Tales of the Hidden World (20 page)

Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Tales of the Hidden World

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The high-pitched tittering was strangely inappropriate for such bulk, Varles thought fleetingly as he dropped his torch into a nearby holder and then leaped to the attack, Jarryl at his side. Their blades sank deep into the demon, spraying foul-smelling blood across the floor and walls. It screamed, and an overlong arm sent Varles flying down the corridor to smash into a wall. Jarryl ducked the return swing and sprang under its reach to pierce the demonflesh that would hide a heart in any body less misshapen. It hissed, and Jarryl had to throw herself headlong to avoid wicked claws that dug furrows in the stone wall behind her. Varles staggered forward, and she screamed at him to free Shade. He gazed stupidly at her as she snatched his torch from its holder, touched it to another on the wall, and threw it back to him. His eyes suddenly cleared as he snatched it out of midair and then darted back down the corridor. Jarryl ducked the demon’s petulant swing and retrieved her blade from where it lay sheathed in the demon’s chest. She danced back just in time to be sent sprawling by a clawed hand that tore her cloak away and ripped a bloody track across her left shoulder. Blood splashed down her numbed arm. She spat out a curse and staggered to her feet again, pressing home an attack she knew to be hopeless, her skill weaving a web of steel between her and the demon. The wall torch was already burning low.

Varles tugged and twisted at the stubborn iron loop. Shade cursed dispassionately and pulled at his chains, which were so arranged that try as he might he could lift his hands no higher than his waist. As Varles paused to wipe sweat from his eyes, Shade suddenly tensed.

“Captain! Is there light in my cell?”

“Aye, Shade, how else could I see to wrestle with these damned chains?”

“Then free my eyes!”

“I haven’t the time, Shade!”

Varles took the iron ring in both broad hands and put his shoulders to the task. With agonizing slowness, he felt the corroded metal stir under his grip. He jammed a fat against the wall to brace himself and threw his weight against the loop. For long moments, he stood straining, and then the stone gave, the ring flying from the wall in a cloud of dust and stone splinters. Varles lay sprawling as Shade reached up and pulled the blindfold from his eyes. He laughed triumphantly when a shadow fell across his face though there was nothing to cast it, and then he tore the heavy manacles from him as though they were nothing but paper. Varles staggered to his feet, but by the time he was up, Shade had already gone. He lurched back into the corridor, sword in hand, and snatching the torch from its wall holder, he hurried after Shade.

Jarryl swung her notched sword with aching arm, sweat running into her eyes, her blood making the floor slippery. She only just ducked the demon’s lazy return swing and heard again its hateful titter. She knew it was playing with her but dared not retreat. With her gone, it might disappear back into the wall painting again, and there was no telling where it might choose to reemerge. She thought fleetingly of the painting on the guardhouse door and realized who had mutilated the dead guardsmen. The discarded jawbone swam before her eyes, and in a flash of inspiration, she understood the empty cells and why the city lived in fear. The King let the demon live by feeding on those prisoners it could reach. Only a thick iron door had saved Shade. In her musing, she let her attack slow, and again the heavy arm sent her flying. She lay exhausted, knowing she had to get up, but unable to force herself to her feet.

She stared helplessly up at the sniggering demon, and then her eyes widened as Shade stepped from the shadows beside her. The demon screamed shrilly and threw both gnarled hands to the ceiling. Flames burst between them, dull red with the stink of brimstone. The demon screamed again, and the flames crackled unsupported on the air. It seemed to Jarryl that the demon knew Shade, and in its own way feared him. Varles helped her to her feet, and she leaned on him a moment, before pulling away. She’d not miss the battle this promised to be.

Shade howled something in a tongue only the demon seemed to recognize, and it threw the flames at him. He darted aside, and Jarryl grinned with a savage joy as the sorcerous flames seared the demon’s picture from the wall. It howled in agony as flames licked up around its bulk, but there was no longer any painting for it to disappear into. Fire roared in the narrow corridor, consuming the demon in a brightness too painful to look upon. It screamed in rage while it roasted, held fast in the passage by its bulk. As Varles and Jarryl watched, flames scorched along the walls, obliterating the paintings. The demon seemed to fall in upon itself, and soon the sorcerous flames had left nothing but a charred skeleton. The stench of burned meat hung heavy on the air as the flames flickered low. Shade loomed suddenly out of the shadows.

“We’d best leave; the sorceries of night have been called upon here, and I’d not stay to see the result of that calling. This fire is not the kind that can easily be banished.”

He turned and ran down the corridor, leaving Varles and Jarryl to follow as the flames roared up again, eating into the very stone itself. With the heat already scorching their backs, they sped along the narrow, twisting corridors, just managing to keep Shade in sight, for he seemed to need no directions to lead him out of the Labyrinth. When he reached the portcullis, he barked a few words, gestured with a hand, and the iron grating rose obediently before him, hanging on the air as he sped under, and then falling slowly back again. Varles and Jarryl only just scrambled through the lowering gap. Jarryl shot a venomous glare after Shade but saved her breath for running. There’d be time for a reckoning later. Behind her, she could hear flames crackling and realized that although Varles’s torch no longer burned, the corridor was still well lit. She risked a glance over one shoulder and cursed as she saw the corridor was already ablaze.

By the time they reached the final stairway, the flames were a raging inferno and no more than a dozen feet behind them. Sweat poured off them, and their breath came hard as they assayed the narrow steps. Shade stood in the guardhouse door at the top of the stairway, a grin twisting his mouth as he watched, making no move to help. Varles and Jarryl forced themselves up the last few steps with flames licking at their heels and burst into the guardhouse. Shade slammed the door shut behind them, sliding home the bolts. They lay panting a moment, regaining their breath, and Varles absently noted that the ancient painting of the demon on the inside of the door was naught but a patch of charred wood. Shade smiled.

“Be grateful ye’re both good runners; another moment and I’d have had to slam the door on ye lest the flames reach me.”

Jarryl glared at him. “Ye’d have done that to us, who freed ye?”

Shade shrugged. “If I’m to have partners, they must be my equal.”

Varles got to his feet. “Partners, is it? Shade, ye swore an oath to serve with me in return for your freedom from that cell. Ye’ll keep your oath, won’t ye?”

He drew a silver dagger from his scorched sleeve. Shade regarded it thoughtfully a moment and nodded.

“As ye say, I swore an oath. Now let us leave; the fire will not long be balked by that door.”

He turned, and pushing open the thick iron doors, left the guardhouse without a backward glance. Varles and Jarryl shared a look and then followed him out into the cool night air.

Aboard the
Revenge
, they stared back at the burning city. With sails full of wind, the ship was fast pulling away from shore, but still they could see men running to and fro fighting the blaze. Jarryl watched unmoved. She had little love for cities, and still less for Mhule, which fed its prisoners to a captive demon. Varles watched the leaping flames with dark and brooding eyes and did not turn as Shade joined them on the bridge.

“Aye, Captain, they’ll long remember the night I worked sorcery in their city.”

The words held a cold satisfaction softened by his sardonic grin. He stalked aft, and Jarryl watched him go, gingerly caressing her bandaged shoulder. “I’d no more trust that one than a starving wolf at my throat. Why do we need him, Captain?”

Varles smiled.”If we are to gain the treasure I seek, we need the magic he possesses.”

Jarryl growled softly, caressing her shoulder. “Your damn treasure had better be worth it.”

“It will be, Jarryl. It will be.”

The sails creaked under the urging wind, and they watched the burning city fall behind them as the
Revenge
sped out to sea on a rising tide.

This appeared in the British semi-prozine Fantasy Tales. It’s a prequel to the previous story; and it’s here at the end of the collection because this was the last short story I sold for almost thirty years. The markets dried up, the editors stopped buying. I concentrated on novels, and finally made a career for myself by selling my first novel to Ginjer Buchanan at Ace, in 1988. I was laid off from my job when I was thirty and was unemployed for three and a half years. During this time, I wrote morning, noon, and night, and had my work rejected endlessly. Finally, I got a job working at Bilbo’s Bookshop, in Bath. I started work on the Monday, and on the Wednesday I got a letter from Ginjer, saying she wanted to buy my book Hawk and Fisher, and would I be interested in writing five more books featuring the same character? And that’s how I got started. It wasn’t until much, much later, that I was asked to write short stories again. Luckily, I still have a soft spot for them.

So here they are.

About the Author

Simon R. Green is the New York Times–bestselling author of Blue Moon Rising, Beyond the Blue Moon, the Adventures of Hawk & Fisher, the Novels of the Nightside, the Secret Histories Novels, and the Ghost Finders Novels. He is a resident of Bradford-on-Avon in England.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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