Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) (18 page)

“I’ve enough problems to deal with, including the riddle of
Dad’s sword, to worry myself further with the arcane arts,” Elias said. “I
don’t need any more complications at present. At least not right now.”

“You were always the one obsessed with tales of wizards and
those dime-store novels. I figured you’d be thrilled to discover you have the
touch.”

Elias’s thoughts turned to his pitched battle with Slade. “It
isn’t quite like we thought it would be though is it?”

“No. It’s not. But we are what we are.” Danica held up a
spool of neutral toned thread and chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ll take this
one,” she said to the clerk, who rang her out with nary a word, only too happy
to have them out of his store.

“Besides,” Elias added as they made their way out into the
street, “I’ve listened to your lessons with the Doctor. I could have that pin
dancing a jig, but I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“I don’t know if I like the haughty new Elias,” Danica said
dryly. “I much prefer the old reserved and humble Elias, even if you were
rather dull.”

“Just worry about your spells Archmagus.”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

Elias’s mouth opened in preparation for a retort when a man
walked into him, dropping a shoulder into his chest. Elias stumbled but quickly
regained his balance.

“Watch where you’re going fella!” the man barked.

Elias quickly sized the man up. He had the rough hewn
features of a laborer: callused hands, a moderately muscled form, but,
evidenced by his lax stomach, also a man who enjoyed his cups. “Pardon,
friend,” Elias said carefully, “but you bumped into me—an honest mistake, I’m
sure.”

“I ain’t your friend, and I do believe you just called me a
liar, didn’t he Billy?”

“I reckon so, Clark,” said Billy, who looked like he could
have been Clark’s brother. Billy cracked his knuckles and squinted at Elias.

Elias laughed. He knew it could only make matters worse, but
he couldn’t help himself. The inane machismo struck him as some absurdity from
a poorly written play. “Listen, listen,” he said, looking to Danica for help,
“I didn’t call anyone a liar. Let’s just chalk it up to a misunderstanding and
be on our way.”

Clark did not look pleased by that prospect. “So that’s how
it is. You think that fancy get-up and sword makes you better than me? Your
kind makes me sick, keeping men like us down!”

“Why don’t you go scratch, you dim-witted son of a whore,”
Danica said. “We don’t want trouble with the likes of you. We’ve better things
to do.”

“I don’t see how that much matters now, you bloody little
cunny!”

Elias had seen this before in the schoolyard and the tavern.
This man was working himself up for a fight, going through the motions of
getting his blood up. He had set his mind on a fight, for whatever reason, and
there was no stopping it now. His only option was to neutralize the threat as
quickly and painlessly as possible.

“Let’s go,” Elias said and made to walk away, but he kept an
eye on Clark, waiting.

As expected the heavy man reached for his turning shoulder,
likely to turn Elias about for a punch, but the callused hand never touched
him. Elias reached out with his other arm and grasped his attacker’s hand in a
vice-like grip. He spun on his heels and rotated the man’s wrist. The maneuver forced
Clark to lean to his right to avoid the needling pain and directly into Elias’s
left hook, which landed on the point of his chin. Clark’s eyes went wide, then
glassy as he crumbled to the street.

Billy charged, but Elias, who had kept the other thug in his
periphery, had already prepared a counter. Elias dropped into a crouch and dove
at Billy, careful to avoid his booted feet. His shoulders took the charging
brute in the shins, and Billy fell head over heels, getting a face full of
dirt.

Elias grabbed Danica’s arm and they melted into the crowd
leaving the men in a groaning heap behind him.

Rafe watched silently from the shadow of an alley across the
street. He had paid the men to pick a fight with Duana. He found himself
neither surprised nor disappointed. If the self proclaimed Marshal bested Slade
in pitched combat, he must have considerable skills at his disposal. Be that as
it may, Rafe still wanted to get a first-hand look at Duana in action.

Still, he could likely take Duana by himself if he could
separate the Marshal from his friends. In any case it would be a rare treat to
pitch himself against a Galacian dog that could actually pose a challenge. He
would, however, have to wait until the travelers left town to strike. Despite
his aptitude for going unseen, he couldn’t take the chance that the men he
hired might talk and jeopardize his cover. More importantly, he wouldn’t be
able to extract information from Duana in his preferred fashion while in town. He
would need privacy so that no one could hear the Marshal scream.

Night Caller

The others had turned in early, eager to seek the
comfort of a soft bed, but Elias tarried in the Inn’s tavern, nursing an ale. His
piercing look persuaded Phinneas to remain as well. Elias drank in silence for
some minutes as he thought about how to word what he had to say.

“Phinneas,” he said, “I think you know what
Balizor
means, and I want you to tell me.”

“Damnation, boy!” Phinneas hissed and looked to either side.
He made the invocation of the One God, a knuckled fist pressed to forehead, heart,
and lips. “Don’t say that word aloud!”

“So, you do know what it means,” Elias whispered.

“No, not specifically,” breathed Phinneas, lowering his
voice in kind, “but I do know what it signifies, but I didn’t want to frighten
the poor child or the others for that matter.”

“That’s fair,” Elias replied slowly, “but I want you to tell
me.”

The doctor sighed. “Fine, but keep it to yourself until I
have time to discuss it with Ogden.”

“Who’s Ogden?”

Phinneas waved a hand. “An old friend in Peidra. You’ll meet
him soon enough. I haven’t the foggiest what that word means, but it has the
unmistakable feel of the darkspeech.” Phinneas took a long draught from his
mug.

“Britches, Phinneas, what the hell is that?”

Phinneas’s mug made an audible clack in the silent room as
he set it down. “The darkspeech is the spell tongue of the necromancer—wizards
who traffic with the elder evils: demons, Dark Fey, cursed spirits, the old
gods.”

Now it was Elias’s turn to make the invocation of the One
God. “But Danica has no knowledge of such things.”

“No, I daresay not. Few alive know the ancient incantations
of the darkspeech. Long ago, when the One Church rose to power, it all but
eradicated necromancy in its crusades.” Phinneas looked Elias dead in the eye.
“But Slade may have.”

“What are you saying?” Elias asked as his stomach dropped,
but he feared he already knew.

“Danica used the darkspeech while in a trance I induced so
that she could reach her latent abilities. While under my guidance, at that
stage of the trance, she should not have been aware of any surface thoughts at
all. Using a trick bequeathed upon me by my mentor in the arcane, I employed a
trifle of magic to place her into a hypnotic state.”

“What has this to do with Slade and the darkspeech?”

“My point is this—sometimes traumatic events we have endured
are repressed into our subconscious minds. When in a trance these repressed memories
can resurface.”

“So, she remembers Slade using the darkspeech and repeated
it because she touched upon the memory?”

“Perhaps.” The doctor peered into the amber depths of his
mug.

“Phinneas, what aren’t you telling me?” Elias asked,
painfully aware of how his voice quavered in his ears. “I must be prepared to deal
with whatever this problem may present.”

“I know.” Phinneas took a deep breath. “We have discussed
the possibility that Slade used his fell powers to invade her very mind. When
his power touched hers it may have left some kind of imprint. Some part of his
dark will, residue of his thoughts, or knowledge could have been left behind. I
suspect it an unintended consequence, but perhaps when he opened his mind to
her something of him crossed over.”

“Bloody hell,” Elias said. The doctor’s words had stricken
the blood from his face.

“Elias, I don’t want my words to frighten you, or put you under
anymore undue stress. Danica is resilient, and has recovered unusually fast
from her exposure to the dark arts. Her will is strong. I may not have all the
answers at present, but I will find a way to cure her of any lasting effect. On
that you have my word.”

Relieved in part by Phinneas’s words Elias nodded. “Very
well, Phinneas. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Just promise me you won’t
leave me in the dark on this one. My father did that, and things may have
turned out different if he hadn’t.”

“I promise,” Phinneas said, then drained his mug. He
motioned to the barkeep for a refill, and the two men sat in silence as they
awaited the next round.

“I miss them,” Elias said.

“I know, lad.”

The two men drank their beers, each alone with their
thoughts.

†

Rafe watched the Marshal and his companion through a
window in the alleyway. He slouched against the wall and looked out of the side
of his eyes. To a passerby he would just look like another drunk trying to
regain his composure before stumbling home.

Duana’s companion finished his drink and went upstairs. The
Marshal remained with his mug for some time and then followed suit. Rafe
prepared to depart and then his sharp eyes noticed that Duana left no coin
behind and his mug had some few swallows left. He decided to wait a while
longer, and was soon rewarded for his efforts.

The Marshal had returned, unburdened of his sword and coat. He
spoke some few words with the barkeep, produced some coin from his pocket, and
then disappeared out a back door, mug in hand. Rafe stole along the alley
toward the courtyard. A brick wall enclosed the small green, but Rafe expertly
scaled it with nary a sound and peered over the edge.

Duana stood in the grass with his mug in one hand and a
cigarette in the other.

It had been Rafe’s plan to ambush the Marshal’s party on the
road so as not to risk discovery, but he could ill afford to pass up this
opportunity. He had Duana alone and unarmed with his companions out of earshot,
and likely wouldn’t get a second chance to find him so. On the road the
vigilant Marshal posted a watch, and kept his blade close at hand. Here was his
best chance of securing the Marshal’s capture.

Rafe slid over the fence and crept toward Elias Duana’s
back.

†

Danica woke with a start, her throat thick with the
ghost of a scream. The fleeting edges of a troubled dream fled her mind. She
struggled to retain some small thread of it, but summoned naught but visions of
shadow and gossamer. Despite her inability to recall the particulars of the dream,
a sharp feeling of panic needled her in her bosom and would not allow her to
close her eyes again.

She tried to swallow her irrational anxiety but she felt the
room closing in on her and the air thicken in her lungs. She needed an open
space, and light. She hastily gathered her pack, which held her matches and
candles, and snuck from the room she shared with Bryn.

Calm yourself, you ninny, she scolded herself as she walked
down the stairs but an acute sense of panic stole over her. Her head swam and a
prickly sensation slid up her neck, across the side of her face, and up to her
temples.

The gorge rose in her throat and she felt the urge to vomit.
With one hand clasped over her mouth she raced for the door that led out to the
courtyard.

†

Elias looked up into the night sky and wondered if Asa
and his father could hear his prayers. Did they see him even now? Were they
together? As he lost himself to his dark musings, he abruptly felt eyes upon
his back. He turned on his heels and startled as he saw a compact man stealing
toward him.

The man drew to a stop and stood to his full height, and
Elias realized he was much taller than he had seemed a moment ago. The man had
exotic features and held a curved dagger lightly in one hand. The assassin smiled
a toothy, mirthless grin.

Elias reached for his sword and then his stomach dropped as
he realized he had been caught unarmed.

“If you come with me without a struggle I won’t butcher your
friends in their sleep,” the man said in a mild tone.

“What assurance do I have that your word can be honored,”
Elias said slowly in an effort to buy time.

“None, but if I wanted them dead I could have killed them
while you tarried at the bar and in the courtyard.” The man took another step
closer.

Elias prepared to throw his lighter as a diversion and then
wield the mug as a makeshift weapon when the courtyard door swung open.

Danica stepped into the green and reeled when she saw the
dark figure with the wicked, naked dagger. Elias and the assassin recovered
their equilibrium quickly. They both took a step toward her, each wary of the
other.

“Run, Danica and get the others,” Elias said, and the
assassin retorted, “If you do, I will gut your brother.”

Her nausea fled, and in its place rose a cold fury. She took
a step into the courtyard and reached into her pack.

“Don’t,” said the assassin, “or I will cut you from ear to
ear.”

“In the time it takes you to close on me, my brother will
incinerate you with wizard’s fire,” Danica said. Her bearing suggested that the
assassin did not impress her. In truth she found herself unafraid, possessed by
a feral instinct for blood.

Rafe hesitated. After Lord Mirengi’s warning, the last thing
he wanted to do was turn his back on Duana to engage the girl. He settled for
repositioning himself so that he faced both the Marshal and the girl to keep
his flank protected. He sighed and backed away on cautious feet, feigning retreat,
only to erupt into a deep lunge and throw his dagger with a back-handed flick
of his wrist, already reaching for a second with his other hand even as the first
spun through the air in a silver arc.

Elias had been on alert for such a maneuver and when Rafe’s
hand moved forward he dove to the side and threw his mug. Elias didn’t register
any pain as the dagger raked his shoulder, but felt warmth spread down his arm
and chest. The mug went wide. Meanwhile, Danica advanced, brandishing the
length of rope with the fist-sized knot on the end that she had taken from Mayfair
Manor.

Elias rolled to his feet with the intention of scrambling
for the thrown dagger but saw Danica engaging the assassin with a rope of all
things. A scream caught in his throat and he charged the assassin unarmed.

Danica felt herself plummet into the deep as an electric
rush screeched up her spine. Something dark, as wispy as her dream, waited
there to be unfettered. In her mind she touched it as she lazily twisted to
avoid the thrust of the copper-skinned man’s dagger. She swung her rope. His
teeth flashed white in a smile as he caught the rope in a hand and pulled her
into his dagger.

Rafe’s smile faltered and his dagger tumbled from numb
fingers.

Elias, who had closed in on the melee, punched the assassin
behind the ear. He snapped his hand back as a jolt of cold lanced up his arm. He
discovered with horror that ripples of puce energy pulsated along the length of
Danica’s rope. He hadn’t been cognizant of falling, but found himself sprawled
on the earth.

Caught unawares, Rafe suffered the full brunt of the
onslaught of the fell power. He could not comprehend how this could come to
pass. How had Duana’s sister acquired knowledge of the necromantic arts? He
didn’t, however, have long to ponder the mystery, for soon the capacity for
thought was burned from his mind and all he could do was scream.

Elias watched with mounting revulsion, unable to act,
stunned from his brush with the obscene magic, as torrents of bruise-colored
energy coursed through the assassin’s rigid body. Thick blue veins protruded on
his face, neck, and hands, growing more distended by the second as they became
pregnant with fell power. His skin took on the gray, mottled tone of a corpse
some days dead. The coarse, black hairs on his head, eyebrows, and the back of his
hands turned white as a bridal bolt.

Elias shook off the torpor that had taken a hold of him and
struggled to his feet. A cold certainty dawned on him: Danica was draining the
very life from their assailant. He carefully took her shoulders in his hands. “Danica,
you’re killing him.”

She turned alien, black, pupilless eyes on him. “Would he
have done any less to us, brother?”

Her voice echoed in his ears and he felt his strength waning
under the spell of her frigid tone. Elias knew that the assassin would have
shown them no mercy, but for his part, pity stirred in him still. To kill a man
in combat was one thing, but to execute him in such a brutal fashion was profane.

“Not like this,” Elias said. “Besides, he may have
information. We could question him.”

She snapped back her rope and shot him any icy look. “Fine.”
The assassin fell to the ground like a board. His mouth worked silently as he looked
up at them with eyes clouded with cataracts. His face contorted as if he wept,
but his sand-dry eyes and mouth could issue not a single tear or sob. Elias
knelt by his side and placed a hand on his quavering shoulder. “Easy, there,”
he said. “We won’t hurt you anymore, but you must tell me who sent you. If you
are honest you will be spared.”

The living cadaver almost smiled and with supreme effort
made a sound in his throat. Elias leaned close as the man whispered. “Ssss-en-es-t-t-tra-ti,”
he managed before convulsing into a fit of seizures. Fetid spittle sprung from
his dry, cracked mouth, followed by black blood as his yellowed teeth rent his
black, bloated tongue. The convulsing slowed, then ceased.

Elias stumbled to his feet, overcome with disgust. He met
Danica’s eyes. She shrugged, a bland expression on her delicate face. Her eyes
still looked peculiar in the moonlight. Elias found himself unconvinced it was
mere illusion.

She reached out a hand and lay it on Elias’s left shoulder. A
gasp of breath escaped his lips as warmth spread throughout the injured limb. With
the glowing sensation came a rush of energy. She took her hand away, leaving
him strangely invigorated. Elias examined his arm and found, much to his
surprise, that the wound he received from the curved dagger, which surely would
have required stitches, had vanished and healed seamlessly with only the barest
inkling of a scar. Moreover, the injury he had sustained from the arrow some
weeks ago, which had left his shoulder and chest muscles stiff, felt loose and pain
free.