Escana (35 page)

As
reliable as The Hermit had been in their time together, his silence
always cast doubt over his true intentions. Now that he knew that
Falarus had betrayed him, the enforcement of the Urian law in
bringing this man to heel was a must in case one old man's lies were
spread any further.

He
approached the latest door with no less fear and expectation, he knew
that fears put to rest prematurely often ended in death.

It
was a small alleyway, much like any other he had seen. He had never
used this door himself but had heard of men being brought here by The
Hermit. He approached, eyeing the deserted streets on either side. As
he rose to make the distinctive knock, he heard a clicking sound as
it was unlocked from the inside. He had found them.

Thom
edged his way to the other side of the door as Gadtor planted himself
flat against the wall, sword loosened from his belt. So this was it
then.

The
other man nodded at him.
Oh,
so
he
wanted
me
to
do
it
then
now
that
he
felt
certain?
How
very
gracious
of
him
to
offer.

Thom stretched his arm out and
drew Skullcleaver, a reassuring faint blue glow emanating from it. He
wasn't going to get caught with his trousers down against such a foe.

He
then
tapped
a
rhythmic
series
of
eight
knocks
on
the
door,
granted
it
wasn't
quite
like
how
he
had
seen
it
done,
but
it
seemed
to
do
the
trick.
A
faint
scuffling
was
heard
inside
and
a
small
crack
appeared
in
the
door.
Not
yet,
not
yet.
The
door opened
a
little
further
and
a
head
popped
out
to
look
around.
Now.

Thom swung the blade down in a
searing arc and decapitated the confused figure. The aghast look upon
Gadtor's face was priceless, but only briefly. The head rolled to a
standstill at his feet and he looked up in horror. 'This isn't The
Hermit, this is just an old woman!'

He shrugged back at him. So they
got the wrong door, it wouldn't be an issue, there were still a few
chances left that...

The headless corpse was propelled
into Gadtor, who fell with a shriek, another figure altogether more
imposing launched himself out the entrance with maddened eyes.

Thom caught the first blow on the
flat of his blade, but couldn't shake it off. The Hermit beckoned the
others out of the door as they locked blades. Thom paid no heed to
them, his eyes were on The Hermit alone. Thom seethed at the man for
having the audacity to try and hold him back with one arm. He'd make
him pay for that.

He tried to press his advantage,
but found the man as immovable as an Urkata. This was going to
require a great deal of strategy.

He saw Gadtor rise and shove the
corpse off, now he'd see what his so-called ally was capable of. He
seemed hesitant, and The Hermit just seemed to hold Thom in place,
the edges of their blades locked in some inseparable embrace. Not
again.

He tried to rip Skullcleaver
free, tried to fashion some opening for himself yet couldn't.
Whatever devilry this man had imposed held him fast once more,
leaving things entirely out of his control.

He could only watch beyond The
Hermit's shoulder as Gadtor stood there. He had a bad feeling that
the odds may have doubled against him.

Where was El-Vador?

Gadtor stared at the back of the
man he had considered one of his closest allies, he seemed entirely
still. The only tell-tale signs that he was in a struggle to the
death was the slightest of quivers that occasionally ran through his
arms. Thom had locked their blades together, clearly waiting for him
to finish the job from behind. He hadn't lived this long without
learning to negate the distaste of necessity, now was not a time to
be conflicted.

Leaping forward he made a stab
towards The Hermit's prone back, he spotted the foot coming from the
door all too late.

His head exploded in pain and his
own momentum carried him past Thom and The Hermit onto the street. He
quickly righted himself and looked back, dazed from the blow and
confused by what he saw.

His assailant was slumped against
the frame of the door, breathing heavily and watching Thom grapple
blade to blade with The Hermit. There were some obvious differences
between the two of them, yet his face seemed altogether familiar.
Whoever Thom's doppelgänger was, he was about to regret kicking
him in the head.

Then Thom let out a cry, he had
spotted his lookalike and disengaged from The Hermit, trying
desperately to sprint past him to get at the boyish version of
himself. The Hermit swung his blade in blazing arcs, keeping the man
at bay.

It all clicked together in
Gadtor's mind, he knew Thom was after a killer, he also knew that
this was the same boy he had seen in the house of Falarus. He hadn't
kidnapped that young girl, she was tending to him every night he saw
them lying there. He certainly hadn't got the full story from Jimmy,
yet here was a boy that didn't have it in him to be a killer either.
There was something entirely unwholesome about Thom's efforts to
track down this boy. There was no doubt about it now either, the
resemblance brooked no argument, this was his son he was after.

Thom howled at The Hermit as he
disarmed him in his haste to get past, yet he didn't go for the kill.
He let the man rush back and pick up his blade, balling his fist
together as if to throw something at him. The Hermit let fly and Thom
collapsed on the ground as if hit by a rock, he didn't get up. Gadtor
felt very alone.

Sheathing his sword, he put his
hands up in a placating gesture. There was no chance of besting The
Hermit, even if he didn't have company.

'You don't know what you're
doing,' he said, yet his voice sounded unconvincing and weak.

The Hermit just looked on at him,
as if waiting for him to explain.

'Falarus was not the man you
thought he was, that we thought he was. It was all a sham.'

He felt his own anger bubble up
at those words. 'He used you, he used us all. The warehouse, the
Black Quail. It was all lies. He was a fraud, he said so himself.'

He couldn't stop himself, his
voice rose in pitch and seemed foreign to him as it cursed the man he
had trusted the most. As it laid bare his lies and deceit, just as
the man had himself under El-Vador's interrogation. He drove each
point home in vivid detail, leaving nothing out, The Hermit had to
know, he had to understand that what he was fighting for was madness.

When he finally stuttered to a
halt he flung up his hands. 'There,' he heard himself say. 'Now do
you finally see?'

He waited breathlessly, as if he
expected an answer from the man who never spoke. He may not have an
answer, but he was certainly going to get a response.

The Hermit nodded at him, he
wasn't smiling. Gadtor nodded back at him cautiously and chanced a
smile. The Hermit stopped nodding, no smile touching his face. Gadtor
felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as the man advanced on him.

'Ah shit.'

K
elgrimm
turned an eyebrow up at the servant. 'Already?'

He felt a slight pang of
irritation at the tickling laughter of El-Vador floating about his
head.

'Y-Yes my Lord, they demanded a
closed session of the council to discuss your actions in the
warehouse district.'

His irritation now rose to anger.
'Demand?' He threw his cup of wine at the man's feet, veins bulging
in his neck. 'Demand?' he roared at the stricken messenger. 'Who are
they to demand anything in my city?'

The laughter slowed somewhat,
forming words behind the chuckles. 'Actually my Lord, they are well
within their rights to request a closed session.'

Kelgrimm gave El-Vador a cold
look. 'Since when have you become an authority on Urian law?'

That fluttering laugh again. 'I
know many things my Lord. I have already guessed where this
calculated charade is leading us. As per our agreement I am willing
to play my part insofar as it suits the requirements of the Emperor.'

Few would have noticed the
briefest hint of distaste in El-Vador's smooth voice, yet few men had
the capabilities of Kelgrimm, he had made sure of that. So the
creature was not sympathetic to Imperial rule, most interesting.

Storing away that nugget of
information for further musing, he waved at the servant, who was
doing his best to ignore the speech of his betters. 'You may send the
council members in, the session shall commence immediately.'

He felt El-Vador at the side of
his throne more intensely than before. The thing had its uses, but he
wondered at that last comment, was it set to betray him should he
stray too far?

The outrage was plain to see on
the faces of his former council. They knew that this was one last
desperate gamble to challenge his consolidated power, yet some of
them clearly felt this matter on a personal level. He had no doubts
about the influence of Falarus and the inevitability of this
confrontation.

They shuffled in with a haughty
manner, a vain attempt at preserving egos and concealing the terror
he smelt off them. He felt a deep sense of gratification that these
pompous fools hadn't forgotten themselves entirely, they knew they
were in the lion's den now.

They seated themselves around the
long mahogany table, their eyes barely leaving him, all of them
reflecting a varying mixture of disdain and nervousness at what was
about to unfold.

'Gentlemen.' He addressed his
former equals. 'This council is in session. What grievances do you
bring to the table?'

A solitary figure stood. The
esteemed councilman Ermentine from the northern district, it would be
like him to get the first few succinct words in.

'My Lord, the rest of the council
have decreed that your recent decisions regarding our fair city have
been in your own best interests and not those of the people. We have
assembled to vote on your decision to imprison Falarus the aged.'

Kelgrimm raised an eyebrow. 'Did
I not make it clear previously the dire ramifications of a unanimous
vote against my power?'

Ermentine nodded at him, defiant
in spite of his fear. 'That you did my Lord, and it is with a heavy
heart that we must choose to do our civic duty in spite of your
threats. If not also because of them.'

He turned to the rest of the
rabble now, gesturing his flabby arm out towards them in some pitiful
mockery of command. 'Those of you who wish to hear the reasoning
behind the imprisonment of Falarus the aged may raise your hand.'

The hands shot up on queue, with
some of them even daring to voice 'aye' afterwards. As if their
futile gesture wasn't enough, as if their arms would go unnoticed
amongst the others.

Granted, they were idiots to a
man, but they hadn't achieved their wealth and status without
learning the subtle and often fatal arts of political manoeuvring.
They had all seen what he was capable of, yet they still chose to
defy him. Was it a ridiculous last stand to test him? To see if he
could carry out his threat? Or perhaps there was some greater force
at work that Kelgrimm hadn't seen.

He swept his gaze over the table
at the thought of that, it was then he spotted the inconsistency. The
thirteenth chair, left blank since the demise of Dorn by his own
hand. He had unofficially dissolved the council with that act, yet
now it was filled by another man.

El-Vador had gone silent, it
seemed likely that the two observations were related.

'Who is in the thirteenth chair?'
he whispered under his breath to El-Vador as Ermentine gave a clipped
speech to him about rights and responsibilities.

If El-Vador had heard him, there
was no response forthcoming.

'My Lord Kelgrimm, the vote is
eleven to one.' Ermentine spoke with great gravitas, as if that would
save him. 'You must yield to the will of the council on this matter.'

Kelgrimm knew this charade well,
they would vote this way several times as if to affirm his
powerlessness in the face of their unanimous consent. They would
eventually demand that Falarus be freed, better to end it now than
suffer their babel.