Imperial Traitor (25 page)

For a moment, Reynik felt secretly pleased that Sidis had died in place of his father. Sidis had been narrow-minded, vindictive and petty, but his father was right – none of those failings
made him worthy of such a death. Shalidar had murdered him without ever seeing his face – an uncharacteristic mistake on Shalidar’s part.

In his surprise and joy, he had momentarily forgotten the urgency and danger of their situation. In a rush it all came flooding back. Cold icicles of fear stabbed at his heart, cutting through
the warmth of his unexpected reunion with the harsh revelation that all could yet be lost. The realisation struck him like a physical blow.

‘Father, we need your help,’ he said in a rush. ‘We’re all in terrible danger. We don’t have long. The Guild could attack at any moment. I doubt we were fast enough
to get here without picking up a tail somewhere along the way. Femke needs medical attention, and Calvyn . . .’

‘I’m fine,’ Calvyn interrupted. ‘It took a while to shake off the effects of that chamber, but I’m almost fully recovered now. Sir, if you can spare us some space
in a quiet room, then I’ll tend Femke. I have some skill with healing wounds. I should be able to throw the pursuers off our trail with a few illusions as well.’

‘Illusions?’ Lutalo asked.

‘Calvyn is a magician, father. He’s come with his master to help us defeat the Guild and restore order to Shandrim.’

Commander Lutalo regarded Calvyn closely, seeing only the rough, villainous features of his glamour image. Calvyn concentrated for a moment and dispersed the illusion. Lutalo’s eyes
widened with amazement. He rubbed at them and blinked several times as the thug transformed into fair-haired young man with something of a military air about him. The Commander did not know what to
think. The young man’s appearance still seemed at odds with his profession as a magician.

‘Impressive,’ he admitted. ‘But which one is the real you?’

‘This is,’ Calvyn replied with a friendly grin. ‘I was using the other persona as a deterrent. The illusion was designed to keep the criminal element of the city from messing
with us. It worked, too.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ the Commander said, giving a nod of acknowledgement. ‘I doubt there would be many who would tangle with you in your other guise. All right, how much
space will you need?’

‘You!’ Femke gasped as she suddenly noticed Calvyn’s real appearance. She staggered away from him and fell to the floor as she abandoned his support. She stared up at him as if
she had seen a ghost and continued to scrabble away, as if consumed by fear. ‘Shanier! What are you doing here?’

‘Helping you, it seems,’ Calvyn replied calmly. ‘Yes, I remember you from Mantor.
Ambassador
Femke, wasn’t it? At least that was how you were announced. I
thought at the time there was more to you than met the eye, but I could see you had no ill intent towards the King of Thrandor, so I left you to your devices.’

‘Why are you helping me? You led thousands of Shandese Legionnaires to their deaths. It was on your account I was sent to Thrandor to foster peace between our countries. What is your
purpose here?’

‘Is this true? Are you Lord Shanier?’ Commander Lutalo asked sharply, his hand automatically going to his sword hilt. Reynik, too, looked at him with suspicion.

Calvyn sighed. ‘Yes and no. Yes, in body I was Shanier, the cold-blooded sorcerer. However, I was a soulless puppet of Vallaine when I was given that name. I think it’s fair to say
that I was not my true self for much of the time I held it.’

‘Why should we believe you?’ Femke snapped. ‘You betrayed the Legions.’

‘True, but you have to see it from my perspective, Femke. I’m Thrandorian, not Shandese. They believed I had betrayed them because I was leading the Shandese Legions. By deliberately
leading the Legions away from Mantor and into battle with our enemies, the Terachites, I saved my home country from conquest by your troops. Does this make me a traitor? You’re a spy, or at
least you were. I don’t know what your status is now, but given the same opportunity to save Shandar, what would you have done?’

‘I . . . I don’t know.’

‘I think you do,’ Calvyn continued. ‘However, let’s put that aside for now. I bear you no ill will. I’m presently studying here in Shandar. Whilst my allegiance
will always be to Thrandor, I can see your Empire needs a stable, rational leader if Thrandor is to remain unthreatened. I’ll do everything in my power to help you and your friends achieve
this.’

Femke nodded, wincing as pain spiked again with the slight movement.

‘Your shoulder needs treatment. Let me heal it and you’ll be able to think more clearly.’ Calvyn turned back to Commander Lutalo, noting that his hand was still resting on his
sword hilt. I won’t need much space, sir. Enough to lay Femke down and treat her. I’ll do the rest.’

Lutalo paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. Calvyn’s steady gaze remained unthreatening. Finally the Commander nodded. With brief, precise directions, he issued orders to the
soldiers who had escorted them in. The men reacted swiftly, dispersing into defensive positions and preparing for a possible assault. Two of the men were sent out to fetch reinforcements. The final
soldier paused before leaving. It was the Legionnaire who had taken custody of Calvyn’s sword.

‘Before I go, you’ll be wanting this back, sir.’ He handed over the sheathed blade. ‘It’s strange. I’ve been desperate to give you this back ever since I
first touched it. Did you place a spell on me?’

Calvyn smiled. ‘I said it was a special sword. One of its qualities is that it knows its owner. I didn’t work any magic on you. What you were feeling was the desire of the blade to
return to me.’

The Legionnaire did not look convinced, but he nodded and left.

‘Come. Bring your injured friend through here. This room will have to suffice. It’s not big, but we’ll try to keep any from entering.’ Lutalo took a torch from a nearby
bracket and led them through one of three doors leading out of the guardroom.

Calvyn and Reynik supported Femke as they moved through the doorway into a square box of a room. There was only one small window on the wall to the left of the door. The walls were whitewashed
stone and the flooring was of uneven wooden boards, untreated and bare. The only furniture was a single trellis table and two stools. There was no fireplace and the air in the room felt cold and
damp.

‘We use it as a cell for those caught out after curfew,’ Lutalo explained. ‘It’s neither big, nor comfortable, but it’s the best I can offer.’

‘This will be fine, Commander,’ Calvyn replied. ‘We won’t stay long. As soon as I can, I shall cloak the three of us within another illusion and we’ll move on to
safer lodgings.’

Calvyn and Reynik helped Femke through the doorway and over to the side of the room furthest from the window. Reynik took off his cloak and spread it on the floor for Femke to sit on. The front
of her tunic was dark with blood and a steady flow still ran down her arm, dripping from her fingers. Her face was a deathly pale white in the dim light of the single torch. That she had said
little since the soldiers had captured them was an indication to Reynik of how badly she was hurt. He knew she had a high pain threshold. He had seen her cope with injuries before.

Once Femke was seated, Reynik took the torch from his father and thanked him again.

‘It’s no trouble, son. I hope your magician friend will be able to help her. She looks to have lost a lot of blood. Are you sure you don’t want me to send for a
medic?’

‘If Calvyn says he can heal her, then I believe him. He’s proved a most capable ally so far.’

‘Fair enough. How long will it take?’

‘Just a few minutes, sir,’ Calvyn said, kneeling to examine the wound. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but if you would leave us now, I would appreciate quiet in order to
concentrate. Reynik, come here, would you? I’d like you to brace Femke while I remove the knife. If you kneel behind her – that’s right. Femke, lean back against Reynik . .
.’

Lutalo left, closing the door behind him. Calvyn took a quick look around the room and muttered a spell under his breath. A slight shimmer in the air gave Reynik the clue that Calvyn was
creating another illusion, but what form it took was unclear, for when Calvyn was finished, the room looked no different. Reynik wanted to ask about it, but Calvyn was already concentrating on the
wound again.

‘I’m afraid this is going to hurt, Femke,’ Calvyn said with a frown. ‘I’m going to draw the blade. Are you ready?’

She nodded, teeth gritted against the anticipated increase in pain. Calvyn placed forefinger and thumb of his left hand on the flesh either side of the blade, and grasped the handle with his
right hand. Femke gasped as he wrenched the blade free. A fresh flood of bright red blood flowed over Calvyn’s left hand as he initially pinched the flesh together. He checked the blood and
blade for any obvious signs of poison, but there was no discolouration. He then checked the wound, probing it first with fingers, then with magic. It appeared clean.

Aside from the initial gasp, Femke remained silent throughout the examination. The only sign she gave of her discomfort was a wince as Calvyn opened the wound in order to look inside. To
Reynik’s eyes what followed was little short of a miracle.

Calvyn’s lips began to move again as he silently mouthed his spell in the strange language of magic. His eyes shut as his concentration became absolute, and Reynik found his own gaze
alternating between Calvyn’s face and Femke’s wound.

At first nothing appeared to be happening, but then the flow of blood from the wound slowed from a steady flow to a trickle, before stopping altogether. Reynik could hardly believe his eyes as
the deep, ugly hole in Femke’s shoulder slowly closed, knitting itself back together as he watched. As Calvyn finished his spell, Femke gave a sigh and slipped into a deep sleep. Reynik felt
her relax against him and he looked in wonder at her totally healed shoulder. There was not so much as the faintest scar to show where the knife had struck.

Reynik opened his mouth to speak when the door to the little room burst open. His father stumbled in through the doorway, having been pushed hard from behind. A figure dressed in the black garb
of the Guild followed him inside and scanned the room from under his dark hood. His eyes passed over the three of them without pause.

‘Where are they?’ demanded the assassin, his voice hard as granite.

‘Gone.’

‘That much is evident, Commander. Now tell me something useful. Where have they gone to?’

‘I sent them under escort to find a medic,’ Lutalo replied, a defiant edge in his voice. ‘The girl was hurt. Her wound needed urgent attention.’

‘Why did my men not see them leave? Is there another way out of here?’

‘No. Look for yourself. Your watchers must have missed them. They left by the way you came in.’

‘Unlikely. Are you seeking death, Commander?’ The assassin raised his blade towards Lutalo’s chest.

Reynik tensed, reaching automatically for a knife, but Calvyn put a hand out in a calming gesture and shook his head. Reluctantly, Reynik lowered his hand and continued to watch in silence. He
wondered what sort of illusion Calvyn had spun that had fooled the assassin so completely. The figure in black was only standing a couple of paces away, yet he was totally unaware of them. It was
not Shalidar; his build, his stance and his voice were not those of his sworn adversary. This was not one of the Brothers with whom Reynik was familiar.

‘Not at all. I do not fear death, yet neither do I invite it. I don’t believe you’d kill me without a contract. You see I know something of your Guild. For you to kill me would
violate your creed and thus invite death upon yourself. I find it unlikely you would want to do that.’

Lutalo kept his voice calm and reasonable, yet his words were almost taunting. His stance mirrored his conviction. Where the assassin was taut and menacing, the Commander stood tall and relaxed.
Confidence oozed from him like an aura. The atmosphere between them was thick with tension.

‘Don’t overdo it, father. If you push him too hard he might snap,’ Reynik thought, his stomach tight with anxiety.

‘I could always claim self-defence,’ the assassin suggested. ‘You’re a soldier. People would expect you to pick a fight with me.’

‘Are you looking for an excuse to kill me then? Is that the true nature of the Guild? Do you itch to kill any who irritate?’ He paused for a moment, his eyes flashing with righteous
fire. Then with an apparent change of heart, he continued with a more conciliatory tone. ‘To answer your question, I don’t know why your men did not see them leave. I’m also not
sure which medic post my men will have taken the three curfew-breakers to. I didn’t give them specific orders on that detail. The two most likely ones are the main guard post on the Western
Avenue, or the one on the south side of the central Civic Square. If you catch up with them, please try not to injure my men. I don’t take kindly to folk who do that. If I find that
you’ve hurt anyone under my command, then you can be sure that I’ll make it my personal mission to find those responsible and bring them to justice.’

The assassin laughed then, his barking chuckle sharp, like the regular rapping sound of a nail driven home by a carpenter wielding a metal hammer.

‘You think to threaten me, soldier! You know that was almost worth coming for tonight. Your kind has never been able to trouble the Guild. Bring your legions into Shandrim if you wish. You
will not break us. We’re like the wind that slips through your fingers. You’ll neither trace us, nor catch us. Go send your troops to catch a moonbeam. Your chances of success will be
far higher.’

With a swirl of black material, the assassin was gone. Commander Lutalo remained where he was. Once he was sure the assassin had definitely left, he glanced directly at the three fugitives and
raised a quizzical eyebrow before going out through the door.

‘What did you do, Calvyn?’ Reynik asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘What did the assassin see when he entered?’