Quicksilver Rising

The youth stared at him. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘No one who means you harm. I’m not an official or a spy, just somebody who wants to consult the enchanter.’

‘I’m not Mage Domex,’ the youth confessed.

The stranger looked him up and down, noting his spotty complexion and the flaxen bumfluff on his chin. His solemn expression softened into a thin smile. ‘No offence, friend, but I think I’d already worked that out. This is the Mage’s house?’

There was a hesitation before the youth replied, ‘It is.’

‘Can I see him?’

He thought about it, then nodded and stood aside.

The door led directly into a large, gloomy room, redolent with the aromas of the sorcerer’s craft. As the stranger entered and his eyes adjusted he saw something looming ahead of him. He blinked and recognised it as a figure standing in the partial darkness. It moved forward into a bar of daylight and revealed itself.

A battle-hardened warrior, sword levelled, about to attack.

In one swift, fluid movement, the stranger’s hand darted to the back of his collar, plucked out a snub-nosed knife and hurled it. The blade pierced the warrior’s forehead. Then it travelled on, embedding itself in a wooden beam. The warrior melted into a honeyed fog that quickly vanished. A lingering smell of sulphur overlaid the other heady scents in the room.

The youth realised he was gaping and snapped shut his mouth. Falteringly, he said, ‘Good thing you were right.’

‘About what?’ the stranger asked.

‘About it being a glamour.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘But –’

‘If he was real he would have meant a threat. As he was a glamour, it didn’t matter. An even bet either way. Look, I said you have nothing to fear. There’s no need for party tricks.’

‘Oh, that had nothing to do with me. It was one of the Mage’s protective measures.’

The stranger was at the beam, tugging his knife free. ‘Was?’

‘Yes.’ The youth sighed glumly. A world of worry settled on his naive features. ‘You’d better come.’

He took him to a much smaller side chamber. It contained little except a table, and on it a body, covered by a shabby blanket. The youth peeled it back with something like reverence, exposing the head and shoulders of an elderly, white-haired man.

‘So much for protective measures,’ the stranger remarked.

The youth looked pained at that, but held his tongue.

There were rope burns on the old man’s neck. The stranger indicated them.

‘Hanged,’ the youth supplied. ‘By paladins.’

The stranger’s eyes hardened. ‘Why?’

‘The Mage was unlicensed. Apparently that’s a capital offence now.’

‘Always was. They just don’t talk about it.’ He inspected the corpse again. ‘I don’t see any likeness, so I’m assuming you’re not his son.’

‘No. Apprentice.’

‘How are you known?’

‘Kutch Pirathon.’

‘Well met, Kutch, even if I’ve come at your time of trouble. I’m Reeth Caldason.’

Recognition dawned on the lad and he gawked at the stranger, saucer-eyed. ‘The Reeth Caldason?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Caldason replied dryly, ‘I’m not dangerous.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’

‘Are you really Reeth Caldason?’

‘Why would I lie?’

‘Or dare if you weren’t, true.’ Kutch gazed at him with new interest. ‘I’ve never met a Qalochian before. Don’t think I’ve even seen one.’

‘Few have these days,’ Caldason returned, his manner turned frosty. He stirred and headed for the door. ‘Well, I’m sorry for your loss, but –’

‘Wait.’ Kutch managed to appear bashful and eager at the same time. ‘Perhaps I can help you.’

‘How?’

‘That depends on what you wanted to see my master about.’

‘Well, it wasn’t a love charm or poison for an enemy.’

‘No, I suppose not. You could get those anywhere.’

‘What I’m saying is that my needs might be beyond … an apprentice.’

‘How will you know unless you tell me?’

Caldason shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no.’ He started to leave again.

In the larger room, Kutch dogged him. ‘I have skills, you know. The Mage taught me many things. I’ve studied with him since I was a child.’

‘Not very long then.’

Kutch ignored the gibe. ‘What have you got to lose?’