The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (4 page)

Outside the tavern, he took a deep breath, glad to have air somewhat cleaner than that inside. Looking up, he saw the huge blue-grey globe of Kerberos hanging above, dominating the sky as it cast its dull twilight glow upon the city while bands of white gossamer clouds played slowly across its surface. The eternal sphere had meant much to his father, his faith rooted in the belief of salvation among those clouds, but Lucius had come to know better.

Glancing to the east, he saw the Street of Dogs sweep downwards towards the cliffs, perhaps a couple of miles away, where they formed a natural defence against the ocean. The waters constantly raged against the land either side of the city, gouging chunks from it every year, and Lucius wondered at the sanity of the original settlers in building a port here. Only maybe one day in ten could a ship brave the barriers shielding the port from the churning waters to dock at the massive stone harbour built at the bottom of those cliffs, and then only with great risk – and that was assuming the harbour could accept another vessel, as one section or another was always under repair. Once a great marvel of engineering, the harbour had fallen into various states of disrepair over the years as the change in the city’s leadership began to favour other priorities. It was certainly no coincidence that many of the Vos nobles now running Turnitia had their own existing interests in the mercantile activities of companies that relied on horse and wagon to transport goods, rather than the dangerous and intemperate sea.

Even from the centre of Turnitia, he could hear the roiling surf blasting itself against the barriers, conjuring a constant dim roar that the citizens of the city soon learned to tune out. For someone who had been away for so long, however, it was a reminder of just how precarious the city’s position was. One day, the land must succumb to the angry waters and collapse into the sea, taking Turnitia with it. Perhaps that would not be so bad a thing, he thought. It would save many people a great deal of trouble.

“That’s the whore’s son.” The voice brought Lucius back to the present and he turned around to see if it was indeed him being spoken of. It was. The beaten card player had evidently found some friends in a nearby tavern and had either been convinced to take his money back, or was somewhat braver than Lucius had thought.

There were seven of them, though only two had had the presence of mind to bring weapons. One brandished a knife, while the other wielded a crude cudgel. They had come from the high end of the Street of Dogs and were fanning out in a loose semicircle to trap him against the row of buildings behind.

“I really don’t need this,” Lucius remarked, as much to himself as to the men. His original opponent appeared to take the comment personally.

“Well, I don’t need to be cheated out of me money by a charlatan like you. Breezing into the city, hitting up a few of the locals, and then breezing out again with your pouch clinking with our coin. Is that it?”

“Friend, I beat you fair and square, no cheating,” said Lucius, raising a hand in an attempt to forestall any violence. It was not true, of course, but there was not much else he could say.

“Hey, no need for us to start trouble,” the man said with a crooked smile. “Just hand me the money back – and your other coins, which you no doubt gained from your games – and we’ll call it quits.”

Lucius sighed, wondering how far he had fallen to have his own marks trying to rob him. He was not worried about his own immediate safety. A half dozen or so labourers, a little worse for drink no doubt, were of small concern. The city guard, however, were another matter and while he spied no patrols nearby, open violence on the street would bring them running in no time.
That
was something worth avoiding.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” he said, knowing exactly how this was going to turn out. “I warn you now, walk away. Just walk away. There is nothing you can do that will end this well.”

“Cocky, ain’t he?” said one of the man’s companions.

“He’ll be less cocksure with this wrapped round his head,” the thug with the cudgel growled. He took a step forward and drew the weapon back as if he were aiming to knock Lucius’ head clean off his shoulders and send it sailing down the street.

Lucius ran. Behind him, the men whooped and hollered, their blood rising at the sight of prey fleeing. Hearing their footsteps just a few yards behind, Lucius was faintly surprised they had reacted so quickly, as he had bolted without hesitation when it became clear a confrontation was inevitable.

Keen to get away from the main street where any number of well-meaning citizens might raise a call for the guard, he had already spotted a side alley between the tavern and a hardware stall, one of thousands linking the main thoroughfares of the city. He darted for the narrow entrance, feet skipping over the dull cobbles.

Once veiled by the shadows of the tall buildings either side, Lucius smiled. With darkness as his ally and no witnesses, the odds now swung massively in his favour. Skidding to a halt with his back to a greying stone wall, he momentarily closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the shadows rise up to cloak his body.

The men rushed around the corner, the one in the lead suddenly stopping. Those behind cursed as they ran into one another before the first raised his hand.

“Well... where on Kerberos did he go?” he said.

They all peered into the alley, squinting to penetrate the gloom. Running straight as an arrow, they could clearly see the length of the alley, just as they could clearly see there was no rogue silhouetted against the lights of the establishments in the next street.

“Maybe he climbed to the roof,” said one, eyeing up the side of the buildings.

“Idiot,” retorted another.

“There’s people that can do it!”

“Not in just a few seconds.”

“A master criminal, are you?”

“Idiot.”

Lucius watched the men, reaching behind his back to clasp the hilt of his short sword. The closest stood no more than two feet away, but they were oblivious to his presence. Wreathed in arcane darkness, Lucius had effectively become invisible. The other things that might give him away, an involuntary movement, a slight sound, those he could suppress from years of practice. It was a fearsome combination and one that was more than a match for an irritated gambler and his friends.

As the squabble spread to the other men, all with theories on what to do next, Lucius moved. Whipping his sword clear of its inverted scabbard in near silence, he reversed the weapon and brought the steel pommel down on the neck of the nearest man. The target sank without a sound, and Lucius was among the rest of them before they realised one of their number had hit the ground.

A foot sank into the stomach of another, while the sword descended once more
–
pommel first
–
into the face of a third. The man’s shriek bubbled as blood welled up from his shattered nose, but it was enough to alert the remaining thugs.

The mark acted before thinking, and reached for Lucius’ throat with both hands. Lucius took a step back and felt threads of energies rush through him as he sought to harness their power. Selecting a strand, he focussed on its structure and form, consciously moulding it into something he could use. He felt its strength swelling inside his body as it always did in battle, somewhere near his heart, and he extended an open palm to the charging man. A crack resounded down the alley, like a miniature bolt of lightning, and a faint, crimson wave of force sprang from his palm, catching the man full in the chest. With no chance of avoiding the blast, the man was picked up off his feet and hurled against the unyielding building opposite. He collapsed to the floor, winded.

“It’s a damned wizard!” one of his friends cried out, now panicking.

“Could be the Lord of the Three Towers himself, he still won’t bespell us without a head.” This came from cudgel-man, and Lucius turned to see him winding up for another swing. The blow, when it came, seemed painfully slow and obvious to Lucius, who raised his sword to block the attack. The sharpened blade dug deep into the club, trapping it briefly.

Two others, seeing an advantage, both rushed Lucius from behind. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and instantly buckled his knees, rolling forward and dragging his weapon free at the same time. Tumbling away, he came up in a crouch, ready for their next move.

While cudgel-man was wondering where his enemy had gone, the other two were not so slow. Both yelled in triumph as they saw what they thought was a beaten man on the ground. As they ran to start raining kicks and blows down upon him, Lucius took another breath, narrowed his eyes in concentration, and then slapped his free hand on the cobbles. A wave of energy spread out before him, pushing up stones as it shifted the ground. All the men still in the fight were thrown off their feet by the pulse, fear registering in their eyes.

Three turned and fled without another word, though a curse from cudgel-man followed them. Another, the first to fall, lay motionless on the ground, though Lucius knew he would wake up in an hour or so with the world’s worst hangover.

Cudgel-man faced him once again, seething with anger but unsure of what to do without anyone backing him up. Knife-man helped the mark to his feet, before turning to face Lucius, blade held at arm’s length.

“We can still take him,” said cudgel-man, sounding as if he needed the encouragement himself.

“I advise you not to try,” said Lucius, raising a hand in an attempt to start a parley. “A beating in an alley is a hazard of the city. But if either of you try to use those weapons, I’ll start getting serious.”

The gambler was suddenly less than sure of himself and started to mumble something, but Lucius caught the flash of the knife’s movement from his friend.

“Fool!” Lucius hissed as the knife span through the air. The man’s aim was true, but Lucius gritted his teeth as he released the same energy he had used on the dice earlier. This time there was no effort at finesse or style, as he desperately sought to slow and steady the blade. A blast of wind gusted in a narrow line, striking the knife with a low whistle. The weapon stopped suddenly in mid-air, hung motionless for a brief second, then fell to the stones with a clatter.

Knowing a distraction when he saw one, cudgel-man judged the moment right to finally unleash his skull-splitting swing. It was a poor decision.

Ducking under the wild blow, Lucius sprang forward, lunging with his short sword. The blade buried itself in cudgel-man’s stomach, and the man gave a curious mewing sound as his brain began to register that the wound was mortal. Knife-man started to back away, but Lucius reached forward with his outstretched hand and grasped him by the throat.

The rage of battle now well and truly upon him, Lucius dug within himself to find the darkest, most vile, and terrible of threads. He felt a chill sweep through his body as he channelled the force from his heart, down his arm, through his hand and into the man. The power mustered was the antithesis of life and it reacted with the living flesh it raced into. The man gasped as he futilely grabbed at the hand holding him, but his strength was already waning. Lucius stared into his eyes, watching them grow dim in seconds. The man’s skin greyed and withered, while his cheeks sank into his face and muscles shrivelled, hair falling out in clumps. When Lucius released his grip the corpse looked as if it had been dead for months.

Angry at the men for attacking him, and for forcing him to use such power, Lucius ripped his sword clear of cudgel-man then rounded on the gambler. With blade held menacingly, he turned his free hand palm upwards and conjured wisps of fiery energy, his hand now wreathed in flames of lavender and turquoise.

“You’ve lost two friends tonight because of your folly,” Lucius told the man. “Believe me when I say you got off lightly. Now go!”

Lucius jerked his head to reinforce his command, but it was wholly unnecessary. As far as the man was concerned, death itself stalked that alley, and he wanted no part of it. Spinning on his heel, the man scrabbled for the bright lights of the Street of Dogs, and a life that held no terror.

Briefly regarding the men lying on the ground, Lucius exhaled as the tension left him. Wiping his blade on the tunic of cudgel-man, he sheathed it then cursed. He had not intended to give knife-man so gruesome a death, no matter how much it might have been deserved or forewarned. Lucius knew many different ways to kill a man but, in the heat of battle, there was rarely time to plan and consider. He had reached for the most devastating attack needed at the time, and taken the first that came to his command. That it was the most loathsome of the energies he was able to use and control was almost pure chance, as he had reached blindly, by instinct. The coldness of its touch still caressed him, and he could feel the dark evil lurking just beneath the surface. He would be paying for its help with a couple of sleepless nights at least, as the old dreams flooded back.

Trying to stem images of past haunted nights, he gathered his wits and resolved to put as much distance between himself and the bodies as possible. Heading away from the Street of Dogs, he briefly considered trying to find another tavern friendly to gamblers, but he quickly dismissed the idea. The earnings tonight would keep him for a day or two at worst, and he was in no shape to beguile anyone after the fight. All they would see would be a rogue, a desperado. Or murderer, maybe.

He decided to head away from the lights and aim for the merchant quarter. The inns there were usually sombre affairs, dedicated to traders and other businessmen visiting Turnitia. They catered for higher classes who demanded peace, security and thrills less blatant than those on offer in the Street of Dogs. The peace and security at least were things Lucius could appreciate at this moment.