The Telastrian Song (5 page)

N
erli collected
his groceries and headed for home. As soon as he had accumulated enough money, he would move to a better area of the city. He had lived here for his entire life. Too many people remembered him for the man he had been, and still held him with the same disregard that Nerli himself had for his former life. He had been a meek cobbler who never had the courage to stand up for himself, or the ambition to grow his business beyond a subsistence living. That Nerli had ceased to exist. He was so much more now, and could be even more than that.

‘Hey, Cristan! I’ve a hole in my shoe. Needs mending. Where’re your tools?’

Nerli froze on the spot and regretted it. Had he kept moving he might have been able to pretend that he hadn’t heard Bruco, the man who had called out to him. The others would be with him also, they always were. Ever since they were children, Nerli had been the butt of Bruco’s jokes. Back then it had been because he could read—taught by his mother. No one else in the neighbourhood was able to do so. He wondered if he had made a stand all those years ago, would things have continued as they had up to the present.

‘There’ll be more than one hole in ‘em if you let Nerli near them,’ one of the others said. The rest of them laughed.

‘So?’ Bruco said, closer now, ‘are you gonna fix it or not?’

Nerli had mended several pairs of shoes for Bruco over the years, but had not once been paid for his work. He turned to face his tormentors.

‘I don’t mend shoes anymore,’ Nerli said.

Bruco raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you do then? Not like you’re much use for anything else. Weren’t even that good a cobbler. Only gave you work out of pity.’

‘Work that you never paid for,’ Nerli said, regretting it the instant he said it, forgetting in that moment that he wasn’t the old Nerli anymore.

‘What did you say?’ Bruco said, taking a step forward.

‘Pay up and I might make an exception. Mend those ridiculous shoes of yours one last time.’ He was the new Nerli now. People like Bruco couldn’t treat him with such disdain anymore. He cast a sneering glance at Bruco’s polished oxblood shoes. They were ridiculously unfashionable, but Bruco seemed to think he was beyond such considerations.

Bruco turned back to look at his friends and laughed before facing Nerli again. ‘Did you wake up this morning feeling the need for a good, hard beating?’

‘Go away, Bruco. You’re boring me.’

‘I’ll fucking bore you all right,’ Bruco said, taking another step forward, putting him within punching range. He raised one of his large, hairy fists, and hesitated.

Nerli stared at him, and felt his heart race. His skin tingled. Bruco squinted and one of his eyes started to twitch. Nerli felt a rush of elation, and kept staring at Bruco, concentrating hard on his hatred for the man.

Bruco stumbled and put out a hand to steady himself. His other he raised to his temple as he swayed on his feet.

‘Bruco? You all right?’ one of the others said.

‘Guh,’ Bruco said. ‘Don’t feel so good. Head hurts.’

‘Maybe you should go home, Bruco,’ Nerli said, holding his concentration firm.

Bruco looked up at him. All the colour had drained from his face. Blood dripped from his nose and ears. ‘Think… you… might… be right.’

Nerli raised his eyebrows in amazement. It stood to reason that if he could knit the broken bones in a boy’s arm, he could do the reverse, but he hadn’t expected this. This was entirely new to him. It had taken so little effort. Bruco stumbled away and Nerli watched him go. Such power. Bruco and his friends would never bother him again. If they did, they would get far worse.

T
here was so much
about Nerli that Giura wanted to know, he had persevered with his observation and questioning for a few more days. He had found out little—other than that Nerli had lived in the area all his life, had worked as a cobbler and was considered by all to be a doormat. Despite Nerli being literate—an unusual quality in that part of the city—there was no way he had the intelligence or luck to have happened upon these new skills by himself, which made Giura hungry to discover how he had obtained them. So long as he was merely boiling eggs and mending broken bones, Giura was content to wait and watch. There could well be a bigger fish out there waiting to be caught, and Giura wanted to know where to find it.

That was until he saw Nerli’s conversation with the men on the street. There was nothing remarkable about it until it looked as though Nerli was about to take a beating. It was bad luck for Nerli but none of Giura’s business, so he was content to continue watching. It wasn’t going to be pretty; the man squaring up to Nerli was an ox, and likely capable of inflicting quite a bit of damage.

When the ox turned around, white as a sheet with blood dribbling from his nose and ears, Giura’s jaw dropped. It took him a moment to compose himself and he feared he might have drawn notice, but Nerli was too fixated on the man who had been about to beat him. He had a satisfied smile on his face, and Giura knew that the time for watching was now past.

Giura’s career was long and he had never seen a man wield that much power. Nerli was too dangerous to wait any longer. He had to be dealt with immediately. Any other questions Giura had could wait until he was able to have the answers beaten out of Nerli after his arrest.

T
he Intelligenciers employed all sorts
. Giura knew that men like him—those with no connections or weak points that could be used against them—were the most valuable. If they were Bannerets they were even more valuable, but sometimes finesse and skill with a blade were not what was needed. For such situations, the Intelligenciers employed a different breed of man: big, tough, not frightened by the sound of breaking bones.

Giura’s plan was to send four of these men into Nerli’s house. They would kick down the doors and rush into the apartment, fast and aggressive. Giura would follow close behind them. He wanted to know what was in that apartment. He wanted to know what was in Nerli’s head.

The toughs were effective, but decision-making was not one of their strong suits. Giura wanted Nerli taken alive. If that wasn’t possible, dead was preferable to escaped—but Giura had many questions.

N
erli sat
down to his evening meal, most of which he had cooked by thought alone. It took less effort each time, a fact that pleased him greatly. As he started to eat, he thought about Bruco. The shoe was now most certainly on the other foot. He smiled at the pun, and as he thought of what had happened that afternoon. They wouldn’t be bothering him again. If anyone did any bothering, it would be him.

It amused him to think of how confused Bruco must be, as the ignorant brute tried to make sense of what had happened to him. A headache, bloody ears and nose were no more than he deserved. Less, considering the years of torment he had visited on Nerli almost every day since childhood. The way Bruco and his friends had acted as though Nerli was completely worthless made him angry. There was nothing to stop him from returning all of that now, to make Bruco feel the misery of a lifetime of torment all in one go.

The more Nerli thought about it, the more he liked the idea. The Master would not approve, of course, but there was no reason for him to find out. When Nerli was done with him, Bruco wouldn’t be in a position to tell any tales. The thought made him smile.

Nerli jumped to his feet as the door to his apartment exploded in.

O
ne of Giura’s
men kicked down the door to Nerli’s apartment. They all rushed through the breach.

Surprise was the best tool in taking someone alive. Catch them unaware, move fast and you could have them in chains before they knew what was going on. It had served Giura many times and he hoped it would be the case this time also.

Nerli was standing by a table with a half-eaten meal on it by the time Giura got through the door. The practitioner made a pulling gesture with his hand and one of Giura’s men dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony. The surprise halted the Intelligenciers in their tracks, and even Giura was left bemused. His end of the service prized brains over brawn and he reacted quicker than any of his men.

‘Take him down. Now!’ he shouted. As nice an idea as it was to take this man alive, Giura didn’t want to have to explain how he had gotten three or four men killed, and he had no desire to die himself.

In the time it took his men to respond to his order Nerli had sent another one of them to the ground, howling in pain. The remaining two charged and knocked him over, smashing the table to pieces and sprawling across the floor. Giura drew his sword, but hoped that they now had the situation under control. So much for a quiet arrest.

As his men wrestled on the floor with Nerli—who was less than half the size of either one of them—there was little for Giura to do other than watch. His other two men were on the ground, curled up in the foetal position. They needed attention but that would have to wait.

One of his remaining two men screamed in pain, pulling Giura’s attention back to the melee on the other side of the apartment.

‘Oh, Gods,’ Giura said, under his breath. He abandoned any hope for an arrest and crossed the room quickly. He stabbed Nerli through the chest. He pressed down hard and twisted the blade, making absolutely certain the heart was torn to shreds. He didn’t release the pressure on his sword until he was sure Nerli was dead.

His final remaining man stood and nodded to Giura in gratitude.

‘Arrange help for those three,’ Giura said, looking down at the three quivering shapes on the floor. The excitement of the fight started to subside and only then did it occur to him how close it had been. Giura had no idea what the practitioner had done to his men, but it was terrifying. That was the magic of olden times, and it was not supposed to exist any more. It made him feel nauseous to think how impressed he had been by the effortless way the practitioner had boiled the egg. What he had just seen was in an entirely different league. How had this man learned how to do it all? Was that the extent of his power, or would he have done more given the chance?