Dreams of Darkness Rising (61 page)

The corpse of the nobleman sat upright, the skin hanging off the bones like an oversized robe.

“If you have quite finished this pathetic display…” it said, the voice grating and shrill.

The two battling mages staggered back, their magic dissipating instantly. They regarded the animated corpse with astonishment.

“Lord Xirik?” Ligor said, sweat running down his brow.

“Ligor. Utrok. I shall not occupy much time as this mode of Deadspeech is especially painful. Utrok, are you recovered sufficiently?” the corpse said.

“I am, master,” Utrok said, casting a baleful look at Ligor. “How may I please you?”

“Despite my own reservations the Darkmaster has seen fit to honour you with the retrieval of an item of interest to us—a blue crystal.”

“It would be the greatest privilege, Master Xirik. Where may I find this crystal?”

“It is in the possession of a motley collection of freebooters who none-the-less displayed a modicum of ability sufficient to slay our brother Quigor whilst transformed by a demon.”

Utrok glanced at Ligor, flexing the new muscles of his clawed hand.

“Quigor was weak in the dark arts of conflict, master. I will not fall in such a manner—who are the prey I seek?”

“There are seven: a thief, a monk, a knight, a Wild-mage, a druid, a tracker and a girl. They travel recklessly through Goldoria with this crystal. It would seem they are now in the company of a Goldorian knight.”

“We are certain they have the crystal? Have we spies in the area?”

“A squire of mean disposition seeks reward from the Sacred Knife. He speaks of a magical blue light—it must be that which we seek. The Darkmaster is convinced. I have arranged for assistance in your task—we have dispatched shadow assassins and a changeling to meet you in Goldoria.”

“You are generous, master,” Utrok said. “Their deaths are assured. Tell me have we any names?”

“Only one—the girl, she is a former maid from the Scattered Isles called Emelia.”

Utrok clenched his claw in fury at the sound of the name.

“Her? What sweet vengeance this shall be, master,” Utrok said, spit flecking his chin. “I shall savour every second of her agony as she dies a death most horrible.”

“You shall have to make do with the vital juices of the others, Utrok—the Darkmaster has a particular interest in this girl. Maim her by all means but she must live.”

Utrok’s jaw twitched with ill disguised anger, his dark eyes twinkling with hatred.

“As you command,” he said. “Though it is my honour to do this service would it be premature to ask…?”

The corpse laughed at the query, several of its teeth dropping onto its cadaverous chest.

“It is indeed premature, Utrok. None the less the Darkmaster has inferred that the Gift may be considered should your worth be proven.”

“And I, master, how shall I prove my mettle?” Ligor asked.

“By avoiding your indulgences and completing the tasks you were set, Ligor. Do not fret, I have much in mind for you. That is all.”

The pair bowed as the corpse slumped back onto the slab.

“Rest assured master—they journey now to their deaths.”

Utrok smiled smugly as he poured two goblets of red wine and then passed one to Ligor. He sipped the fragrant beverage as Ligor began to rant about his poor treatment and lack of opportunities.

Finally he would be bestowed the Gift and in doing so he would savour the deaths of each of Emelia’s friends, for that would rip her apart more painfully than any knife in the belly.

Chapter 11 Terror at the Ball

Sunstide 1924

Aldred hoped that the eight mile ride from the castle to Eviksburg might diminish his turmoil but it was not to be so. His thoughts clattered around inside his head like eggs boiling in a pan.

The Azaguntan thespian Ekris was sympathetic company. He had a good sense of when to chatter about some traditional Thetorian tragedy or some bawdy Feldorian farce and when to ride along in silence and admire the beauty of early summer in Northern Thetoria.

They had chosen the riverside trail, primarily for the calming sight of the River Eviks. The remnants of Blackstone Bridge had been scattered on the banks as they trotted past and a makeshift wooden construct was in place as repairs took place. Dragonflies darted across the bubbling waters and kingfishers swooped from the waterside trees.

The ruined bridge had brought to mind the knight and for much of the journey Aldred pondered Sir Unhert’s proposal from the prior day. He had confided some of Unhert’s offer to Ekris, which in retrospect he now regretted. Aldred felt fatigued and oddly dissociated from events around him and wanted urgently to talk to Livor.

“It would seem our journey together is almost concluded, my lord, for I suspect that to be Eviksburg ahead,” Ekris said. “Unlike Azaguntan towns which are preceded by an odour most rank I am pleased to say it almost sneaks up on one.”

“Oh it’s got its own malodorous places, I can assure you.”

The river trail took them into the south-western corner of Eviksburg along a road called Castle Lane. The two riders halted at the crossroads and Aldred shook Ekris’s black gloved hand.

“I can recommend the Travellers Rest Inn, just thirty paces up Eviks Bar if you need somewhere to stay,” Aldred said, slipping off his riding cloak in the warmth of the sun.

“My thanks, but I think I shall rejoin the carnival folk for a few nights before setting off south. I have...a little business to conclude.”

Aldred nodded, thinking better than to ask the details.

“And is it Artoria you head to next then, Ekris?”

“There or Kokis, I am as yet uncertain what pilgrim’s trail I shall take in my quest for the highest art,” Ekris said with a flourish. “If you have need of my...talents once more I shall be found on the common for the next two nights. I bid you farewell, may your god be with you.”

Ekris turned his dark horse and rode north up Eviks Bar, weaving through the bustle of carts and townsfolk on the main thoroughfare. Aldred waited, his thoughts on Ekris’s offer. What would the Azaguntan want in return if he asked him to help free Sir Unhert? He dashed the notion with irritation; he was slipping into a fantasy world with these crazy plans of escape.

Aldred urged his horse through the throng into Eviksburg. He entered the Market Square and four young ladies gamboled past, huddled and giggling. One, a tall pretty brunette who Aldred thought perhaps was a seamstress, stepped out before his horse.

“M’lord. Pardon my brashness but will you be coming to the dance tonight?”

Aldred flushed a touch then smiled.

“If Eviksburg’s maidens are half as beautiful as you then I shall be there before it even starts.”

The girls fell apart laughing then one, a buxom lass with dancing green eyes, said, “Who said that Milenda is a maiden, m’lord?”

Aldred laughed as Milenda began chasing her cackling friend down Eviks Bar. The remaining two looked shyly at the young lord, curtseyed then scampered off.

Aldred dismounted then led his horse through the square and down a narrow street that squeezed between two tall townhouses. The black and white timber frontage and galleried first floor made them loom overhead as he passed through into a second smaller square. This square was a bustle of activity as dozens of townsfolk set about arranging the town hall for that night’s function.

Livor Korianson stood talking with Guntir Hawkson. Hawkson was looking dour and was flanked by six of the town guards, who watched distractedly as the barrels of ale and cider were bounced past on the cobbles. Linkil Bailskin, a silversmith, loitered near the group.

Aldred handed the reins of Greymane to a stocky manservant of Livor’s.

“Father said you were planning a dance, Livor. Was the printing press not enough of a distraction?” Aldred asked.

“The Goldorian was delayed. I understand he got into some bother with someone officious in Feldoni. They’re always a bit touchy about our pious neighbours up in the borderlands.”

“Fight a war against them and you’ll see why, m’lord,” Guntir said. “Are you well, Lord Aldred? Talk is you ran into the beast up at the castle.”

“Indeed, Guntir, a horror that I fear will stay with me many a night. All these guards of yours seem a bit of overkill for a maidens’ ball. Are you expecting Lord Poris to cause a ruckus?”

“That would be more than welcome considering the alternative. Ask your friend, Lord Korianson, here.”

Aldred raised an eyebrow at Livor, sensing the tension. Livor shrugged, as calm as ever.

“We have the approval of Burghmaster Smithson for the plan.”

“With respect, he is so deep in grief and anger that he’d approve a virginal sacrifice on the steps of the chapel,” Guntir said. “Silver quarrels or no, I’m still not happy.”

He stormed off with his six men and the silversmith in tow. Livor frowned and led Aldred to a bench at the edge of the square, under the shade of a chestnut tree.

“What is this plan Guntir is so angry about?”

“It’s not a problem,” Livor said. “He forgets his place. Listen you tasked me with finding more about this creature whilst you went away to the barrowlands last week. Well I’ve done that and more. I spent a few days digging around the chapel library at St Kirchols.”

He reached into his pocket and brought forth a small book, made from bound browned paper.

“I’ve made notes in here about all the things I’ve discovered. I’m almost definite that the creature is a vampyr.

“They adopt the form of a giant wolf when they hunt at night and while they are in that guise they can only be hurt by magic or by silver,” Livor said, showing Aldred his messy scrawl in the note book.

“So we hire a mage, Livor. This isn’t a creature to fool with, trust me.”

“Don’t be like that. We have sent for a mage from Thetoria City. But he won’t be here for a fortnight as he’s going to Birin first to pick up some warrior who’s an authority on vampyrs.”

“An Air-mage? An Eerian? Now that’ll be bad news when they find out father’s got a Knight of the Air tucked away in our dungeons.”

“Not all Air-mages are Eerian, though most are. Its probably one of those fools with a low sash that loiter for scraps at Prince Altred’s table, pretending to be fearsome battle mages when they’re actually quill scraping visalines. No, it’s too long a wait for the Burghmaster. When he found out I was nosing around into his daughter’s death he pushed me into setting a trap.”

“A trap? You mean this ball is a trap? Livor, are you certain about this? Does my father know?”

“The baron? Of course. Smithson went to him whilst you were away, when he’d recovered from his illness,” Livor replied, slipping the book back into his trousers.

Aldred was feeling light headed in the evolving heat. Everything seemed to be charging ahead from him. Two weeks ago he would have embraced the thrill and spontaneity like a true Thetorian. Now it just seemed reckless.

“We’ll have concealed guards all over the place,” Livor said with confidence. “They’re armed with crossbows. Linkil has cast some silver quarrel tips for the men. If the vampyr comes buzzing around the honey pot then we’ll slay the vile beast.”

“And what part would you like me to play in your grandiose scheme, Livor?”

“I’ll need your sword. When the beast is downed by the quarrels we shall have to strike off its head with a silver blade. Your sword is magnate is it not? God-silver as they used to call it.”

“My sword? Well, of course, Livor. And do you need me to...?”

“No, no. It would create suspicion if you weren’t at the celebration. Just act your usual self, my friend—the life and soul of the party. Now, I’ve got to get on. It starts at seven, at sundown.”

“Really? I’ll need to sort out an outfit sharpish then. Perhaps my best chainmail?”

“Very amusing. Oh, I’d almost forgotten. I was chatting to some of the carnival folk who are helping with the entertainment and a pair told me about something very curious that happened near Silverton, with some Eerians and a Thetorian—called Hunor.”

Aldred jumped to his feet and grasped Livor’s arm.

“Where are they? I must talk to them!”

“I knew that’d perk you up. This mystery is the most fun I’ve had since Thetoria City. They’re camped up on the common. Ask for Agnes the bearded lady or Kulkan the dwarf. Watch the dwarf though, he’s a touch odd.”

Aldred nodded and, leaving Greymane secured by the side of the Town Hall, he hastened off towards the common. It would appear he was to see Ekris sooner than he had thought.

***

The carnival folk had spread chaotically across the common, their tents and wagons interspersed like gaudy blooms amongst the trees. Eviks Common sat on the eastern end of the town and ran to the banks of the River Eviks, close to where the bridge took the Feldoni Road over to the south side of the river.

The summer air was sonorous with the music of a dozen instruments; drums and lutes mingled with pipes and whistles. The staccato patter of chatter and laughter had its own melody and even Aldred’s mood was elevated by the vibrancy of the camp.

Aldred strode with a crowd of townsfolk, drawn in like moths to a flame by the energy and bizarreness of the scene. A small troupe of actors were practicing a play based on the Fall of Kevor and with a shudder Aldred saw the grotesque masques being varnished by a scruffy child.

The sun was hot and many of the carnival folk had migrated towards the river and were splashing in the shallows. Aldred looked about for Ekris amongst the throng but he could not see him.

A cloud of midges danced in the shade of the willows at the riverbank. A score of folk were in and around the water and perhaps a half-dozen under the trees. Aldred approached a couple who stood under the eaves of a huge oak. The woman was slender and dressed in a beaded outfit that highlighted her ample chest. With a start he saw she had a green snake wrapped around her arms, which she stroked as if it were a pet cat. Her companion was a black skinned Incandian, who stood smoking a foul smelling pipe.

“Can you point me towards Agnes or Kulkan?”