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Tom Lloyd: The ragged man

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Tom Lloyd The ragged man

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With swift strokes he rowed to the approximate centre of the lake and dropped a rusty plough-blade over the edge to serve as anchor. Once the oars were stowed the failed Harlequin took a moment to inspect the tattoos on his palms and soles of his feet, but they remained undamaged, the circles of incantation unbroken.

'Ready?' the witch asked.

'As ready as I ever will be.'

'The coins?'

He could feel the weight of the two silver coins strung on a cord around his neck. Mihn's extensive knowledge of folklore was serving him in good stead as he prepared for this venture. It was common practice for dying sinners to request a silver coin between their lips, to catch a part of their soul. Whoever sat with them until dawn would afterwards drop the coin in a river, so the cool water could ease any torments that might await them. Daima had provided this service often enough to know where to find two such coins easily enough.

'They are secure,' he assured them.

'Then it is time,' Xeliath rasped, pushing herself forward so that Mihn was within reach. The young woman squinted at him with her good right eye, her head wavering a moment until she managed to focus. She placed her right hand on his chest. 'Let my mark guide you,' she said, stiffly raising her left hand too. That, as always, was half-closed in a fist around the Crystal Skull given to her by the patron Goddess of her tribe. 'Let my strength be yours to call upon.'

Ehla echoed her gesture before tying a length of rope around his waist. 'Let my light keep back the shadows of the Dark Place.'

Mihn took two deep breaths, trying to control the fear beginning to churn inside him. 'And now – '

Without warning Xeliath lurched forward and punched Mihn in the face. A sudden flash of white light burst around them as the magic humming through her body added power to the blow. The small man toppled over the edge of the boat, dropping down into the still depths. Ehla grabbed at the coil of rope fast disappearing after Mihn.

'I've been looking forward to that bit,' Xeliath said, wincing at the effect the punch had had on her twisted body.

The witch didn't reply. She peered over the edge of the boat for a moment, then looked back towards the shore. The sun was a smear of orange on the horizon but it wasn't the advancing evening that made her shiver unexpectedly. In the distance she saw Daima set her fishing rod down while barely a dozen yards from the old woman, a pair of gentry crept forward to drink from the lake.

Ehla pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and did the same for Xeliath before helping the girl to sit down in the curved hull of the boat. Above, the sky slowly darkened while they made themselves as comfortable as they could.

'Now it is up to Mihn,' she said quietly.


Legana felt the touch of Alterr's light on her face and drew back a fraction until her face was again shadowed from the moon. With her half-divine senses open to the Land she could feel her surroundings in a way that almost made up for her damaged eyesight. The woman she was stalking was no more than two hundred yards off and coming closer. Like a snake tasting the air Legana breathed in the faint scents carried on the breeze. The spread of trees and the slight camber of ground unfolded in her mind: a complex map of taste, touch and other senses she had no names for. Within it the other woman shone, illuminated by a faint spark within her that tugged at Legana's weary heart.

She replaced the blindfold and waited for the right moment to step out from the shadows. The blindfold hampered little, and it made her appear less of a threat; it did Legana no harm to remain cautious and look feeble. Her voice had been ruined by the mercenary Aracnan's assault and normally she would be forced to communicate by means of the piece of slate that hung from a cord around her neck – but the woman had the spark within her, as Legana herself did. It was faint – she had clearly strayed far from the Lady – but Legana hoped it would be enough for her divine side to exploit.

When the woman was only a dozen yards away Legana moved out from behind a tree. The woman gave a yelp of surprise and drew an axe and a shortsword in one smooth movement. In response Legana leaned a little more heavily on her staff and pushed back the hood of her cloak so the woman could see the blindfold clearly.

'Not a good night to be walking alone,' Legana said directly into the woman's mind.

The other glanced behind her, wary of an ambush. As she did so the scarf over her head slipped, showing her head was nearly bald. 'How did you do that? Who says I'm on my own?'

'I know you are.'

'You're a mage without any fucking eyes, what do you know?' the stranger snapped. She was shorter than Legana by some way, and more powerfully built. The lack of hair made her look strange and foreign, but as soon as she spoke her accent labelled her as native Farlan.

'I know more than you might realise,' Legana replied, taking no offence. A small smile appeared on her face: before Aracnan's attack she had been just as prickly as this woman. It had taken an incurable injury to teach her the value of calm. The quick temper of her youth would do a blind woman no good, whether or not she was stronger than before.

'For example,' Legana continued, 'I know you strayed from your path a long time ago – and I know I can help you find it again.'

'Really? That's what you know, is it?' The woman shook her head, confused by the fact that someone was talking thought to thought, but anger was her default state, as it had once been for Legana, and it presently overrode her questions. 'Looks to me like you're the one who's lost the path, and being blind I'd say you're in a lot more trouble than I am out here.'

'What is your name?'

For a moment she was silent, staring at Legana as though trying to work out what threat she might pose. 'Why do you want to know?' she asked eventually.

Legana smiled. 'We're sisters, surely you can tell that? Why would I not want to know the name of a sister?'

'The Lady's fucking dead,' the woman spat with sudden anger, 'and the sisterhood died with her. If you were really one of us you'd have felt it too, mad, blind hermit or not.'

Legana's head dipped for a moment. What the woman said was true. Legana had been there when the Lady, the Goddess Fate, had been killed. The pain, both of that loss and her own injuries that day, were still fresh in Legana's mind.

'She's dead,' she said quietly, 'but sisters we remain, and we need each other more than ever. My name is Legana.'

'Legana?' the woman said sharply. 'I know that name – from the temple in Tirah. But I don't recognise you.'

'I've changed a little,' Legana agreed. 'I couldn't speak into another sister's mind before.'

'You were the scholar?' the woman asked sceptically. 'The one they thought would become High Priestess?'

Legana gave a sudden cough of laughter. 'If that's what you remember we were at different temples! I was the one she beat for insolence every day for a year-I was the one who excelled only at killing. I was sold off to Chief Steward Lesarl as soon as I was of age.'

The woman let her shoulders relax. Grudgingly she returned her weapons to her belt. 'Okay, then. You were a few years younger, but we all heard about the trouble you caused. I'm Ardela. What happened to your voice?'

Legana's hand involuntarily went to her throat. Her skin was paler even than most Farlan – as white as bone, except for Aracnan's shadowy handprint around her neck. Underneath were some barely perceptible bumps: an emerald necklace had sealed her bargain with Fate when Legana had agreed to be her Mortal-Aspect, but the violence done subsequently had somehow pushed the jewels deep into her flesh.

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