Eyes of the Alchemist (15 page)

“An accelerated ageing process. The master said my brain was too advanced for my body and I should catch it up.”

“You look good. Are you happy?”

“Happier than I’ve ever been. I live in a wondrous world. This man you love, where is he held?”

“I did not say I loved him.”

“You hold him in high esteem and admire him greatly, Lady.”

“That is different to loving him. I only wish to rescue him because he’s deranged and thinks he can save the world. He says the god Beltane is raising a force against us. He deserves a chance. I suppose.”

“Your mind tells me he’s manacled and is being blood-drained by dragon bats.”

“It’s only what he deserves. Do not tell me I seek to rescue him because I love him. How can a maid love a man who thinks so highly of himself he wishes to be her lord and master?” Just at this moment she’d promise to be his slave rather than see him die, but she didn’t intend to admit that to anyone, least of all, Kavan.

“A man wishes to master his woman. A wise woman gives him his head, allows him his fantasy and masters him.”

“Well learned, Santo,” the alchemist said.

She shot them both a scornful glance. “Yester he was merely a child, today a sage and relationship counselor. Take care, Santo. On the morrow the wind might change and you’ll turn into another alchemist.”

“You could be right,” the old man said blandly.

Beneath them, the security guards were hacking footholds in the ice. The alchemist’s bells tinkled when he laughed and casually tossed a fire bolt down the slope. The ice hissed, melted, the footholds filled with water and iced over again. “That will teach them to call me a pile of moldy bones. An alchemist is not a bad thing to be at times, eh?”

Santo took her by the arm. “We must get away from here and back to the watchers. They are good strategists, and will help us defeat the forces of Beltane.”

“You mean Beltane’s forces actually exist?” Unease gripped her when he nodded. “Kavan instructed me to get in touch with his troopers. How can I do that?”

“By now they will know of his fate so we must be careful. You must summon the night chargers.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about.

 Placing his finger against her forehead, he murmured, “Close your eyes and concentrate.”

And the memory came back to her, of the dreaming place and Kavan placing a night charger at her disposal. She imagined his kiss against her mouth and remembered how exquisite his touch.

“Kavan evokes tender thoughts in your mind,” Santo whispered.

A smile touched her lips. “That’s true. He plants the seeds of desire within my heart. Perhaps I will come to love him, in time.”

“Call the charger, else time will end for you both.”

“Shazah, come to me,” she murmured.

It was not long before she saw the beast coming through the air, as swift and as silent as a black ghost. When Shazah landed, Tiana stroked her velvety muzzle. With a soft trill, Kavan’s hawk alighted on the charger’s head.

“You come to lend me your eyes, little bird? Thank you, I’ll need them.”

Behind them, another thunderbolt exploded. The alchemist’s cackle filled the air.

Tiana shook her head as she gazed as Santo. “Sometimes, he is not as wise as I’d imagined him to be.”

“Methinks the alchemist has his own agenda, but a little harmless fun never hurt anyone.” They exchanged an indulgent smile as they climbed upon the charger’s back and sped towards the forest.

It was night. Word had been spread via the market place. Stunned villagers, believing their lord had perished, locked themselves in their homes – some to grieve and some to ponder their futures.

As the dark night progressed, sounds of drunken revelry came from the manor. Neighbor visited neighbor and rumors flew back and forth.

“Lord Kavan is not dead,” said one burly fellow. “He be captured by the followers and his troopers are taken prisoner.”

“I hear tell Lady Tiana is still at large. She be guarded by the spirit of the alchemist.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in the maid’s shoes when Rowena gets her hands on her, spirit or no spirit,” came the gloomy reply. 

When the people gathered at the manor walls, for there was talk of a curfew being announced, the guards chased them off with whips.

* * * *

Only one of Kavan’s troopers was still at large.

Torma had delivered the silversmith’s daughter to safety and was hurrying back to the manor when Benlogan intercepted him.

“If you be Torma, stop. I would talk with you.”

Torma slapped his arms at his body to keep the cold at bay. “Your daughter is safe, silversmith. Out of my way, my lord and my dinner awaits me . . . and a right good rouse it sounds to be. What are they celebrating? Has the Truarc maid come to her master, at last?”

Benlogan threw a coarsely woven grey cloak at him. “Would it were so. Quick, there’s treachery afoot. Remove Lord Kavan’s insignia and don this.”

Alarm stabbed at Torma’s chest. “Are you insane?”

Benlogan’s hand clamped down hard on his arm, the pressure stronger than Torma would have given the old man credit for. “Lord Kavan is captured by followers of Beltane.”

“I must hasten to aid him, then. Who are these traitors?” he roared, shaking off the restraint and pulling his sword from his scabbard. “I’ll slice the gizzards from each and every one of them.”

“You’d do better to keep a steady head on your shoulders and your voice down. Proceed with caution, Torma. The manor is under the control of Pannis and the Lady Rowena. Your fellow troopers are disarmed and locked in their barracks. Their execution is listed as a source of entertainment for the morrow, for none will renounce their allegiance to Lord  Kavan.”

“The troopers are to be executed?” Sickened by the turn of events, and burning with the same shame his fellow troopers must feel at having been captured, Torma shook his head from side to side.

“It was not their fault. Their wine was laced with a powerful narcotic. There is a price on your head, Torma.”

“I care not. While my Lord is alive, my life is his. Why didn’t we get wind of the uprising?”

“It was confined to a power seizure by those in high office. Lord Kavan’s mother, Rowena, Pannis and some of the security guards. Vandrew is also involved, but he’s the weak link. He has not the true belief of the others and will be easy to break.”

Lady Rowena and Vandrew, the chief security officer? That was high treason indeed, and something Kavan wouldn’t have expected. Torma pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “What about Vandrew’s son, Javros?”

“Unaware of his father’s transgression from what I gather.”

“And out of the way as emissary to Truarc.” Torma thought for a moment. “Kavan always talked highly of Javros and had planned a rapid advancement for him. The youth has skills and reflexes that will match those of Kavan before too long. It’s better if his loyalty remains untested until the uprising has been resolved.”

Caution overcame his bravado. He would be of no use to his lord if he were captured. He drew the voluminous cloak around him and removed his silver rings and insignia, dropping them into one of the cloak’s pockets. “What of the Lady Tiana?”

“She’s in no danger, even though guards lay siege to the High Place. There’s magic in evidence from what I hear. She’s turned the mountain into ice, which allows them no foothold. Thunderbolts and stinking mud appeared from nowhere to rain upon the heads of her attackers. Most of the villagers turned out in force to cheer her on until a curfew was set in place. Then they were driven back to their homes under pain of death.”

Torma’s grin spread from ear to ear. “A maid who can blister the ears of Lord Kavan would find an army of security guards child’s play to deal with. I must release the troopers and join her. We have sworn our fealty to her and are now under her command.”

Benlogan’s thumb dug into the crook of his elbow and he whispered. “Bane song.”

Torma shook him off. “What gibberish is this you’re spouting?”

Benlogan’s smile held relief. “It’s the word and touch of the followers of Beltane. You’ll need it if you’re going into the palace. I had to know if you were loyal to Lord Kavan.”

It took but an instant for Torma’s fist to bunch around Benlogan’s shirt tunic front. With a grunt, he heaved him upwards to dangle with his feet just off the floor. “You dare ask that of one of Kavan’s troopers?”

“Aye, I dare. There is something I haven't told you, yet. There’s one amongst you who works with the enemy.”

“Name him, silversmith.”

“General Saayer.”

Torma was stunned. “It cannot be so. General Saayer trains us in the craft of war.”

“He’s also the bed mate of Rowena – and has been since before Kavan inherited the seat of power. They intend to install Saayer as Lord. Set me down, and gently, for you know not your own strength.”

Sobered, Torma lowered the man to the floor and patted his shoulder in apology. “The general is a formidable foe yet I must do my utmost to free my lord, even if it means killing Saayer to free the troopers.”

Benlogan adjusted his cloak. “A man can’t fight on an empty stomach for long. Leave it for now and follow me home. The traitors celebrate their victory with revelry. If you wait until the third quarter of darkness is over, most of them will be in a drunken stupor and at their most vulnerable.”

“The manor gate is locked at night. And what of the curfew?” 

Benlogan chuckled as he slid a key from his pocket. He dangled it from his finger. “There are not enough guards to patrol the entire village and here is the key to the side gate.”

Torma’s hand closed around it. “My lord will reward you for your loyalty.”

“I need no reward. The scum who’ve seized power would take us back to the old ways. Lord Kavan is blessed by the gods. He works for the good of the people and his concern for us shines for all to see.”

A far cry from what Benlogan had said about Kavan earlier. For certes, this man knew how to suit his words to the occasion. Such a twist would amuse Kavan no end, so Torma grinned on his lord’s behalf. “You’re too black-sighted to see so much, Benlogan.”

“Aye.” The silversmith’s smiled was bemused. “But not too black-sighted to know you’re laughing at the sentiments of an old man. Doesn’t that make it all the more remarkable?” Stick sweeping back and forth across the laneway, he began to walk rapidly away.

Keeping to the shadows Torma followed, his sword at the ready.

* * * *

The night was a skyscape without stars. Clouds chased overhead and the wind keened around the manor, as if it were already mourning the loss of Kavan.

Torma placed his ear against the side door. They would have posted guards. If he threw the door open suddenly he could probably catch them unawares and slice both their heads off with one pass of his sword. His mouth stretched into a grin at the thought of such a test of his skills. He slid a thumb along the edge of his sword. It was honed to perfection. His knuckles tensed around the door handle.

A regular sawing noise reached his ears. His grin widened. Whoever was on guard was asleep. Muscles tensed for action he gently eased the door forward on protesting hinges. There were two of them, lolling against the wall. He cracked them behind the ear with the hilt of his sword to make sure they slept till morning, and then stepped over their fallen bodies.

As it was to all of Kavan’s troopers the layout of the manor was familiar to Torma. He moved swiftly, cracking skulls along the way, and using the precision skills General Saayer had taught him.

 Torma and Kavan had trained together in the academy, starting when they were young boys. A close friendship had been forged between them, despite the difference in their rank – one that would always hold true. Lord Kavan had displayed a reluctance for execution of late, though, and Torma didn’t want to incur his wrath. Allowing the traitors to live went against his grain. He knew Kavan would want to exact his own revenge on the offenders in this matter.

The barracks were situated not far from Kavan’s quarters. From around a corner Torma observed two guards with stunners at the ready. They were sober, he noticed with approval, which was probably due to the lack of proximity to the dining hall and wine cellars. The barrack doors were bolted, and secured with a heavy chain.

He retraced his steps to collect a bottle of wine, and pulling the concealing cloak around him hunched his shoulders and staggered drunkenly towards them. He smiled widely at them and stuck his thumb in the air. “What a night, comrades. Bane song, and a thumb in the elbow to you both.”

The guards exchanged an amused glance. “Where are you going, fellow?”

“I’m looking for my woman.” He gazed owlishly at the bottle. “This fine liquid stole the edge from my sword. She said she’d rather taste the troopers’ blades than try to hone mine.”

“What does this woman of yours look like?”

“Her hair is like corn-silk and her eyes like the sky in summer. She only has one fault . . .” He dropped his voice and gazed from side to side before saying confidentially, “Between you and me, she likes it too much, friend. I can’t keep up with her.”

One of the guards chuckled. “The troopers will be no good to her tonight. Even though they be as naked as plucked goats, they’ve got no way of warming themselves. If your woman comes this way, my comrade and I might help you out a little.”

Scum!
Torma beamed at them and held out the bottle. “A drink comrades?”

“Thanks”

 Torma brought the bottle down on the guard’s outstretched arm. Before the fellow had time to shout, Torma caught his stunner in mid-air, pressed it against the other guard’s head and fired. The swung-back bottle simultaneously slammed against the first guard’s throat. “Five minitix, not bad,” he mused as he pulled the padlock key from a belt.

Inside, the door to the ablutions block was held shut by an iron bar through the handles.

‘It’s me . . . Torma. Get your backsides out of there. We have work to do.’

“What took you so long?” the first trooper out growled.