Return of the Crimson Guard

on a nearby block.

‘Us, too,’ Stalker said. Coots and Badlands gave their curt agreement.

Traveller looked to Kyle.

‘Is it dangerous?’ Kyle asked.

‘Dangerous? Well, if you mean will we be attacked… no, I don't believe so.’

‘All right. I'll come. I mean, we're kind of in already, if I understand things aright.’

Traveller's brows rose, impressed. ‘True enough. I believe so.’ He started to the portal. Kyle followed.

The entrance tunnel was dark, cool and humid. Torchlight flickered ahead. They entered the main chamber, a round domed vault containing shattered stone sarcophagi, the occupants of which lay scattered about the chamber, desiccated limbs askew, clothes dusty dry tatters, teeth gaping in yellow grins. Traveller scanned the chamber and his fists clenched.

‘Enough!’ The eruption of his voice shook the stones and brought down wisps of dust. ‘Was that your wizened monkey face we followed all this way?’

‘Wizened!’

A shadow against the far wall started forward, rising. ‘I'll have you know I am quite well preserved.’

‘No more games — Ammanas.

‘Games? No more games? What, then, to do? All is a game.’

‘Ammanas…’ Traveller ground out.

‘Oh, very well.’ Translucent shadow arms gestured. The chamber blurred, shadows churning, to resolve into a long hall, stone-walled, a roof of sturdy timber crossbeams sunk in gloom, and at the far wall a broad stone fireplace. ‘More to your liking?’

A shrug. ‘Yet another facade, but it will do. And Cotillion?’

‘Here.’ A soft voice spoke from behind Kyle, who spun to see a man in a doorway, unremarkable but for a rope coiled around one shoulder. Traveller bowed shallowly to the man who continued to watch, motionless.

‘And who is this?’ Ammanas asked. Kyle was alarmed to see the figure approach, a walking stick now in one insubstantial hand. Its features resolved into that of an elder, darkly hued, mouth a nest of wrinkles. ‘Kyle,’ he said, his voice faint. Could this be the Deceiver himself? He struck Kyle as dangerous, yes, but also oddly frail, even vulnerable.

‘A companion,’ Traveller said.

‘And why are you here?’

Kyle had no idea how to answer that. Why was he here? Curiosity? Hardly adequate. No — he came simply because Traveller did. Kyle motioned to the swordsman, ‘To accompany Traveller.’

‘Ah yes.’ The figure, no more than a gauzy patchwork of shadows, turned to the man. ‘Such a valuable quality. So… useful it proved.’

Traveller merely snorted his dismissal. ‘Do not speak possessively of that which you never possessed.’

‘That is open to debate.’

‘I did not come here to debate.’

‘Then why did you come?’

‘You brought me here!’

‘I merely invited you — you did not have to come.’

‘Did not-’ Traveller bit the words off, pressing a fist to his lips. He exhaled a great harsh breath, flexing his neck. ‘You have not changed a damned bit. There's still nothing for us to discuss.’ He turned away. ‘Come, Kyle. My apologies. This was a mistake from the beginning.’ He faced the other man, Cotillion, who stood aside, a mocking smile at his thin lips.

‘Come, now,’ Ammanas called out. ‘Let us stop this bickering. You know what I offer.’

Traveller stopped, turned, keeping both Ammanas and Cotillion in view. ‘No, I do not. You haven't made your offer yet.’

The shadow figure's shoulders slumped their exasperation. ‘Really, please! I rather thought my hairy messenger made it all quite plain in his eloquent pantomime… you can never succeed in your goal, my friend. I'm sorry, but there it is.’ The figure shook, giggling. ‘Quite inspired, his display. Emblematic, you might say.’

Kyle had decided that he really ought not be where he was. Traveller, however, blocked the exit. Since he was stuck, then, he decided he ought to be useful and guard the man's flank. He rested his hand on the grip of his tulwar and found the sword surprisingly warm — hot, almost. He yanked his hand away, alarmed.

‘And your offer?’ Traveller ground out.

‘My offer?’ Ammanas fairly squawked. ‘Gods! Need I spell it out?’

‘From you? Yes. Exactly so.’

The god — yes, the god of deceivers, Kyle reminded himself — hissed a string of curses beneath a breath, drew himself up as tall as he could manage — a height yet far below even that of Kyle, who was considered squat — and swished his walking stick back and forth through the air, mimicking swordplay. ‘You strike at shadows. You chase ghosts. Yet always your quarry eludes you… Well, I know something of shadows and eluding. I can help you along, old friend. A nudge here; a hint there. What say you?’

‘And the price?’

The walking stick set down with a tap. Translucent hands rested upon its silver hound's head grip. ‘A mere service. That is all. One small service.’

Traveller was silent for a time, his gaze steady upon the wavering transparent figure. Kyle's sword had become intolerably hot. He pulled it away by stretching his belt. Yet instead of alarm what he felt was embarrassment — how dare he interrupt such talk so far above his ken with a complaint about his weapon?

‘I will agree, Ammanas, provided you agree to a condition.’

The shadow figure hunched, almost wincing. ‘A condition! What's this of conditions? I ask no conditions of you! One does not raise a finger to the one you seek and insist upon conditions!’

‘Hear me out. Don't fly to the winds.’ A harsh laugh sounded from Cotillion at that. The figure turned a dark glare upon the man. ‘What is it?’

‘Two requests.’

‘Two! Two!’

‘Hear him out,’ Cotillion said wearily.

‘I'm handling these negotiations.’

‘Is that what you call this?’

The figure wavered closer to Cotillion. ‘Don't-’ Though appearing to float, Ammanas seemed to suddenly trip, stumbling. ‘What?’ He poked with his walking stick and came up with limp folds of muddy torn robes. ‘What is this mess? Look at it! Mud all over the floor! Who is going to clean this up? Where is he! I'll skin the rat.‘ He shot a finger into the air. ‘Wait!’ The finger lowered to point to Kyle. ‘What are you doing?’

Kyle could not help but back away. ‘Nothing. Nothing! It's just my sword. Something's-’

‘Cotillion! I sense an emergence!’

A hiss accompanied Cotillion's coiled rope seeming to come to life of it own accord. It leapt to twist around the sheathed weapon at Kyle's side. A flick and Kyle's belt snapped, the tulwar flying loose. A coil then snapped around his neck, tightening. Traveller motioned and the rope parted, snipped cleanly in two. Cotillion and Traveller faced one another, Cotillion spinning his foreshortened length of rope, Traveller with his sword held in a two-handed grip above his head, point down. Kyle yanked the now limp coil of rope from his neck and gasped in a breath.

‘Halt!’ Ammanas bellowed. Surprisingly, both men obeyed the Deceiver, edging back into guard positions. He raised a finger it to where the tulwar had fallen. ‘An uninvited guest.’

The sheathed weapon had fallen in a tangle of Kyle's leather belt. Smoke now climbed from the equipment, then flames as the wood and leather burst into fire. Incredibly, molten iron poured out over the stones, bubbling and hissing. It steamed like boiling water. The clouds became biting, forcing Kyle to cover his eyes and nose. Even Traveller, at Kyle's side, was batting an arm through the mixed steam and smoke.

As the smoke dispersed Kyle caught sight of a tall shape hunched where the sword had fallen. The figure slowly straightened, climbing taller and taller, stretched out his long arms. A bunched mane of white hair fell down his back. He was barefoot in loose trousers and a long loose shirt.

When the newcomer turned, Kyle was astounded to see the Archmagus of the Spur. It was he!