Kellanved's Reach

This victim, however, refused to cooperate. So far, at least.

Sighing his distaste, the mage sat and idly brushed the night’s flying insects from his face. Too bad; now he would actually have to talk to the fellow. He patted the top slab of granite. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Still with us?’

He waited patiently. The night wind rose, hissing through the tall grasses of the surrounding savanna foothills of these Itko Kan–Dal Hon borderlands. Eventually, a voice snapped from within the darkness of the gap – a space no wider than the outstretched fingers of one’s hand, thumb to pinky.

‘Fuck off. Kinda busy right now.’

‘I should say so,’ Tayschrenn agreed affably. ‘I can feel your Warren sizzling just from here. Weakening, though.’ He added, conversationally, ‘Not much longer, I should think.’

‘Listen.’ The man hidden within spoke again, his voice clipped and breathless. ‘Are you naturally this much of an asshole, or are you making an extra special effort?’

Tayschrenn patted the top granite slab once more. ‘Actually, I’m here to offer a deal.’

‘A deal? Really? Hardly fair, don’tcha think? I’m in a tight spot right now.’

Tayschrenn shrugged, then realized the fellow couldn’t see him. ‘Regardless. The deal should be obvious. Your life for your service.’

‘To you?’

Grimacing, Tayschrenn brushed the rock dust from his hands. ‘My employer, actually.’

‘Ah. And who is he or she?’

Tayschrenn raised his eyes to the starry night sky, twined his fingers together at a knee and rocked back and forth. ‘I really don’t think you’re in a position to ask any questions.’

‘How do you know?’ answered the hidden victim. ‘Maybe I always wanted to lose some weight.’

Tayschrenn made levelling motions with his hands, as if smoothing a cloth. ‘You wouldn’t lose it. It would just be more … spread out.’

‘Asshole!’

‘Regardless, time is running out. You are not the only minor talent I could approach.’

‘Minor!’ the fellow burst out – then gasped as the top granite block dropped a finger’s width. ‘Fucker! If I was out of here I’d tear you apart!’

‘Hardly. Your Warren’s flickering. You are almost spent. And in any case, if you were such a fearsome warlock how did the townsfolk get you in there?’

A sullen silence radiated from within the thin gap. ‘I have something of a weakness for the pleasures of the flesh – wine and women, as they say.’

‘So they drugged you.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well … let this be a warning.’

‘Won’t happen again.’

‘Do we have an accord then?’

‘Fine. Yes! An accord. I’d shake on it but I have my hands full right now.’

‘Very well.’ Tayschrenn gestured and the huge block flew off, spinning through the air to crash to the ground in a shuddering impact.

The little man revealed beneath peered in that direction. ‘Show-off.’ He rose, shakily, and brushed at his fine rich shirt and trousers. Tayschrenn merely gave him a nod in greeting.

‘So who’s our employer, then?’

‘A mage of Meanas, named Kellanved.’

The young man – though young in appearance only – raised a quizzical brow. ‘Not the mage who’s got all the talents up in arms as Shadow cards are jumping from their decks and doing jigs on the tables?’

Tayschrenn showed a pained expression. ‘The same.’

‘Hunh. And you are?’

‘Tayschrenn.’

The slim youth nodded. ‘Calot.’

*   *   *

Gregar Bluenth groaned and regained consciousness. He rubbed his head, only to wince at the numerous raised welts, and swallowed the taste of old blood. He pushed himself up from the pile of rotting damp straw he lay upon and surveyed his surroundings: the sight was not promising. The only light cascaded down from an opening hidden in the stone ceiling far above. The dim glow revealed that he’d been thrown into a prison cell.

He staggered to the stout iron-bound door and banged upon it. ‘Hello! Anyone there? Hello?’ He kept banging.

After a very long time – half a day, perhaps; he had no way of telling but for the gradual waning of the natural light filtering down into the cell – heavy footsteps sounded from the hall outside the door. ‘Hello?’ Gregar called once more. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Oho! Awake, are you?’

He sighed his relief. ‘Yes. Where am I?’

‘They always ask that,’ said his interlocutor in a tone of wonder. ‘Thought it must be obvious.’

Gregar kicked the door. ‘Yes, yes. In prison in Castle Gris – I just wanted a second opinion. Thank you. Now that you’ve had your joke you can let me out.’

‘Out? Out you say, lad? Whatever for?’

‘What do you mean, “whatever for”? I’ve done nothing wrong. Let me go, dammit!’

‘Nothing wrong? You assaulted the Grisian guard. Sent many to the healing wards, so I understand.’ The shambling, heavy steps came closer. ‘You even boasted of meaning to join the Crimson Guard – and you know those criminals are outlawed here in Gris.’

Gregar let his head touch the cool damp wood of the door. Yes, he remembered that boast. ‘Fine. I’m sorry, okay? I repent. I’m an apprentice stonemason here at the castle. You can let me out now.’

‘Sorry, lad, but this is your third run-in with the guard. You’re bound for labour in the quarries.’