The Mortal Blade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 1) Read online

  Before the scream could leave the young woman’s lips, Aila sprang, colliding with her on the stairs and sending her flying backwards into the arms of her father, whose feet slipped under the weight.

  You see me as the guard known as Bekker.

  They tumbled down the dark stairs together, the chef falling backwards into a row of cooks and servants. They landed in an untidy heap of limbs at the bottom of the steps, and Aila kicked out with her legs, gaining purchase as she scrambled off the chef’s daughter and into the small passageway that led to the kitchen.

  The chef struggled to his feet, his eyes darting about. He saw his daughter, then looked back up the stairs in confusion.

  ‘Get up those stairs!’ yelled Aila, doing her best impersonation of an angry guard.

  The chef’s daughter rubbed her head. ‘But, but…’

  ‘Medhi’s been killed, did you not hear?’ said Aila. ‘No one’s leaving until everyone’s been questioned.’

  You see me draw a sword.

  The cooks backed away from Aila, and some sped up the stairs. The chef stood frozen for a moment, then took his daughter’s hand, and they started to climb the stairs again. As soon as they were out of sight, Aila ran to the kitchen. She stopped by the drinks cupboard to grab another bottle of the fine brandy, then raced past the central hearth and came to a back door. She pulled on the handle. Locked.

  The noise from upstairs increased, and she guessed that the bodies of the gang-bosses had been discovered. She ran back to the hearth, and looked around for something to use. Her eyes fell on a wheeled trolley, laden with clean plates and bowls, and she gripped the end. She lined it up with the door, and charged. The wheels rumbled over the tiled floor as she raced towards the exit.

  ‘Hey!’ cried a voice from the passageway behind her. ‘What in Malik’s name are you doing?’

  Aila ignored them and rammed the trolley at the entrance. It smashed into the wooden frame, battering the door. It flew open, and Aila leapt up and over the trolley as footsteps rushed towards her. She landed on the slick cobbles of a back alleyway, its walls lined with garbage and kitchen refuse, and a rat scurried away as her boots nearly trod on its back. She sprinted down the alley as shouts echoed behind her, and she could hear the trolley being wrenched aside.

  She turned a corner.

  You see me as a young Evader boy.

  She put her head down, and ran.

  Ten minutes later, Aila slowed to a walk as she approached her favourite place in the City. She lingered in the shadows of a neighbouring block, its grey concrete eroded and crumbling. The slums of the Circuit had barely changed in the hundreds of years she had known them. Whenever a building collapsed, which was fairly frequently, another shoddily-built block would be erected in its place, where Evader families would be crammed in with ten to each tiny apartment. Despite the extreme poverty and suffering, Aila had come to love the Circuit and the people who lived there. No matter what injustices they faced, or how they were treated by the five other tribes of Auldan and Medio, the Evaders had a resilience that humbled her at times.

  She waited for the street to quieten, then pictured in her mind the face of the person she was about to become. For twenty years, she had been using the same appearance whenever she visited the building opposite, being careful to gradually age as time went on, just as the mortals did.

  You see me as Elsie, the swine-trader.

  Aila rolled her shoulders and walked out into the street. Thugs from the gang she had attacked were patrolling the area, and she knew suspicion would fall upon the chef’s daughter and the hapless guard Bekker. She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that others might be unfairly punished for what she had done, but that was one of the risks she ran. Innocent people suffered every day due to the cruelty and fear engendered by the gangs of the Circuit; balanced against that, it was usually easy for her to forget about those hurt because of her actions. Still, the image of the chef’s daughter persisted in her mind, along with the nagging guilt.

  She crossed the street and glanced at the old building.

  The Blind Poet – one of the roughest drinking establishments in the Circuit, and Aila’s second home, but only as Elsie, never as herself.

  The wardens at the door nodded to her as she entered. The ground floor of the tavern was quiet, with just a handful of regulars and one or two strange faces. The best nights occurred once a month, after the workers had been paid for their soul-crushing labour, and everyone just wanted to get drunk and let go of their inhibitions, but the next such date was more than twenty days away.

  ‘Evening, Elsie,’ the woman behind the bar called over; ‘your usual?’

  ‘Aye, Nareen, ta.’

  Aila sidled up to a barstool and sat. ‘Seen all the commotion outside?’

  ‘Yeah,’ muttered Nareen as she took a large tankard from a hook on the wall. ‘Something’s got their knickers in a twist tonight.’

  Aila leaned in closer as Nareen opened the tap on a barrel and began to fill the tankard. ‘I heard,’ she said, keeping her voice low, ‘that Olvin’s place got attacked.’

  Nareen’s eyes flickered upwards. ‘Yeah? Oh dear,’ she smirked; ‘that’s terrible. Shocking.’

  ‘Disgraceful.’

  The two women laughed as Nareen set the ale down for her on the bar. Aila raised the tankard to her lips and took a long drink of the cool ale.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘Is this a new batch? Reminds me of the chestnut ale you were serving about, um… twelve years or so ago.’

  Nareen shook her head. ‘The brewery should employ you; I’m always saying that to them next door. “Give Elsie a job,” I tell ‘em, “she knows more about ale than any of you clumsy oafs”. But nobody listens to little old Nareen.’

  ‘Getting drunk to the ale of the Blind Poet is a passion of mine,’ Aila said, ‘and I listen to you, Nareen; you’re one of the few folk with any sense in this damned City.’

  Loud shouting came from outside, and Nareen glanced at the front door as it burst open. Aila took another drink as the sound of boots filled the tavern.

  ‘We’re looking for two fugitives,’ one of the newcomers yelled. ‘A man, and a woman.’

  Nareen shrugged. ‘As you can see, boys, we’re quiet tonight; just a few regulars.’

  The gang members fanned out through the tavern. One came up to the bar and stared at Aila.

  She raised her tankard. ‘Evening. What’s going on?’

  ‘None of your damned business. Where were you tonight?’

  Nareen let out a long, rattling laugh. ‘You think Elsie here was up to no good? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years.’

  The gang member frowned. ‘I asked her the question, not you.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense,’ Nareen said. ‘I’ve got a business to run, and can’t have you lowlifes coming in here and harassing my most loyal customers. Elsie’s been drinking in here for twenty years, for Malik’s sake; she screams if a mouse comes in through the door. Do you really think she’s capable of… doing whatever you’re accusing her of? I recognise a few of you; run back to Olvin and tell him that if this harassment doesn’t stop, then I’ll be wanting a refund on the protection money he squeezes out of me every month.’

  The gang-members glanced at each other.

  ‘Olvin’s dead,’ said one.

  Nareen’s eyes widened. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Come on,’ said another to his colleagues. ‘We’re wasting time.’ He glanced at Nareen. ‘If you hear anything…’

  ‘I’ll be sure to let you know,’ said Nareen.

  The gang-members frowned, took one last look at the tavern, then left by the front doors. Nareen reached under the counter and brought out a bottle. She filled a glass with brandy and slid it across the surface of the bar for Aila.

  ‘Really? For me?’

  ‘By way of an apology,’ Nareen said. ‘Those cretins were out of order, questioning you like that.’

  Aila rais
ed the glass. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t thank me; you’ve brought in a lot of money and business to this place over the years, and I wouldn’t want you going somewhere else with your custom.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending to get drunk tonight,’ Aila said, taking a sip of the rough spirits, ‘but I think you might well have persuaded me.’

  Four hours later, Aila staggered from the Blind Poet, colliding with one of the wardens Nareen had posted by the door.

  ‘Watch yourself, old girl,’ one of them laughed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she giggled, swaying as she grabbed his arm to steady herself.

  ‘The state you leave this place, Elsie,’ said the other, ‘it’s a miracle you ever make it home.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, lads,’ she slurred as she stumbled down the narrow street. The roads of the Circuit were twisting and chaotic, and seemed to follow no rational plan, but she knew the ways around the Blind Poet well, as if she had been born and raised there. She glanced upwards. The colour of the sky was as good as a clock to her, and she could tell from the shade of purple that it was a couple of hours after midnight.

  Damn it, she thought, she was going to be late. She stole into a dark alley, rubbed her face, then used her self-healing to sober herself up. It was a pity; she enjoyed being drunk, but work was work.

  You see me as Stormfire, the assassin and spy.

  Stormfire was one of her favourites. She had once glimpsed a woman with a scar going down her cheek that had given her a sinister, dangerous appearance, and had adopted it decades later as the face she would present when dealing with her informers. An illusory hood shielded most of her face, and a dark cloak made her almost disappear into the shadows. She set off again, moving faster than drunken Elsie had been capable of, crossing the dark alleys until she reached an abandoned warehouse by the side of a murky canal.

  She stayed clear of the water’s edge, and approached a side door.

  ‘You’re late,’ said a voice.

  ‘I’ve had a busy night.’

  A figure emerged from the shadows of a woman in her thirties, about halfway through the mortal span of her life. Aila had known her for thirteen years, and she was the latest in her succession of informers.

  ‘The job’s done,’ she said, handing the woman the bag of gold she had taken from the gang bosses. ‘Your information was accurate.’

  ‘I know it was,’ the woman said; ‘I was nearly killed getting it for you. I don’t know how you managed it, but Olvin’s gang are in turmoil. You took out four of their leadership in one night.’ She shook her head. ‘It should be me that’s paying you.’

  ‘I have no need for money,’ Aila said, ‘and I know you’ll put that to good causes. Do you have another address?’

  The woman nodded and took a slip of folded paper from her pocket. ‘Security will be tighter after what you did to Olvin. I’d suggest you wait a while for this one.’

  Aila took the paper and slipped it beneath her robes.

  ‘I wish I could tell everyone what you’re doing,’ the woman went on; ‘you’re making a real difference to the lives of the poor in the Circuit, whoever you really are.’

  ‘I’m Stormfire.’

  ‘You’re a hero.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Aila. ‘You know that Olvin will be replaced by another thug soon; perhaps he already has. Tomorrow, the gang will be back to work.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter; you’ve disrupted their business, and that means less opium on the streets, less folk forced into prostitution, fewer children snatched from their parents. If only you’d been around when my sister…’ The woman tailed off as her voice broke.

  ‘I wish I had been, Bekha.’

  The woman glanced around.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ said Aila.

  ‘Even so, please don’t say my name when we’re working. The militia are getting closer to finding out what I’ve been doing, and I’m worried that I might have been followed. If they catch me, then you know it’ll be the gallows.’

  ‘They won’t catch you,’ Aila said. ‘I’m watching out for you, remember? Just keep doing what your doing; every address you get me helps.’

  The woman opened the bag of gold and her eyes widened. ‘This is a lot more than we agreed. Where did you get it?’

  ‘It came courtesy of Olvin; he doesn’t need it any more.’

  ‘And he had this amount lying around?’ She took out one of the gold coins. ‘This is worth a hundred crowns on its own, and the whole bag is full of them.’

  Aila peered into the bag. Bekha was right; the contents came to thousands of crowns. ‘Maybe business was good?’

  ‘It’s never this good,’ said Bekha. ‘I know Olvin’s accountant; he told me his client was short of funds, which is why he was increasing his activities, in order to bring in more revenue.’ She frowned. ‘Someone paid Olvin a lot of money for something.’

  ‘I’ll look into it.’ She put her hand out and Bekha shook it. ‘See you soon.’

  Aila turned and slipped back into the shadows. She had several miles to go before she could get back to her quarters and relax with her stolen bottle of brandy.

  You see me as an old peasant man.

  She strolled down the narrow streets towards her home. She patted her pocket to make sure she had the slip of paper that Bekha had given her, and felt something lying next to it. A lump. The opium.

  There was a locked box under her bed in her quarters; she would put it there for safe-keeping, and use it to trade, or for information. She wouldn’t smoke any of it, she promised herself, those days were behind her.

  She frowned. Who was she trying to fool? She would have a tiny bit, to ease the long day out of her system.

  Just a tiny bit, she told herself, and quickened her pace.

  Chapter 2

  Arrival

  Port Sanders, Medio, The City – 3rd Mikalis 3419

  Corthie awoke as the room was flooded with red-infused light.

  ‘They’ve barred the damned windows,’ a voice muttered. ‘Hey, lad! Look at this; they must think we’ll try to escape, eh? They’ve taken precautions.’

  Corthie rubbed his head and opened his eyes. He glanced around the strange room for a moment, then turned to where Tanner was standing. He had opened the shutters, revealing a sky rippling in reds and pinks, framed by a vertical series of iron bars.

  ‘Is there a fire?’

  ‘What’s that, lad? You cold?’

  ‘No,’ he said, pulling back the thin sheet and swinging his feet onto the smooth floorboards. ‘I meant, is something burning outside?’

  The older man shrugged. ‘Nah, it’s just the sunrise.’

  Corthie pulled on a pair of shorts and stood. Fresh clothes had been laid out for him on the back of a chair, while on a table in the centre of the room sat a collection of dishes and plates. From the mess, it looked like Tanner had eaten his way through most of it.

  ‘When did breakfast arrive?’

  ‘Half an hour ago, maybe? I tried to wake you, but with all the drugs Naxor gave you, you were sleeping like the dead.’

  Corthie scanned the detritus on the table and picked up an apple. He walked over to the window and stood next to Tanner as he took his first view of his new home. Stretched before them were tidy rows of red-tiled roofs and yellow, sandstone buildings, tinted pink by the glow from the sky. Beyond was a long harbour, and then the sea, reaching into the horizon, where it was swallowed up by a thick bank of luminous fog, shot through with dark, swirling reds. The vast expanse of the sky seemed to burn in every shade of red, from lighter pinks by the horizon, to a deep, blood red overhead.

  ‘Some sunrise,’ said Corthie. ‘It looks like the end of the world.’

  ‘For all we know it is,’ said Tanner. ‘Let’s face it, neither of us has a clue where we’ve been sent; we just know there will be trouble, and violence, and danger…’

  Corthie laughed.

  ‘Don’t know what you find so amu
sing, lad. In ten years I’ll have paid off my debts to Gadena, and will be able to go home.’ He turned and glanced up at Corthie. ‘You’ll be here until you die; they own your ass. I saw Gadena hand over your papers to Naxor.’

  Corthie gazed out of the window, his arms leaning on the sill. ‘I won’t die here. I’m just passing time until…’

  ‘Wait, stop; I know this bit. Until your sister comes and rescues you; that’s what you were going to say, yeah?’

  ‘Aye, because it’s true.’

  Tanner nodded. ‘You keep telling yourself that, lad, if it keeps you going.’

  At that moment a sliver of sun appeared on the horizon, and the sky lightened as peaches and pinks pushed back the darker shades of red.

  ‘It’s like the sky’s on fire.’

  ‘It’s something to behold, lad, but if this is what it’s like here, we’ll just have to get used to it. Different place, different rules. I’ve seen all kinds of strange lands.’

  ‘I thought you said you’d never left Lostwell until now?’

  Tanner glared at him. ‘Don’t be saying that, not even when we’re alone; anybody could be listening. Gadena told me to keep quiet about… that place. He threatened to add years onto my time here if I blab about where we’re from, so do me a favour, eh?’

  ‘Aye, sure.’

  ‘Good lad. The locals here know nothing of other lands, and Naxor wants it kept that way.’

  Corthie turned away from the dawn and got dressed. No armour or weapons had been left for either of them, but the fresh set of clothes were smart, and fitted well.

  He heard a faint noise and glanced at the door.

  ‘It’s locked,’ said Tanner. ‘I already tried.’

  Corthie sat on the bed and pulled on a pair of leather boots. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  Tanner frowned and cocked his head to listen. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Aye. Footsteps.’

  Corthie stood as a key turned in the lock. The door swung open, and a man stepped into the room, two soldiers behind him.