Stan Nichols: The Righteous Blade

The wizard nodded and made to leave. Then he noticed Caldason staring at him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I think I preferred the ape.’

‘Hmmph.’ Phoenix turned on his heel.

Kutch gave one glance back before he and Goyter followed into the maze of cellars.

‘The boy worries me,’ Karr confessed as he watched them go.

‘He should,’ Caldason replied. ‘I know what he sees.’

‘And we’re no nearer grasping how you came to share these illusions.’

‘I’ve spent years trying to work out why

have them, and what they might mean. I feel as though I’ve…infected him in some way.’

‘We can only hope Phoenix and Covenant come up with a solution.’

‘If they don’t make things worse.’

‘Your attitude towards magic’s understandable, but it hardly accords with reality. You’d have us turn our backs on the only possible remedy for the boy. Not to mention the many other benefits.’ He nodded towards the firing range.

The first batch of dummies, charred beyond recognition, had been dragged away. Now the testers were working on destroying a new group, some of them dressed in the distinctive red tunics of the paladin clans. Eye-aching miniature lightning bolts crackled from the testers’ wands. An arrow was loosed. Bound with a chicane spell, it appeared to be dozens of identical shafts. The glamour bolts imploded on impact and vanished; the real arrow pierced its target. Projectiles hurled from slingshots exploded at the manikins’ feet in a green flowering of crazed venomous snakes.

‘I’ll take cold steel any day,’ Caldason said.

‘It’s not what Kutch needs.’

‘He did tonight.’

Karr slowly shook his head and laughed softly. ‘We’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?’

‘Probably not.’ Caldason regarded him. ‘You said Kutch needed rest. That goes double for you. You look worn.’

‘Everybody’s been telling me that lately.’

‘Then listen; they can’t all be wrong. You’re bearing too much.’

‘It’ll soon be a little less, I hope. I’m resigning my patricianship.’

‘You’ve said that often enough.’

‘This time I mean it. It’s a move I should have made long ago.’

‘Good. When?’

‘A matter of days. It’s going to feel strange after serving for so long.’

‘I don’t believe politicians achieve that much. Even the few decent ones end up tainted. You’re better out of it.’

‘I’ve come to think that way myself. And that maybe I’ve wasted all those years.’

‘No, not wasted. I didn’t say politicians don’t achieve

anything

.’

The patrician smiled. ‘From you, that’s quite a concession. But I’m ready for the change, though it’s going to take away what little protection the status affords me.’

‘So do what you’re always urging Rukanis to do; go underground.’

‘I’ll have to think about that. Disappearing after I quit could just confirm the authorities’ suspicions about me. It might be best to keep some kind of public profile for a while. But I have a more awkward task before I make that decision.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A social gathering, and a very prestigious one. It’s a ball, in fact, so it combines two things I don’t much care for: official functions and masquerades.’

‘They’re not exactly to my taste either, but it doesn’t sound that bad.’

‘You haven’t heard the worst of it. It’s hosted jointly by the Gath Tampoorian diplomatic corps and the clans. I’ll have the pleasure of the company of Envoy Andar Talgorian, and no less than Ivak Bastorran himself.’

‘I’d pay a good price for a few minutes alone with that one myself,’ Caldason returned grimly. ‘But if it’s such a trial, don’t go.’

‘Protocol wouldn’t allow that. Particularly as it’s where my resignation’s due to be announced.’

‘Then you’ll just have to smile through it.’

‘Yes, and after that I can concentrate entirely on our plans for the refuge. Talking of which…’ He altered course with a politician’s deftness. ‘…I’m having a meeting soon with the owner of the location. I’d like you there.’

‘What could I contribute?’

‘Something very valuable, perhaps. I can’t go into details now, but will you come?’

‘Some idea of what you expect of me would help.’

‘Possibly a service to the new state. Perhaps nothing beyond attending the meeting.’

Caldason thought about it. ‘All right.’

‘I’d like Serrah in on this, too.’

‘The meeting?’

‘This could concern your unit, and she is a member.’

‘Who hasn’t been on a mission for three months.’

‘I’d like the option of her being included. We can’t afford to have somebody with Serrah’s experience stand idle, not when we’re this stretched.’

‘I’d like to have her back. She’s moved on a lot since she tried to kill herself. But she’s still…unpredictable.’

‘She’s lost so much, Reeth. Her child, her job, her country, all she believed in. I think that entitles her to be a bit erratic, don’t you? I’m not convinced she’s ready for mission duties yet, but we should at least consider the possibility.’

‘As I said, I’d like her back.’

‘Excellent. I’ll get word to her.’ He looked around the bustling cellar and spotted Goyter returning. He waved her over.

‘Any idea where Serrah is this morning?’ he asked.

Goyter licked a thumb and consulted one of her numerous pieces of parchment. ‘She’s with Tanalvah Lahn.’

‘Ah, good. Tanalvah’s steady. She’ll keep Serrah out of trouble.’

Serrah Ardacris was in trouble.

Horrified, Tanalvah watched as her charge was driven back towards a wall by the two sentries still on their feet. They had pikes, giving them the advantage, and they were enraged. Serrah fought like a rabid thing, hacking at them savagely with her blade as she retreated.

To Tanalvah the situation looked dire. But Serrah seemed to be laughing.

Three of the sentries’ comrades were down. One was groaning and trying to rise. Another sprawled unconscious. The third lay very still in a widening pool of blood. The bench they’d been using as their checkpoint was overturned, and scraps of parchment fluttered in the chill morning breeze. On either side of the wagon that served as a roadblock a small crowd had gathered.

A loud crack brought Tanalvah back to earth. Serrah had chopped clean through one of the guard’s pikes. Its bearer was disbelieving for a second, then narrowly dodged her follow-up swing. Discarding the useless halves, he quickly pulled back, fumbling for his own blade. She turned her grinning wrath on his companion.

He had a simple strategy: herding her like swine until he could bury the pike in her chest. Serrah thought him unimaginative. She spun at him, using the momentum to hurry along a low stroke. He recoiled, avoiding it by a hair’s-breadth. Her next blow scoured his fist, biting deep. Wailing, he let go of the pike with his injured hand, upsetting its balance. As he botched correcting it, she went in again. He took the full force of her blow, toppled backwards, and landed flat-out, arms and legs akimbo, the pike rolling clear.

From where she stood, pressed into a doorway thirty paces distant, Tanalvah could swear she heard a hefty smack as he hit the flagstones.

Head thrown back, her long blonde hair falling loose, Serrah was laughing. Partly in triumph, but mostly from some darker impulse.

The remaining sentry charged, bellowing to mask his dread. She stood her ground and met him. Their swords crashed together in a discordant note nobody failed to hear. Then their blades took to chattering; a brittle, malevolent discourse in steel.