Turrell hugged the wall,
peering cautiously around the corner. “Can you see him?” Sharyl asked.
“Shhhh!” Turrell cautioned. He stepped back from the
corner, looking pensive.
Sharyl felt a thrill of fear. “Well?” she prompted.
“He’s stopped just around the corner. I think he saw
me.” At any other time, Turrell’s expression would have made her laugh. He
looked so afraid. She felt afraid too — afraid, but also more alive somehow. It
was as though her fear was feeding her strength.
Someone stepped into the street. He was coming around
the same corner Turrell had peered around moments before. He was a tall man.
Sharyl had to squint against the glare of the sun before she could see him
clearly. It was the man they were following. Gastrin, a soldier dressed in
chain mail, was wearing a helmet and carrying a long sword strapped to his
side.
“Why are you following me?” Gastrin demanded, glancing
from one to the other. His gaze was firm. He looked unafraid, but then again
why should he fear them? Two civilians, one a small woman and the other an
unarmed man. Sharyl felt a growing sense of excitement.
“Because you stole from us!” she spat.
“You calling me a thief?” the soldier said, a hand
going to the hilt of his sword. “I know you. You are from his special school.
Go back before you get into trouble!”
Sharyl looked to Turrell for support but he was
looking away, too afraid to meet the soldier’s gaze. Sharyl was angry and she
wasn’t going to let this rest. A thud of wood on stone from above sounded as
someone opened the shutter. It was flung wider by a sudden gust. She saw a face
peering down on them, wondering, no doubt, what the noise was all about.
Sharyl felt alive. She giggled. “We’re not leaving
until you give us the gold, and yes, I am calling you a thief!” Sharyl shouted, moving
away from Turrell.
“Sharyl… ” Turrell started, “it’s not worth it. Let’s
go back.” He held his arm out to her as though imploring her to come with him.
“I’m not leaving without the gold!” she insisted.
”This pretty boy soldier had better give it back.”
“Listen to the little man,” the soldier advised, his
manner confident as he shrugged his head towards Turrell. “Go back to the
school before I get annoyed.” He turned away. To be dismissed so lightly made
Sharyl doubly angry. At that moment she hated this conceited man with a
passion.
Before she could do anything Turrell finally overcame
his cowardice. “Little man!” he blared. He shoved the soldier in the back,
catching him off balance. Gastrin took a couple of long strides before bringing
himself to a halt. “I am not a little man and you should show some respect,
Gastrin. Thief! I saw how you looked when Drachar gave the gold to
me. I saw your eyes and they betrayed you,” Turrell shouted.
Gastrin spun around, whipping out his sword, his eyes
blazing furiously. Others were coming to the windows of the buildings
overlooking the narrow street to see what the commotion was about. Gastrin
looked up and seeing the watching faces, he lowered his blade, clearly aware
that there were witnesses watching.
“Go back to school,” he sneered, “and I will pretend this didn’t
happen.” He backed up several paces, sheathing his sword.
“We want our gold!” Sharyl shouted, following him.
“Sharyl, watch out!” Terrell warned, reaching out to
grab her arm. She shrugged out of reach and stormed towards Gastrin who backed
farther away, glancing up at the watchers. Turning the corner, he started
walking away from the pair.
Sharyl ran after him, stooped and picked up a stone,
which she hurled with all her strength. It hit Gastrin in the back. Once again,
he spun around to confront them, drawing his sword more slowly this time.
“I am warning you two,” he said through gritted teeth,
pointing the sword at them and jabbing it in their direction. His face was
crimson with fury.
“Sharyl,” Turrell said. Sharyl glanced back at him,
seeing in his look that he wanted to leave.
“I want our gold,” she insisted.
“Sharyl. No!” Turrell cried out as she started to
trace a rune in the air. Turrell copied her. Sharyl guessed that he was casting
a spell of protection, a wise precaution.
Gastrin laughed at them, fingers painting in the air.
He turned to leave and that infuriated Sharyl all the more. With a final
flourish, she finished her casting and roared aloud, “Gastrin!”
The other man glanced over his shoulder in time to see
a green glow emanating from a tear in the fabric between the worlds. His face
darkened as a creature bounded forth. He spun around, his sword drawn. His eyes
were wide with fear as he sought an escape.
An imp hovered in the air between Sharyl and Gastrin.
It didn’t look too menacing. It was no bigger than a fox, but the smell and
green glow were telltale signs of what it was. A demon.
“Kill him,” Sharyl commanded, pointing at Gastrin who
raised his sword, clearly not wanting to turn his back on the imp.
The imp was fast. It threw itself at Gastrin who
thrust his sword outwards. His blow was ill timed and clearly made in a panic.
The imp simply dodged the weapon and was on him in an instant. Its claws raked
his throat. Then it was past him, landing, cat-like, on its talons.
Gastrin’s hand clutched his throat. Blood gushed
through his fingers. Desperately, he tried to staunch the flow, his eyes
bulging in their sockets. He tried to say something, but blood gurgled from his
lips. He fell to his knees, a look of astonishment on his face. The imp was not
yet finished. Gastrin knew it was behind him and he tried desperately to turn
to face it. The creature leapt on his back, its claws tearing his mail as
though it was nothing more than spider’s silk.
Gastrin’s head snapped back. A wail escaped his lips
as the imp sought his soul. With a cry of victory, the imp snatched its talon
from within Gastrin’s back. Sharyl cast a rune, sending it back to hell, a
smile on her lips as she looked upon Gastrin’s corpse. A great hole had been
ripped in his back.
“Sharyl, what have you done?” Turrell said. He looked
at her in awe, his mouth agape.
“Get the gold,” Sharyl instructed, waving a hand
dismissively.
Turrell smiled. “You were brilliant, summoning an imp
so quickly.”
“Just get the gold,” she said, pointing at the body.
She glanced up at the windows. Several slammed shut as the occupants withdrew,
unwilling to get involved after witnessing the horror and violence just
perpetrated. A few looked on still, their faces masked in terror.
When Turrell turned the body over, even Sharyl was
taken aback. Gastrin’s face was frozen in a silent scream, a look of complete
terror permanently etched on his face. Sharyl had never liked him, even though
she had only met him a couple of weeks earlier. He was a typical soldier,
thinking he was better than anyone else just because he had a sword.
She looked up, unafraid of anyone seeing her. She had
power now and no one could touch her. Not ever again.
“I have it,” Turrell announced, excitedly, crouching
over the body and staring at the nugget. He held it up for her to see. “I have
it,” he repeated.
“Come on! We’d better get back,” Sharyl said. She felt
incredible, vibrant. She couldn’t stop smiling.
“What will people do?” Turrell fretted. “We … you
killed him.”
“Do? What can they do?” Sharyl said, smiling. “We are invincible.”
Humming, Drachar made his
way to visit his apprentices. At a distance, two guards accompanied him. As he
walked, he heard their mutterings. More often than not the word ‘demon’ was
mentioned in hushed whispers.
Something was bothering Drachar, but at first he
couldn’t put his finger on it. Then, he realised that he didn’t recognise
either of the guards. For some reason, that bothered him. Turning a street
corner, he entered one of the city’s more crowded streets. People parted,
staring at him. Voices warned others of his coming. Figures scurried out of his
way. He gave them little thought — other than being pleased with the effect he
was having.
A short while later, he arrived at his destination. He
was surprised by the number of people working on the buildings, repairing the
roof, and plastering the walls. He noticed Turrell, his new apprentice, running
towards him. He was a thin, gangly individual and his head bobbed up and down
as he ran. This, combined with his hawk-like nose, made him look comical. He
was not as competent as Salar; he had been special. Drachar looked around, searching
for his old apprentice.
“Where could he have got to?” he muttered.
Behind him one of the guards spoke, “Sorry, what did
you say?”
“Nothing,” Drachar said, as Turrell halted in front of
him.
His eyes shone with passion. “Master, we are ready for
today’s instruction,” he said, and then he bowed.
“Why are these people here?” Drachar asked as they
made their way to the classroom.
Turrell grinned, “Repairing the buildings,” he offered,
stating the obvious. To anyone else this might have been construed as being
rude, but Drachar had already accepted that Turrell was a simple man, a man of
few words. He liked that.
“Ah, the gold. It came in useful then?” Drachar asked.
Turrell mumbled something that Drachar didn’t catch.
He glanced around at the guards, puzzling over the absence of the usual guards.
Drachar liked daily routines and something was definitely amiss today. Every
day he was met by the same guard and escorted here. Gastrin! That was the name of one
of the guards who escorted him. Drachar stopped.
“Where is Gastrin?” he asked, turning to Turrell, who
shrugged. Something in his look warned Drachar that Turrell knew something, but
wasn’t talking. He turned to the two new guards who looked pale and
uncomfortable. He repeated the question to these men, but they said they didn’t
know where he was. Again, there was something in their eyes to suggest
otherwise.
Drachar didn’t like mysteries. First Salar and now
Gastrin! Using the link with his shaol he felt around the area for signs of
danger. Nothing seemed out of place however and so he continued walking to the
classroom. Turrell held the door open for him to enter, but his eyes kept
darting this way and that and Drachar had the distinct impression that
something was amiss.
The guards didn’t usually enter the building and today
was no exception. As he swept through the doorway his eyes had to adjust to the
gloom of the interior after the brightness of the summer’s day outside.
Inside it was packed with people. Drachar paused to
think. He had only recruited a handful of people two short weeks ago, but now
there were quite a few more present. This was another mystery.
Turning to Turrell, he said, “Tell me what happened to
Gastrin. The guards are not present, so you can tell me what is wrong.”
Again, Drachar saw guilt written on Turrell’s face.
“Master, he stole from us.”
“Stole?”
“The gold you summoned on your first visit,” Turrell
licked his lips and Drachar felt his fear. He looked at Turrell’s shaol, which
today was not very visible. Seeing another person’s shaol was always
unreliable. Some days it was there and others not.
“What have you done with him?”
Drachar knew already — or he at least thought that he
did — but Turrell was clearly at a loss as to what to say.
“I will not harm you, but you must tell me,” Drachar
urged.
“It wasn’t just me. It was the others as well. When we
found the gold missing, we spoke to our shaols — at least those with a strong
enough links did.” Turrell was clearly having a problem admitting this. He
paused in his tale.
“Go on.”
“We found out that Gastrin had taken the gold that
morning. When he left with you, he intended to sell it in the market, but we
managed to intercept him.”
“And he had the gold on him?”
Turrell nodded.
“So what did you do?”
“It wasn’t my idea. Sharyl, she did it. She summoned
an imp. I watched — that was all.”
“Watched what?”
“The imp attacked him. It tore out his heart. I heard
his soul screaming.”
“Were you scared?”
Turrell dropped his head and shook it. Drachar was
starting to understand. The irony made him smile. The reason people were coming
to join and the reason these people could summon imps was because of their
shaol. Their shaols were evil; that was why they could summon imps. Drachar laughed
aloud and Turrell looked up, alarmed.
Did that mean that his people, the Eldric, had evil
shaols as well? Oh, this was delicious! Drachar laughed again. The people
stopped what they were doing to watch. They could not see him, at least not
very well. The shadow surrounding him obscured him from view. It must have
seemed bizarre, watching a shadow and hearing laughter coming from it.
Drachar’s mirth gradually lessened. “Continue,” he
instructed in a sombre voice. He went amongst the students, listening, but also
to inspect the shoals of the newcomers. None of their shaols drew away from him
as he approached. This was a good sign. Some students had extremely strong
links with their shaol and these seemed to be the most apt pupils. Drachar
paused in front on one girl who was drawing a rune for three others to learn.
“Good,” Drachar said. “A very serviceable rune. And
what is your name?”
“Sharyl, Master,” she said. Her eyes pierced the
shadow around Drachar, as though in challenge. Turrell stood by Drachar’s side
and Drachar turned to him.
“You mentioned her, didn’t you? So you managed to
summon an imp and I have only been teaching you for two weeks. What spell did
you cast to protect yourself?”
Sharyl was using a piece of chalk to write on the
floor. She drew a rune reasonably swiftly and Drachar scrutinised it. “You have
a good memory, it would seem.”
Sharyl beamed with pride. Just at that moment, there
was a commotion at the door. “Go and see what that is,” Drachar said. Turrell
nodded before hastening away.
He returned shortly and said, “Master, there are
soldiers here. They say they are looking for a murderer.” His voice betrayed
his fear, no doubt because of his involvement.
Drachar walked to the door and many of the apprentices
followed. Outside, there were five soldiers and one officer. Upon seeing
Drachar, surrounded by shadow, the men turned pale. They glanced at each other
as though seeking courage in their comrades. The officer said, “We have come to
arrest a murderer.”
Drachar laughed, “There are no murderers here.”
“I am looking for a woman, long blond hair, as tall as
my shoulder, slim build, and aged about twenty five.”
Drachar noticed the direction of his gaze. Turning, he
saw Sharyl standing behind him. She looked remarkably unconcerned. Drachar
liked that. He liked that a lot!
“I believe that is her,” the officer continued,
pointing to Sharyl.
“You cannot take her,” Drachar said. “My apprentices
are outside your laws. My apprentices are to be given respect and not
disturbed. The man that was killed stole from us and that is not acceptable.”
The officer clearly didn’t know how to take this. “I
have my orders and I must take her into custody.”
“You are a brave man,” Drachar said. “You are all
brave,” he said, addressing the men behind the officer, “to stand there,
knowing that any moment you could be dead. But that is not what makes you
brave. Anyone can die for a cause. What makes you brave is standing up to me,
knowing that your soul could be ripped from your body and sent screaming to
hell.”
The officer had nothing to say to this. His eyes kept
going to Sharyl. Suddenly, he seemed defeated. His shoulders sagged and he
turned. “Follow me,” he said to his troops who were only too willing to leave.
Drachar laughed and turned to re-enter the classroom,
with his apprentices leading the way. They were talking in excited tones.
Drachar looked for Sharyl and saw her watching him. Yes, he thought, she would
do nicely.
No comments:
Post a Comment