Paul Collins - Swords Of Quentaris

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Swords

of

Quentaris

Paul Collins

To Peter McNamara, a true champion

Thomas C. Lothian Pty Ltd

132 Albert Road, South Melbourne, Victoria 3205

www.lothian.com.au

Copyright © Paul Collins 2003

www. plasticine.com/pcollins

www.quentaris.com

First published 2003

Reprinted 2003

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Collins, Paul, 1954-.

Swords of Quentaris: the Quentaris chronicles.

For older children.

ISBN 0 7344 0470 0 (pbk.).

1. Life on other planets — Juvenile fiction. 2. Quests (Expeditions) —

Juvenile fiction. I. Title. (Series: Quentaris series).

A823.3

Cover artwork by Marc McBride

Back cover artwork by Grant Gittus Cover and text design by John van Loon Printed in Australia by Griffin Press

Swords

of

Quentaris

THE QUENTARIS CHRONICLES

Quentaris in Flames, Michael Pryor Swords of Quentaris, Paul Collins The Perfect Princess, Jenny Pausacker The Revognase, Lucy Sussex Beneath Quentaris, Michael Pryor Slaves of Quentaris, Paul Collins

Contents

1 Attack of the Pirates 9

2 Gangi — the Fence 27

3 Vindon on the Make 33

4 Rad's New Accomplice 57

5 Rad on the Run 63

6 The Scar 77

7 Hamilian Magic 99

8 The Map Strikes Back 123

9 The Great Escape 139

1. A t t a ck of the PiratesIT was much like any other day in Quentaris—

glib vendors hawking their dubious wares, the cries and squeals of excited children, the vowel-chewing growls of the City Watch as they tried to keep impossible order, the pervasive reek of day-old fish intermingled with the cloying aroma of freshly cut flowers and frying sweetmeats, and apprentice cutpurses running from victims.

And strange things were happening in the rift caves far above the city.

In an old almost forgotten religion, it was the year of the Warlord, the month of the Witch and the day of ... the Donkey. What this meant was anyone's guess, but according to a few of the market soothsayers, it was a day to be reckoned with. After all, warlords made war, witches cast vile spells ... and donkeys, well, they kicked the unwary.

Rad de La'rel crouched behind a parapet high above the marketplace. This was his usual spot for the night vigil. There were dozens of watchers like himself, all keeping the city safe against in-vading armies such as the pirates.

He was early as usual —there was no better way to learn the art of thievery than to watch the shadowy members of the Thieves' Guild go about their artful business in the market below.

Almost more than anything in the world, Rad wished he were one of them. A cutpurse here, a stall thief there — Rad watched in fascination as Guild members deftly relieved their victims of valuables.

Second only to the thieves, Rad admired the rift guides who plied their trade in Quentaris.

After all, he was descended from the greatest guide of them all — Nathine. It was said that Nathine was descended from the Hamil, a race who periodically visited ancient Quentaris and came not only from another world, but from the sky itself.

Momentarily Rad looked skyward. He had as much hope of following in Nathine's footsteps as he had of reaching the sky. There was not one shred of guiding talent in him, nor in his immediate ancestors. Once Nathine was dead, it appeared as though her guiding ingenuity and bloodline had died with her. Except for her

'magical' bracelet, which hadn't worked in Rad's lifetime. He twirled it around his wrist, as he had done on numerous occasions when per-plexed.

Thoughts of his famous great-great-grandmother made Rad despondent. It wasn't fair that her guiding ability had not been passed from family member to family member. If a Guides' Guild existed, at least he would have been part of a clan.

As it was now, he was a classless person — eking out an existence among the lowest of the low.

With renewed envy he watched a famous guide, Otlan, gathering provisions for what would no doubt be an epic adventure in one of the rift caves. Mainly adventurers, swordsmen and the like came from the outer lands to try their luck in the famous Quentaran rift caves, although most were too proud to hire guides. More fool them — the rifts could be deadly.

If only Nathine's talent could have been passed on down to her descendants! He idly fingered the artifact he wore about his wrist. It was a dented and pitted Hamilian bracelet. A family heirloom, it came with a prophecy that one day the bracelet would guide a de La'rel to greatness.

Rad had been the butt of many a joke for wearing jewellery, but the bracelet was all that he had to remind him of his famous ancestry.

Such was Rad's lot in life. A piece of jewellery normally worn by girls!

He slid back behind the low wall. Becoming a rift cave guide was beyond his wildest imaginings

— but becoming a thief was within the bounds of

possibility. Guild membership was hereditary, or you could be nominated by a member. A third alternative, but an unlikely one, was that you could earn your way in. Being a Guildless person, Rad knew it was impossible to steal something without committing a felony against the Thieves'

Guild. Only members were allowed to steal on the open market. And since no thief was about to nominate him, his chances of joining their ranks did not look good.

Unless ... Unless Rad stole something so valuable the Thieves' Guild could do nothing but sit back in awe.

Day passed into night and Rad grew alert for any ominous dark splotches cruising the night sky.

These darker than dark splotches were usually skycrawlers — skyships commanded by pirates.

The brigands set sail from the rift caves and looted and pillaged Quentaris in daring night raids. So it was that Rad stared endlessly at the night sky.

He had never rung a warning bell before, although in his short life he had heard them peal

many times and watched the Quentaran guards fire arrows up at the raiders. He longed to ring a bell, and eyed the rooftop bell with something akin to awe. Each bell had its own distinctive chime, so that the city's defenders knew exactly where the skycrawlers were when a particular bell sounded.

It was perhaps the creaking of the skyship's webbed ladder that made Rad look up. The spider-like webbing hung from the craft like an angry entrail. It whiplashed in the wind and Rad staggered as it disgorged one of its crew.

'Ugh!' Rad gargled and stumbled backwards, too paralysed to run for the bell. He had never seen a pirate in real life, and the pictures he had seen were obviously romanticised. The creature twisted his taut-skinned face inquisitively, as though never having seen a Quentaran before.

'Ugh!' the pirate grunted.

He jumped down to the rooftop, squatted to cushion the impact, then straightened to tower over Rad. The pirate's tusk-like incisors glowed a fungal yellow in the moonlight as he opened his mouth.

Rad almost swooned. The pirate's skeleton stood out in ridges and mounds, as though every muscle had long since died, leaving only a pale, leathery skin stretched tautly over its frame. The mis-begotten creature defied every logical thought Rad had ever had regarding rift creatures. This thing should not be alive. Yet it was, and deadly so.