*
The foyer was empty. He’d had time to remove the furniture while waiting for Brak, and had things as he wanted them. A few large candles lit the room, and his thelmis knives lay on the edges of the balcony above where his guests would enter.
Leaning against the opposite wall, he worked to calm his nerves, focussing on his strategy. He knew he’d need to end it quick if he hoped to survive.
He wondered whether Brak would wait until night. That would be irritating. And might leave him exhausted. It wasn’t likely, given Brak’s impatience. If there was the possibility of a Namer here, he wouldn’t wait.
The outside door soon slammed open. There were five of them, as Skerin had anticipated. Not knowing what he was capable of, bringing more to an indoor fight risked them getting in each other’s way. He’d brought two of his best combat practitioners, and a couple of burly thugs. The thugs Skerin didn’t recognise; probably outsiders, hired to avoid the risk of him knowing their real names. The other two were as expected. The Pyromancer and Glale Summoner.
Skerin’s attention fixed on Brak Shadoweater himself. Slight of build, Brak had a dangerous leanness, and an intense gaze which burned into Skerin as his men spread out. The elegant jacket and waistcoat were spoiled by the necklace of tongues hanging just short of his waist, and the shaved head added to his intimidating appearance.
Stepping in front of a candle, Brak let his shadow stretch across the room. Keeping a wary eye on it, Skerin remained tight to the wall. A Shadowcaster, Brak could solidify his shadow to attack others, either directly or via their shadows. If his shadow grabbed someone else’s, he could hold them in place. He’d taken the discipline a step further, splicing it with Vordun. A barbaric magic, shunned by most, Vordun gave its practitioner control of another whose flesh they had consumed. Brak had spliced it so he gained the same power by having his shadow consume part of another’s shadow.
From the vicious grin creasing his face, Brak thought he had the advantage. His men looked ready for violence, familiar enough with it to exhibit little nervousness.
“I understand you have something to say to me,” said Brak. His voice matched the brutal sharpness of his expression. He was playing.
“You have something of mine,” said Skerin.
Brak’s smile dipped, irritated at not hearing what he expected. “You seem to be misunderstanding the rules. What I have is mine. Whoever may have had it before is irrelevant. But tell me, what is it I have that you consider yours?”
“My tongue,” said Skerin, opening his mouth to show the stump. He whistled through his nose, setting up vibrations in the wooden talisman carved to approximate a normal sounding voice. “I want it back,” it said in a rougher than normal tone.
The surprise on Brak’s face shifted to anger, and he leapt forward, his shadow grabbing for Skerin.
A whistle pushed the switch for the lightning bars around the room, overwhelming the candlelight and diffusing shadows enough that Brak’s lost solidity.
“Get him,” roared Brak. Then he screamed obscenities in hopes of drowning out Skerin’s voice, in case he happened to know his real name.
He did. The noise offered little protection, as Skerin whispered it, his powers vibrating the words directly into Brak’s eardrums. He went quiet.
“Kill your shadow,” said Skerin, with all the power of a Namer behind his words. Then he turned his attention to the immediate danger.
One of the thugs attacked the lightning bars, which would take some effort to damage. A Lightcaster could disable them with a thought, of course, but Brak’s Lightcaster had met an untimely end.
The Pyromancer sent a torrent of flame down the room. It left scorched carpet in its wake, but broke against the wall Skerin erected, the vibrations shaking the flame apart. The wall didn’t block all the heat, and became a struggle to maintain. The flame also took effort, and as soon as the others got close it dropped.
The thug came in from the left, the glale from the right.
Conjured from pure magical energy, the seven foot green humanoid was featureless. Glale Calling hailed from distant Narfus, where practitioners duelled, their talents judged as much on the fine detail of their conjurations as their strength. This one focussed on utility.
Switching quickly to a high-pitched whistle, Skerin ran at the thug as he called the first of the thelmis knives, the two of them weighted for slightly different pitches. It caught the thug in the throat just before they met. Grabbing the knife in passing, he yanked it out as the man fell, aware of the glale mere steps behind.
He hurled the knife at the Summoner. Whistling a double pitch, he pulled both knives at the man.
The thrown knife was caught by a sudden wall of flame. Thrown off course as the heat disrupted its sympathetic properties, it clattered to the floor. The second one went unnoticed until the Summoner gave a strangled yelp. The glale fell apart, its energies dissipating.
Seeing the Summoner collapse, the Pyromancer’s professional reserve melted as he realised the danger. He barely managed a spark before the invisible blade of sound sliced his throat.
The lightning bar broke with a crackle of energy as the final thug managed to shatter a connection, letting all the lightning dissipate. Turning, he saw only Brak remained, now gaining proper purchase on his own shadow’s throat. The thug quickly realised his predicament. He met Skerin’s eyes. Then he ran for the door.
Skerin let him go. Paid to fight, he’d be unlikely to cause problems. If anything, he’d spread word of how quickly the others had fallen. While he’d become inured to killing, Skerin didn’t do so unnecessarily.
Which left him alone with Brak, who moaned as his hands wrung the last life from his shadow. He regarded Skerin’s approach with wild-eyed fear.
Kneeling next to him, Skerin took the necklace of tongues from around his neck. With a final hard look at Brak, Skerin turned away.
“At least we have some fresh bodies,” said Lyrem as he descended from the balcony, examining the damaged carpet. “Got what you wanted, then?”
Skerin held up the necklace. “How do I tell which is mine?”
“How’d I know?” said Lyrem. “It’s not my tongue. Don’t you know?”
Skerin stared at him. “Only saw it once. Distracted at the time.”
Lyrem shrugged. “Can’t you just choose one that fits?”
Skerin continued staring.
“Fine,” said Lyrem. “I suppose there’re a few tests I can try.”
They ascended towards the laboratory, ignoring Brak as he staggered away, dragging his dead shadow behind him.
###
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Other titles by Gareth Lewis:
Allegiances
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Coral Throne
Glyphmaster
Glyphpunk
Glyphwar
Grey Engines
Grey Enigmas
Monstrum Ex Machina
Shadows of the Heavens
Song of Thunder
Soul Food
Stoneweaver
Tales of the Thief-City
The Monster in the Mirror
The Sin of Hope
To Hunt Monsters
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