The Telastrian Song (16 page)

‘How might I be suited to helping you?’ Soren said.

‘The Duke made many enemies in his rapid and unexpected rise to power.’

‘And you’re one of them?’

Giura smiled, but said nothing.

‘And you expect me to believe that?’

Giura nodded and took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Again, I’ll draw your attention to the fact that you aren’t shackled to a dungeon wall.’

‘What do you have in mind then?’

‘Glad you asked. There’s a girl I know. Absolutely beautiful. Blonde hair, fair skin, turns heads everywhere she goes.’

‘I’m spoken for.’ Soren wondered what Giura’s point was.

Giura laughed. ‘So’s she. She turned one head in particular. The Duke’s.’

Intriguing, but the fact that Amero kept mistresses was nothing new.

‘A few months ago, he set her up in an apartment and he visits her once a week. Same day, same time. Every week.’

Knowing where he would be and when he would be there was something, Soren conceded, but it didn’t an assassination make. ‘And you have a plan?’

‘Of sorts,’ Giura said. ‘There are always four men with him. They check her apartment before he goes in, wait outside until he’s done. Her apartment is on the ground floor and the windows are barred. Once he’s in there, the front door is the only way back out.’

‘You want me to go in and kill him?’

‘I expect
you
want to go in and kill him, I just want to facilitate the meeting. That it’s complementary to my own desires is by the way. In any event, I’m no match for him with a sword. From what I’ve been told, and what I’ve seen, you won’t even break a sweat cleaving him in two. It’s perhaps the only chance we’ll have to get him alone, so we need to be sure that whoever is with him can get the job done.’

It was exactly the opportunity that Soren had been looking for, but there was more to it than simply kicking in the door and running Amero through. There was always more to it.

‘The guards. I won’t be able to deal with them quickly enough to get to Amero before he realises what’s happening and gets away.’

‘No, you won’t. We’ll need a distraction for that, so you can slip into the house without any bother.’

‘A few extra blades’ll be able to take care of that. Can you arrange them?’ Soren said.

‘No,’ Giura said. ‘I can’t use anyone from the Grey Tower for obvious reasons. I’m known in the circles where I would be hiring from so that’s out too. It would filter back to the Grey Tower and someone would start asking questions. Me doing it would draw too much attention to risk. I can provide funds however.’

‘So I have to do that too,’ Soren said.

‘I think that would be for the best. You’re a relative unknown in the city. I can make sure you stay that way. Do we have a deal?’

‘Do I have any choice?’

Giura smiled.

B
yarsham was relieved
to find his remaining trainees for the Duke alive and well. The thought of having to start over again was more than he could bear. They were progressing well, and each was kept in isolation. They had no idea one of their number had gone missing, nor could they reveal the location of any of the others. It was one of the Duke’s stipulations, to maintain the secrecy of what they were doing. He had been careful to make light of how afraid he was of public opinion when he invited the Twelve to Ostenheim. It made operating more difficult than they had anticipated, but they were still freer than they ever would be in the East.

He sat in the antechamber to the Duke’s office to make his report. It was amusing how the Duke kept him waiting each time they were due to meet. Still, he was paying for Byarsham’s time, so if he was content to waste it then Byarsham would take his money for it. Finally a servant appeared and led him through the double doors into the Duke’s office.

‘Sit. Report,’ Amero said. He didn’t stand, or look in Byarsham’s direction.

Byarsham had to swallow to quell any emotion. Perhaps mastery of his anger wasn’t quite as complete as he had thought. ‘One of the apprentices is missing. His apartment was ransacked and two grimoires are also missing.’

This warranted Amero’s full attention. ‘What do you mean, missing?’ His voice wavered with anger.

Byarsham was uncertain if the Duke wanted to appear intimidating, but all Byarsham could do was wonder how Amero’s voice would sound if his body was engulfed in fire. It was a tempting notion, but not one he could entertain for the time being.

‘As in no longer to be found,’ Byarsham said. ‘I have no idea where he is. If he is alive or dead. I suggest the most useful approach is to consider him permanently lost.’

The veins on Amero’s forehead throbbed. ‘Which one?’

‘The best of them, unfortunately. A man named Nerli.’

‘Could he have, I don’t know, blown himself up?’ Amero said.

‘Possible, but unlikely. There was nothing in his apartment to suggest a magical accident.’

‘What happened then?’

Byarsham felt a flush of temper again. Perhaps he should return home and allow one of his brothers to continue this work. ‘If I were to speculate, I would say your Intelligenciers happened upon him. He was too powerful to be killed by misfortune during a robbery or suchlike. It would have taken well-trained men with a common purpose.’

‘What makes you so sure it was the Intelligenciers?’

‘There is no way to know for certain. But I think it the most likely answer. Happily it is a situation easily avoided in future. Rein in your mage hunters.’

Amero squirmed. ‘I can’t.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t you fucking talk down to me!’ Amero stood, placing both hands on the desk.

Amero had shown Byarsham contempt and flashes of anger before, but never so overtly. Perhaps the incinerating ball of fire wasn’t so distant an eventuality after all. Byarsham wondered if he would be able to take control of a city alone, and then pacify it. Probably not. And then there were the Fount-Bloods to consider. They wouldn’t sit idly by once they knew something was going on. He took a deep breath and told himself to be patient.

‘I apologise,’ Byarsham said, evenly.

‘Don’t forget your fucking place,’ Amero said, his voice controlled now. He sat back down. ‘If I call the Intelligenciers off, it will only draw attention to what we’re doing. You’ll have to deal with it. That’s what I pay you for. I can have a list of the active mage hunters drawn up for you; not all Intelligenciers do that type of work. Kill the lot of them for all I care. Their days are numbered anyway.’

‘
H
e’s going
to be a problem, my Lord,’ Emeric said, as he stepped from his concealment.

‘You know, Emeric,’ Amero said, rubbing his face with his hands. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re right. As soon as he’s trained my men, I think it would be best if you kill him.’

Emeric was relieved that his master was starting to come around to his way of thinking, but it only addressed part of his worry. He may have seen the need to kill the eastern mage, but he still wanted mages of his own. Emeric didn’t want to consider his chances for killing the mage. Not until he had to. It would be easier said than done.

‘Would it not be better to do it now? Before we let anyone else learn his sorcery.’

‘No. I need what they have to offer. The old emperors couldn’t hold their empire together without magic, and it’s no different now. It’s why no country has achieved lasting dominance over another ever since. When they are ready, we’ll dispose of Byarsham, and the others will be my creatures. I’ll control them and use them as I see fit. We’ll be sure they don’t develop an independent streak, like our eastern friend.’

‘Doesn’t the power and the independence go hand in hand? Will you ever be able to control them?’

Amero looked at him and Emeric could tell that he was stretching his master’s patience, an increasingly easy thing to do those days. The pressures of rule weighed heavily on him.

‘Perhaps they should be introduced to the pleasures of dream seed. It will give us more leverage over them if it’s needed,’ Amero said.

Emeric felt his stomach twist. Letting anyone get away with sorcery was bad, actively promoting it was worse, but addicting someone with that power to dream seed was madness. Unpredictable and powerful were not two qualities that Emeric was comfortable seeing combined. The power of sorcery alone was enough to make him more than uncomfortable. How could he convince his master to abandon this insanity?

T
he Duke’s
list was more useful than Byarsham had expected. There were several hundred Intelligenciers in the city, but no more than a dozen were dedicated to the eradication of magery. Until Byarsham’s arrival, it seemed that they had done a good job. Beyond his apprentices, the most powerful use of magic he had seen in the city was an idiot in an alleyway off a square conjuring up flashes of light and uninspiring cracks and pops. Calling on the power of thunder and lightning indeed. If it hadn’t been so pathetic and offensive, Byarsham might actually have been amused.

He was curious to see what a mage hunter in the west looked like. In the east they were all members of the royal family, distant enough to need to work for a living but close enough to be Fount-Blooded, and for their resistance to magic to remain strong. They were dangerous adversaries, and a dozen of them would be far more than Byarsham could handle. However, he had no reason to believe their Ostian counterparts were Fount-Bloods.

When Byarsham spotted the first Intelligencier, the only similarity he noticed was the air of superiority. Laws and bureaucrats had given him power over his fellow men and he wore it ostentatiously. Dressed all in black, the Intelligencier cut a foreboding figure—but there was nothing about him that concerned Byarsham. He showed no signs of possessing any ability that would cause Byarsham difficulty. He couldn’t even tell when a mage was following him.

His task would have been easier were it not for the fact that he was still hopeful of retrieving his grimoire, and that meant questioning and applying pressure before killing.

B
yarsham followed
the Intelligencier from his domicile toward their headquarters, an ugly grey stone tower surrounded by an equally unattractive wall. He was told it had been built to defend the other riverbank when the city was small and took up only the area now known as Oldtown. Some creative genius called it the Grey Tower and that was what it was known as.

Byarsham had already followed the Intelligencier the day before, scouting the route. There was a lane that provided a shortcut on the route, and that was where Byarsham decided to strike. Killing with magic was a curious experience, and one known to carry with it the potential to corrupt the most focussed of minds. There was something about it that tugged at the chaotic, feral nature of both man and the Fount that threatened to overwhelm intellect and reason. One always had to be careful when taking a life, for fear of losing one’s own and being left a savage creature addicted to death, and the visceral stimulation it provided.

He followed the Intelligencier into the lane.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘A moment of your time please.’

The Intelligencier stopped and turned, regarding Byarsham with a curious look. Byarsham knew his appearance had that effect.

Byarsham flicked his hand to the left and the Intelligencier was lifted from his feet and slammed against the wall. He remained there, pinned by an invisible force. Byarsham approached and scrutinised the man. The symbol of the Intelligenciers was engraved on the buckle of his sword belt, and on the hilts of his dagger and sword. He had the right man.

‘Tell me, did you take a notebook from the apartment of a man, a mage, several nights ago?’

‘I don’t know what in hells you’re talking about,’ the Intelligencier said. His voice was strained, as though there was a great weight on his chest.

Byarsham had never been on the receiving end of the magic he was using, but he expected that the effect would be much like holding the recipient in place with huge pressure.

Byarsham studied the Intelligencier for any trace of dissembling. He was sweating profusely, terrified, his superior air having departed him, along with the contents of his bladder.

‘No, I don’t think you do. A pity,’ Byarsham said. It was too much to hope for to expect to recover the grimoire on his first attempt. He made a fist and pulled it back, slowly at first then with more force.

The Intelligencier gasped and his eyes rolled back in his head. A glowing blue mist aggregated around his form for a moment before it dispersed into oblivion. It was rare that Byarsham saw the Fount in its physical incarnation, so inured had he become over his decades of exposure to it. Seeing it would never cease to please him.

Byarsham released his previous spell and allowed the corpse to drop to the ground, and continued on his way. He was a little fatigued, a consequence of not practicing his science as often as he would at home. The exercise provided by the mage takers should assist in restoring him to his former strength, but that was only one concern put to rest. He wanted his grimoire back. Its creation was laborious and demanding, its loss embarrassing.