The Righteous Blade

4

In common with every other land, there were locations in Bhealfa that people tended to avoid. Dangerous, unsettling places, such as the Great Chasm at Murcall, that legend said had opened up to swallow a warlord’s invading horde. Spots like the forest of Bohm, with its curious ruins that many believed dated from the time of the Founders, and from which few travellers returned. Or the Starkiss valley fracture, where at intervals a geyser spewed raw magic, despite a thirty-year effort to seal the breach.

There were undesirable sites for urban dwellers, too. Lawless quarters, debtors’ prisons and the re-education camps figured high on the list. But one was shunned above all others. A place where people were more often taken than chose to visit.

The headquarters of the paladin clans in Valdarr was a forbidding redoubt. Doubly so as an autumnal dusk fell. A large and imposing complex of grey stone structures, it existed behind high walls and heavily guarded gates. Black pennants flew at the tops of its many watchtowers.

That the compound stood in such a prime position was testament to the clans’ overweening power. As soldiers of

fortune, to use the polite term, they fought for both Gath Tampoor and Rintarah, and professed to see no conflict of loyalties. Their constitutional position was unique. They were deemed stateless, a legal nicety they’d wrung from grateful clients on opposite sides of the divide.

If an ignorant person were to ask what the paladins did that regular forces didn’t, the answer would be everything and anything. Consequently their wealth and influence were considerable.

As the light began to fail, a man walked the spotless paths bisecting the rows of neatly maintained buildings. An observer would have put his age at around twenty summers. He was blond and clean-shaven. The tunic he wore was black with triple lines of red piping at the wrists and a circular red patch on the left breast. Markings that indicated his function was administrative rather than combative, and that he served the clans without being fully

of

the clans. He had an oilskin document pouch tucked under one arm. Back straight, he moved smartly, free arm swinging military style. Watchful human eyes followed his progress, and eavesdropper glamours hovered above.

His thoughts centred on the secrets harboured by his stern surroundings. Their secrets, and his own.

He came to a long, low, single-storey building that was in fact a wing projecting from a much larger central edifice. This was the core fortress, its sloping walls dizzyingly tall and dressed with crenellated defences. The wing was an infirmary, reserved for the highest ranking.

A pair of sentries guarded the door. Their tunics were crimson, indicating full clan blood. They didn’t salute him, but did stand aside to let him pass. He nodded and went in.

The interior consisted of a central corridor with doors off to either side. The room he wanted was at the far end. Just before he reached it, the door flew open.

An elderly man stumbled out. His robes marked him as a physician, and he was in a state of agitation. No sooner had he cleared the door than a china jug flew out, barely missing him, and shattered against the opposite wall. He pushed past, ashen faced, and fled.

The young man took a breath, knocked, and stuck his head into the room.

‘I said

stay out

! Oh, it’s you, Meakin.’

Devlor Bastorran, heir apparent to the clans leadership, lay in an oversized bed. One of his legs was plastered from thigh to ankle and suspended by a pulley. He was coverd in scars and abrasions and his closely trimmed black hair had a small shaven patch, revealing a laceration that was still healing.

He put down the porcelain bowl he was about to throw. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, man. Come in!’

Lahon Meakin entered. ‘If this isn’t a convenient time, sir…’

‘Time’s one thing I have plenty of at the moment.’ He nodded at a chair. ‘Sit.’

The aide shut the door and did as he was told, placing the folder on his lap.

Bastorran turned to look at him, and winced through clenched teeth. ‘Damn leg!’

‘Can I summon assistance, sir?’

‘Absolutely not. If that last healer’s anything to go by, I’m better off without their ministrations.’

‘Sir.’

‘Now report.’

Meakin started to leaf through the contents of his folder.

‘And keep it brief, will you?’ Bastorran added. ‘Just the basics.’

‘Yes, sir. I have a summation here.’ He fished out a sheet of parchment and cleared his throat. ‘Let’s see. Accounts for

today are still coming in, of course, but we have most of Valdarr’s figures for the last twenty-four hours. There were fourteen instances of public disorder serious enough to warrant our attention. Five cases of arson directed at government or imperial property. An attempt was made to steal a consignment of arms in transit, which proved unsuccessful, though there were three fatalities. Regrettably, two paladins lost their lives in other incidents. As did eleven members of the watch and a licensed sorcerer assigned to one of their units.’

‘Detentions?’

Meakin consulted another document. ‘Er, seven hundred and twenty-two, sir.’

‘That’s up again.’

‘Yes, sir. And thirty-one of those resulted in summary execution, as allowed for by the new emergency regulations.’

‘Excellent. Things are certainly looking up now we’ve been allowed to take the kid gloves off.’

‘The Clan High Chief must be very pleased, sir.’

‘My uncle?’ Bastorran’s face clouded.

‘As he’s campaigned for so long for tougher measures against the insurgents, sir,’ Meakin hurriedly added.

‘Ah. Yes, Uncle Ivak’s a pig in shit at the moment.’

If Meakin thought that was disrespectful, he knew better than to say so. ‘Do you want the details, sir?’

‘What?’

‘Of the arrests. I can break them down into-’

‘Details weary me. You should know that by now. The only important thing is that we’re consigning more of these criminals to prison or to the block. But that isn’t the reason I wanted you here.’

‘Sir?’

‘I want you to meet someone. I’m doing this because you might have to liaise with this person if I can’t. But you have

no need to know what task they’re performing for the clans. Nor do you have to know more than necessary about this visitor.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Understand this, too.’ He spoke emphatically, his gaze unblinking. ‘Everything to do with this person is to be regarded as secret. Any breach of security will have grave consequences. You’re comparatively new to my service, so let me underline the importance of the oath you took to the clans, and your personal oath to me. Break it and you know what the consequences will be.’

‘Yes, General.’

In a slightly softer tone, Bastorran went on, ‘You’ve made good progress in the paladins, Meakin. I might say remarkable progress given that you weren’t clan-born. That’s rare. And not everybody approves of your rise. So see this as a test of your loyalty. Serve me well and you’ll not regret it.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘There’s just one thing I should tell you about our visitor. She’s a symbiote.’

Meakin found it difficult to hide his surprise. ‘A meld?’

‘I believe that’s the common term for a very uncommon…relationship. But it might be better not to use it in front of her.’

‘Of course not, sir.’

‘I expect you to extend the same courtesy to her as you would anyone else acting on our behalf.’

‘I’ve never seen a symbiote before, sir. Not insofar as I’d know it, anyway.’

‘Very few people have. There can’t be too many around, after all. It’s not a pact many would willingly enter into.’ There was the sound of movement in the corridor. ‘I think you’re about to have your first encounter, Meakin.’

Somebody rapped loudly on the door.

‘Come!’

Their guest entered, accompanied by a guard whom Bastorran curtly dismissed.

The person standing before them was an arresting sight. Her appearance was androgynous. She had straw-blonde hair cropped so short it could have been shaven. Her skin was white like marble, and she had thin, bloodless lips. Meakin found her eyes frankly disturbing. They were inordinately large, and their irises were blacker than any he’d ever seen on a human, stressed the more by unusually milky surrounds. She was trimly built, yet her frame implied a well-disciplined strength.

There was something slightly odd about the geometry of her face, as though every line was one percent out of true. She was neither ugly nor beautiful. What she possessed was a severe elegance; like a glacier made flesh. The overall effect was alarming, and somehow mesmeric.

She was completely at ease, and returned their stares with a brittle gaze of her own.

At length, Bastorran said, ‘Welcome.’

The woman barely acknowledged his greeting.

‘This is my aide,’ he continued, ‘Lahon Meakin. Meakin, say hello to Aphri Kordenza.’

Nods were exchanged. Hers was slight, disinterested.

‘In the event that I’m not able to deal with you myself, Kordenza, you’re to liaise with Meakin here. Meakin and no other. I trust that’s clear.’

‘Yes.’ Something about the timbre of her voice set the small hairs on Meakin’s neck tingling.

‘There’s no point in you lingering here, Meakin,’ Bastorran decided. ‘You may go.’

He didn’t seem to hear. He was staring at her.

‘Meakin.’

‘Sir!’

‘Get out. And make sure we’re not disturbed.’

The aide gathered his papers, then quietly left.

The bed-ridden paladin and the glamour symbiote studied each other.

‘Mind if I demerge?’ Kordenza asked.

‘Mind if you do

what

?’

‘Sharing with a glamour pair gets uncomfortable when we’re both in at the same time. Makes me feel like I’ve eaten too much. I’m hoping to make our cohabitation less unpleasant in future. Until then…’ she thumped her flat chest with a black-gloved fist, ‘…better out than in, know what I mean?’ She smiled, though her face wasn’t made for it.

‘Just remember I have men outside that door. If you even think of-’

‘Calm yourself, General. We should trust each other; we’re in a business relationship. Besides, if we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.’

He felt a little confused by her use of ‘we’. ‘So go ahead.’

What took place next was no less startling for happening fast. Aphri Kordenza simply stepped to one side. But an outline of herself remained in the space she vacated. It hung in the air like a slender rope, mimicking her shape. Within its contours a kaleidoscope of particles churned and vibrated. They coagulated and clarified, and within seconds came together to form something that looked human. The emerging figure appeared to be Kordenza’s twin.

Bastorran saw that an almost invisible membrane, a viscous, cobwebby lattice, attached Kordenza to the conjured glamour. The filmy web grew taut, snapped and was immediately reabsorbed by the twin.

On closer inspection, Kordenza’s double proved not entirely identical, though its clothes were.

It, too, was androgynous, but with definite masculine features. Nor did it look completely human.

Kordenza was stretching, elbows back, head rolling. Unwinding after a weight had been removed. Next to her, the glamour twin did the same. They unconsciously mirrored each other, like a well worked-out piece of choreography.

Straightening, expelling a breath, Kordenza declared, ‘Anything you have to say can be said to both of us.’

‘We work together,’ the glamour added. Its voice was a giveaway, if one were needed. It had the timbre of sorcery; a little hollow, a touch lifeless, a hair away from humanity.

Bastorran regarded the pair silently, as though he were weighing whether to deal. At last he said, ‘What do I call you?’

‘Aphrim,’ the glamour replied.

Aphri leaned against a dresser, arms crossed. The glamour, which Bastorran was forcing himself to think of as ‘he’, adopted a similar pose by the hearth.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ Bastorran prompted. ‘You’re aware of the nature of the commission.’

‘We only accept one kind,’ Aphri said.

‘All we need to know is the target,’ her twin finished.

‘When you do, you might think twice about taking the job.’ The pun had been unintentional, but neither of his guests seemed aware of it.

‘We always appreciate a challenge,’ Aphrim told him.

‘It keeps us on our toes,’ Aphri explained.

‘Your problem,’ the glamour ventured, ‘is connected with your present state of health, yes?’

‘You want vengeance,’ Aphri reckoned.

‘Not just for your injuries…’

…but for the terrible public humiliation you suffered.’

Bastorran found the way they shared speech as provoking as what they said.

‘A stain not only on your reputation…’

…but on the clans as a whole, and-’

‘

All right!

I’m close to having you

flogged

for impertinence.’

‘You might find that a little hard in my case,’ the glamour commented.

‘Looks like we were right in our assumption, Aphrim,’ Kordenza said.

‘Yes,’ Bastorran confirmed, ‘it’s Caldason. I want him…

destroyed

.’

‘Hmm. He’s a notorious bandit.’

‘A hard man to kill.’

‘Some say he

can’t

be killed.’

‘That’s superstitious nonsense,’ Bastorran snapped.

‘Perhaps,’ Aphri conceded. ‘Nevertheless, such a commission would require a substantial fee.’

‘That needn’t be a problem. Providing your demands aren’t too outrageous.’

‘We all know that outrageous is the going rate for this job, General. As to the form the payment takes; we want coin, naturally, but we’ll take the bulk of it as magic. Is that a problem?’

‘For the clans? Of course not. But why?’

‘Our relationship’s very magic hungry.’ She looked to Aphrim. ‘Particularly as my partner needs all his strength to interact with humans.’

Bastorran raised an eyebrow.

‘All right, to kill them,’ she amended.

‘Money, sorcery; take your price any damn way you want. Just get Caldason for me.’

‘I don’t want to talk ourselves out of a job,’ Aphri said, ‘but why can’t you do this yourselves? With all the resources the clans have-’

‘There are certain restrictions placed on how we can engage with the Qalochian.’

Her oversized eyes widened a little more. ‘The mighty paladins, limited?’ There was more than a hint of mockery.

‘Just technical niceties that don’t concern you. All you need know is that we’ve decided to contract out on this occasion.’

‘How do we find him?’ Aphrim wondered.

‘You mix with the dregs; don’t tell me you have no sources. In addition, I’ll see you get any clan intelligence that might help. And of course I can offer some measure of protection while you go about your work.’ He was growing testy. ‘Do you want this commission or not?’

‘One thing,’ Aphri asked. ‘Does the Clan High Chief know about this?’

‘I’m the only authority you need worry about,’ Bastorran returned icily. ‘My uncle’s a busy man. I don’t trouble him with routine trivia.’

The twins exchanged meaningful glances.

‘Be clear,’ he continued harshly. ‘Fail in this, or be indiscreet, and I’ll have you-’ he pointed at Aphrim ‘-

negated

. While you-’ he indicated Aphri ‘- will be making the acquaintance of my master torturer. And be assured that only when you’re completely ruined will he put out your eyes.’

‘Sounds tasty,’ Aphrim mouthed quietly.

‘I think we understand each other.’ Bastorran favoured them with a chill smile. ‘And forget about my uncle. As I said, he has more than enough to occupy him at the moment.’