Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

She had known Sallax… she had known him. Was she the one to help him? Could she wrench his shoulder back into place? Maybe she could flesh out the half-seen images in his memory. Perhaps he might even speak with her about them, these people, the old man especially. He knew they were strong, and committed, and he wanted to see them – but they stayed at the back of his mind, the rutters, and he couldn’t see their faces.

His shoulder ached and he growled in fury, slamming against the side of the barrel until he was sure it would topple into the Medera River.

Hearing that name, his name, that morning had changed things. She – the barefoot, muddy woman – hadn’t come by, she hadn’t crossed the bridge. She was still in the southern part of the city, so that’s where he would go. It would be cold, but that was fine; the cold soothed his shoulder, cleared his head.

The cowled killer that had haunted the Orindale waterfront for the past Twinmoon slipped without a sound from inside his hiding place and moved into the shadows of the alehouse just as the side door flew open with a crash. Three men emerged, two in the unmistakable black and gold livery of the Malakasian Army, between them a drunk, sopping wet, sporting a breastplate of regurgitated supper and cheap wine.

‘You seem a nice enough fellow,’ said the taller soldier, ‘and I’m about sure you’d have no problem making the swim to shore, even as drunk as you are. So, let’s complicate things a bit, shall we?’ He turned to his colleague, who drew a dirk and slid it into the drunk’s belly.

Blood spurted from the deep puncture wound. The drunk screamed, and cried out again as they tossed his body into the water.

The hooded man lurking in the shadows frowned when he heard the cry and the splash. It was not that he cared that these soldiers executed a drunk, but he was surprised that he couldn’t hear the victim’s shouts from beneath the surface of the water.

‘Have a nice swim, boy,’ the tall soldier shouted, then, clapping a hand on his compatriot’s shoulder, said, ‘Come on, Reg, I’ll buy you a beer.’

‘Hold on.’ Reg paused and peered between the barrels.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing. You need a gripper?’

‘Sure. You?’

‘Back here. Let’s be quick about it.’

With a grin, a wraith shrouded in death was upon them, materialising out of the shadows. He would find the woman, he thought as he hacked viciously at the soldiers until their bodies lay twitching in a puddle of congealing blood. She would help him. He cleaned off the knife he had taken from her. And if the pain grew too great, he would give up and kill her as well. He pulled the lid from the cask nearest the door and poured several shovelfuls of sawdust over the bodies. One, still fighting for life, coughed, then fell silent.

Sallax was already gone.

Steven executed a three-point turn that would have had his driving licence revoked, the rear end flshtailing across the road as the tyres shrieked. He pulled out of the skid and pointed the snout of the powder-blue Thunderbird back towards Idaho Springs. Once safely in the northbound lane, he hit the accelerator and grinned as the mighty V-8 engine roared in response. The car almost took flight, leaving the city dump in a cloud of exhaust as he raced recklessly towards town.

The big car careened over the icy road, but Steven held on, even when a great brown ram emerged from the woods on his right, cream-coloured nostrils flaring. The bighorn was heavy-bodied and rippling with muscle, three hundred pounds or more, Steven thought, and moving at nearly thirty miles an hour. It burst from the trees and thoughts of Nerak vanished for a moment as Steven took in the raw beauty of the animal – until it swerved at the last possible moment and pointed its huge curled horns straight at Howard’s car.

It took a second or two to filter through, but as soon as he realised the ram was coming for him Steven hit the brakes, nearly sliding into the gully. He managed to get the car’s rear wheels to grip, despite the slushy mud on the hard shoulder, but by swerving all he achieved was to provide the beast with a naked broadside.

‘Shit,’ Steven shouted an instant before impact, but there was no time to do anything – not even fasten his seatbelt; there were none. He braced himself for the impact: at least it wasn’t his side facing the furious beast. When it hit, it was terrifying; far worse than he’d expected. The passenger-side door crumpled in and the windows shattered. Steven’s head bounced off his side window, cracking the glass, and his head; blood started to mat his hair.

He brushed away shards of glass, hoping he would still be able to drive into Idaho Springs. ‘Or anywhere,’ he groaned, feeling for the edges of the gash on his head. ‘Oh God-’

The force of the ram’s attack had shifted the car on the slippery surface and now Steven was facing south towards the dump once again. The engine sputtered into silence. Outside he heard a braying cough, the bighorn sheep, dying. He winced and watched in horror as the once-graceful creature struggled to rise from the ground, one leg dragging uselessly, another twitching. It appeared to have broken one shoulder in the attack, and dark blood flowed from the lower curl of one horn which had been ripped away. It reminded Steven of the grettan that had attacked and nearly killed him in the Blackstone Mountains. Even before the ram turned towards him, Steven knew he would see amber eyes.

‘Hello, Steven,’ Nerak’s voice rang in his head. ‘I’m coming for you.’ The voice was matter-of-fact, and Steven felt his bowels contract with fear. No magical field emerged to protect him, no supernatural current beneath his skin warded him. The broken ram made a futile, final attempt to crash through Howard’s Thunderbird, but this time the possessed bighorn glanced off the side of the car and tumbled to the road in a heap.

Steven fumbled for the ignition, watching the backs of his wrists, waiting for the telltale sign of Nerak’s attack. Would the wound just open in a circle, or would it begin as an irritation? He panicked for a second: where was Lessek’s key? No, it was safe – at least for the moment… maybe he should throw it out the window and try to lose it in the snow? No, just drive away: north, south, wherever.

He tried the engine, cursing furiously when it sputtered and died, then bellowing his approval when, on the third attempt, the engine caught and sprang to life. He heard the ram die, braying miserably before it fell silent.

‘Thank Christ,’ Steven said, willing his heart to slow down now. He caught a whiff of foul rotten eggs and rancid beef emanating from his clothes and recoiled, nearly retching into his lap. He grabbed for the door, but it was stuck. Air, he thought, must get some air in here. Then head down the hill. Nerak is in the city, but I’ve got a few minutes.

Confident the dark prince wasn’t on hand to take his soul, he pushed again at the door before realising he had locked it earlier. ‘Can’t even get myself out of the damned car,’ he chided with a thin smile and flipped the locks up with a bruised thumb. ‘Just a couple minutes to get-’

The ram gave a cry and leaped onto the hood of Howard’s car. Rearing back on its haunches, the huge beast towered over the windshield, blocking the sun for a moment before crashing its hooves down through the glass and into the front seat.

Only blind, heaven-sent luck saved Steven’s life as one of the ram’s hooves split the cracked leather between his knees and the other missed the outside edge of his thigh by less than two inches. As the windshield shattered, the ram’s head slammed down; it would have crushed Steven’s chest, had the great curls not caught on the roof. Only the creature’s lifeless face, blood dripping from each nostril, stared down at him. Mucus and saliva dripped from the ram’s lips onto Steven’s thighs and, weirdly, he thought he detected a faint hint of tobacco.