Darkness Rising 1: Chained

  ***

  The bowl of spirits had turned a deep red with the blood soaked cloth. The fumes swirled around the dark room, mixing with the stench of rotted flesh.

  Utrok had piled the four corpses by the window to vent the odours. Despite their near mummified states there were still some viscera with enough moisture to putrefy. The stink had not yet entranced the flies of Bulia to enter the room; even the insects had enough sense to avoid the air of evil that surrounded Utrok.

  The pain from the severed arm was indescribable. He still felt the limb, still perceived the fingers and the hand. He continued to experience searing agony in the end of the arm but with no way to alleviate it. Each sliver of red-hot pain he grasped and hid away to return in kind to the little whore who had done this to him.

  How had she beaten him? He had twenty years of dedication to Dark-magic, ten of which he had served in Xirik’s black cult. He could dissolve flesh with a flick of his wrist, could drink the very essence of his victim’s being. He was within a finger’s breadth of the Gift, the ultimate accolade for the practitioner of the Dark-magic.

  The Gift: the sacrifice of the eternal soul, the transformation to a ghast. Then such wounds, unless delivered by silver or magnate, would never trouble him again.

  She had been trained, that was obvious. But by whom? He had seen the seeds of Wild-magic in her that night in Coonor four years ago. She had slid through the wall like it was smoke and into the arms of that Netreptan ranger. It had remained in his mind as nothing more than a curiosity; as far as he knew she was to go under the watchful eye of Inkas-Tarr, an old adversary of his.

  The hate had kept him alive through the pain and the shock. The hate and the Dark-magic—its black energy sustaining his empty heart as he fled across Bulia and sought refuge.

  The sound of boots in the alley outside the room jolted him from his thoughts. He dropped the cloth in the bowl and tightened the dressing on the stump. A golden funnel was on the table next to the bowl.

  The door opened and a scrawny man entered. His eyes danced across the room and his nose curled in distaste.

  “Haven’t you shifted them bodies yet, Utrok?”

  “Obviously not. It may have escaped your attention, Redern, but I only have one arm. Besides, I pay you for such menial tasks as waste disposal.”

  “I’m an entrepreneur, not an assassin. The Silent Knife does that business in Azagunta.”

  His eyes were flitting about between Utrok, the corpses and the window. Droplets of sweat dotted his forehead.

  “Did you find her?”

  “No. There’s no sign. Seems this girl—Emelia is her name—is an apprentice to a Thetorian called Hunor and his partner Jem, a Wild-mage. They are well connected with the Northridge guild.”

  “The petty machinations of the thieves’ guild are of little interest to me. Where have they gone?”

  “No-one knows. Perhaps underground? Why do you want the girl? I know where you can get...”

  “Idiot! I do not sully myself in carnal weakness. It is not your concern why I am interested in her. Now have you secured me passage?”

  Redern licked his lips and began rummaging in his tunic. “Sure, sure. There’s a ship leaving for Thetoria at high tide in an hour. I’ve sorted a berth for you...”

  A gold coin clinked on the table. Redern’s eyes widened.

  “An Eerian guilder...” Utrok said.

  Redern bolted for the door but Utrok was too quick. A shadow flew from his hand striking the thief in his back. A cloud of vaporised flesh erupted as he tumbled to the filthy floor.

  Utrok was upon him, pressing his serrated knife at Redern’s throat.

  “Who gave you that, you little worm?”

  “Oh... gods... please, Utrok,” he sobbed. “I had no choice. It was a Fire-mage, an Eerian. Please don’t...”

  Utrok slid the knife across Redern’s neck. The blood splashed on the floor followed by Redern’s head.

  A blasted Fire-mage earning his sash by hunting down Dark-mages; that was all he needed. Utrok grabbed his funnel and made for the window. He had to flee Bulia tonight and get across to Ligor in Thetoria. He needed blackest sorcery to regenerate his absent arm.

  And then he would find the girl, wherever she was in the world, and make her pay.