Stranger of Tempest: Book One of The God Fragments (2 page)

Kill? Night’s whispers, what did I do?

The small man’s face curled into a cruel smile as he lifted his feet away from the spattering of puke. ‘Must’ve been one hell of a night,’ he commented.

‘Don’t remember,’ Lynx croaked.

He paused and looked again at the man. There was something not quite right about him. Gap-toothed, check. Grimy, stinking clothes, check. Silver ring on his finger engraved with three diamond shapes – black, grey and white – hmm.

‘That’s …’ Lynx said, almost panting for breath at the effort of speaking, ‘that’s my ring.’

‘Nope, it’s mine.’

‘Give it back. Now.’

‘Found this a while back,’ the man said, ‘and it don’t have your name on it. More importantly, you’re trussed like a hog and I could stamp your face in right now if I wanted. You’re in no condition to give orders.’

‘Why’m I tied up?’

The man snickered. ‘’Cos they had to drag you in, what with it taking half the guards to beat you senseless. Anyway, I reckon you killed someone last night so you won’t need a ring where you’re going.’

Lynx spent a dozen breaths trying to order his thoughts. Even thinking hurt and left him panting for breath.

‘That’s my ring,’ he said eventually.

The man hopped forward and bent low over Lynx, teeth bared in anger now. ‘And I said it’s fucking mine now, get it, fat boy? You don’t like it, mister tied-up-and-puking, tough shit.’

Lynx blinked then very slowly closed his eyes. His head rang like a temple bell. Cuts and bruises on top of the hangover that was really getting its teeth into him. Inwardly he shrugged.

With what strength he had left, Lynx grabbed the man’s shirt and hauled him down. Their heads cracked together and stars burst before his eyes as the other man howled. With a jerk that made the world swim and his stomach heave, Lynx hauled his broad body up and the other’s down so his greater bulk pinned the man. It wasn’t easy with hands and feet bound, but he had a good enough grip that the squirming wretch couldn’t move. Lynx was on the tall side, barrel-chested and with arms as thick as the other man’s legs. It was true he had something of a paunch on him too, but he was strong enough that few were so stupid as to comment on it.

‘What are you in for?’ he growled.

‘Bathtad!’ squeaked the man, blood squirting from his nose.

‘Answer me or I’ll do it again.’

‘Okay, okay! Theft, it’th theft!’

‘So there you sit, half my size and thinking I’m in for murder – but you still take my ring?’ Lynx’s hands closed around the man’s neck, not too tight, but enough to make it clear that even bound he could still throttle the man. ‘You really that bloody stupid?’

‘No! No, take it!’

Lynx felt hands fumbling under him and eased to one side enough to let the man pull the ring from his hand. In his haste he dropped it between them so Lynx shoved him off the bench and into the puke on the floor. Slumped on his side, it took him a while to find the ring, but at last he did and he jammed it on his left hand as best he could.

‘Shit,’ the small man moaned, ‘bathtad!’ With one sleeve pressed to his nose the man picked himself up and crawled on to the other bed. ‘Didn’t need to do that.’

‘Pretty sure I did,’ Lynx muttered, submitting to the cries of his body and relaxing back down on to the bed with one eye on the other man. His vision lurched and went from black to purple and pink as everything hurt at once, but as he lay still it slowly receded. ‘You didn’t figure I could move enough to get it back.’

‘They hang you,’ the man huffed, ‘guards get ya stuff anyway.’

Lynx winced. ‘Shut up.’

Shattered gods, did I really kill someone last night?

Praying his expression wasn’t obvious in the gloom of the cell, Lynx stared up at the ceiling and willed the straight lines above to remain still. He couldn’t remember anything from the previous night and the more he tried the more his head hurt. The ache was a cloud in his mind that obscured and confounded every effort.

Gods – what town is this, even? Where am I?

Before any clarity could come the cell door was yanked open. Lynx looked up, scowling at the shaft of daylight that cut across the room beyond. He screwed up his eyes and managed to focus on the figure at the door – a grey-haired man who frowned at each of the occupants, one hand on the butt of a club stuffed into his belt.

‘Time to go,’ he said in a gruff voice.

‘Me, sir?’ the smaller man piped up hopefully, scrabbling upright.

‘No.’ The guard paused and gave the thief an appraising look. ‘What happened to you?’

A scowl. ‘I fell.’

The guard snorted and raised an eyebrow at Lynx. ‘He fell, eh? That’s why there’s blood on
your
face, eh?’

‘Fell on my forehead,’ Lynx muttered with a wince. ‘Tried to rob me.’

‘Bloody disgrace – you put a thief in gaol and the bugger just tries to steal stuff.’

Lynx decided not to comment. The man was probably joking, but he wasn’t inviting others to the party and anyway, Lynx wasn’t much of a laugh when hungover and hurting.

‘Can you get up, madman?’ the guard continued after a pause. ‘After last night I ain’t keen on cutting your bonds.’

Lynx grunted. His feet were bound too. Whatever had gone on the previous night, he’d been enough trouble to make them truss him up like a turkey. ‘Not sure I’ll manage the walk to the magistrate.’

‘Your lucky day then, you ain’t off to see her. You’re getting out.’

‘I am?’

‘There’s a fine to pay, then we’ll be glad to see the back of you.’

‘I didn’t hurt anyone?’

From his right the smaller man snorted angrily, but Lynx ignored him and the guard shut him up with a glare.

‘Only a man’s pride. You were too drunk to do much more’n get a beating.’

‘That’s a mercy then,’ Lynx said with relief. He glanced down at himself. He still had his jerkin, boots and trousers, but his sword-belt and jacket were conspicuous by their absence. ‘A fine, though. Don’t know what money I’ve got left.’

‘Enough,’ the guard said curtly. ‘We’re not all thieves round here. You can come and pick up your possessions now.’

Lynx nodded. ‘Definitely won’t get any trouble from me in that case,’ he said, lifting his hands in a suitably pathetic manner.

‘He gets off with just a fine?’ the smaller man yelped furiously. ‘He’s mad, you said it yourself! Probably a murderer too! Just broke my damn nose!’

‘Shut up,’ the guard and Lynx said in unison.

The men exchanged looks and Lynx tried to remember what apologetic looked like. He was well aware he was still bound and in gaol. He wasn’t sure if the guard was annoyed or amused, but either way the man didn’t comment.

‘Your nose ain’t broken,’ the guard said at last, ‘’cos you’d be squealing like a pig if it were. And none of us give a damn anyway – certainly not enough to trouble the magistrate over some thieving scrote who deserved it. Frankly, compared to the chair he fell on while trying to punch old man Greyn, your nose ain’t worth anything.’

The interruption seemed to make the guard’s mind up and he drew a knife. Lynx tensed instinctively as the man approached him then lowered his eyes, feeling foolish.

‘Sorry, old habits.’

‘Soldier?’

Lynx nodded.

The guard paused. ‘What side?’

‘Not one I care to defend these days.’

The guard nodded and cut through the rope around Lynx’s hands. When the heavyset mercenary only groaned with pleasure and rubbed his wrists, he did the same for his feet and stepped back. Lynx sat up as best he could and propped himself against the wall.

‘Thanks.’

That seemed to surprise the guard. He gave Lynx a suspicious look, then shrugged and backed away to allow him to rise and leave the cell. Lynx did so without haste. The nice man was letting him leave and Lynx had no intention of startling him, even if his protesting body suddenly became capable of it. He shuffled out and stood where the guard directed, trying not to fall over, while the man locked the door again.

That done, Lynx was ushered down the corridor and up a short flight of stone steps, emerging into a square guardroom where three armed man glared at him. Thin strips of light slanted down through the narrow windows on the far wall and Lynx faltered as he blinked away the bright trails in his vision.

‘Over there,’ the guard ordered, pointing to a pair of iron-bound doors on the left. A lock-room, Lynx guessed, with a messy desk placed at one side of it. He dutifully shuffled over as a portly old guard with impressive whiskers took station there. With a self-important huff the guard sat and opened a ledger, eyeing Lynx with disdain.

‘Name?’

‘Lynx?’

The guard paused. ‘Real name.’

‘Lynx.’

The guard placed a hand flat down on the ledger page. ‘Listen, son, you’re getting off with a fine. Now’s not the time for playing silly buggers.’

‘I realise that,’ he said, adding ‘sir’ a little later than intended. ‘Name I was born with got left behind years back, along with the damn fool who was proud of it. I’ve been just Lynx for more’n five years now. Suits me better’n anything from a place I don’t care for any more.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘So Han.’ He knew it was coming, but still he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the men around him tensed.

‘You’re one of them, eh?’

Lynx shook his head. ‘Not since before the war ended – place can rot for all I care. I’ve left all that behind, is why I’ve gone by Lynx ever since.’

‘Why Lynx?’ asked the guard who’d escorted him up, appearing at the older one’s side. Of all the men in the room, his was the only demeanour not affected by the place of Lynx’s birth, which presumably meant he was an easterner. So Han’s brutal campaign of conquest had gobbled up a fair chunk of the Greater Lakes, but had imploded before it could reach across the continent.

Lynx shrugged as best he could without provoking his hangover.

‘They don’t live in packs; prefer their own company and rely just on themselves, but they’re not the biggest or toughest out there. I ain’t trying to persuade the world I’m as dangerous as a mountain lion. That’ll just get a man in more trouble than his drinking is likely to land him in.’

His attempt at a self-deprecating smile got little change from his audience so he quickly continued. ‘Also, my eyes are a funny colour; folks used to say like a cat’s when I was young.’ Lynx turned to look at the man properly, blinking as he afforded him a look at his yellow-flecked brown eyes.

The older guard grunted, clearly unwilling to give too much of a damn about Lynx, even if he didn’t like his name.

‘Fine, Lynx it is, once of So Han. We’ve got a note of your marks already – if any bounty hunter comes looking for the man you once were, the description’s clear enough.’

Lynx nodded. The scars on his back were extensive, one of the many joys of his homeland’s army discipline, and he also had cat’s claws tattooed on his forearm, legacy of another night’s excess. Most obvious though was the complex character on his right cheek – a stylised script from somewhere to the south that translated to ‘honour or death’. He preferred the sentiment to the tattoo, but it was far better than the prison designation it had suborned.

‘No one’s looking for me,’ he said. ‘I’ve done nothing but bodyguard work for years and made no enemies.’

‘Well I suggest you keep on doing that – away from Janagrai too.’

Lynx winced as he suddenly remembered why he’d come to this town in the first place. ‘Got something I need to do here first. Think my last employer’s family are here.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re dumb enough to go and start making demands for payment now?’

‘Just returning what’s theirs,’ he said with a shake of the head. ‘We got hit a couple of days back by bandits and Master Simbly took an arrow in the lung. I brought his goods, came to give them to his widow and tell her where I buried the man.’

‘Master Simbly?’ the guard growled. ‘I know him, knew anyway. Where’d this happen?’

‘Out on the lake road from Tambal.’

‘Why would you be taking that route?’

Lynx shrugged. ‘Said he was late and needed to take the shorter road. He’d heard the road was safe this season and I wasn’t the only one with a mage-gun. He took passengers too, woman who said she was from somewhere down towards the ocean channel coast and her retainer. Some sort of militia officer she was, called Kelleby. Once we sent a few icers their way the bandits scarpered, but they’d already got in a lucky shot.’

The guard glanced around his fellows and someone behind Lynx spoke up. ‘I’ve seen the woman; she’s staying at the Witchlight too, waiting for passage onwards.’

Lynx nodded. The name rang a bell. He just had to hope the rest of his kit and Master Simbly’s goods were still stored there, otherwise folk might start getting an unfriendly impression.

‘Hach,’ called the whiskered guard to a younger one loitering nearby, ‘go and find her, check that out. Guess I’ll be giving the bad news to the Widow Simbly.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Lynx said. ‘I was there when he died, that’s on me.’

The guard’s lips tightened as he stood up. ‘If she wants to talk to you, I’ll fetch you, get me? Hach will take you to the Witchlight Inn and take charge o’ the goods so there’s no argument.’

His expression made it clear he didn’t want to hear anything more on the matter. Lynx kept quiet while the guard unlocked the strongroom and fetched out Lynx’s sword-belt, tricorn hat and jacket. Hanging from the sword-belt was a wooden cartridge box, slightly curved to settle comfortably at his hip. Just the sight was enough to make Lynx break out in a sweat.

‘I picked a fight wearing my cartridge case? Deepest black!’

The guard nodded. ‘Aye, we noticed that too,’ he said with a scowl. ‘Didn’t much appreciate it neither, just glad all those burners and sparkers are properly packed given the way you fell on them.’

Lynx winced at the thought. He had two fire-bolts in the pouch, alongside seven spark-bolts. The twenty-four ice-bolts – icers – could themselves have easily killed someone if he’d broken the seal around the magic-charged glass packed into one end, given the power of the mage-made weapons. But burners or sparkers could have set the whole building on fire and killed them all.