Quicksilver Zenith

The end came when the stranger parried a stroke and deflected his foe’s blade. The follow-through ruptured a lung and brought the paladin down.

Rivulets of blood fed the lane’s rain gully, colouring the sluggish flow.

The stranger looked around and saw the youth huddled at the wall. Ramming his sword into its scabbard, he swept to him, cloak flapping.

‘Get up,’ he said.

The young man didn’t move, aside from trembling.

‘On your feet!’

Still the youth didn’t stir. The stranger took him by the scruff and roughly hoisted him.

‘Now take that thing off.’

‘No. I can’t, I –’

He was slammed against the wall. ‘Take it off!’

‘I daren’t.’

Brutally, the stranger ripped the mask from his face and flung it aside. The freed coins bounced across the cobbles.

The youth kept his eyes screwed shut.

‘Open them,’ the stranger demanded. ‘Open them.’

With some effort, and timorously, he did as he was told.

‘How is it?’

The young man blinked and looked about sheepishly. ‘It’s … it’s all right, I think.’

‘There’s no need for this. It’s stupid and dangerous, and –’

‘No need? You know what I’ve been seeing. How can you say –’

There was a groan close by. They turned and saw that the watch captain was feebly breathing. The stranger drew a knife.

‘No,’ the youth begged. ‘Can’t you just leave him?’

‘We don’t take prisoners. Any more than they do.’

He moved to the dying man and quickly finished him. The youth couldn’t watch.

Wiping his blade on a scrap of cloth, the stranger said, ‘You think I’m cruel. But this is a war. Maybe not in name, but that’s what it amounts to.’

The youth nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Come on. It won’t do to linger here.’

They set off together through the fog.

Something that looked like an eel swam past them. It was candy-striped and had a pair of wings far too tiny to fly with. As it made its serpentine way it left a trail of orange sparks.

In a voice much gentler, Caldason asked, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m scared,’ Kutch said.

2

Dawn was near. The fog was clearing.

Valdarr, titular capital of the island state of Bhealfa, began to stir. People were coming out to mingle with the magic that never slept.

As in all great cities, areas of wealth and deprivation sat cheek by jowl. Likewise, there were districts neither prosperous nor impoverished; unassuming quarters where the dwellings and their attendant glamours were humble.

A closed carriage travelled at speed through one such neighbourhood. It was drawn by a pair of jet-black horses, and its driver, swathed head to foot, was unrecognisable. Rattling along narrow, waking streets, it pulled up outside a row of spartan buildings. Most were private homes. Others served basic needs, with paltry wares and tawdry charms stacked outside on rickety tables.

The carriage’s passenger alighted. He wore a tightly wrapped cloak and his expression was sombre. The driver immediately cracked his whip and the carriage moved off. As the sound of its departure faded, the passenger paused for a moment, looking up and down the deserted street before crossing to the open door of a bakery.

Loaves, pies and sweetmeats cooled on wooden racks, waiting for customers. For now, there was only an old woman, standing at a worn counter. They exchanged nods. Without a word, he squeezed past and went to the back of the room, where he descended a stone staircase. This led to a sturdy door, which he rapped on, and once checked via a spy-hole he was let in.

He was hit by the warmth, and the smell of baking bread. The kitchen was long and low, with a curved ceiling, all in unadorned brick. There were sacks of flour, barrels of dried fruits, bushels of salt. One wall held three ovens. Each consisted of two sets of iron doors; the oven itself and a massive grate below. Sweating men, using tongs to unlatch the doors, fed the hearths from pyramids of wood blocks. Bakers in white aprons hefted long-handled, flat paddles, bearing dough shapes to the ovens.

The visitor was recognised and greeted. He shed his cloak, dropping it across the only chair. His appearance was distinguished, and his clothes were of good quality. He had silvering hair, overly long, and an intellect that shone through tired eyes. His age was not as great as wear made it seem.

He walked to the last of the three huge ovens and the workers clustered around.

‘I’m getting too old,’ he decided, half to himself. Louder, he asked, ‘Would you be so kind?’

‘Glad to oblige, sir,’ the master baker replied, signalling. He was plump and sheened with perspiration.

A man came forward and split the oven’s belly. The blast of heat was like a punch. Roaring flames erupted.

Two muscular workers took hold of the visitor. Hands behind his knees, and at his shoulder-blades to steady him, they raised him in a chair lift. With practised ease they swung him back and forth, working up momentum.

Then they tossed him into the furnace.

The blaze seemed so real, and the heat was searing. He nearly cried out, despite knowing.

Instantly he broke through. From intense light to relative dimness. From withering heat to the welcoming cool.

He landed on a heap of sacks stuffed with yarn, but still had the breath knocked out of him. Seen from this side, the glamour he’d passed through was a window-sized square on a wall. It was filled with muted colours, gently swirling, like oil on water. There was no illusion of flames, and certainly no warmth.

‘On your feet, Patrician.’

Dulian Karr looked up. A woman of middle years towered over him. She was well built, though more muscular than flabby, and she had a mordant face. As always, she toted a thick wad of documents, currently tucked under one arm. Her other hand, surprisingly callused for an administrator, was held out to him.

‘Goyter,’ he said, by way of greeting, and allowed her to pull him to his feet. As he rose he made a sharp little air-sucking noise through pursed lips. ‘My aching bones,’ he complained.

‘Rubbish,’ she snorted briskly, ‘you’re not that much older than me. I suggest you stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something useful around here; that usually improves your mood.’ Her piece said, she turned and marched away.

Karr had to smile as he watched her bustle off to harass somebody else.

There were plenty to choose from. This particular hideout was much bigger than the bakery he’d just left. It consisted of the cellars of several adjacent buildings, knocked through, and at least a score of people were working here. He dusted himself off and started a tour of inspection.

One section was given over to manufacturing glamours. Men and women, wearing cotton gloves, sat at lengthy tables, gingerly tinkering with magical ordnance. Under the cautious gaze of supervising wizards, stocks of illegal munitions took shape: mirage pods, dazzlers, mendacity flares, odour grenades, stun poles, eavesdropper shields disguised as necklaces and bracelets.

He swapped brief greetings and wandered on to look at the firing range.

An area several hundred paces long and perhaps thirty wide had been devoted to testing occult weaponry. Given the dangerous nature of the spells involved, the zone was sealed inside a protective screen. This was almost entirely transparent, except for a faint tint of rainbow colours, not unlike a soap bubble.

A number of dummies were propped up at one end of the range. Essentially elaborate scarecrows, they were lashed to timber frames. At the other end, a line of testers took aim.

Energy bolts flashed from staves, decapitating their targets in explosions of straw. Other glamoured devices engulfed them in glutinous ectoplasm nets, or peppered them with ice needles. One of the testers raised a brass horn to his lips and blew. But instead of a musical note, it discharged a cloud of minute, winged lizards with barbed talons and razor teeth. The swarm soared to a dummy and began ravaging it, shredding cloth and wood.

Another tester held a combat wand. It was snub and black, and it joined to a handgrip with leather tendrils that looped around her fingers and wrist. When she pointed, the wand belched apple-sized fireballs. The flaming orbs burst on contact, setting the manikins ablaze. Some missed and bounced around the range before detonating. Falling short of its target, a fireball glanced off the paving and ricocheted towards Karr. It struck the near-invisible shield directly in front of his face, erupting in a brilliant red and yellow flash. Instinctively, he recoiled, though he knew he couldn’t be touched.

The tester gave him a contrite grin. He thought how very young she looked.

Goyter appeared at Karr’s side. ‘We’re working on their stability,’ she said, nodding at the wand. In a lower voice, she added, ‘It’s not like you to be so jumpy. Everything all right?’

‘I’m fine. Just … tired.’

‘Hmm.’ Looking unconvinced, she went back to her chores.

Karr stood with eyes closed, massaging the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.

In the shadows of a nearby recess, something stirred. Slowly, it dragged its bulk into the light. The creature was powerfully built, and its massive shoulders were broad. It was covered in abundant dark fur, with short, red-brown hair on its paler chest. Its face resembled old leather; its nose was flattened, its eyes black. Moving with a rolling gait, knuckles almost brushing the floor, it made for the patrician.

Alerted by the sound of its shuffling approach, Karr turned.

‘What do you think?’ the gorilla said. It gave a lumbering pirouette, an unconscious parody of an arthritic matron displaying a new gown. ‘It’s a bit bulky, but much more comfortable than that little-girl persona. With a few adjustments it should –’

‘For the gods’ sake, spare us,’ Karr interrupted wearily.

‘What?’

‘I preferred the child.’

‘Oh.’ Insofar as it was possible, the gorilla looked deflated. ‘Why?’

‘Because you keep chopping and changing. At least we knew where we were with her. Irritating as she was.’

‘The time seemed right for a change.’

‘We have enough change to cope with as it is, don’t you think?’

‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

‘You can have too much of the wrong sort. Look, I find debating with an ape a bit beyond my present mood. So, if you wouldn’t mind …’

The gorilla held up its palms in a mollifying gesture. ‘Point taken.’ It swung around and loped back to its nook, arms dangling, legs bowed.

There was a commotion in the half light of the alcove; a flickering of intense radiance, a honey-coloured haze and the whiff of a pungent, sulphurous odour. A moment passed, the furore died down. Then a lanky man emerged from the cranny.

He was old and grizzle-faced, but his back was straight and his stride steadfast. His apparel consisted of a simple blue robe held fast by a cummerbund, and gold braided slippers; a style favoured by the sorcerer classes. As he walked he smoothed down errant strands of his grey hair and copious beard.

‘I have to say your attitude’s more than a little acidic today, Patrician,’ he observed.

‘I’m sorry, Phoenix. It’s a fraught time.’

‘You’re exhausted, man.’

‘The pressure’s on. With the move so near –’

‘You can’t bear the weight of the world on your own shoulders. You look as though you’ve got a foot in the grave. You have to learn to relax.’

‘Relax? How can I relax? The preparations, the logistics, the number of people involved; the sheer scale of what we’re trying to do is staggering.’

‘Even so, you should let go a bit. Delegate.’

‘Did you know,’ Karr replied, ignoring this advice, ‘that half a dozen homes of colonial administrators went up in flames last night?’

‘I heard.’

‘That wasn’t our doing. People are starting to take matters into their own hands.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it? The more blows the regime suffers, the better for our cause, surely?’

‘Armed rebellion’s not the plan, you know that. We harry them, yes, but we don’t want outright confrontation. Everything we’re trying to do is predicated on the fact that we couldn’t win that way.’

‘There’s nothing we can do about it, Karr. If the populace feels aggrieved enough to hit out, who are we, of all people, to say they can’t?’

‘We don’t need anarchy.’

‘I’m not sure I agree with that. The clampdown’s increased recruitment, if nothing else.’

‘And it’s all my fault.’

‘What is?’

‘Three months of worsening repression. Curfews, innocents rounded up, torture, summary executions; all sparked off by the raid on the records office. I should never have authorised the mission. It was a mistake.’

‘No, it wasn’t. We hit them where it hurts, and we knew there were likely to be repercussions. This constant blaming of yourself is getting tiresome.’

‘Anything we gained has been outweighed by the consequences. The paladins have been given their head. Such small freedoms as we had are even smaller. Why shouldn’t I blame myself?’

‘Because it isn’t your fault. Or is your self-regard so great that you can’t see you’re no more of a cog than the rest of us? You’re not alone in trying to steer this scheme, you know.’

Karr looked chastened. ‘I suppose I deserved that. I guess what’s troubling me is that I hoped we’d have more control at this point.’

‘Control’s an illusion, you should realise that by now. The best we can do is ride the surge. Don’t lose faith, Karr, not now. Not when we’re this close, and when our destination’s causing so much strife.’

‘Strife’s too hard a word. Some have still to be convinced, that’s all.’

‘Not hard to see why, is it?’ The wizard crossed his arms. ‘I mean, of all the places to pick –’

‘Don’t start that again, Phoenix, please. The refuge was agreed by all of you in Covenant, and by the full Council.’

‘I know, I know. I’m just saying it’s an … unusual choice. And that’s not a rare opinion among those who know about it.’

‘The issue’s settled. There’s no turning back now.’

‘All I’m doing is reminding you that the decision isn’t universally popular,’ Phoenix pointed out, a testy note creeping into his voice.

‘Then you’re saying nothing that hasn’t already been said.’

Just as they reached a stalemate, Goyter appeared with a pair of new arrivals. One was tall and hardy, his garb black, his eyes dark and penetrating. In his wake came a youth, nearly a man; not shaven like his companion but striving for whiskers, and acting coy.

‘Morning, Reeth,’ Karr greeted the older man, glad of the interruption.

Caldason nodded.

‘And how are you this day?’ Karr inquired of the youth.

Kutch Pirathon said nothing, looking instead to the Qalochian.

‘It’s been happening again,’ Caldason explained.

‘The visions?’ Phoenix asked.

‘And his way of trying to avoid them.’

Kutch stared at his feet.

Phoenix sighed. ‘We have to get to the root of this.’ To Caldason, he added, ‘It would help if we knew more about what he was seeing.’

‘I’ve told you all I can about that.’ The response was frosty enough to forbid further questioning.

‘Come on, Kutch, let’s see if we can talk this through.’ Phoenix took the boy’s arm.

‘Just a minute,’ Karr said. He indicated Kutch’s blood-speckled jerkin. ‘What’s that?’

‘What do you think it is?’ Caldason returned, casually defiant.

‘How many times do I have to tell you about your brawling?’

‘You can say it as often as you like. It won’t stop me acting as I see fit.’

‘The last thing we need now is to lose somebody like you, and we can certainly do without drawing attention unnecessarily.’

‘A watch patrol caught me,’ Kutch volunteered, ‘and Reeth –’

‘It was necessary, Karr,’ Caldason cut in. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer the boy was captured and made to talk?’

‘I was being stupid,’ Kutch admitted, eyes downcast.

‘And reckless,’ Caldason added.

The boy looked up. He almost whispered, ‘I don’t think I’m the only one guilty of that.’

Caldason was going to say something, but checked himself.

It was Karr who spoke. ‘This isn’t a time to be playing the fool.’ His gaze flicked from man to boy. ‘Either of you.’ Goyter and Phoenix loitered at the fringe of the conversation. He addressed them. ‘By the look of him, the first thing Kutch needs is sleep. See he gets some. Then do what you can, Phoenix.’

The wizard nodded and made to leave. Then he noticed Caldason staring at him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I think I preferred the ape.’

‘Hmmph.’ Phoenix turned on his heel.

Kutch gave one glance back before he and Goyter followed into the maze of cellars.

“The boy worries me,’ Karr confessed as he watched them go.

‘He should,’ Caldason replied. ‘I know what he sees.’

‘And we’re no nearer grasping how you came to share these illusions.’

‘I’ve spent years trying to work out why I have them, and what they might mean. I feel as though I’ve … infected him in some way.’

‘We can only hope Phoenix and Covenant come up with a solution.’

‘If they don’t make things worse.’

‘Your attitude towards magic’s understandable, but it hardly accords with reality. You’d have us turn our backs on the only possible remedy for the boy. Not to mention the many other benefits.’ He nodded towards the firing range.

The first batch of dummies, charred beyond recognition, had been dragged away. Now the testers were working on destroying a new group, some of them dressed in the distinctive red tunics of the paladin clans. Eye-aching miniature lightning bolts crackled from the testers’ wands. An arrow was loosed. Bound with a chicane spell, it appeared to be dozens of identical shafts. The glamour bolts imploded on impact and vanished; the real arrow pierced its target. Projectiles hurled from slingshots exploded at the manikins’ feet in a green flowering of crazed venomous snakes.

‘I’ll take cold steel any day,’ Caldason said.

‘It’s not what Kutch needs.’

‘He did tonight.’

Karr slowly shook his head and laughed softly. ‘We’re never going to see eye to eye on this, are we?’

‘Probably not.’ Caldason regarded him. ‘You said Kutch needed rest. That goes double for you. You look worn.’

‘Everybody’s been telling me that lately.’

‘Then listen; they can’t all be wrong. You’re bearing too much.’

‘It’ll soon be a little less, I hope. I’m resigning my patricianship.’

‘You’ve said that often enough.’

‘This time I mean it. It’s a move I should have made long ago.’

‘Good. When?’

‘A matter of days. It’s going to feel strange after serving for so long.’

‘I don’t believe politicians achieve that much. Even the few decent ones end up tainted. You’re better out of it.’

‘I’ve come to think that way myself. And that maybe I’ve wasted all those years.’

‘No, not wasted. I didn’t say politicians don’t achieve anything.’

The patrician smiled. ‘From you, that’s quite a concession. But I’m ready for the change, though it’s going to take away what little protection the status affords me.’

‘So do what you’re always urging Rukanis to do; go underground.’

‘I’ll have to think about that. Disappearing after I quit could just confirm the authorities’ suspicions about me. It might be best to keep some kind of public profile for a while. But I have a more awkward task before I make that decision.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A social gathering, and a very prestigious one. It’s a ball, in fact, so it combines two things I don’t much care for: official functions and masquerades.’

‘They’re not exactly to my taste either, but it doesn’t sound that bad.’

‘You haven’t heard the worst of it. It’s hosted jointly by the Gath Tampoorian diplomatic corps and the clans. I’ll have the pleasure of the company of Envoy Andar Talgorian, and no less than Ivak Bastorran himself.’

‘I’d pay a good price for a few minutes alone with that one myself,’ Caldason returned grimly. ‘But if it’s such a trial, don’t go.’

‘Protocol wouldn’t allow that. Particularly as it’s where my resignation’s due to be announced.’

‘Then you’ll just have to smile through it.’

‘Yes, and after that I can concentrate entirely on our plans for the refuge. Talking of which …’ He altered course with a politician’s deftness. ‘… I’m having a meeting soon with the owner of the location. I’d like you there.’

‘What could I contribute?’

‘Something very valuable, perhaps. I can’t go into details now, but will you come?’

‘Some idea of what you expect of me would help.’

‘Possibly a service to the new state. Perhaps nothing beyond attending the meeting.’

Caldason thought about it. ‘All right.’

‘I’d like Serrah in on this, too.’

‘The meeting?’

‘This could concern your unit, and she is a member.’

‘Who hasn’t been on a mission for three months.’

‘I’d like the option of her being included. We can’t afford to have somebody with Serrah’s experience stand idle, not when we’re this stretched.’

‘I’d like to have her back. She’s moved on a lot since she tried to kill herself. But she’s still … unpredictable.’

‘She’s lost so much, Reeth. Her child, her job, her country, all she believed in. I think that entitles her to be a bit erratic, don’t you? I’m not convinced she’s ready for mission duties yet, but we should at least consider the possibility.’

‘As I said, I’d like her back.’

‘Excellent. I’ll get word to her.’ He looked around the bustling cellar and spotted Goyter returning. He waved her over.

‘Any idea where Serrah is this morning?’ he asked.

Goyter licked a thumb and consulted one of her numerous pieces of parchment. ‘She’s with Tanalvah Lahn.’

‘Ah, good. Tanalvah’s steady. She’ll keep Serrah out of trouble.’

3

Serrah Ardacris was in trouble.

Horrified, Tanalvah watched as her charge was driven back towards a wall by the two sentries still on their feet. They had pikes, giving them the advantage, and they were enraged. Serrah fought like a rabid thing, hacking at them savagely with her blade as she retreated.

To Tanalvah the situation looked dire. But Serrah seemed to be laughing.

Three of the sentries’ comrades were down. One was groaning and trying to rise. Another sprawled unconscious. The third lay very still in a widening pool of blood. The bench they’d been using as their checkpoint was overturned, and scraps of parchment fluttered in the chill morning breeze. On either side of the wagon that served as a roadblock a small crowd had gathered.

A loud crack brought Tanalvah back to earth. Serrah had chopped clean through one of the guard’s pikes. Its bearer was disbelieving for a second, then narrowly dodged her follow-up swing. Discarding the useless halves, he quickly pulled back, fumbling for his own blade. She turned her grinning wrath on his companion.

He had a simple strategy: herding her like swine until he could bury the pike in her chest. Serrah thought him unimaginative. She spun at him, using the momentum to hurry along a low stroke. He recoiled, avoiding it by a hair’s-breadth. Her next blow scoured his fist, biting deep. Wailing, he let go of the pike with his injured hand, upsetting its balance. As he botched correcting it, she went in again. He took the full force of her blow, toppled backwards, and landed flat-out, arms and legs akimbo, the pike rolling clear.

From where she stood, pressed into a doorway thirty paces distant, Tanalvah could swear she heard a hefty smack as he hit the flagstones.