched the altercation. His eyes were wide, his voice closed and lost for words. He suddenly felt his palms go clammy inside his gloves, tingling slightly. The woman’s chilling screams were attracting attention, particularly that of a nearby guard archer.

              With crazed eyes and a drooling mouth, the banshee-like woman charged at Byde with surprising speed. He was frozen, unable to move. There was something not quite right about this whole Psyloss plague, he had thought to himself. But what was this feeling? Shock? Horror? Disbelief?

              He held his hands up in front of him, eyes closed tightly.

              Nothing but one final cry and a thump.

              He opened his eyes and saw the woman on the floor, a solidly made arrow jammed into the bridge of her nose, blood pouring from it, trickling down her face. Byde took a momentary step back, but then fell to one knee to look at her pain-addled face. ‘What the hell was in her eyes?’

              ‘That would be Psyloss – have you been asleep or something?’ The guard strolled up from behind them, slinging his bow over his shoulder and gazing down at the corpse.

              Byde shook his head. ‘I’m… sorry. I’m just shocked that’s all. First time I’ve been in big city like this in many a year.’

              The archer nodded sceptically. A swift gust of wind whirled the stench of death around, carrying the rain diluting the still warm blood across the stained road. ‘Nothing to see here, folks,’ announced the guard before waving his hands about as if he was shooing away a persistent dog. ‘This mess will be gone soon; carry on with what you were doing.’ With that the crowd dispersed, obviously used to seeing such bloodshed when Psyloss victims were dealt with by the military.

              ‘This is a common sight in Hocknis, Byde,’ Olen uttered softly as he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

              ‘This is… wrong.’ Byde clenched his fists and screwed his face up, trying hard not to weep over this stranger. It was not sorrow over this one individual, but over the sudden realisation of what the Psyloss was doing. There was such a difference between what he had been told and actually seeing the effects himself. His heart sank into his stomach, choking him.

              Olen slid his other hand underneath Byde’s shoulder and lifted him up to his feet. ‘This is the best thing for her; she would’ve just been another lifeless madwoman otherwise.’

              Byde said nothing, his gloomy eyes still fixated intently on the body in front of him.

              Ilsa moved over to them both, her face soft with concern. ‘Go and collect the things, Olen,’ she whispered before taking over his hold on the shaken Byde. She eased him away from the scene, and guided him over to the far side of the road. She was soft and understanding in her manner. ‘You alright, Byde?’ she asked.

              He looked at her, pure and unmitigated shock evident within his features. Rain fell harder than before, carrying the spirits of the fallen to the far realms of darkness. His chest was wrenching; it was as if his very heart was crying to get out of his ribcage. ‘I…’ He stopped and covered his mouth and swallowed hard. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s just… I’ve never seen madness like that before.’

              ‘Get used to it,’ Olen chimed in with a heavy tone.

              Ilsa patted Byde on the back and gave him a light, but nonetheless meaningful, hug. ‘These are dark times. They reckon that everyone in Salarias will succumb to it eventually… the question is how long have we all got?’

***

The rain had, unsurprisingly, dampened the day for trading. People had mostly decided to stay indoors instead of getting drowned like rats in a flood while they stood around wheeling and dealing – a lot of them did that every day in order to make ends meet.

              Ilsa and Olen had sold a minimal amount of stock, much to their dissatisfaction, and were in need of staying a second night instead. Usually they would have been off the following morning, but with the way things were in the world all sense of comfortable normality was shattered.

              Torrential downpours battered and assaulted Hocknis like a never-ending army of immortals piling against an enemy defence. Ilsa, Olen, and Byde trotted their way down the roadside amidst the unnatural shower, their clothes quickly getting soaked.

              Ilsa stopped suddenly and looked down a sheltered alleyway. ‘Let’s get out of the rain you two,’ she cried over the din of the pounding water.

              Olen hauled the last of their stuff to one side and darted into the cover of the alley. Byde looked behind him and then up to the clouded sky, his face screwing up with something he wasn’t quite sure about. He shrugged it off and followed Olen and Ilsa.

              ‘It’s damned warm for such a rainy day,’ remarked Olen as he rubbed his powerful hands together, both of them raw from holding the heavy goods.

              Byde leaned against the wall with his arms folded, and continued to stare at the rain.

              ‘You look as if you’ve never see a spot of rain before,’ Ilsa laughed as she squeezed the edge of her skirt free from water.

              He remained silent.

              ‘Hey.’ Olen prodded him on the shoulder gently. ‘Wake up.’

              With a swift shake of his head Byde turned his attentions back to the dampened couple. ‘Sorry, I just find this rain particularly interesting. Magnificent really, isn’t it?’

              ‘Yeah, certainly is,’ replied Olen sarcastically as he flicked water off his clothes. ‘Does wonders for us if we wanna drown.’

              ‘Why would you want to drown anyway? It’s a horrible way to go.’ Byde looked at Olen’s face and then laughed. ‘Oh… you were being sarcastic.’