The Telastrian Song (20 page)

That aside, he was impatient. Each day he waited was another day he had to pander to the Duke’s whims, so high and mighty and full of his own importance, blind to the fact that to Byarsham he was nothing more than an insect scrabbling to control the largest crumb. He had some vision, but not enough, nor the worth to achieve it. That was why the young man would die also. Byarsham would not wait any longer. The next occasion he saw the Intelligencier, he would kill him whether the young man was also there or not. The target first; his friend could be dealt with after.

S
oren was excited
when Giura called at the inn to speak with him the day after he dealt with the bravos. Finally it seemed that he might have come upon something that would give them their opening to Amero. They were heading for Giura’s favoured coffee house, walking in silence. Soren was impatient to hear what Giura had to say, but knew that conversation was best left for more conducive surroundings.

‘Gentlemen.’

Soren and Giura both turned to the voice, the only sound in the otherwise quiet alley. At first Soren thought it was the final member of the Pepper Canister Lane Bravos, but as he processed the sound, he realised that the accent was unusual. The source of the voice was equally unusual. The feeling rippling across Soren’s skin was more so, but not unprecedented.

The speaker was slender, and his head had no trace of hair, not even eyelashes as best as Soren could see. While odd, one could have overlooked him on the streets—he did not stand out at first glance, but on closer inspection, his clothes were somewhat unusual, and coupled with his hairless head, piercing green eyes, sallow skin and the strange twinge of his accent, he seemed very strange indeed.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ Giura said, his voice dripping with impatience.

‘You can indeed.’ The man smiled, revealing a set of perfectly straight and brilliantly white teeth, contrasting sharply against the colour of his almost jaundiced skin. He moved his hand quickly and smoothly, his movements well practiced.

Giura flew through the air and slammed against the wall of the building behind him, where he remained pinned. It was as though a great gust of air had flushed down the street, but Soren—standing next to him—had felt nothing. And no gust of air could ever be that strong. Soren remained motionless, eyebrows raised and mouth agape in bemusement as he tried to make sense of what was happening. A mage? In Ostenheim? It was the only explanation he could come up with, but it seemed too far-fetched to believe.

The odd man kept his hands out in front of him, but relaxed and walked forward. His eyes flicked to Soren and his lips curled in a faint smile. ‘Believe me when I say, boy, running will do you no good.’ He turned his attention back to Giura. ‘I am hopeful that you are the source of my recent frustrations.’

Giura groaned as he strained against whatever force was holding him against the wall, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain. ‘I’ve seen you before. In the coffee house. What the fuck do you want?’

Giura seemed far less surprised by what was happening than Soren. His initial instinct was to draw steel and kill this assailant, but he wasn’t sure who the mage was after and if he had gone for Giura first by mistake. Could he actually be there for Soren? To protect the secret of the Library in Vellin-Ilora? Soren was confident he could deal with the mage, and quickly, when the need came. Until then he would give the mage a chance to reveal his intentions.

‘Tell me,’ the mage said. ‘Did you visit an apartment in Bankers a few weeks ago, kill a man, and take two books, grimoires?’

Giura’s eyes widened. ‘You.’

‘Excellent. Confirmation. I’d be obliged if you could tell me where the grimoires are, they do take a very long time to compile and I’d rather avoid having to do so again. I’ll find them anyway, but your assistance will make what is to come less painful.’

‘Fuck yourself,’ Giura said.

The mage laughed. ‘You westerners are such a mouthy lot. At least at home the rabble accept their fate when it comes to it. Let me put it like this. Tell me where the grimoires are, and I’ll make it quick and painless. Otherwise, believe me, I can introduce you to agony you would not have thought possible.’

So, he wasn’t after Soren. It seemed the mage takers chased bigger game than Soren had thought existed.

‘Hey, baldy!’ he shouted. He drew sword and dagger, and felt his entire body tingle both with the excitement of what was to come, and with the energy that swirled around the narrow street in a maelstrom of blue light.

‘Boy.’ The mage extended an arm and a finger in Soren’s direction, but did not take his gaze off Giura. ‘A swift and painless death is yours for the having. Irritate me and that will not be the case.’ He lowered his hand and cocked his head, studying Giura. ‘The grimoires. Where are they?’ He barked the words out with bestial rage.

Giura roared in pain. His clothes flattened as though there was a great force pressing him against the wall. Soren had discovered all that he needed to know, so there was no reason to delay further. He raised his sword so the blade was against the mage’s neck.

‘Hey, baldy. I’m talking to you.’ He would have killed the mage there and then, but he didn’t know what effect that would have on Giura. Until he was released, Soren couldn’t take the risk of him being killed, or permanently stuck to the wall. Soren needed to know what Giura had planned, and until he did, he couldn’t allow any harm to come to him.

‘Silly boy,’ the mage said. He pushed the blade away with the back of his hand and turned to face Soren. Giura remained pinned to the wall. ‘I am going to show you pain that will make you wish for death more than anything you have ever desired.’ He flicked the tips of the fingers of his right hand at Soren, and started to turn back to Giura.

Soren felt a warm and not entirely unpleasant sensation wash over him. He smiled. ‘Baldy,’ he said, barely loud enough to be heard. ‘I said I’m talking to you.’ He knew he was being dramatic, but he was enjoying the fact that there was no way the mage could know that he had the Gift, that he was immune to all but the most powerful magics.

The mage turned his head to look at him once again. Had he eyebrows, Soren was confident that they would have been raised.

‘Why don’t you set my friend down gently, and I might let you live,’ Soren said.

The mage opened his mouth and closed it again before speaking. ‘You’re Fount-Blooded? That cannot be.’

Giura dropped from the wall and slumped on the ground, exhausted by his ordeal. The mage turned fully to Soren and shoved both of his hands in Soren’s direction. Soren felt like he had been hit by a breaking wave, nearly enough to knock the wind from his chest, but no more.

He let out a grunt, but other than the novelty of the feeling he had just experienced, he was unharmed. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘That’s the best you have?’

Foolish, perhaps, but Soren couldn’t help himself. He’d faced down a mage with a thousand years to perfect his science; this man couldn’t be anything more than a novice by comparison. Then again, Berengarius had almost no energy to work with, but here? How much power could this mage draw on?

The mage’s face twisted in anger, and the vortex of glowing blue energy in the air between the buildings lining the street jerked violently and coalesced into a ball. It was fascinating to see, but Soren also realised the aggregation of so much energy might be bad news. He lunged forward, leading with his sword.

The mage glided backwards, his movement ethereal. Soren stumbled as his intended impact met with nothing but air. He gathered his balance quickly and refocused on the mage. Soren expected that the world around him would be moving at a snail’s pace by that point, but there was no frame of reference other than the mage, who was certainly moving at normal pace. There was more Fount energy in that alley than Soren had ever seen before. He hadn’t even needed to reach out for it to feel its effect. He couldn’t understand why the Gift wasn’t working as it normally did. There was no time for questions. Giura was still slumped where he had fallen, unmoving. Could the mage have killed him?

Energy appeared to gush down from the coalesced mass over the mage’s head, but some if it also found its way to Soren. The mage threw his hand at Soren, and a bright flash swept over him. It was hot, painfully so, like a bucket of water near boiling. Whatever the mage was doing, his magic was growing in strength.

The mage twisted his hand through the air and it became engulfed with crackling flame. Even from a few paces away, Soren could feel its heat. He had no idea how its power would compare to the mage’s previous effort, but he had no desire to find out. The mage flung the flame at Soren as though it was a solid object. Soren dove forward, ducking out of its way and rolling back to his feet.

He danced forward, but he had only taken one step when the mage reached forward with his right hand. It felt as though Soren’s boots were sticking to the ground. He struggled to lift his feet and press his body forward. The mage drifted back, using the time his spell had given him to draw more energy into himself. He could see the effort on Soren’s face as he forced his way forward, and smiled.

‘I’ve never had the pleasure of fighting a Fount-Blood before, although I have dreamt of getting the opportunity on many occasions,’ the mage said.

Soren said nothing, finding the going even more difficult. He was gaining strength from the Fount, but the mage seemed to be gaining it more quickly. He continued to push against the force, which the mage appeared to create without effort. The mage watched him, curious rather than alarmed.

‘Impressive, but less than I feared, I have to admit. Far less.’ The mage moved his left hand, and energy started to build around it.

Soren was pressing so hard against whatever was holding him back that he instantly noticed any change. What the mage was doing with his left hand was affecting his concentration on the previous spell. Soren summoned up every ounce of strength he had and drove forward, pressing hard off the balls of his feet as though wading through deep water.

Two long steps were all it took to close the distance between them. The mage was still calm; obviously whatever he had planned would not be long in coming. Soren would have to make sure he got to him before it did. With one last, supreme effort, he threw himself forward. As he did, the mage raised his left hand, holding it out in front of him, covered as it was with an orb of glowing blue energy.

The tip of Soren’s sword connected with the mage’s outstretched hand. He felt it connect with flesh and cut, but the feeling was overwhelmed by another sensation. The ball of energy discharged along the length of Soren’s sword and into his arm. The rush of so much energy through one limb numbed it momentarily, and Soren thought that he had dropped his sword. He took a relieved breath when he saw it was still in his hand.

The mage’s eyes widened in surprise. Soren ran him through the chest. The mage gasped and collapsed to the ground. The spell that was impeding Soren’s movement disappeared and he stumbled forward, able to follow the still impaled mage’s backward fall to the ground. Only a moment before he seemed so powerful; now, he looked like a feeble old man, drained of all the vigour that seemed to come so easily to his slight frame.

There was still some life left in his eyes, and Soren could not contain his curiosity. He leaned down and picked the mage up by his shoulders.

‘Who are you?’

The mage smiled, blood bubbling from between his teeth. ‘You’ve killed one of the Twelve,’ he said. ‘The Twelve will not forget.’

‘It’s eleven now,’ Soren said. Not willing to risk one last dying effort, he finished the mage with a cut across the throat. Certain he was dead, Soren dropped the body and went to check on Giura.

‘You all right?’

Giura stirred, but it took a moment for him to rouse. ‘I think so.’ He turned his head to where the mage’s body lay. ‘Dead?’

‘Very.’ Soren shivered and felt light headed.

‘Something wrong?’ Giura asked.

‘No, it’s nothing. Let’s get out of here before the Watch turn up.’

‘
W
ho was that
?’ Soren said, as they walked as quickly as they could from the street where they had encountered the mage.

‘I’m not sure,’ Giura said. ‘I’ve been following a trail of some unusually powerful mages for a while now. Other Intelligenciers were getting involved and started disappearing. I assume he was the reason for that.’

‘He doesn’t look Ostian. What d’you reckon he’s doing here?’

‘Training mages, as best I can tell. No idea what brought him here though. Easterner?’

‘Don’t know. Never seen anyone from the East before.’

‘Reckon he is. There’s nowhere else I can think of that he could have come from.’

‘Do any of them have eyebrows?’ Soren said.

Giura shrugged his shoulders. ‘Odd looking fellow. Hope there aren’t any more like him. You though, you’re an odd fellow too.’

Soren felt uncomfortable. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You moved fast that night outside the inn, but I saw a little bit of what happened back in the alley. I’ve never seen anything like it. What are you?’

So he had been moving fast. It must have been that the mage was also. ‘Just quick,’ Soren said. ‘Always have been. Maybe it was something to do with fighting a mage.’

‘Maybe,’ Giura said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. ‘It’s of no matter now, it would seem. One less thing to worry about, but we’re still left with our other problem.’

‘Are we really going to be able to do anything about that now that Amero’s hiding in his palace?’