Luke Scull - The Grim Company

‘I have a busy day tomorrow,’ he said. ‘But we’ll make some time for each other, I promise. I love you, Lena,’ he added, watching her undress. ‘I do what I do for you.’

‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I love you too.’ She blew out the dying candle and joined him under the blankets. He felt her warm body press up against his.

A man does what is necessary. For his lord. For his city. For love.

Brodar Kayne’s knees ached.

They’d departed the ruined temple just after midnight to find the storm hadn’t let up. An hour spent trudging through the sodden streets had caused all his old scars to chafe against his damp leathers, and to add to the discomfort his bones had started to protest.

It don’t get any easier , he thought ruefully. At least Jerek had calmed down now, retreating into a sulk after his little outburst. He splashed along sullenly at the rear of the group, cussing under his breath occasionally and shooting dark looks at the world in general.

The streets sloped gently downwards as they made their way south towards the harbour. They passed sagging groups of buildings that loomed in the darkness like gigantic beasts. Occasionally a flash of lightning would illuminate the night sky and render the individual buildings in ghostly shades of monochrome. He saw warehouses hard by tanneries, coopers’ establishments nudging chandleries, and apothecaries’ shops abutting brothels, the last no doubt by design. He’d never seen so many different trades packed so tightly together.

Vicard the alchemist had pointed out his shop as they passed nearer to the docks, but Kayne hadn’t been able to make out a damned thing. Fact was, his eyes weren’t getting any better.

The alchemist was just ahead of him now, having dropped slightly behind the girl at the head of the sorry band. The man’s nose was like a busted cistern and his long sleeves were covered in as much snot as water. Vicard was the sort of fellow Jerek would take an instant disliking to, so Kayne took care to keep himself positioned between the alchemist and his belligerent friend.

The outline of ships suddenly appeared and the sounds of the sea became audible above the persistent hammering of the rain. The girl — what was her name? Sasha? — slowed, and Kayne saw a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. The small group drew to a halt. He shifted a fraction for easier access to his greatsword, should he need it. It always paid to be careful.

The stranger threw back his hood to reveal a face of devastating blandness. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and was of average height and build, but aside from those few details Kayne struggled to identify a single distinguishing feature about the man.

Sasha stepped forwards. ‘The night is black,’ she said carefully. ‘Yet hope burns in the darkness. Do you know where we may find succour?’ She made a complex gesture that involved lots of finger wiggling and ended with her hands locked together in front of her chest.

The man looked confused. ‘Are you here for the master?’ he asked. ‘He told me to meet some guests here. Well, he didn’t use the word “guests” exactly, but he’s in a dark mood what with his haemorrhoids playing up again and you shouldn’t hold that against him.’

Sasha’s mouth worked silently for a moment. ‘The merchant Garrett. Your master knows him?’ she finally managed.

The unremarkable fellow thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘The fat man? He’s been around a few times. Eremul always says he could give him gout just by looking at him. Or he could if… well, you know.’

Kayne had heard enough. ‘I ain’t one to grumble,’ he said, ‘but it’s pissing down something fierce and this conversation don’t seem to be going anywhere fast. I don’t suppose you could lead us to this Eremul fellow?’

The man blinked, and then gave a bland smile. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The depository’s a bit of mess but that’s my fault. I’ve had no time to put everything back in its proper place yet. Let’s go.’ He pulled his hood back up over his head and set off west along the docks.

Kayne glanced around at everyone else, shrugged, and followed after him.

‘Really, Isaac. I don’t know why I put up with your incompetence. I swear, you’re a boil on the arse of humanity. If it wasn’t vaguely amusing to see you blundering around like a blind man in a brothel, I’d have turned your flesh to stone and had you tossed in the harbour years ago.’

Kayne stared in amazement as the venomous insults continued to drip from the tongue of the man sitting before them. Dark-haired and olive-skinned, he didn’t seem that much older than his manservant, except that his eyes were as cynical as the other man’s were cheerful. Oblivious to the torrent of abuse raining down on him, Isaac smiled and continued pouring steaming tea for each of them from a large pot.

‘Maybe he misunderstood my hand signals,’ Sasha said, sipping from her cup and watching their contact warily. ‘It was dark and raining heavily. I wouldn’t blame-’

‘Nonsense,’ the man seated behind the desk cut in. ‘Isaac is a cretin of the highest order. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was placed on this mortal plane simply to annoy me.’ He grimaced as he finished speaking and shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

Kayne watched as Sasha raised an eyebrow.

I can see why young Cole has a thing for you , he thought. You’re an attractive lass, though too sharp for my tastes. And far too young , he quickly appended, feeling somewhat guilty.

‘Garrett said you could help us reach the Wailing Rift,’ Sasha said. ‘Dorminia is under lockdown. How do you propose to get us out?’

‘To most in the city I am simply Eremul, a rather tedious fellow with a love for cataloguing books,’ the man responded, repositioning a particularly large volume on his desk. The whole interior of the building was filled with stacks of books and reams of paper; tomes of all shapes and sizes filled endless shelves and covered almost every available inch of floor space. ‘To a select few,’ he continued, ‘I am known as Eremul the Mage .’

‘You mean the Halfmage,’ Isaac corrected gently. ‘They call you the Halfmage.’

Eremul froze. ‘I distinctly recall asking you not to call me that, you buffoon.’

‘You’re a wizard ?’ Sasha gasped. ‘Impossible. Salazar would never tolerate another mage in the city. Not after the Culling. Everyone with the gift of magic was put to death.’

Eremul sneered, his thin lips curling up unpleasantly. His voice was soft, but the bitterness was almost tangible. ‘I was a scribe at the Obelisk when the order was given. I was young and talented. I dare say I was a favourite of his lordship. He must have seen a use for me, since he allowed me to keep my life.’ He put his hands on the edge of the desk and pushed against it.

All those sitting around the table gasped, save for Jerek who gave an amused snort. Large wheels had been affixed to the bottom of Eremul’s chair, allowing it to slide effortlessly backwards to reveal the mage in his full glory — or more appropriately, his half-glory.

Eremul’s legs had been removed just above the knee. His dark green robe had been shortened to fall just below the stumps.

The Halfmage sneered at the faces gawking at him. ‘Never let it be said our benevolent lord is without mercy. Salazar only butchered half of me, which is a half less than every other wizard in Dorminia. I was given enough coin to set up the depository here. As long as I bequeath certain information to the city’s magistrates when required, they leave me in peace. I suppose I was the lucky one,’ he added sardonically.