Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

Hannah thought it was the most forbidding place she had ever seen. The grim facade seemed to hum, stay away, resonating out through the dirt beneath her feet.

‘Beer.’

‘Beer.’

‘Beer.’

‘All right, three beers and two half-goblets of wine coming right up.’ Steven draped his cloak over the back of his chair. The Gore-tex coats were hidden in Garec’s saddlebag.

‘And aspirin,’ Mark said. ‘My leg is cramping again.’

‘I have aspirin. I took it from Howard’s place.’

‘I need three.’

‘They’re in the bottle in my pack. You can get them while I get the drinks.’

‘Good, I like them better with beer, anyway.’ Mark dug into Steven’s bag and opened the plastic container discreetly. Cupping the pills in his hand, he said, ‘I like Traver’s Notch.’

Garec nodded. ‘It’s a nice little town, clean and quiet. I’ll bet there’s good fishing too.’

‘Too bad we can’t stay,’ Mark said.

‘Time is running out on us.’ Gilmour traced the grain on their tabletop with a fingertip. ‘We have to get south. If you know where the spell table is, we must get there as soon as possible, before Nerak beats us there.’

‘Won’t he be looking for us?’ Garec asked, ‘knowing we have the key, won’t he be waiting for us out here somewhere?’

‘Perhaps not. If Nerak travelled back to Malakasia to take over Bellan and resume command of the occupation forces, then we may have some time before he comes back to the East.’

‘But why would he waste time doing that?’ The young Ronan checked the front room for eavesdroppers.

‘Because he can, and because the occupation forces are valuable to him. They are a formidable army – and don’t forget, as far as Nerak is concerned, we don’t know where the spell table is, and we are effectively trapped in Sandcliff Palace.’ At that, Gilmour smiled.

‘Unless he felt Steven killing the almor and wiping out those clouds,’ Mark said.

‘He can’t detect Steven’s magic. If he could, we’d have known by now. So if he returned to Welstar Palace to collect Bellan, to proclaim Prince Malagon dead and to restore order among the occupation forces, we may have a little time in which to travel un-accosted. He may be thinking he can take Bellan, return to Sandcliff in person, and finish us off, but with Steven’s cloaking spell-’

‘Yup, Mom’s old blanket,’ Mark said, appreciatively.

‘Well, with that we may be able to move south without him knowing we’ve escaped.’ Gilmour gestured south as if Meyers’ Vale were just across the street.

‘Could he somehow have had the almor reporting back to him?’ Garec asked.

‘Perhaps,’ Gilmour shrugged, ‘but that’s a risk we can’t avoid these days. Our best option is to get there as quickly as we can. He has no idea we’re closing in on the spell table; that’s to our advantage. We have Steven’s cloaking spell. And finally-’

‘We have the key.’

‘Yes.’

‘So someplace between here and the spell table, he’ll confront us in person, not long-distance threats or talking Larion skeletons,’ Mark said.

‘Unless we manage to get all the way down there without him detecting us, or without his spies getting word to him of our whereabouts. Although at this juncture I suppose I should say her spies.’

‘So Nerak is now Princess Bellan?’ Garec sat up straighter, half expecting the woman herself to step into the room.

‘I’m pretty sure – of course, she won’t be Princess Bellan in the eyes of his occupation leaders until someone produces Malagon’s body.’

‘Which is floating somewhere off Charleston, South Carolina,’ Mark said. Gilmour chuckled. ‘That’s right, and as long as that’s the case, Bellan will have a hard time convincing the generals they need to follow her.’

‘Won’t she just kill anyone who resists her?’ Garec wondered why a being as powerful as Nerak would spend time trying to convince mortal generals that they should follow him.

‘A few, yes, and after a while that will get the others’ attention. We want her distracted by that as long as possible.’

‘How long will it take us to cross Falkan?’ Mark asked.

‘Maybe fifteen days from here, riding flat-out.’

‘We should travel like we did before,’ Garec suggested. ‘That was incredible. We crossed the plains in just a few days.’

‘Nerak was still in Colorado then. If we do that now, he’ll track us all the way.’ Gilmour closed his eyes for a moment; he was not looking forward to the journey.

‘You’re right, sorry. So we travel the old-fashioned way. That’s fine; it gives us a chance to see the scenery.’

‘A mostly flat, arable plain lying fallow during winter,’ Mark quipped. ‘That will make for some picturesque vistas.’

‘No matter,’ Gilmour said. ‘We’ll travel as far and as fast as the horses can stand.’

‘When we get to that bend in the river, assuming we can find it again, how will we get the spell table out?’ Garec checked the bar to see what was keeping Steven so long.

‘I don’t know,’ Gilmour said matter-of-factly. ‘I haven’t seen this place.’

‘Imagine ice and snow over a rushing river and an underwater moraine as big as your mother’s house. There’s nothing south of there but the Blackstones and nothing north except days and days of river, and then that cavern with those bone-collecting things.’ Mark popped one of the aspirins into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

Gilmour filled a pipe and lit it from a taper on the table. ‘I trust you, and that’s why we’re going all the way down there. Nerak thinks he has the best of us – of me, I suppose, because I was too stupid to realise he wouldn’t have left the spell table at Sandcliff. Any half-wit would guess if it isn’t at Sandcliff, then Nerak must keep it at Welstar Palace, but I think you may have stumbled onto it completely out of naked- what was it, Mark?’

‘Pastry-chef luck.’

‘Naked, pastry-chef luck.’ He puffed contentedly at the pipe. ‘Anyway, if it is Eldarn warding the spell table, and it was Eldarn that trapped you down there, then I will need some time to find the root of the spell he’s used to control the ground, the water and the rocks. It will be a slow process.’

‘Can you unweave it?’ Garec wasn’t sure how to ask what he wanted to know.

‘Probably not,’ Gilmour said, surprising them, ‘but I’ll wager he can.’ He nodded towards Steven, standing patiently at the bar.

*

Steven was waiting for the innkeeper. Gita had told him to look for a tall man, heavy around the middle, with flowing grey hair and ruddy, wrinkled skin. His name was Ranvid; he had been a member of the Falkan Resistance for almost two hundred Twinmoons. Malakasian forces regularly moved through Traver’s Notch, so Ranvid was always assimilating bits of news about the occupation which he passed through various channels to Gita and the other Resistance cell leaders. His methods were simple, and effective: the Bowman was known to welcome Malakasian soldiers: they got good service, cheap booze and plentiful meals, and officers always drank for free.

Over time, the local occupation forces had come to think of the Bowman as an establishment sympathetic to Prince Malagon and word spread as the army moved throughout the country. Ranvid gleaned a wealth of valuable information, ranging from which general loathed which down to specific troop movements. He even knew when an enormous force started mustering outside Welstar Palace.

The innkeeper had never participated in a raid, taken up arms against a local patrol or killed a Malakasian soldier, but he was invaluable to the Falkan Resistance, a hero who risked his life daily.