Nature's Peril Part 1 (The Nature Mage Series) (15 page)

“Good idea,” Taurnil said, vaulting to his feet. “Be right back.”

…

The others quickly gathered, t
aking seats around the clearing on rocks and the stumps of trees. They were clearly relieved that Gaspi was okay, and started plying him with questions about what had happened, but he wouldn’t say anything until the last of the group arrived. Talmo was the last to join them – he’d been out hunting and walked into the clearing with a cluster of pheasants dangling from his belt. The tribesman sat cross-legged on the ground, and the whole group fell silent.

“Come on lad,” Baard said. “Spill the beans!”

“Okay,” Gaspi started, feeling a bit self-conscious with all their eyes on him. He hadn’t even had a chance to work through what had happened for himself, but they were all waiting, so he’d just have to sort his thoughts out as he went. “I was having a horrible dream,” he started, shuddering as he remembered the knife-wielding man with the blurry face. “It was really nasty, and I was trying to wake up from it.” He could tell from the reactions of the group that they too had been caught in dark dreams. “It was really hard to shake it off but I finally managed it, and then when I woke up I couldn’t move a muscle. I was completely frozen in place. Then the hermit came out and started dragging you all into the hut.”

“Why didn’t we wake up?” Zaric
asked.

“It was a compulsion. Neuromanc
y, used to keep you unconscious.”

“The hermit is a magician?”
Taurnil asked incredulously.

“I don’t think so
, but I’ll get to that,” Gaspi said. “I was still frozen. It was like I was awake but not in control of my body. I fought hard and managed to break the compulsion completely, but the hermit was standing right over me with the boy, so I pretended to be unconscious and let them carry me into the hut. That’s when I realised Fortunate was a captive too.”

“Fortunate? Is that the boy’s name?” Voltan asked.

“Yeah. Taurnil says he ran off – we need to find him.”

“We
will, but we need to hear the rest of this first,” Voltan said.

Gaspi nodded
. “Okay. Where was I?”

“
You realised Fortunate was a captive,” Voltan supplied.

“Right. That was because after they carried me into the hut, they dropped me to the floor and I grunted.
Couldn’t help it! I thought the hermit was onto me for sure, but Fortunate covered for me and said it was him. When the hermit’s back was turned, he asked me to help him. That’s how I know.”

“Don’t worry Gasp
i, we’ll find him,” Zlekic said.

“Thanks,” Gaspi responded. “After that, t
he hermit drew a knife and was going to use it on Taurnil, but when he saw the chain mail, he chose you instead Voltan. He cut your shirt open.”

“I wondered how that happened,” Voltan said, running a
n exploratory hand over his chest.

“I shouted at him to stop, but the compulsio
n tried to drag me back under and I almost lost control. It wasn’t coming from the hermit - it came from the stone! I think it was controlling him too. It wanted him to cut your chests open and remove your hearts. It wanted him to put it in the open wounds so it could soak up your death energies.”

T
he group broke into angry muttering “Foul necromancy,” Voltan spat. “How do you know this Gaspi?”

Gaspi paused for long moments before speaking.
“Because it tried to make me do it too,” he said quietly. “I managed to break the sleep compulsion for a second time and smashed the hermit out through the wall of his hut. I pinned him down with magic and went back into the hut to deal with the stone. It tried to overwhelm me again, but not to make me fall asleep. This time it wanted me to wield the knife! It wanted me to take the hermit’s place and kill you all.” Gaspi shuddered at the memory of the hate that had filled him in that moment. “That’s how I know what it wanted, and that’s why I think it was controlling the hermit too. I fought it with everything I had, and only just managed to beat it. It exploded, but you know that – that’s when you all woke up.”

Everyone in the clearing was
staring at him in stunned silence. Gaspi suddenly felt uneasy – were they thinking about how close they’d came to a grisly death at his hand?

Gaspi’s discomfort
increased by the moment as the silence extended, but then Sabu stood up, walked across clearing and dropped to one knee in front of him. “Thank you for my life, Gaspi,” he said. “I will spend the rest of my days seeking to repay this debt.” Gaspi was staggered. He hadn’t know how his friends would react, but he certainly hadn’t expected this!

“Please, get up Sabu,” he said. “We’ve
all saved each other from time to time, and we’re all going to do it again.”

“Not like this,” Sabu insisted, staying exactly
where he was. “You have saved me from more than death this day. Whether you like it or not, I pledge myself to you.” The blademaster rose for a moment and drew one of his swords. He knelt down again and extended it to Gaspi on upturned palms. “It would do me a great honour if you would accept my sword.”

Gaspi looked around at the group for help, but they were all watching with unexpected gravity. He looked to Taurnil, but his best friend just nodded, as if he
thought he ought to accept Sabu’s pledge. Gaspi looked back at Sabu, who continued to kneel before him. A muscle twitched in the blademaster’s cheek, and Gaspi realised how tense Sabu was becoming. This was obviously a matter of the greatest importance to him, a matter of honour. He sent a silent question to Loreill, and received a rush of approval, radiating through the bond. Gaspi made up his mind - he couldn’t leave Sabu waiting in the dirt any longer.  

“I accept,” he said, taking the blademaster’s sword from his outstretched arms. Sabu sighed in relief and bowed his head. When he looked up, he was smiling.

“Thank you,” he said, then held out his hands. “You’re meant to give me my sword back.” Flushing, Gaspi gave it back to him and Sabu stood up. Gaspi leaned back, relieved it was over.

“
We’re not done yet laddie,” Baard said, pushing himself to his feet and lumbering across the clearing. He dropped to his knees in the dirt just as Sabu had and presented Bonebreaker.

“You’re kidding!” Gaspi said.

“No laddie,” Baard said. “I reckon Sabu’s has it righ’. You saved us from soul death, and tha’ puts me in yer debt. Now you’ve accepted ’im, you’ll ’ave to accept me an’ all. Like it or not, I’m yours now mi’boy.”

Gaspi’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and then his eyes widened as Talmo stood up
, withdrawing his bow and holding it in readiness to make his own pledge. One by one his companions joined him, rising to their feet and drawing their weapons. His eyes strayed from face to face and came to rest on Voltan and Taurnil. Tears swam in his eyes. He was completely overwhelmed.

“Don’t leave me down here Laddie!” Baard growled. Gaspi looked back to Baard and wiped the tears from his eyes. If they were going to do this he was going to receive their offering
as respectfully as possible. He reached out his hands and placed them on Bonebreaker.

“I can’t lift
it Baard,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter laddie,” Baard said with
uncharacteristic softness. “Jus’ say you accept an’ we’ll consider it done.”

“I accept,” Gaspi said, his voice cracking with emotion.

One by one they knelt and offered their service, and one by one he accepted their pledges. He kept his resolve until it was Voltan’s turn. There was something so unnatural about seeing the warrior mage kneeling in front of anyone, let alone
him
.

“I can’t
,” Gaspi said.

“You must!” Voltan responded
, his eyes like flint. “More rests on your shoulders than on any of ours Gaspi, and when the time comes, you will need our service.” Gaspi stared at him, still unsure. He hadn’t asked for any of this!

“Consider
what happened here, Nature Mage,” Voltan continue, his voice hard and flat. “No-one else could have broken that compulsion. It was a thing of dark and powerful magic, and beyond every one of us except you. You did a great thing by ridding the world of that foul artefact, and you will do greater things still. Now accept my service – it is only right, and you must learn what it means to lead.”

Voltan’s words settled around Gaspi’s
shoulders like a lead weight. “I accept your service,” he said quietly.

Voltan
rose to his feet without a word and moved out of the way so the last person could offer themselves. Tears flowed unimpeded down Gaspi’s face as he looked up into Taurnil’s face. He didn’t see the hardened fighter his best friend had become over the past few years. He saw the boy he’d known in Aemon’s Reach; trusting, devoted, guileless – his best friend. Taurnil fell to his knees and held out his staff.

“It’s always been this way Gasp,” he said, his own voice cracking with emotion. “
Even before all of this, before the magic, I was your protector. It’s destiny Gasp. I’d give my life for you.”

“And I for you,” Gaspi croaked.

“It can’t happen that way,” Taurnil said, shaking his head, and Gaspi felt a chill run right up his spine. “You have to stay alive or all is lost. It is my job to make sure that happens. Gaspi, accept my service.”

Gaspi
hesitated one last moment and then reached out and took Taurnil’s staff, warm where his friend’s hands had gripped it. “I accept,” he said hoarsely, and almost dropped the staff back into Taurnil’s hands. He collapsed back against the bundle of cloaks at his back, breathing heavily, his face wet with fresh tears. Taurnil sat down next to him in silence, and the others melted away. As he lay there, exhausted by emotion, Gaspi knew something had changed forever between him and the others, even between him and Taurnil. It even felt like something had shifted within him, changing his perspective on a fundamental level he couldn’t yet identify. Whatever it all meant, Gaspi knew in his bones that things would never be the same again.

Jonn placed the last cask on the qua
yside and leant against a piling, breathing heavily from the exertion. It was one of the first truly hot days in the year, and he was dripping sweat from every pore. For what must be the hundredth time that week he thought about Adela, and for the hundredth time he pushed the thought away. He couldn’t afford to dwell on her for even a moment, or at least not until he could do something about it.

“Tarek!” someone called from across the dock
. Jonn didn’t respond, too distracted to recognise his pseudonym. “Tarek!” came the cry again, but this time it was much nearer. Snapping out of his brooding thoughts, Jonn turned around to see Jack the overseer approaching. He kicked himself for letting himself get too relaxed. What was the point of a magical disguise if he couldn’t even keep up the pretence of a false name!

“Yes S
ir,” Jonn responded.

“
Lost in our own world are we?” Jack asked, frowning in annoyance. “I’ve half a mind to ask someone else,” He squinted around in the bright sunshine as if looking for candidates.

“Ask about what S
ir?” Jonn said, making sure his tone was suitably deferential.

Jack peered at him inte
ntly, taking far longer than necessary to respond. “I guess you’ll do,” he said eventually. “There’s a gathering at headquarters tonight and the Wrench needs extra guards on the doors. Be there at third watch, and take a sword.”

“Yes
Sir,” Jonn responded, trying to hide his excitement. This was exactly what he was waiting for - a chance to get near headquarters. There was only one problem. “I’ve never been to headquarters Sir. Could you tell me where to go?” he asked, trying to sound as if it was just a minor impracticality.

The overseer
’s gaze sharpened suspiciously. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“About
a month now Sir,” Jonn responded, waiting in taut silence while the overseer considered him. Jonn could feel his heart rate ratchet up a notch. He willed the overseer to give him the benefit of the doubt, but there was a real danger the jumped up idiot might actually do his job for a change and protect Belash’s interests.

A sudden change of expression showed Jonn the overseer had made up his mind.
“No funny business okay, or it’ll rip your head off and piss down the hole.”

Jonn represse
d a sigh of relief. “Of course Sir,” he said, dipping his head.

“Headquarters is round
the back of the Lotus Flower,” the overseer said. “You know it?”

“Yes S
ir,” Jonn responded. “Just before third watch – I’ll come armed.”

“Be on time
,” the overseer said.

“Thank you S
ir,” Jonn said, dipping his head once more. A loud crash sounded from the other side of the dock. One of the dockworkers had dropped a barrel on the quayside, spilling its contents across the ground. From where Jonn was standing, he thought it looked like beer, which was just as well. If a docker wasted a barrel of beer, he’d probably get a beating, but if he spilled any of the opiates, he wouldn’t live to make the same mistake again.

“Idiot!” the overseer bellowed, storming away from Jonn to deal with the problem.

…

Jonn walked through the back streets of Helioport, trying to hide his nerves.
The disguise helped with that, but nervousness showed itself in a hundred little bodily ticks that magic did nothing to conceal. He was anxious because he was finally going to see The Rats’ headquarters, which meant that he would be within a few hundred yards of Adela. He’d heard rumours from the other dockers that Belash kept many pleasure slaves at headquarters. Adela
had
to be there!

The Lotus Flower
was a tavern, buried deep in the back streets of Helioport’s underworld. Jonn had passed by it numerous times, but he’d never stopped to consider that it might be Belash’s headquarters. He didn’t see how it could be. It was too small for one thing; a dingy opium den filled with vacant-eyed dreamers. He’d never seen anyone exit the building who wasn’t at least halfway high! And as for going ‘round the back’, the Lotus Flower backed directly onto a warehouse. It didn’t make any sense!

He rounded the last few corners and approached the opium den
from around the side of the warehouse; a two-story brick structure that had been built at a time when that part of the city had been prosperous. Glancing down to avoid a steaming pile of horse manure, Jonn noticed a row of small windows at street level, shuttered up from within. Idly, he noted the warehouse must have a basement.

J
onn stopped in his tracks. Why was a building as large as the warehouse still standing? Any other buildings of that size in this district had been torn down ages ago, their bricks carted away by a thousand opportunistic thieves. For the warehouse to remain intact, it must belong to someone powerful. It was grimy, its windows smeared with obscuring dirt, and from the outside it looked derelict, but that simply couldn’t be the case. Suddenly it was as clear as day to Jonn that he was looking at Belash’s headquarters. The Lotus Flower was just a front, masking an entrance to the warehouse.

Adela
was probably in there right now! He glanced up and down the street, but there was nobody watching him. He reached out a hand, spreading his fingertips and resting them against the bricks, rough to the touch and still warm from the heat of the fading sun.

Newly focussed,
Jonn withdrew his hand and carried on down the street. He rounded the corner of the warehouse and approached the Lotus Flower with even steps, his gaze searching right and left, high and low, looking for an entrance to the warehouse. And then he saw it. There was an alley to the left of the tavern, narrow and clogged with filth, but it was the only possibility. He glanced into the interior of the Lotus Flower, just in case anyone was looking out for him, but the only people he could see were opium addicts, draped over every last piece of furniture and even stretched out on the ground in front of the den. A man lay in the entrance to the alley, hands outstretched towards the sky, muttering incoherently with eyes as wide as saucers. Jonn stepped cautiously over him, only to feel the man’s hand latch onto his ankle. Jonn looked down to find two perfectly clear eyes looking back at him.

“Name?” the man asked quietly.

“Tarek,” Jonn answered, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“Go ahead,” the man said, letting go of his ankle and going back to his raving
. Jonn walked cautiously down the alley, being careful not to step in fragrant piles of filth. The alley looked like a dead end, almost completely overgrown by weeds and choking shrubbery at its end, but he kept going nonetheless. When he reached the end, he saw that the tangle of foliage hid a narrow opening that cut behind the tavern and led between the rear wall of the Lotus Flower and the higher wall of the warehouse. A dozen paces along the passageway there was a door, set into the warehouse wall. The Wrench stood outside that door, watching Jonn with shrewd eyes as he approached.

“Greetings Tarek,” he said, opening the door and ushering him into Belash’s lair.

…

The door swung shut behind Jonn, leaving him in a
torch-lit corridor with the Wrench and a small, dark-skinned boy dressed only in sandals and a brief loin-cloth. The wiry henchman bolted the door shut and appraised Jonn intently. His eyes reflected the flickering light of a burning torch, ensconced in the wall opposite him. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

Jonn didn’t know what to say so he just nodded, fighting to subdue the flutter of nerves in his belly. The Wrench was Belash’s chief enforcer, and only dealt with
matters of importance. Did he suspect Jonn of duplicity, or was he there just because of this mysterious gathering?

“Jack came to me earlier to let me know you were coming
,” the Wrench said. “After giving away our most secret location, he became concerned I would be unhappy with him for giving sensitive information to someone so new to our organisation. He has a point, don’t you think??”

“
Not in my case,” Jonn said without hesitation. There was very little else to say, and he figured that the fewer words he spoke, the harder it was for the Wrench to detect a lie.

“That’s what I told Jack,” the Wrench said, suddenly amiable. He clapped Jonn on the back and let out a burst of laughter
, surprising Jonn once again with his mercurial mood shifts. “Take this,” he continued, handing Jonn a stack of parchment. The topmost sheaf had a detailed likeness of a man’s face drawn on it in charcoal. Jonn leafed through the stack and saw that each sheaf had a different face on it. There were twelve in total. “This is your spot, right here,” the Wrench continued. “The guests will come in one by one, in the order you see on the parchment. When they knock, open that hatch,” he said, indicating a small iron window set into the door. “If they match the drawing, let them in and Sali here will take them to Belash.” He indicated the boy at his side. “Got it?”

“
Got it.”

“
Don’t say anything to the guests,” the Wrench continued. “Just make sure it’s really them and let them in. Sali will do the rest. If anyone doesn’t resemble their drawing, refuse them entry and send Sali for help. If they have someone else with them, do the same. Understood?”

“Yes.
”

“
The guests will be staying for three hours or so. On the way out, burn the parchment with their portrait on it, but hold onto any you do not see pass out of the door. We are very careful about who we let in here, and just as careful that they leave again. Clear?”

“Clear
,” Jonn repeated, reflecting that it was an elegant system. No names, just faces on parchment, which could be destroyed with ease. The carefully drawn sketches made it impossible to pretend to be someone else.
Unless they had a magical disguise
, Jonn thought to himself wryly.

The Wrench looked him up and down, taking in his sword and heavy knife. “Suitably armed,” he said. “Right, I have other things to attend to. There will be dozens of guests joining us tonight, and all
the entrances must be manned. Remember, if you get any trouble, just send Sali for help, but it’s unlikely that would happen. This is Belash’s house, and even the other crime lords wouldn’t start something here. Do a good job Tarek, and I will use you again.”

“Thank you,” Jonn responded. “I will.”

The Wrench looked at him carefully for a moment. “You don’t say much do you?”

Jonn shrugged. “I don’t have much to say,” he responded, keeping up the act of a taciturn brother, seeking nothing but revenge.

“Good man,” the Wrench said, clapping him on the arm. With that, he walked lightly down the corridor and disappeared around a corner, leaving Jonn with Sali. Jonn glanced at Sali but the boy was ignoring him, which suited him just fine. Conversation would give him away more quickly than anything else.

Jonn looked
at the topmost parchment. The detailed sketch showed a long-faced man with a heavy jaw and hair tied back in a pony-tail. He had deep scars running vertically down each cheek. Jonn flipped through the leaves of parchment, checking to see if any of the faces were ambiguously drawn, but each guest was clearly depicted. It would be hard to mistake any one of them for someone else, in part because most of them carried the marks of a life of crime. The third guest had half his nose missing, the fifth only had two fingers on his left hand (a detail scrawled alongside the sketch of his face), and the eighth had facial burns so severe his features were pretty much irrelevant. Content that his job would be easy enough, Jonn leant back against the wall and waited for the first guest to arrive.

…

He didn’t have to wait very long. The first knock on the door came within minutes of the Wrench’s departure. As Jonn reached for the handle, he had a moment of clarity. There he was, in the den of the most notorious crime lord in Helioport, about to open the door to another incredibly dangerous man, and the only thing between him and discovery was a thin magical disguise. Jonn understood more clearly than ever before that he was deep into this now, and there was no going back.

The knock
sounded again, louder this time. Jonn realised he’d frozen in mid-motion. Sali was staring at him incredulously, his eyes as wide as saucers. Jonn took hold of the bolt holding the viewing hatch in place and slid it to one side. He dropped the hatch and looked out at a face that clearly matched the first sketch in Jonn’s pile. He closed the hatch, unbolted the door and swung it open. The man on the other side stepped through, glaring at him with eyes that glittered with irritation at being made to wait. Jonn looked down, expecting the man to berate him, but the guest obviously knew the rules of entry at Belash’s place, and didn’t say a word. Sali scooted off down the corridor, and the long-haired man followed him with long, loping steps.

Jonn sighed with relief when the man was out of sight. It wasn’t that he was scared of a fight. Quite the opposite! One on one, Jonn fancied himself against almost any man, with the exception of
a weapons-master like Sabu. But he was there for one reason and one reason only - to rescue Adela. Any attention he drew to himself was a threat to his mission, and therefore to her life, so until the moment came when it was time for him to act, he had to keep his head down and work his way into Belash’s organisation.