Dead Stars - Part One (The Emaneska Series) (38 page)

‘Unhand me, mother!’ he cried. Moirin just held him that much tighter. She licked her lips, and nodded. Farden turned back to the Duke.

‘See?’

‘Fine.’

Farden got comfortable. ‘First things first. Where’s Loffrey?’

‘He’s gone.’

‘Where?’

‘Are you going to kill him too?’

‘That’s between me and him. Answer the question.’

‘Back to his master. Much the richer of course.’

‘He’s not yours? Then who is he? And how does he know so much about my armour?’

Kiltyrin glared. He was used to asking, not answering the questions. ‘He’s Rannoch’s. Duke Rannoch’s head servant and scholar. Like you, he’s spent his entire life researching Scalussen armour. The man is obsessed with it.’

‘How did he come to you?’

Kiltyrin remained silent. Farden waved the knife at him. ‘Your life is conditional on me getting my answers, remember?’

There was a sigh. ‘Loffrey found some book called the
Fable of the Nine
, written by somebody called Benton, or Binton, who cares. He became convinced that the Nine were real. So Loffrey went to Rannoch and asked for the coin to mount an expedition to find the armour, all in honour of the Duke of course. All Loffrey wanted was the fame of being the one who uncovered it. Fool. But Rannoch was unimpressed by his ideas. He dubbed it nonsense, so Loffrey came to me instead.’

‘Why you?’

‘Why not? I’m the richest Duke there is. Everybody owes me something. Loffrey came to me, and I heard him out. I thought he was mad at first, just like old Rannoch, but it cost me little to let him try. I would either reap the benefit, or have him hanged for wasting my time and coin.’

Farden waved his knife in a circle. ‘So where do I come in?’

‘Can’t you figure this out for your…’

‘Answer the fucking question,’ the mage snapped.

‘Loffrey was here when the Arka messenger came asking for you. A few had come before, but this one seemed desperate. He described you in perfect detail, the cloak, the scars, the red-gold armour you were never seen without. Scalussen, if the messenger wasn’t mistaken…’ The pieces fell into place as Farden listened. ‘Then I remembered what you were wearing the day you came to Wodehallow. I remember thinking nothing of it at the time, thinking it was fake. Then, when Loffrey asked me about your age, your face, it all became obvious. We laid you a trap with that whore and a fake bit of armour, and you took the bait, like the fool you are. And you did me one last favour as well,’ Kiltyrin chuckled. ‘Wodehallow thinks I saved his life. He thinks you were young Duke Leath’s assassin, and that he’s to blame for all these “unfortunate accidents.” My warning saved his life, and now we’re moving against Leath. Together.’

Farden didn’t care for the Duke’s political machinations. ‘What whore?’ he asked.

Kiltyrin spied a weakness. ‘Why Farden, you didn’t know? The blind girl? Oh my. It seems you might not want these answers after all.’

Thump
. Farden’s left fist collided with the other side of Kiltyrin’s jaw. ‘What was her name?’ The betrayal stung, if it was true.

The Duke winced. His eyes brimmed with hatred as well as tears of pain. ‘Why should I care?’ he barked. ‘She did as she was told.’

‘Which was?’

‘She arranged for Loffrey to spy on you while you bedded her, to make sure you had the armour,’ Kiltyrin chuckled. ‘Betrayed you for a bagful of jewels, she did. Just like that.’ He clicked his fingers behind his back.

It was then that a shout came from behind the door. ‘Your lordship! Is everything alright?!’ Farden whirled around, swearing darkly. He had forgotten to hide the unconscious guards.

Kiltyrin began to shout. ‘They’re in here! Help!’ he yelled. Farden silenced him with another punch that split his lip even wider. Farden winced as his knuckle grazed one of the man’s teeth.

‘Shut it,’ he snapped, but it was too late. The guards had heard their lordship’s cries. Spearbutts and fist and elbows and boots began to hammer on the door.

Farden strangled the arm of his chair, wracking his brains for a plan. ‘Quickly,’ he shouted to Moirin and Timeon. ‘Get under the bed! Hide!’

They swiftly did as they were told. Moirin lugged Timeon to his feet and pushed him across the floor. All the while he looked back at his father with a mixture of fear and indignant confusion. Moirin shoved him under the bed, and then followed herself. She couldn’t help but watch wide-eyed from the shadows, like a stray cat in an alleyway.

With Kiltyrin still reeling from the punch, Farden grabbed him by the cord around his neck and dragged him towards the huge window at the end of the room. The feet of his chair squealed in fear. As the Duke dribbled blood, Farden whispered in his ear. ‘I wish I had time to mount your head on your own wall, Kiltyrin, but it would appear that I don’t,’ he said.

Kiltyrin’s eyes grew narrow when he saw where the mage was dragging him. ‘But you swore! You gave me your word you wouldn’t kill me!’ he choked. The soft curtain cord was strangling him.

‘What makes you think I’m going to kill you?’ Farden asked. With a grunt, he spun the Duke around in his chair and pushed him up against the stone wall beneath the window ledge. Kiltyrin cried out as his kneecaps were rammed up against the stone. He looked out at the rain and the distorted lanterns of Tayn below. ‘There are worse things than death, my good Duke,’ said the voice in his ear.

Kiltyrin struggled for all he was worth. He felt Farden’s rough and calloused hands fumbling at his wrists. ‘Damn you Farden! What are you going to do with me?’ he yelled frantically. His snide confidence had all but melted away. ‘Help!’ he began to shout. ‘Help!’ The banging at the door became a deep and slow thud of something heavy slamming against the wood.

Boom.

Farden ripped the Duke’s silk sleeve from his shoulder and tossed it aside. He couldn’t help but hesitate as his eyes met the red-gold sheen of his vambraces. He licked his lips, like a starving man discovering an abandoned banquet. His eager fingers grabbed at them, and as he pinched the hidden latches, they came loose with a metallic whisper and dropped to the floor. Kiltyrin felt them fall and struggled even more. ‘Curse you, mage!’

‘Where are the others?’

‘As if I’d t…’ A cold knife slipped under his chin.

‘I’ve broken a promise before, and gods help me, I’ll do it again. Moirin or not,’ Farden growled, wrenching the man’s head back by the roots of his fiery red hair. They stared at each other then. There was utter death in the Duke’s eyes. Utter murder in Farden’s. The mage sneered, and pressed the knife closer.

Boom.

The knife bit into his windpipe.

‘Beside the bed!’ Kiltyrin screeched.

Ignoring Moirin’s panicked eyes, Farden rushed to the side of the grand bed and ripped open the door of a little cupboard that sat next to the wall. Its insides glittered with red and gold, scarlet and treasure. Farden snatched at it.

‘Farden?!’ cried Moirin. Timeon was struggling now.

‘Father!’ he was shouting.

‘Stay there!’ Farden ordered. ‘And keep that boy quiet!’ Farden tossed the gauntlets on the floor and threw his hands into their open mouths. They seized his fingers in their metallic grip and fused to the vambraces in seconds. The greaves would take too long, so Farden ripped the case from a pillow and made an impromptu sack.

The room bubbled with noise. Farden clutched his pounding head in his hands. The door creaked. The guards yelled. The Duke was screaming. Timeon was shouting. Only Moirin kept quiet. Farden knelt at the end of the bed and met her eyes.

‘I’m sorry I can’t take you with me,’ he blurted.

Moirin looked scared. ‘I wasn’t asking.’

‘I know.’ Farden looked to the Duke, thrashing in his chair.

‘Are you going to…’

‘No. But trust me. You’ll be safe.’

‘Will you?’

‘I’ll manage,’ Farden nodded. ‘I always do.’

Boom.

He looked to the door. Its thick lock was beginning splinter. The key was jangling loosely in its hole. The wood quivered as the guards struck it again.

Boom!

‘Do what you have to do,’ Moirin said, and reached for his hand. Farden didn’t quite know what to do, but he grasped it all the same. A fleeting, cold, metallic goodbye.

‘Close your eyes,’ he told her.

‘Father!’ screeched Timeon, as Moirin clamped her hands over the boy’s face.

Farden marched over to the window and his captive Duke. Kiltyrin saw him coming in the reflection of the rain-spattered pane. He could see the iron darkness of the mage’s intent in his narrowed eyes. It terrified him to silence. Farden went to the desk and snatched up his notebook, still open at that most dangerous of pages. Kiltyrin soon found his tongue, bloody as it was. ‘No!’ he cried! ‘NO!’

In a cold, slow movement that was far more frightening than if he had done it with speed, Farden ripped the page from the notebook and pressed it up against the damp windowpane so that it stuck facing the Duke. Kiltyrin looked up at the ceiling, at the floor, at the metal-eyed mage, anywhere but the Book.

Farden grabbed a loose end of rope and looped it around the Duke’s face. One, twice, binding him still. Farden yanked it, and Kiltyrin’s head snapped back. It was a moment’s work to knot it tightly to his bound hands. He was stuck facing the dreaded page. ‘No!’ he shouted, clamping his eyes firmly shut.

Farden wasn’t done yet. He grabbed Kiltyrin in a headlock, and held him tight against his chest. ‘There are worse things than death, Kiltyrin, and I am one of them,’ he whispered. Then, with a final glance to check that Moirin was not watching, he lifted up his knife, and began to cut.

The guttural screams rose higher than the rafters.

When the mage was done, he wiped his hands and turned away, and headed straight for the fire. He reached inside his pocket and dug out the scraps of crumpled parchment Loki had given him. He held them over the flames for a brief moment until they caught light, and then sprinted to the door.

Boom!

It was not a moment too soon. ‘Cover your eyes!’ Farden snatched the iron key from its lock and wrenched the doors open. The guards staggered onto their faces as their rudimentary battering ram met nothing but empty air. Wide-eyed and panting, they gawped at the dishevelled man standing in the doorway, a piece of burning paper in each of his hands.

‘Er…’ was all one of them could stutter, as the burning papers exploded into twin balls of blinding light, miniature suns in their own right, fighting for space in the doorway. Farden screwed his eyes as tightly as he could and braced himself against the unfurling spells. His arms felt as though they had been hit by hammers. It took all of his might to stay standing. On the floor, the guards clutched at their faces, trying to shut out the blinding light.

It lasted only second, but that was all he needed.

Farden kicked his way through the dazed guards, slamming the door behind him and locking it tight. He left the guards moaning and pawing as he hurtled down the empty corridor, pillowcase of armour waving like a banner behind him. Steps flew past under his feet as he sprinted down the stairs. Soon he was flying through the hallways of the main castle, barging people aside in a mad dash for the main entrance. Nobody raised the alarm. Nobody thought anything of it. Just a rude man in a cloak. Not a murderous mage on the loose, busy escaping.

It was only when he reached the main doors that he encountered a problem: a dozen or so guards standing at the main door, staring dumbly out at the dripping gloom of the night. He was out of ideas, but he didn’t let that slow his pace. The slapping of his feet echoed around the atrium, and the guards, one by one, began to turn. Farden opened his mouth, though what to shout he didn’t know.

‘Fire!’ he blurted. That was a surprise and no mistake. A pleasant one too. The guards turned, wary. ‘Fire in the banquet hall! Go help, quickly!’ he yelled.

It was a stroke of genius. The guards, too bewildered to stop him, quickly began to take up the shout. They saw nothing of the blood-spattered pillowcase, his sooty and crimson hands. Instead they abandoned the door and jostled him aside, yelling ‘Fire!’ at the top of their lungs as they did so.

Farden didn’t waste any time clapping himself on the back. Feet clattering on the slippery, rain-battered steps, a constant inch from stumbling, he flew down the precarious walkway and down into Tayn. The only thing he left behind was a long iron key, tumbling into the inky, wet darkness.

‘The sand don’t lie, sir. Your time is up,’ said Jeasin, as she tapped the little hourglass by her bedside.

There was a disgruntled sigh, followed by a rustle of sweat-laced bed linen and a muttered, ‘Fine.’

Jeasin reached for her robe and swiftly folded it over her shoulders. She went to stand by the door and waited for the guard captain to dress himself. He was a regular; a portly, timid man, well entrenched in his later years. Many of her visitors were like him, sheepishly grasping at a long-lost youth well misspent. Wives none the wiser, of course.

As she heard the clomping of his tired boots come closer, she put one hand on the doorknob to her right, and held the other out in front of her, open and flat. The purse was swiftly deposited. She clutched it, weighing it. Heavier than usual. Jeasin smiled. ‘Why thank you, sir. Now be sure to give the lordship his Duke our warmest regards. He and his men are always welcome here,’ Jeasin said, gently shepherding him closer to the door. In her mind, she sniggered at the thought of the Duke coming to her cathouse for an evening. His men had been flooding through her doors these past three weeks, ever since… well. Since. The Duke’s word had made business boom, and Jeasin was intending on keeping it that way.