Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘No, I didn’t,’ Mark said, ‘I’ve never given a pinch of raccoon shit about the Resistance.’ Garec looked at him, and Mark shrugged. ‘What can I say? I wanted to learn to shoot because I was in love with Brynne and she was taken from me – from all of us – because I wasn’t a killer, I wasn’t in control of those nightmarish circumstances. Well, now I am a killer, and I’m happy to go on killing.’

‘Then I’m sorry for you,’ Garec said. ‘Some day it will catch up with you.’

‘As it did you?’

Garec nodded.

‘It might,’ Mark said, ‘and you’ve been doing it for a lot longer than me, so you’ve probably got some insights into these things that I don’t. I may have found enough rage inside me to kill, but I’m not stupid, so what do I learn from you? I learn that many of the things I had to abandon in myself are still there somewhere, sublimated under five hundred layers of anger, hatred, disgust, whatever. But putting pressure on you to kill those soldiers the other day, that’s about the worst thing I have ever done. It’s far worse than killing people who are attacking me. So I’m sorry, Garec. I won’t let it happen again.’

He looked grim as he continued, ‘I have these hazy memories of living in a place and a time where killing another person would never be a possibility, not in a month – a Twinmoon – of Sundays, and yet here I am, a bloodthirsty monster out hunting for Malakasian soldiers to mount on the wall of my living room.’

‘We all have untapped potential,’ Garec said. Mark felt a chill run up his spine.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So what happened?’

‘It’s not important.’

‘Not important? By my count, you’re down about twenty arrows- and no matter how badly you want to snap that bow in two, you still carry it with you. You didn’t throw those arrows away, Garec; Steven’s right. So what happened?’

Garec reached over and took Mark’s forearm. ‘When the time comes, I’ll be ready. You needn’t worry.’ His eyes blazed, and for the first time that day he sat tall in the saddle, looking deadly dangerous. Mark recoiled slightly; he might think himself a killer, but he would fold were he ever to face Garec one-on-one.

‘You took out a soldier?’

‘Fifteen soldiers, maybe seventeen. They were coming up behind you; there was nothing else I could do.’

‘Good Christ,’ Mark said, ‘why? You could have let them comewe’re on horseback, they wouldn’t have caught up with us.’

‘They were cavalry.’

The enormity of Garec’s accomplishment was not lost on Mark, especially now he had been attacked by a cavalry charge himself. Just the thought of facing them alone made him shudder… Sallax had been right: this young man truly was the Bringer of Death. Mark reached out to take Garec’s hand. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ he said. ‘This is a hideous time.’

‘Yes, it is, but I will be ready,’ Garec repeated.

Mark took out half his arrows, which Garec accepted without saying a word.

‘My father always used to say that the lowest of low points in his life were always the start of the next good thing,’ Mark said.

‘Did your father enjoy plenty of good things in his life?’

‘I think he did, yes.’

‘Then he must have had plenty of low points as well,’ Garec said.

‘I think he did that too,’ Mark agreed.

‘If we see the other side of this business, I’ll pay for my actions. I’m not sure how, but that day is coming. Perhaps it will be the start of the next good thing.’ Garec was staring straight ahead; Mark wondered if he were talking to himself.

He slapped the bowman on the back. ‘If we see the other side of this business, and you find a way to atone, I’ll go with you and atone as well.’

Finally Garec smiled. ‘That will be fine with me. And I think Brynne would like that too.’

Steven was watching Mark and Garec out of the corner of one eye; he felt the tension ease somewhat when Mark slapped Garec on the back and Garec smiled, however briefly; they would be all right now, both of them.

As he rode in silence beside Gilmour, he took in the wintry beauty of Meyers’ Vale, and thanked God they weren’t attempting to cross the Blackstones during this season. He wondered if any of them would have survived had they begun their journey from Estrad even a Twinmoon later. The terrain had changed now they were off the Central Plain and he was careful to guide his horse around the plentiful rocks and stumps as they followed the river upstream. Gently rolling hills were interrupted periodically by upland meadows; now and then the river widened into bogland and slowed to a more majestic pace.

‘How far was it from the canyon to the place where you think Nerak buried the spell table?’ Gilmour finally broke the silence.

‘It was at least ten days on the Capina Fair, but some of those days were less productive than others. If we keep along this path, I know I’ll recognise that hilltop.’

The old man filled his pipe and began puffing. ‘I ask, because from what Brand says about the underground cavern and the partisans’ caves, we are two or three days’ ride from the canyon you found.’

‘That makes sense,’ Steven said, ‘it’ll be just a day or two before we are well into the foothills, and then maybe another two or three days to the place on the river – although that’s the bit I can’t really predict, because we were on the raft and most days we were happy to be there because the terrain on either bank didn’t look like the most hospitable place to travel – and that was during autumn.’

‘Perhaps we’ll get lucky and find a smooth way through.’

‘Here’s hoping,’ Steven agreed.

‘How are you doing with that spell?’

‘Which one? Our camouflage blanket? I hardly think about it now; it feels almost as though it will just keep itself going until I tell it to stop.’

‘Or until you grow old and die. Many spells are like that. That’s why it was so easy for me to open the doors at Sandcliff, to turn on the fountains and ignite all the torches. Magic is funny that way: once you get it started, it has a wonderful – if sometimes terrifying – propensity to spin itself out over and over again.’

‘As if you change what is real, and then step away,’ Steven mused.

‘That’s exactly right.’ Gilmour patted his horse contemplatively. ‘Sometimes what’s real does change; other times, well, it’s just an illusion. That’s what separates us from carnival magicians.’

‘It’s an emotional undertaking,’ Steven said, wondering if the Larion sorcerer would agree. ‘I mean, I know the staff is more powerful when I’m motivated by the right emotions. Does that make sense to you?’

‘Yes, I think you’re right: the power we wield is so malleable, it can be almost-’

‘Wait,’ Steven cut him off.

‘What is it?’ Gilmour turned in the saddle, checked the forest around them and looked back at the others to see if any of them had detected anything.

‘The trees up there.’ Steven gestured to the edge of a hillside that fell away to an area along the river they couldn’t see.

‘What about them?’ Gilmour raised a hand to stop the others.

‘They’re blurry.’

‘Blurry?’

‘Blurry, melting, you know, like things have been getting ever since Lessek’s key knocked me down at the landfill. They’re softening up, as if, when I get closer, they are going to begin to run together, and-’

‘Critical elements will become clear.’ Gilmour tentatively finished his thought.

‘The magic has been doing that for me ever since Idaho Springs,’ Steven explained. ‘It’s happened a few times; it seems to get rid of everything I can overlook, allowing me to focus on what’s most important.’ His voice faded to a whisper. ‘When you are running, run.’