Return of the Crimson Guard

‘Then why bar all our brothers and sisters from this meet? Even the Brethren?’

The Guard's High Mage and Master Assassin eyed Stoop in silence. He clasped his hands behind his back. Skinner, for his part, hadn't moved the entire time Kyle had been watching; the man stood with his arms crossed, feet planted firmly wide apart, as still as a statue of iron. ‘This is a command discussion between myself and Skinner,’ Cowl finally said.

‘Don't pull that shit with me,’ Stoop answered. ‘I was siegemaster to K'azz and his father afore him. Strickly speaking I out-rank you.’

Kyle was amazed; siegemaster to the Guard? He wished he'd paid more attention when the old man had held forth on various topics the way he always seemed to.

Cowl now paced the clearing, a gloved hand brushing at the dark tattoos down his chin. ‘Yes, now that you bring that up, that does remain a problem for us. What to do about it, hmm, Stoop?’

The old saboteur eyed Cowl, puzzled. ‘What're you gettin’ at?’

The mage's pacing had brought him to a point where Skinner now stood to Stoop's rear. Kyle saw it even as it happened. The huge commander moved with astonishing speed; he drew and thrust in one move, his blade bursting through Stoop's chest. Kyle gasped as if that very blade had pierced him.

The mage's gaze snapped to the brush disguising Kyle's hiding place. ‘Finish Stoop,’ he snarled. ‘I'll deal with this one.’

Kyle could only stare, stunned, utterly immobile. What was going on? He knew he should run, but how could he possibly escape the Guard's premier mage and assassin? Stoop broke the spell by lashing out and slapping his hand to Cowl's wrist.

‘Takes more than that to kill an Avowed, Cowl,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. Or have you fogotten?’

Skinner tore his blade free. Stoop grunted but held on. ‘Run lad! I've got a good grip o’ this snake.’

‘Finish him!’ Cowl bellowed to Skinner.

Kyle ran. In the clearing behind, Skinner raised his blade.

Not far from the clearing a huge figure rose from the darkness to take Kyle's arm. His heart jumping to his throat, Kyle moved to draw his weapon — the man's hand shifted to push the blade down in its sheath. ‘What's the fright, lad?’ the figure asked.

Kyle saw it was Greymane, Ogilvy, the Genabackan veteran, with him and he struggled to find the words. ‘Back in the woods — Skinner killed Stoop! He and Cowl!’

Greymane's gaze flicked to Ogilvy. ‘We heard nothing.’

‘They're coming… please!’

Greymane rubbed a finger along his flattened broken nose in thought. A nod of his head gave Kyle permission to pass. ‘I'll see about this. You go on now.’

Kyle ran, not pausing to thank the man. He struck south through the gloom of the woods, avoiding any trail, trusting to the broken moonlight to guide his path. At times he thought he glimpsed figures moving through the dense forest around him. At other times magery flashed in the distances, killing his night vision, and echoing distant thunder. He had no idea why Cowl nor any of the other Guard mages had not yet found him. There must be some explanation. But for now he had no time to think about such things. Now, all that concerned him was when to end this diversion south to strike west into the interior, and how long could he keep this punishing pace given the weeks spent crammed in that ship? He also tried not to think about just how many Guardsmen and Avowed might be at this moment on his trail.

Kyle had grown up running; for days on end he'd jogged after game across the plains of his youth. He'd run from and chased the raiding parties of neighbouring tribes. That sinewy endurance saw him through now, as it was not until the night of the third day of alternating dog-trotting and running that his numb legs collapsed under him and he was too exhausted even to push himself up. He slept where he fell.

While Kyle's body may have been drained beyond all exhaustion, his mind was not. Strange, otherwordly dreams possessed him. Images and colours swirled before his mind's eye. He dreamed the darkness that filled his vision assaulted him; he fought it with a power that drove it back yet entities emerged from within to attack. He and they fought with all manner of limbs, talons, claws and teeth. They wrapped themselves around each other squeezing and tearing. Shapes blended, melded, in a ferocious roiling battle in a dark sky that seemed to have no end or beginning. The enormity of the confrontation numbed him; he could not grasp it. He seemed to float for a time, insensate.

Then, in his dreams it was as if Stoop was still alive: the old saboteur came and knelt at his side. ‘Time to wake up, lad,’ he said. ‘The enemy's coming. T'ain't safe. This is my last warning, I'm sorry. That snake Cowl's sent me off. But I promise I'll try to make it back. Now, wake up — they've found you’

Coughing, groaning, Kyle forced open his eyes and he awoke wincing, surprised that he was still alive, the sun high. He was not alone; a Dal Hon woman stood to one side, hands hidden in the folds of her robes that she wore bunched over one shoulder. Her kinky black hair hung in thick strands that covered her shoulders like foam. Mara, one of Skinner's Avowed mages.

A smile quirked up her full lips. ‘So, now that you are rested we can have a conversation, can we not, little rabbit? Such as who you truly work for, yes?’

Kyle was too weak to care; he hadn't eaten in three days. ‘Work for? What in Father Sky do you mean?’

‘I mean that you have eluded the combined efforts of over twelve mages to locate you and we are now very intrigued — who could possibly be so potent? What power has taken enough of an interest in the Guard to plant a spy among us, hmm? Tell me now, little rabbit, for you surely will later. Who do you work for?’

Kyle gaped up at the woman. ‘Spy? I'm no spy.’

Frowning, Mara drew her hands from the folds of her robes. ‘Very well. I find interrogations distasteful, but you leave me no choice. I-’

She broke off, turning to where a crash of undergrowth preceded the arrival of a man who leant against a tree, gasping in air, his leather vest dark with sweat, twigs in his wild grizzled hair. One of the two fellows always hanging out with Stalker, Badlands. ‘Damn,’ he breathed, ‘but you can run, lad.’

Mara lowered her hands. ‘You were supposed to have tracked him down by now.’

Hands on his knees he bared his teeth. ‘Guess I'm gettin’ old.’

‘Where is-’

‘Here.’

Both Mara and Kyle flinched, surprised to see Stalker crouched opposite from where Badlands had crashed in with so much noise.

‘And here.’

Mara turned; the other fellow, Coots, now leaned against a tree behind her. Her mouth tightened. She adjusted the robes at her shoulder. ‘Better late then never, I imagine. Perhaps now we could return him alive for questioning.’

‘Questions regarding what?’ Stalker asked, straightening.

‘What power has extended his — or her — protection over him. Who is spying upon us.’

‘Not questions ‘bout why he killed Stoop?’

‘I did not-’ Kyle began but Badlands motioned for his silence.

The Avowed mage paused, the tip of her tongue emerged to touch her upper lip. She turned in place, eyeing the three men surrounding her. ‘Of course… that as well… is of great concern to us…’

Coots and Badlands leapt, drawing knives in the air. Mara gestured, yelling, to disappear into darkness as the men landed in a tangle where she'd stood. They helped each other to their feet.

‘Suspicious bitch,’ Stalker spat into the long silence that followed the echoes of the Warren closing.

Kyle gaped anew from man to man. What in the name of all these foreign Gods was going on?

‘They'll be back,’ said Coots.

‘In force,’ from Badlands.

‘No more questions neither,’ finished Stalker.

Badlands and Coots nodded and took off running into the forest. Stalker pulled Kyle to his feet. ‘Let's go.’