Stephen Deas - Warlock's shadow

Shakily, Berren’s hand started to move, copying the signs and strokes. He felt distant from himself, as if he was watching while his hands and fingers moved with a will of their own, painting the lines and shapes in their own special order. Why? Why am I doing this? Yet he was. He was powerless and had been from the moment he’d crossed the threshold into the witch-doctor’s domain. And in truth, a part of him watched his own hands with awe, amazement, and yes, with a hunger and a desire. Make the dead talk? Could he do that? What could that mean to a thief-taker? How much was such a gift worth? Priceless, surely!

When he was finished, Kuy nodded. ‘Place your mark upon his skin, boy. See his lips fold back and grin, even though he might be dead, still his secrets will be said. An old rhyme for children. Now you will see its true meaning.’

Berren crawled on all fours towards Kuy’s feet, to where the Headsman’s face lay on its side. The worst of it was hidden by the gloom, but he caught the glisten of a dead eye. The Headsman had been close to bald, so at least there was no hair to brush away. Berren screwed up his face, sneaking a last glance. His hand fumbled towards the severed head. As he touched it, the paper seemed to leap with a will of its own. Berren scuttled hastily away.

‘Good, good! Now ask it! The dead cannot lie, Berren, not like the living. For the living, lies grow like flowers in spring. Ask him what he knows about the dragon-monks. Or why he’s here. Or your lost prince, Syannis from across the sea, where is he? Anything you want, Berren.’

‘Whu … Why? Why, who?’ Berren’s tongue was so dry it kept sticking to the inside of his mouth. He could taste his own blood. He was starting to notice the smell again and it was threatening to make him sick.

‘Ask!’ Kuy steepled his fingers. His pale face smiled. He made a gesture and then sat down a few yards from where Berren still squatted on the floor, and Berren couldn’t have said whether the warlock’s chair had actually been there or not a moment before. He thought not.

‘Ask! Call his name! Headsman! Make him answer!’

‘But he’s dead.’

‘But he’s listening.’

A shiver prickled across Berren’s skin, crawling from his shoulders, down along the length of his arms and all the way to his fingertips. Kuy was watching closely.

‘You can ask a question, Berren. It’s simple enough. Mister Headsman, sir, why did you come to Deephaven? You see. Words. That’s all.’

‘Mister Headsman, sir … Why did you come to Deephaven?’

The head moved. Berren almost jumped out of his skin. He skittered back and fell over and then stopped, paralysed again as the dead man spoke.

‘To bring letters of greeting from Radek of Kalda to the Autarch of Torpreah and the priests of the sun.’ The words were slow and flat and dead. They didn’t sound like the Headsman at all.

Kuy growled. ‘Foolish man! Tell the boy what they wanted, these priests you saw?’

‘They wanted mercenaries from overseas to seize the city.’

‘Yes.’ Kuy bared his teeth. ‘Tush tush. Kind old men with never a harsh word. Serpents! Liars!’ He rounded on Berren. ‘Talk, boy! He is yours! Ask him! Whatever you want!’

‘You … you’re the Headsman,’ Berren stammered.

‘You’re Syannis’ boy,’ said the head slowly. ‘Well well. This one, he’ll cut a piece from you, just like he cut a piece from me. I see that. The dead see what the living don’t. Why have you called me back?’

He almost ran, right then. ‘Why did you come to Deephaven?’

‘You know that answer.’

‘Where’s Master Sy?’

A low groan blew out from the cold dead lips. Kuy snapped his fingers. The head rolled across the floor to his feet. Kuy picked it up. Held up by the warlock’s hand, the Headsman’s face was clearer now, pale and dead with ragged flesh hanging where Master Sy had hacked it apart. It was horrible. Berren couldn’t look, but he couldn’t not look either. ‘I’m dead. He killed me. How could I know what has become of him since, boy?’

Kuy shrugged. ‘Radek is coming. He knows where Radek will be and that is where Syannis will be too. That is all he has for you. Until Radek comes, Syannis hides.’

The head leered. ‘How can this poor corpse know, eh? Syannis will take his revenge if he can, of that I am sure.’ It laughed and its eyes rolled. ‘Syannis. Clever clever like an eel. Deephaven is his home. He knows it like a lover, all its crannies and sweating crevices. No one will find him.’

Kuy held the Headsman in both hands now, facing Berren. Berren felt cold and sick. He shook his head. His world was smashed up enough. ‘Ask, Berren! Ask! Where will Radek be?’

‘Abyss-Day. The first night of the Festival of Flames. Radek will have his ship at the Emperor’s Docks for the start of it.’

‘And why?’ Kuy’s eyes gleamed. The Headsman moaned.

‘He comes with magic Taiytakei rockets for the city. A gift to light the skies as the Night of the Dead draws to an end and the festival begins. His thanks for the chests heaped with gold that the priests of sun will load into his hold. Heh!’ Another hoot that might have been a laugh. ‘If you want to know the real price of all that gold, ask a priest. Ask Sunbright Ansinnas. Yes, you ask. They all deserve what’s coming to them. And now you know, Berren, apprentice of Syannis. That’s what I told him, so that is where he will be. Before and after I’m as blind as the living.’ The head lolled its tongue. ‘Radek would pay a pretty price to take Syannis home with him. You might think about that, boy. Now let me go. I have nothing more for you.’

Kuy cackled. ‘You’ll not find Syannis, my boy.’ He lowered the head. ‘The priests will kill him if they can. Your sword-monks? Do they know what’s been happening under their noses? Was that why they came? Or perhaps they know nothing at all. Perhaps their eyes are blinded by their own light. The city Overlord might be grateful, but Syannis knows too much and he’s not an easy man to quiet. While autarchs and emperors claw each others’ throats, lesser men simply die. A stab in the dark would be the easy way. The mines for the men he’s killed if the justicars catch him, a swift sword for what he knows if a dragon-monk reaches him first. So he hides and neither you nor I will see him until Radek comes. There will be swords and blood and one must fall and no other way is allowed by fate.’ He gave a cold laugh. ‘The Autarch never came. Five thousand swords await across the sea. Do they sit there, furious, raging at their betrayal? Radek is coming. Syannis knows the time and place. No, Syannis is not for you, boy, not for now. Master Velgian, though? Let that be your morsel. Your temple fools will not ask him questions because they fear for his answers and so no one knows why he did what he did but now you have the means. Ask if you wish, if you do not fear to hear the answer.’ He laughed again, scornful and derisive. ‘Priests of the sun? Followers of the light? Who wants them? Hypocrites! Door-closers! Blind to everything but their own righteousness, wearing bands across their eyes.’ His head snapped to the doorway through which he and Berren had entered. ‘ Aren’t you? ’ He jumped up and hurled the Headsman a fraction of a second before the door smashed open and the brightness of the day flooded the hall. In silhouette, there she was. Tasahre. Her swords were naked in her hands, the sunlight like a halo around her.

The severed head was already in the air, aimed straight at Tasahre’s face. She ducked, fast as lighting, and it sailed over her out onto the waterfront. Berren started to rise.