SHADOWS OVER LORNWATER
Morton Faulkner
concluding episode of the prequel to the fantasy quest Wings of the Overlord.
IV
Theirs
is a world where meaning has no sense,
Where
evil is black and good is not grey but white,
Where
darkness succumbs to implacable cleansing light,
Somewhere
concealed, clouded in mystery and rue.
Here
be spirits lost and full of offence,
A
place of unknowing where imagery is all,
And
the intangible takes form, where trust takes a fall,
Obscured,
treacherous places, hidden from direct view.
-
A Life of Their Own, from The Collected Works of Nasalmn Feider (1216-1257)
***
Second Sabinma
of Juvous
The
streets leaned in on them, corners lit by torch flames. With Berstarm and
Trellen flanking him, Ulran was on his way to see Fet-usa Fin, a trader in
weapons and poisons. It was highly likely that the female assassin Aba-pet Fara
acquired the tools of her trade there.
Out of the shadows leaped four men,
all armed with swords and knives.
Berstram was taken unawares and fell
with a fatal sword cut cleaving his chest.
Trellen dispatched his friend’s
attacker immediately, and then was hard-pressed by another swordsman.
Two men closed on Ulran. One of them
laughed. “Hey, Hun, he doesn’t carry a weapon!”
Hun replied, “Easy meat, Phal!”
Ulran crouched, waiting, hands
extended, the edges like knives.
Hun swung his sword and gaped. Ulran
had somersaulted out of the way, spun on the ground and used his rigid legs to
topple Hun. As Hun dropped his knife in shock, Ulran regained his feet, ducked
the swooping sword blade of Phal.
Ulran jumped on top of the
disoriented Hun, gaining purchase on the man’s chest and dived at Phal. The
move was totally unexpected. Phal stared and stumbled backwards, his weapons
discarded, clanging on stone flags. The
hilt of Hun’s knife protruded from Phal’s chest. As Phal’s back crashed to
earth, Ulran jumped clear and pivoted, ready for another attack.
It was all over, though. A death-cut
having sliced his belly open, Trellen sat beside his fallen comrade and
squinted up at Ulran. “I despatched the other two, innman.”
Ulran knelt and gently rested a hand
on Trellen’s shoulder. “You fought well.”
“But none live to tell you who
bought them?”
Ulran shrugged. “It cannot be
helped. Their attack was too sudden and vicious, without quarter. It was fight
or die…” He let that thought linger, uncomfortably, as Trellen knew full well
he was breathing his last. “I’m sorry, Trellen.” He made the sign of the
Overlord and an instant later closed the man’s staring eyes.
“I see I arrived too late,” Welde
Dep said, turning a corner. “Six assassins who won’t be collecting their fee,
eh?”
Ulran cast a glance at the corpses.
“Four assassins, Watchman. And two staunch men who worked and died for me.”
Second Dekin of
Juvous
Early
in the morning, Den-orl Pin, the officer in charge of the royal stables, the
man who organised the royal race meetings, was found dead by the stable lads.
By the time that Welde Dep arrived
on the scene, whispers were filling the streets of the cities. Ulran joined him
and observed, “Den-orl Pin was an inveterate gambler.”
“Really?” Dep nodded. “That might
explain his death, I suppose.” He gestured at the corpse.
Den-orl Pin had choked on a mouth
filled with coin of the realm. And his left eye and right ear were placed in
his hands. ‘S2’ had been burned into his forehead.
“It’s our assassin all right,” Dep
said, bagging the eye and ear. “Yet nobody saw anything, not so much as a glimmer
of light.” The royal stables were shadowy places at night. The king refused to
pay for torches. His argument was plain: “Nobody needs to go anywhere near my
horses at night. Anyone caught doing so must be on nefarious business!”
“Den-orl Pin was killed in this
empty stall,” Ulran said. “None of the horses were harmed? None are missing?”
“No. The purpose was to kill him,
that’s all.”
“Another
connection to the king.”
“Do you think the killer is telling
us something?”
Ulran nodded. “Be careful if you
work for King Saurosen IV.”
V
Phantoms
are real in these places, in dim recesses.
Apparitions
appear and vanish as the moon waxes and wanes.
Comely
colours are dappled, blemished by their stains.
They
darken faces in metaphor, and their feelings in grue.
Wherever
you go, they will be there, ubiquitous, voracious,
Screened
from the seemingly real world by false logic
And
reason and excuses so untrue that it is tragic.
Pretending
they are harmless, one day you will surely rue.
It
is of shadows that we speak, intangible and caliginous.
Yet
do not be fooled by children’s silly rigmarole,
For
indeed shadows are evil and eat your soul.
Impalpable
they be, but heed them, before they kill you.
-
A Life of Their Own, from The Collected Works of Nasalmn Feider (1216-1257)
***
King
Saurosen IV stormed into the treasurer’s room.
Three walls comprised ceiling to floor shelves, all crammed with scrolls of
parchment. The wizened grey-haired treasurer sat bent over a desk, scribbling numbers
on a sheet of columns.
“Treasurer,”
Saurosen snapped, “I have received cloaked demands from Lord Tanellor,
Duke of Oxor. He requires funds for the mines.”
Hesitantly,
the treasurer stood. “Cloaked, sire?”
“Only
a fool would openly demand anything of a king, fool!”
“Sorry,
sire. Of course. Forgive my stupidity. What is the Duke’s reason for asking?”
“He
believes the mines are at risk. Require new supports, or something…”
“Are
they faulty, sire?”
“I
don’t know or care! I turned him away, and I told him to make sure his miners
don’t slacken! Oh, sit down before you fall over!”
Obediently,
the treasurer sat and hastily scrawled some figures on his parchment sheet, then
glanced up. “But, sire, if there should be an accident, the revenue from the
lost output would also be forfeit. As it is, there is no money in the coffers. Yet,
a mining accident would not be good. Not good at all…”
“Yes,
I can see that now.” Saurosen sucked air through his teeth. “So, you’re saying
I should finance Tanellor’s mine maintenance?”
“It
would be prudent, sire. As for funds, you could perhaps try your financier
friend; he has agreed loans in the past. You can repay him at the next tax
round, anyway…”
“Yes,
Cor-aba Grie is usually most accommodating. Though he seems forever greedy for
more land…”
“Greedy,
yes. Aren’t all of his kind like that? Personally, sire, I abhor financial
people, but they seem an evil we cannot do without.”
Dep and his men questioned the staff at the royal
stables. Ulran told Dep that he was going to visit the financier, Cor-aba Grie.
“He supplies Saurosen with funds and in return is given more land and power. I
know that Den-orl Pin gambled too much and owed Cor-aba Grie money. Maybe that’s
a connection.”
“That’s a good thought. I’ll join
you.” Dep turned to Banstrike, told him, “I’m going to the Doltra Complex. If
you find anything of value, send Cursh to me.”
“Right, Chief.”
Cor-aba
Grie studied his separate towers of coins on the desk; the metal glinted in the
light of a guttering torch. It tallied. He hated it when his accounting and the
money didn’t add up. The king had already promised an entire street for his
next loan, ostensibly to cover the maintenance of the Oxor mines. He smiled at
the prospect of all those rent payments and then wondered how much would be siphoned
off for the king’s own ends. No matter. Wealth and power accrued for me,
regardless. He ran a hand over his white gold-braided burnoose made from the
finest cotton of Lellul. This attire hid his abnormally large size, he had to
admit. Not that he had many callers.
The torch flickered but he had no
need to replace it, since his counting was complete. He got up and put a fresh
one in the sconce, then shook his head, annoyed with himself. The cost of
shagunblend had continued to increase, yet he had failed to invest in their
manufacture.
Out of the corner of his eye he
glimpsed his shadow. Odd. It was moving, but it couldn’t be caused by the
flames from the torch as he hadn’t lit the new one. Rather, it seemed to slip
out of sight, behind furniture. Very odd behaviour for a shadow. Fanciful. I
need a drink, he thought, when abruptly he felt something tug at his left foot
and ankle. He glanced down, expecting to see a neighbour’s cat – the damnable
creature was constantly fouling his balcony.
His heart missed a beat. His foot
was black, so dark he couldn’t discern the pale leather sandal. It was a blurry
shape. He sensed a vague tingling in his calf, then his knee, and then his
thigh. Now the same troubling sensation was starting in his other leg. By the
gods, what was happening?
He stood up, and found he couldn’t
control his legs. He stumbled back against the desk, his hip jarring, and the
piles of coins toppled, spewing onto the tiled floor.
He lifted the hem of his burnoose
and he gasped in dismay. Already, his legs up to his groin were blurred, black
– like a shadow. Involuntarily, he dropped the material and gritted his teeth
as the oppressive sensation moved up his body, beneath his clothing, constricting
his vast belly, clamping onto his chest. Was he having a seizure, a
heart-attack, was this a hallucination before death?
His eyes started. Some kind of dark
latticework emerged from the hem of his clothing, from his sleeves, out of his
chest opening, and engulfed him. He tried to move, to grip the desk for
purchase, but whatever steps he took were ungainly, rigid, and terribly
painful. He didn’t seem to be in control of his body!
Gradually, he found that without his
own volition, he was moving around the desk, towards the open doors that led onto
the balcony.
Together,
Ulran and Dep left the royal stables and made their way through the throng of
people to the Doltra Complex. The financier owned a luxurious apartment near
the top of a tall building. The stairs numbered in the hundreds. But Ulran knew
it wouldn’t bother the financier, who hardly ever left the building; he could
afford others to do his bidding. Access using ropes and pulleys would be
preferable, he thought, perhaps based on the same principle used at the Ren-kan
crossing of the Manderranmeron Fault.
Ulran was in the peak of fitness,
however, and ascended quickly, soon leaving Dep behind. “Go on, don’t mind me!
I’ll catch up, probably tomorrow!”
Even so, Ulran arrived at the
financier’s floor a little breathless. He stopped, suddenly cautious. The door
was open, ajar. Not good.
Voices, far inside.
He slid in and crossed the lounge
floor that was carpeted with a variety of Lellul rugs. The voices came from the
balcony, outside the smaltglass window.
Soundlessly, he approached.
He eased the curtain aside.
There was only a single figure,
standing on the parapet of the balcony wall. He’d seen Cor-aba Grie before, on those
rare occasions when they attended rare royal functions. This was definitely him
– but more gross. Some kind of dark lattice-work encased him, like an
exo-skeleton. Cor-aba’s arms jerked spasmodically, as if he were fighting
himself. His voice emerged as a strangulated croak: “No, you cannot force me. I
have free will!”
Then, alarmingly, Cor-aba’s mouth
twisted and a different voice emerged, deeper, sinister: “I take your essence
and become whole! Your death serves me – and my mistress!”
Shadow flickered over Cor-aba’s
entire body, as if sentient.
Night, the shadow of light… He’d
heard that before. Night shadow consumed
him. Was this the melog that Dep spoke about? He glanced behind, into the
lounge, and saw unlit shagunblend torches in their sconces. He rushed inside,
fished out his flint from his belt pouch and hastily lit the torch. Light
dispels shadow.
As the torch burst into bright
effulgent flame, Dep staggered in the doorway. “Made it…” His eyes widened.
“What?” Then he noticed Cor-aba struggling with the shadow entity that imprisoned
his own body. “By the gods!”
“Is that the melog?” Ulran demanded.
“I – I don’t know – I think so…”
“This torch light should banish it!”
Ulran took a pace forward.
“No, wait! Stop!” Dep fidgeted with
the evidence pouches on his belt.
“Throw the torch down here!” He
pointed to the floor.
“You’re sure?”
“If you scare off the melog, it will
be free to kill again – and we don’t know who else. Maybe even the king!”
Ulran nodded and threw the torch
onto a fawn and red furry rug.
“Get ready to catch hold of
Cor-aba!” Dep instructed.
Moving towards the balcony, Ulran
noticed that Cor-aba was unsteady, about to overbalance on the parapet. Abruptly,
the financier raised a foot to step forward into space and tottered on one leg.
Ulran glanced over his shoulder. Dep
had thrown the evidence pouches into the flames.
Cor-aba let out an eldritch yell.
Ulran lunged forward, grabbed the
financier’s calf; it was cold, like stone. The shout transformed, became
high-pitched, female perhaps. The latticework of dark shadow shimmered all
around Cor-aba. Ulran held on tight, leaning over the balcony wall.
Suspended upside down, Cor-aba
stared up with a single eye, since his other had been plucked out. ‘S3’ had
been burned into his forehead. He was screaming in pain, while the black entity
danced up and down his body; it seemed baulked by the presence of Ulran,
couldn’t move up past him.
Finally, the dark shadow imploded
and the financier split into several pieces and Ulran was left holding a single
leg.
Scanning the building, Ulran was
sure that no vestige of the shadow assassin had survived.
“Ulran, sudden death seems to haunt you wherever
you go,” Welde Dep said, stepping onto the balcony.
“Yes,
like a shadow.”
“Thank
the gods the melog was somehow attached to those extracted body parts…”
“The
torch might have been enough, but we’ll never know.”
“And,”
Dep added, “I suppose we’ll never know who was behind the shadow assassin?”
“There
are a few witches in Lornwater. And in every city beyond. It could have been
any one of them… Who knows where their allegiances really lie?”
“I
don’t know how I’m going to write up this report.”
Ulran
clapped Dep on the shoulder. “Blame Cor-aba, the financier, for the deaths, perhaps?”
“Do
you think this is the end of it, then?”
“I
don’t know. It depends on how easily a melog can be created. I would like to
believe it is not so simple a task, even for a powerful witch.”
“Well,
I think that Saurosen’s position has been seriously weakened. Those
assassinated men were his backers.”
“Then
the king better tread with care.”
Dep
nodded. “My chief will inform him that the immediate threat is over.”
“And
the cancelled carnival?”
Dep
ran a hand over his face. “I suspect the king will not revoke the edict. He’ll
feel threatened now that a number of his influential friends are no longer
around…”
“The
populace won’t take kindly to his edict, you know.”
“I
know that, Ulran. We have to police thirty-three sectors of the Three Cities with
too few watchmen as it is. We don’t need this.”
On his return to the inn, Ulran was met by Ranell
and they embraced briefly. “News travels fast, Begetter. Whispers have already
spread that the purse offered for your assassination has been withdrawn.”
“That’s
good news. Until the next time, I suppose.”
“Do
you think Badol paid them to assassinate you, Begetter?”
“Probably,
but there’s no proof. I mentioned it to Watchman Welde and he says he’ll keep
an eye on Badol Melomar for a few moons, just in case.”
“So,
the deaths of those four assassins are the end of it?”
“For
now. We can hope that the witch responsible will slip up in the future. We must
see to the family of our two fallen men - Berstarm and Trellen.”
“Yes, Begetter, of course.”
“And then arrange
for a recruitment drive – we need two good men to replace them.”
THE
END
To
be continued in WINGS OF THE OVERLORD
Please purchase from Amazon here
Knox Robinson publisher's site is here
Glossary - sample for this story
AC - Arisan Calendar.
Recorded history began 0001AC. Originated and introduced during the fifth year
of King Zal-aba Men’s reign. The Calendar was backdated to his first year on
the throne. See below.
Bridansor – great-lord of
Dark.
Brilansor – high-lord of
Light.
Doltra Complex – Prestige building in
Lornwater’s Second City, named after its architect.
Floreskand – Land contained between the
manderon range of Tanalume Mountains, the Varteron Edge, the dunsaron range of
Sonalume Mountains and the ranmeron Shomshurakand Barrier.
Gild – The vast majority of common
people belong to some kind of gild, be it religious, merchant, or craft. Merchant
gilds regulate trade monopoly. Gildsmen also take up vendettas on behalf of
members’ families. The most infamous quasi-legal gild is the assassin’s gild.
Lamsor – black lesslord of winds.
Lornwater – also called the Three Cities,
comprising The Old City, The Second City and The New City. Founded in 959AC.
Madurava – Compass. Florskandian
compasses are enormous; there are no portable ones; they are kept in Madurava
Houses, usually one per city. See diagram
below.
Manderranmeron Fault – Geological fault running the
length of Floreskand and containing the four fault volcanoes: Danumne, Astle,
Altohey and Olarian.
Mussor – black lesslord of water.
Names – Surname is said first, then
the chosen or personal name; thus Canishmel Bis refers to Bis (chosen)
Canishmel (surname).
Orm – time measurement – 20 orms per
day.
Paper – see reedpaper.
Parchment – common alternative to reedpaper.
Reedpaper – expensive paper, used
exclusively by the affluent.
Shagunblend – combustible tar-like
substance, a method of illumination.
Smalt – glass derived from the
treatment of cobalt ore.
Storytellers – gild of tale tellers, graded
in excellence by the pastel colours of their cloaks.
Tarakanda – the Ranmeron Empire.
Underpeople – people who are never seen or
heard; feared, perhaps mythical, inhabitants of the waterlogged disused mines
of Lornwater
Watchmen – city wall or palace wall
sentries, wearing distinctive plaid cloaks; policemen.
The Arisan Calendar
There are 13
moons of 28-day periods in a year. Each moon is named after a constellation:
1
Sekous 2 Viratous
3
Danduous 4 Ramous
5
Centirous 6 Juvous
7
Fornious 8 Darous
9
Lamous 10 Sortious
11 Anticous 12 Petulous
13
Airmous
Each moon is
divided into quarters. There are 7 days and 7 nights in each quarter.
Days:
Nights:
Sabin
Sabinma
Dekin Dekinma
Sidin Sidinma
Dloin Dloinma
Sufin Sufinma
Durin Durinma
Sapin Sapinma
These days are numbered
One to Four, depending on which Quarter they are in; thus the 16th
day of the 4th month in 1470 would be written thus: Third Dekin of
Ramous, 1470AC.
.jpg)
