Chaosmage (3 page)

T
he hallways of Unity Hall rang with the sound of Tammy's boots as she marched towards the Old Man's office. Other Guardians of the Peace smiled or nodded, a brief sign of respect between equals. There were no ranks here, no ladders to climb.

Long before Tammy became a Guardian she had worked for one of the crime Families of Perizzi, rulers of the underworld. Each Family was led by one or two Dons or Do
ń
as, and arrayed beneath them were tiers of followers, from lowly Paper jackals right up to the most trusted Silver and Gold.

The faded scars on her body and the sunken knuckles on her hands spoke of her old life. One where strength, cunning and brutality were cherished traits. Where compassion was a weakness that would get you killed. Or worse, it would cause the death of those closest to you. That was why they were called jackals. Like their namesake they would turn on the weakest of the pack to further their own ambition.

But all of that was a long time ago. Part of another life that she'd left behind. Now the law was her shield and her mind the best weapon in her arsenal. Tammy wasn't stupid. She still carried a sword and practised with it every day. She still trained hard and kept her body in good condition. But a strong arm wasn't always enough and it had taken her years to realise that.

And while she now embraced compassion, the shadow of her old life still haunted the dark recesses of her mind. It also gave her a unique perspective and framed her view of crimes in a way that was different to other Guardians. Only a few people knew what she'd done before, the Khevassar, and one or two others, but they didn't talk about it. Everyone had secrets they'd rather stayed buried.

The Old Man's fussy secretary was busy scribbling a note when Tammy stepped into the outer office. Two novices were sat waiting for their first interviews with the head of the Guardians. Both looked very young and naïve. The girl was sweating profusely and the young man beside her couldn't sit still. His left leg bobbed up and down, tapping out an endless rhythm on the wooden floor. Tammy remembered her first interview with the Old Man. They were right to feel nervous. He had a mind like a butcher's blade that could cut through fat and gristle right down to the bone. You couldn't lie or hide something from him. He could see to the heart of any matter. It seemed like a blessing and a curse.

Rummpoe had noticed her arrival but he carefully blotted the page and cleaned his nib before looking up at her. He had to crane his neck a long way. She towered over most people in Yerskania, thanks to her father who'd come from Seveldrom.

“He'll be a couple of minutes,” said the secretary, glancing at the seats before returning to his notes. Tammy ignored the chairs, instead opting to peruse the notebooks on shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. They were the Khevassar's history of the city stretching back decades. Every murder, every assault, every theft and wrongdoing, every crime severe enough that it came across the Old Man's desk. Here was the real history of Perizzi, written in blood for all to see. Tammy knew that somewhere, buried within these pages, was the list of her old crimes.

The Khevassar's office door opened and a flustered novice hurried past, his face blotchy and close to tears. The words spoken in the office had been for his ears only and would not be repeated or shared with anyone. They would wound him deeply, but should not have come as a surprise. If they did it meant he had never looked inside, never questioned what he did or the reasons why. It meant he wasn't suitable for a job in the Guardians. It wasn't the only requirement, but it mattered a great deal. Either the boy would take the blow on the chin and keep moving forward, or he'd stay where he was in the Watch. There was a world of difference between being a Guardian of the Peace and being a member of the Watch.

Rummpoe stepped into the Old Man's office and emerged a minute later. He gestured for Tammy to go inside ahead of the waiting novices.

For once the Khevassar wasn't sat behind his desk attending to the mountain of paperwork that never seemed to decrease in size. He stood reading from one of the journals taken off his shelves, his brow furrowed and eyes distant. Tammy closed the door, took a seat and waited for the Old Man to finish. With a sigh, the Khevassar carefully replaced the journal and then sat down.

As she saw his face clearly for the first time Tammy struggled to hide her shock. He looked frail. Ever since she'd joined the Guardians he'd been old, but like the mountains he simply became more craggy over the years. He never lost any of his vitality or energy. Staring into his icy blue eyes Tammy thought he looked diminished, as if something had been taken from him. His weathered skin seemed thin and the knuckles on his hands impossibly large. It made her rub her own hands, tracing the scars and hard tissue.

She tried several times to ask about his health but couldn't find the words. Tammy wondered if he was ill, or perhaps time had finally caught up with him.

“I'm not done yet, Baker,” he said, showing her a full set of white teeth.

“Sorry, Sir.”

He waved it away and his expression turned serious. “Are you happy?”

The question stumped Tammy. It wasn't one she'd expected him to ask. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked her that question. “Sir?”

“Let me try an easier question. Do you feel as if you're being challenged in your role as a Guardian in Perizzi?”

“Sometimes.”

“Ah.”

“Why do you ask?”

Instead of answering the Old Man rummaged around in his desk drawers for a minute before producing a document with an unfamiliar wax seal. It bore a strange symbol Tammy didn't know, perhaps from a foreign King or Queen.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked, barely waiting for the shake of her head. “It's a request from Drassia. There are a number of unusual murders in one of their cities. Something they've never seen before. Some kind of ritualistic serial killer. They would like the Guardians to investigate.”

“Is it genuine?”

“Oh yes. The Guardians of the Peace are unique. We're the only group that sometimes works outside our own borders. What do you know about Shael?”

“That the country is a mess,” replied Tammy, absently rubbing her knuckles.

“Be more specific.”

“It was invaded and shattered during the war when they refused to join the Mad King's alliance. Now it's being rebuilt, piece by piece.”

“And?” pressed the Old Man.

“And despite the best efforts of Queen Olivia and her Regent, large portions of the country remain a lawless wasteland. Criminals have taken over whole towns and cities, running them like their own fiefs. Some areas have been completely abandoned.”

“The cities along main trade routes have been reclaimed and cleansed,” said the Khevassar, putting the letter away and taking another from the pile on his desk. Although she didn't recognise the crest, Tammy could guess where it was from by the way the Old Man gripped it. His fingertips turned white from the pressure. “But it will be a long time before the country can sustain itself. It may never be what it once was.”

“I've heard other stories about Shael. The kind people tell only in whispers.”

The Khevassar released the letter and sat back in his chair. He looked off to one side, staring in the distance, and for a minute he was elsewhere. Tammy thought his sparse white hair looked thinner and there were more liver spots on his hands than the last time she'd see him.

“I have many regrets,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But the worst are those where I didn't tell someone the whole truth.”

“Sir?”

His attention returned to the present and the Khevassar's piercing eyes focused on Tammy. “The stories you've heard, the ones whispered in dark corners. Most likely they're true. Guardian Fray recently returned from Shael, after visiting a city called Voechenka. It's surrounded by mountains on two sides and utterly secluded. It used to be a place of quiet reflection. A haven for artists. Now it's a ruin, overrun with crime. It had been forgotten until stories started to emerge.”

Part of her didn't want to know, but Tammy had to ask. “What kind of stories?”

“Stories where people come back from the dead. Stories where strange lights are seen over the lake at night. Stories where mutilated bodies turn up with unrecognisable teeth marks.”

“Was it a desperate plea for help or genuine?” she asked, gesturing at the letter in his hands.

“That's what I sent Fray to find out. I had my suspicions, but I didn't tell him everything. The doctors tell me he will recover in time, but it's going to be a long road.”

A heavy silence settled on the room. The Old Man seemed to be waiting for something.

“Are you asking me to travel to Voechenka?”

“Knowing what I've just told you, would you want to go?”

“Maybe. But why did you send Fray? He's not been a Guardian for very long.”

“Don't play games,” said the Old Man. “You know why.”

“Because you suspected that magic was involved, and he inherited his father's gift.”

The Khevassar grunted. “It was a mistake to send him. I thought he would be the ideal choice, given the situation, but the opposite was true. The city is saturated with the lingering dead. I'm told he'd barely crossed the threshold into the city limits before he was overwhelmed. Amid his ravings, Fray spoke about something else flooding his magical senses. Something was lurking. He barely escaped with his sanity intact.”

“Then why me? Why not someone else?”

“Because you've no sensitivity to magic. Because you're not being challenged here, and because I think you can get to the bottom of the mystery. You're good at what you do and I need someone I can trust.”

Tammy folded her arms. “Now who's playing games?”

The Old Man flashed his teeth in a wolfish grin. “All right. Voechenka has turned into a cesspit of despair, murder and chaos. Parts of it are being controlled and run by criminal gangs and you know how to navigate those channels better than most.”

“Is that it?” asked Tammy, feeling disappointed. “That's the only reason?”

“We all have a history that we leave behind when we become a Guardian. I don't care who you were or what you did, but in this case it might keep you alive longer than most. Because if you do go to Voechenka, it won't be as a Guardian.”

“Then what will I be?”

The Old Man leaned forward across his desk. “There's no law there. No courts, no jail. Whatever the threat is, someone is responsible. They're doing this for a reason, however twisted. I need you to investigate and find out what that reason is. I need you to find whoever is behind it and kill them.”

The words echoed around the room and when they settled Tammy felt a surge of fear but also excitement.

“I'm asking you because I think you have the best chance of surviving.” The Khevassar wasn't holding anything back, and from his pained expression it wasn't something he did very often.

“What about the magic?”

The Old Man waved it away as if unimportant. “It was presumptuous of me to think Fray could handle it. The Red Tower is sending someone more qualified. They'll be on hand to offer you magic support, if it's needed. You would run the investigation and they'll help. That's the deal.”

“Do I have to decide now?”

“No, but I'll expect your answer in the morning.”

Tammy left without another word, barely seeing the cowering novices or the uniform corridors of Unity Hall. She only came back to the present when she found herself down at the docks. She had the rest of the day to make up her mind, but in truth the decision had already been made.

The endless sounds of the sea called to her. A rhythm as familiar as the beating of her own heart. Most of the time she didn't realise the waves were even there, lurking in the background. Shael would seem very quiet by comparison.

N
o one paid much attention to the bearded man sat outside the Hog's Head tavern, eating his lunch on the street. It was a popular place in the heart of Perizzi, which meant they were used to dealing with people from all over the world.

From a distance the man looked fairly nondescript. Middle aged with grey in his beard and a
close
-
shaven
head. His height and build spoke of a Seve heritage, but Eloise thought that, unlike his countrymen, there was an unusual stillness to him.

His clothes weren't expensive and she guessed they were chosen for comfort rather than style. He wore no jewellery and there were no other signs of wealth. The vicious axe on his belt looked as if it had seen a lot of use and he sat with an air of confidence. Unusually he wore a sword on his back as well. Weapons weren't uncommon, but two seemed a little excessive. Perhaps he'd just come from a war zone or was on his way to another. The sword seemed familiar, but Eloise couldn't think why.

A few others were eating nearby and a low murmur of conversation hung over the tables. All talk ceased when she walked up to the bearded man and sat down opposite. It was then that Eloise noticed the scar, a faded but thick white line running vertically down his right cheek, disappearing under his jaw. A second and faint third line ran in parallel. Old claw marks from something big and dangerous. She noticed other changes about him too. An unusual and intricate black tattoo around his left wrist. There was also new pain showing behind his eyes. The lines between his eyebrows were deeper than she remembered, from worry and time spent frowning.

He continued eating as if he were still alone, slowly chewing his food, but his dark eyes studied her. She knew what he was seeing. The hood, the dark bulky robe and the gold mask. When nothing unusual happened the other people went back to their food and conversation, but Eloise knew they were listening. They feigned disinterest but she could feel their eyes resting on her from time to time, a small but persistent pressure.

Finally he finished eating his food and sat back. “I'd heard stories that someone had taken up residence in the Red Tower. And I'm glad to see that Seekers are abroad again, but why the masks?”

“To protect us from violence. The war made people even more afraid of magic. They're scared of what they don't understand.”

“Despite all of the sacrifices made by the Battlemages?” he said, frowning at the street as if the people walking by were to blame. “How quickly they forget.”

Eloise shrugged. “It's safer. This way they can see us coming and we can move freely and live among them without the mask.”

“I can see the wisdom in that.”

“Can we speak in private?” she said, glancing at the people sat behind him. “Perhaps we could go inside?”

He raised one hand and made a series of quick twisting gestures. Eloise felt a brief surge of power, a loud pulse as the Source echoed between them, and then nothing. Everything seemed as it was before, except when she looked over his shoulder there was a peculiar heat haze floating in the air. The other patrons were still talking, but their words stretched on and on, making them barely understandable.

“I've never seen anything like that before,” she said, carefully studying the weave. It was incredibly delicate work, thin as a spider's web, and she sensed it would break very easily if she touched it.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Don't you recognise me?” asked Eloise, heart thumping loudly in her chest. He cocked his head to one side in a peculiar manner, studying her with one eye partly closed. “I'm your wife, Beloved.”

Balfruss sat forward quickly, reaching one hand towards hers and then quickly pulling back as if afraid she were an illusion.

They were not, in truth, husband and wife, but some would have expected them to marry. According to the tradition of her late husband's country, Balfruss had not only inherited the man's estate, but the right to marry the widow. He'd also seen her die during the war.

“How?”

It was still difficult to speak about what had happened, but if anyone deserved to know it was him.

“As I lay dying, overwhelmed with pain from my burns, time stretched on. The moment between one heartbeat and the next felt like hours.” Eloise still had nightmares where she was a prisoner in her own flesh, unable to move or cry out. She would wake up in a cold sweat, clawing at the sheets.

Balfruss gripped one of her hands, his eyes filling with tears. “If only I knew then what I know now, I could have helped.”

Eloise pushed away the memories and focused on the present. “But you did help me. While I floated in the dark, wrestling with the agony of my body, I felt something. It washed over me like a cool wave, soothing my pain. And for the first time I was able to think clearly again. I became aware of the room, the bed, and you, focusing your power on me for hours.”

“The Source,” said Balfruss.

Eloise smiled even though he couldn't see it behind the mask. “After you'd gone the pain returned, but I had hope. I don't know how long it took, hours, maybe days, but eventually I blocked the pain long enough to embrace the Source. The pain diminished again and I held on to it tightly, for hours at a time. Then I started to experiment. Time lost all meaning. The world consisted only of the Source and my next breath. I started with my lungs, as breathing was difficult, but by holding my breath I tried to heal a tiny portion.”

“We thought you were dying. I came and said goodbye.”

“I know. I heard every word,” said Eloise, squeezing Balfruss's hands.

“After my battle with the Warlock I thought you were dead.”

“So did everyone else. The hospital was busy, and they all expected me to die. I suspect when they found an empty bed they assumed someone else had dealt with my body. I walked out dressed in rags. Over the course of many months I healed myself.”

“You've done more than that,” said Balfruss, gesturing at the Seeker's mask and robe. “It was you. You reopened the Red Tower.”

Even across the Dead Sea, stories must have reached him about the rebirth of the Red Tower. For years he had probably wondered who had done what he could not. It was something they had hoped would happen, but with so few magic users abroad it had seemed impossible, but she had done it.

“If the war taught me anything, it's that people need magic. They need our help, just as they did when the Warlock threatened our homeland. One day, a new threat will rise up, and the scale of it could rival the war if it is not opposed. When that day comes I intend the Red Tower to be ready to answer the call.”

“You've changed,” said Balfruss. “You were never so fierce.”

Eloise shrugged. She wouldn't apologise for what she'd done. “I had no choice. But what about you? After the war, where did you go?”

Balfruss sat back and stared off into the distance with a sad smile. “For a time I stayed with the First People, just as Ecko predicted. After that I travelled across the Dead Sea to live among his ancestors with the tribes in the emerald jungle.”

“What did you see?”

A
child
-
like
smile touched his face, one that spoke of awe and amazement. “Wonders. Wonders and terrors like you cannot begin to imagine,” said Balfruss, his eyes drifting away. “I watched a drammu give birth to a calf the size of ten horses. I heard music so beautiful it stilled the wind and made the stones weep. I journeyed for years and travelled thousands of miles, but when I woke up, only one day had passed. My mind was opened to the Source in ways like never before. I fell in love, I had a wife, and for a time I was happy.” A shadow passed across Balfruss's face and for a moment there was terrible pain in his eyes, but then it was gone.

“And now?”

“Now, my path lies elsewhere,” he said. There was much he wasn't saying but the pain in his bearing spoke of terrible loss. Eloise didn't push. They both carried a lot of secrets and he didn't owe her an explanation. “You sought me out for a reason. Why?”

“The Warlock.”

“The Warlock is dead,” he said with confidence. “I know this because I killed him.”

“Did you know before the war he spent some time in Shael?”

“No.”

“Did you also know that two years ago a madman called a Flesh Mage tried to open a rift here in Perizzi?”

“I've been hearing stories.”

“He also spent time in Shael.”

Balfruss frowned. “Just before the end, the Warlock tore open a rift. I don't know what he was going to do but I didn't give him a chance.”

“In the past other Flesh Mages came here to Perizzi. All of them displayed dangerous Talents beyond anything we've seen before. And all of them came from Shael.”

“Where?” asked Balfruss.

“A source told me they passed through a remote city called Voechenka. Whoever is behind this has remained hidden for almost a dozen years, training pupils and sending them out into the world, armed with dangerous and destructive magic.”

Eloise saw the muscles in Balfruss's jaw tighten. It was a glimmer of the same fury she'd also felt at the discovery. This shadowy puppeteer was a dark reflection of the teachings of the Red Tower. As pupils she and Balfruss had been taught to use their magic to help others and promote peace. Their ability to touch the Source made them more powerful than a hundred warriors, but they were never to use their strength to force others to their will.

Discoveries deemed too dangerous by the Red Tower were buried so that others with fewer scruples didn't use them for selfish ends. Whoever had taught the Warlock, the Flesh Mages and probably others they'd not yet discovered, was partially responsible for countless deaths. Until recently Eloise had heaped all of the blame for the war on the Warlock. Now she knew that, in his own way, he'd been nothing more than someone else's puppet.

“There's more,” she said, breaking the heavy silence. “The Red Tower has been commissioned to investigate another matter in the city. One that involves talk of people coming back from the dead.”

Balfruss shook his head slowly. She knew that, like her, he was thinking about the Splinters and how they had been dead and alive at the same time. They had been changed, hollowed out by the Warlock's dark magic and turned into mindless tools created for war.

“Such a thing is not a coincidence,” he said.

“No. Perhaps other dark powers are being drawn to the city in Shael. Whatever the reason, the Queens of Yerskania and Seveldrom have commissioned the Red Tower to send someone to resolve this.”

“And you thought of me?”

“No, I sought out the strongest echo of the Source in the city and it led me to you. I need someone powerful and experienced, because whatever is festering in Voechenka is even more dangerous than the Warlock.”

Eloise reached up to scratch her face and then cursed as her fingers touched metal. She wore the mask so often she sometimes forgot it was even there.

“Let me see your face,” said Balfruss.

“They're watching,” she said, gesturing at the people behind him.

Balfruss raised his hand again and she felt a brief surge of power. The air around them remained undisturbed, but beyond their table everything was blurred, as if looking into an old murky mirror. It seemed there was much he had learned during his travels in the last few years.

With nervous fingers Eloise lowered her hood and carefully removed the golden mask. The bright winter sun was a balm against her skin and a gentle breeze blew loose strands of hair across her face. A big smile stretched across Balfruss's face and yet she could see his eyes remained sad. Her thoughts turned to the last time the two of them had sat together like this, face to face. It was just before she and the others were consumed by fire on the walls of Charas.

“You look exactly the same,” said Balfruss, his eyes lingering on her face. He was searching for any trace of burned flesh or scar tissue, but there was none. It had taken her years, working every night to heal her whole body, inside and out. Even now Eloise felt as if her understanding of healing was rudimentary, and she continued to make new discoveries all the time.

“I could heal those,” she said, gesturing at the
claw
-
like
marks on his face.

“Thank you, but no. I have acquired some healing talent as well, but the scars serve as an important reminder.” He offered another of those smiles, full of sadness and remembrance. “Were you going to ask me something else?”

It had been on her mind since the moment she'd seen him. Now, after hearing a little about his time abroad and seeing some of his abilities, all remaining doubts fled.

“I want you to join the Grey Council and help me run the Red Tower.”

Once the Grey Council had comprised the respected leaders of the Tower, until they had abandoned their posts because of a ridiculous prophecy. Without them the Red Tower fell into disarray and across the world children began to suffer. Magic became wild and unpredictable and soon people began to fear it and those who wielded it. She hoped to change that but it would not be easy and it would not happen overnight.