Bloodmage Page 4

  CHAPTER 4

  Vargus stared into his mug of ale, careful not to look at the man sat opposite. He didn’t need to see the fear, or the lies.

  Vargus appeared to be just a grizzled warrior, battle-scarred with a sword on his back, but he was so much more than that. Neither of them was what they appeared to be at first glance.

  The tavern, humble by the most generous of standards, was empty apart from the owner behind the bar and an old man dozing in the corner. The rest of the villagers were out working in the fields or the forests. Flimsy walls barely held the building upright and the wind found its way through gaps in the window frames. The gloom inside was chased back with worn nubs of candles, their flames wobbling in the breeze.

  The room was so quiet the silence hummed in the ears.

  “I heard a story recently,” said Vargus, wetting his lips with a taste of ale. It was light, crisp and there was a hint of something citrus. “It was about the Brotherhood.”

  The man sat opposite said nothing. He just swallowed nervously, making no move to pick up his mug of ale. He’d asked for wine but they didn’t have the money to grow grapes out here.

  “I followed the rumours and they led me to Yerskania. There I found a group who’d been calling themselves the Brotherhood. It was a twisted version of what came before, based on ritual sacrifice. It was almost as if someone was trying to poison the Brotherhood, perhaps in the hope that it would die. That my legacy might die.”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” protested the Lord of Light.

  “Sadly, all of those involved were killed,” said the Weaver.

  “Good. Then that’s the end of it.” The Lord of Light offered a tight smile and raised his mug, then changed his mind, setting it down on the table.

  “Not quite,” said Vargus. “You see, the group was being funded by someone abroad. Someone who wanted to start another war. I found out the money came from Zecorria.”

  “Ah. Then you want me to find this person?” said the Lord of Light. After all, his was the dominant religion in Zecorria. He was smiling, suddenly happy to help, and yet sweat trickled down the sides of his face.

  “No, I found him too. It turned out to be a priest,” said Vargus. His hand tightened on his mug and the clay started to crack, ale seeping onto the table. After finding out what kind of a man the priest was he’d found it difficult to repress the urge to crush his skull like the mug. Vargus eased his grip and took another sip before it was all gone. The golden liquid ran across the table and started to drip onto the floor.

  Vargus raised his mug towards the owner for another.

  “Here, have mine,” said the Lord of Light, pushing his full mug across the table. “I can’t drink this swill.”

  “Imagine my surprise when I discovered the money came from High Priest Filbin, Most Holy, most beloved of the Lord of Light,” said Vargus, raising his eyes to stare at the boy.

  “You didn’t—”

  “Oh no, he’s alive. If he were to die horribly then the blame could fall on one of his many enemies. And who knows what might follow. Probably more violence.”

  “What did you do to him?” asked the boy.

  “Nothing. Filbin and I just talked. We talked for a long time about everything. In fact when I left he couldn’t stop talking,” said Vargus, watching as the blood drained from the boy’s face. “He had an urgent need to tell people the truth. I heard he filled the cathedral and then gave a powerful sermon about receiving divine instruction. He spoke about how his God told him to start another war. About how he’d molested dozens of children and that he’d been stealing money from the church for years.”

  “What have you done?” asked the Lord of Light, utterly aghast.

  “I hear Filbin had to step down from his role as High Priest. He’s currently being cared for in a safe and secure place, somewhere in the country.”

  The Lord of Light started to get to his feet. “I have to go. I must fix this.”

  Vargus grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back into his seat. His fingers tightened around the boy’s arm until he looked him in the eye.

  “I warned you,” said Vargus. “I told you not to interfere, that we don’t interfere, but you didn’t listen. You thought you were being clever, that I wouldn’t find out.”

  Reaching over his shoulder with his free hand Vargus drew his sword. The boy’s eyes widened in alarm and he desperately looked around the room for some help. That was when he noticed they were alone. The landlord and the old man were gone. He tried to pull his hand free but Vargus didn’t move.

  “Have mercy, Weaver!” wailed the boy. Vargus stood up, dragging the Lord of Light to his feet. “What about my followers? How will they cope without my guidance?”

  “What about the Lady of Light? I’m sure she can guide them in your absence.”

  Despite the circumstances the Lord of Light sneered. “She’s an idiot. My people need a strong hand to guide them.”

  “You mean interfere with their lives.”

  “Wait, wait!” said the boy as Vargus raised his sword. “The entire religion will fade without me.”

  Vargus briefly lowered his sword and laughed. “The Maker has been absent for a thousand years and there are more of his churches than ever before. If the faith of your followers is strong then it will endure, and so will you.”

  “You can’t do this. You have no right!”

  “No more words,” said Vargus, swinging his sword. The boy raised a hand to ward off the blow but the sword cut cleanly through his fingers and then his neck. Four fingers tumbled to the floor alongside the boy’s head. It rolled across the ground and came to rest in front of the empty fireplace. His gaping mouth continued to scream and his eyes rolled around frantically.

  The boy’s body remained standing upright but as Vargus reached into the Lord of Light’s chest it started to convulse. Vargus dug deeper with his fingers until he found the boy’s essence. He pulled it free and the body dropped to the floor, a lifeless sack of meat. The head died and fell silent, but in his mind Vargus could still hear the boy screaming. Now the sound came from the purple and black swirling orb sat on the table.

  Vargus brought his blade down on the orb and it cracked. Energy exploded as the orb shattered, blowing the walls of the tavern apart, blasting off the roof and turning every piece of furniture into kindling. Power continued to seep out of the core, flying to the four winds, scattering the Lord of Light across the world. After a few seconds it was done and silence returned. The screaming inside faded away and Vargus stood up in the ruins of the tavern. Nothing remained except tumbled stone.

  After a short walk Vargus stopped in front of a horse and cart laden with belongings. He passed the tavern owner a bag of gold to help him rebuild, shook his hand and watched him ride away.

  “You heard everything?” asked Vargus.

  “Yes,” said the Lady of Light, stepping out of the trees. “Will he come back?”

  “Eventually, if their faith in him endures.” Vargus turned his steely gaze on the girl. “I hope you’ll be smarter than he was.”

  “I had nothing to do with any of it.”

  “I know, otherwise you’d be sharing his fate. Just remember, I’ll be watching.”

  Vargus left her alone by the side of the road in the pouring rain.

  The lifeless banqueting hall echoed with the sound of Vargus’s breathing as he walked towards the head of the table. As the first to arrive he took a moment to study the black wooden edifice and run his fingers across the grain. It revealed a landscape of tiny mountains and valleys, rivers and streams. The table had been here for as long as he could remember, which was a very long time, and yet in all those years he’d never seen the like before in the world. It was made of a single piece of wood, which seemed impossible. Perhaps once, when the world had been young, giant trees such as this had covered the land.

  Other furnishings started to appear around Vargus. Huge marble fireplaces tall enough to walk into. T
apestries from nations long dead and forgotten, but he barely paid them any attention. Everything was an illusion tailored to his mind. A world within a world that best suited his memories. Nothing really existed except the table and chairs. Every person that stepped into the hall would see something different, something comforting and familiar.

  The others started to arrive shortly after, in pairs and groups. Kai, the Eater of Souls, approached him, looking to be in good health, and a quick check told Vargus it wasn’t bluster. Something had changed and Kai was doing well, quite a turnaround from a year ago during the war. Vargus heard Nethun before he saw him, bellowing and laughing as he greeted others, relentless and eternal as the oceans.

  With a broad smile Vargus clasped his hand and they exchanged a few words while waiting for the rest to arrive.

  One or two faces were missing, but no one said anything about them. The Lord of Light’s chair also remained empty, and although one or two glanced at it, no one said anything out loud.

  Towards the far end of the table Vargus spotted a new face, a young man with red hair, but he didn’t go over and introduce himself. Many had come and gone over the years. If the young man survived and flourished, then eventually they would meet and become familiar with one another, either here or out in the world.

  Normally Vargus found his eyes drawn to the Blessed Mother, but today all eyes were pulled towards Summer. She was at the height of her power and the air around her stirred with musk, an earthy smell that spoke of tasty food and sex. Staring at her voluptuous curves Vargus felt his mouth go dry and his imagination began to wander in an obvious direction. He forced his attention away and the feelings began to subside.

  The Lady of Light appeared but hardly anyone noticed as she didn’t attempt to make an entrance. When everyone had finally arrived, Nethun, as one of the eldest, took his seat and the rest followed suit.

  “Several people asked for this meeting and if they hadn’t I would’ve,” said Nethun in his usual brusque manner. “There were rumours and now it’s been confirmed. Someone is killing people in Perizzi using magic. While not unusual in itself, the method is familiar. Every victim is being drained of all energy. The last time something like this happened was five years ago, and we all know what nearly happened then.”

  A rumble of conversation flowed up and down the table and Nethun allowed it to continue for a minute before banging his meaty hand on the table for silence. “Our rule, passed down from the Maker, is that we don’t interfere in the course of world events. The mortals must be free to make their own decisions. However, what transpired was not natural and if left unchecked it would have destroyed the world. Back then we all agreed that if it became necessary, we would step in. Through great sacrifice the mortals succeeded without our help. Now, I’m calling for a vote again. We need to stand ready.”

  Vargus took a moment to look down the full length of the table. He saw a lot of scared and worried faces, for their followers and themselves. What lived beyond the Veil was not like them and yet sometimes it pretended to be. Whispering secrets, sharing pieces of knowledge and promising great rewards that some mortals could not resist.

  They only had one rule, which had rarely been broken, and now Nethun was asking them to do it again.

  “All those in favour, raise your hand,” said Nethun. A few followed his lead, immediately raising their hand, while others deliberated a little while before deciding. One or two crossed their arms, stubbornly refusing to even consider going against the rule, while others eventually went with the majority. The Lady of Light took a moment before slowly raising her hand. Halfway down the table Kai met Vargus’s eyes and winked, his hand firmly aloft.

  Nethun looked up and down the table, counting the number for and against. Apart from half a dozen everyone had voted in favour of action.

  “It’s decided,” said Nethun. “One of us will travel to Perizzi and remain in the shadows until such a time as they are needed. I nominate Vargus. Does anyone object?”

  Nethun looked down the table but only four raised their hands. All of them were known to Vargus. Two had grudges against him and the other two were new and probably trying to get noticed by opposing him. As before, Nethun gave everyone another minute to decide, but no one else raised their hand.

  “Done and done,” said Nethun, running a hand over his big bald head. “Is there anything else?”

  “Since no one else has asked the obvious, I will,” said Winter, tapping her blue fingernails on the table. “Balfruss killed the Warlock. The Red Tower is broken and supposedly no students are being trained there. So where did this magical killer come from? Who taught him such a black art?”

  No one had an answer, or at least no one was willing to volunteer one. Vargus knew something like this could not go unnoticed. Someone knew who was responsible.

  “What about Balfruss?” asked someone new from further down the table. “Where is he?”

  Many looked towards Vargus, hoping he had an answer. Most around the table knew that he’d been there on the front line and fought beside the now infamous Battlemage. Those who didn’t were at least familiar with his name and many were afraid. For as dangerous as the Warlock had been, ultimately he’d been defeated and Balfruss was still out there.

  “Could he be responsible for this? Is he still alive?” asked the Blessed Mother.

  “He was,” said Vargus. “When the war ended he went to live with the First People. After that I lost track of him.”

  All eyes turned towards Elwei, Lord of the First People and the northern tribes. Most forgot Elwei was there during their meetings as he remained silent unless called upon. Even though he was in the room with them, Vargus always had the impression part of him was elsewhere, listening and watching.

  Elwei’s face was partly hidden by a dusty grey headscarf, but Vargus could see the stark lines of his lean face, his crooked nose, one glinting eye. A loose grey garment covered his lean body but his arms were bare, his black skin decorated with faded blue tattoos. Sat down he seemed no taller than anyone else, but on his feet he towered over everyone.

  Elwei didn’t move, and if being the focus of everyone’s attention bothered him it didn’t show.

  “Is he asleep?” someone asked, one of the youngest.

  “You have a question?” asked Elwei, his sonorous voice startling a few. They’d probably never heard him speak before.

  Nethun grinned at their discomfort. “Yes brother, did Balfruss stay with the First People?”

  “He did, for a time.”

  “And where did he go after that?”

  “He crossed the Dead Sea and travelled north into the endless jungle. He’s there among my people even now. He is becoming.”

  More than a few were baffled by the old pilgrim’s words. Vargus had not believed Balfruss was involved with the murders. When they’d met during the fighting last year the mage had seemed a good, if serious sort of man, but at least this ruled him out in the minds of others.

  “Becoming what?” asked one of the newcomers, a boy with red hair. His words echoed around the hall in the silence that followed.

  Slowly, as if the movement were difficult, Elwei turned his head towards the boy who paled under the intensity of Elwei’s stare.

  “Yes, that is the right question,” said Elwei.

  Nethun hid a smile behind his hand and Vargus turned his face away until he’d smothered his grin. The youngster looked even more confused and he wasn’t the only one. Elwei seemed inscrutable to most, but Vargus had known him long enough to unravel his sense of humour. He knew Elwei wouldn’t volunteer any information unless he thought it was the right time or the person was worthy of having such knowledge.

  “If there’s nothing else,” said Nethun, once he’d stopped grinning. No one raised their voice, so he stood, signalling the meeting was over. The Lady of Light left immediately, disappearing in the blink of an eye. A few stayed to chat and exchange information and the rest started to drift away.

&nb
sp; Nethun approached Vargus and they moved a short distance away from the others.

  “How long will it take you to reach Perizzi?” asked the sailor.

  “I’m already there,” said Vargus. Nethun raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I’ve been in the west for the last year, keeping an eye on things. Some people here are keen to see things stirred up again, start a new war,” he said, glancing over the sailor’s shoulder at a few faces. “And I won’t let that happen.”

  “No, we won’t,” promised Nethun. “Not again.”

  CHAPTER 5

  When the front door of his shop opened Fray tried to hide his surprise with a smile. The woman shuffled in, stared at the bare stained walls, the battered table and mismatched chairs before turning her gaze on him. As their eyes met he barely held on to the smile, but then it softened, becoming something sympathetic and genuine.

  “Hello mother,” he said, since she looked old enough to be his mother. The tight grey hair in a bun, the stoop of her back, the cracked skin on her hands and the lines around her mouth spoke of a hard life. A life spent scrubbing floors, or gutting fish, not laughing and carousing, drinking and gambling. Her clothes were modest and practical, warm and well-used, which told him she didn’t have money to spare, or that she spent it on someone else. Even the basket she carried was battered and had seen better days, but she continued to use it.

  He took several cushions from under the table and added them to the chair on her side of the table to make it more comfortable. Taking her hand, as if she were a member of the aristocracy, he guided her to the chair, waiting until she had sat down and looked comfortable, before taking a seat opposite.