Return of the Crimson Guard

‘After you.’

He gave a courtier's bow and climbed the spine to a gap between spires. Beyond, across a plain of twisting gullies and dunes five titanic geometric shapes hovered. Beneath them the winds blew constantly, billowing outwards in dust clouds that reached high overhead. What were they up to? Could anyone guess? He climbed back down.

The woman joined him. ‘An invasion, you think?’

‘Or the landlords come to fumigate.’

The dark eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that one must abandon one's self-centred blinders. Not everything relates back to us.’

The woman stepped away, eased into a ready stance. ‘Who are you?’

‘A lost fragment of bureaucratic oversight.’

More questions obviously occurred to the woman but she clamped down on them. ‘Well, as intriguing as all this is…’

‘You must report it.’

She nodded. He bowed his agreement, but instead of straightening he rolled forward, sweeping. The woman cartwheeled aside. They stood, facing one another, he astonished, she calculating in her narrowed glance. He did not bother to hide his delight. ‘Wonderfully done! It has been a long time since I've seen his style.’

The woman — girl, he corrected himself — gave an elegant bow. ‘You recognize it! My father taught me. And you not ought to have revealed your familiarity…

‘It will not matter… shortly.’

She bowed again. ‘Apologies. Must be off.’ Shadows threaded up from the dirt to spin about her like a whirlwind. His surprise lasted only an instant; he thrust out both arms and lances of darkness struck the girl throwing her backwards. She lay gasping for air, her ribs shattered, lungs punctured.

He crossed to stand over her.

Still conscious she stared up, her gaze accusing. ‘Kurald Galain!’ she gasped.

He knelt on his haunches next to her. ‘I am sorry.’

‘You! But we thought you… you were no…’

‘Yes. I know. I am so very sorry. More sorry because I would not have sent someone like you. For, as you see, I've come myself.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder. Unconscious. Still, her heart beat. There was yet a chance…

He gestured and a pool of utter darkness emerged from beneath the girl like liquid night. She sank into it, disappearing as if into a well of ink. A small enough gesture… but he felt that he owed her at least that. A pity that it is always the best who are sent.

He should've anticipated that.

Five days’ continuous favourable winds driving the fleet south-west was good luck enough to draw Urko from his cabin to endure the company of his High Mage, Bala Jesselt. Ullen steadied himself next to his commander, noting how the man remained rock solid no matter the shock of each swell or shudder of a fall into a deepening trough. Yet every league gained seemed to deepen furrows at the old admiral's brows.

‘Unexpected reach and influence this new ally possesses, yes?’ said Bala from mid-deck. Ullen glanced back to her; somehow, the woman's voice, pitched no higher than usual, penetrated the howling winds and crashing seas. An eerie calm also surrounded the giant woman, no spray or winds touching her layered robes, or her intricately bunched hair.

The latest count?’ Urko growled.

‘None missing. The transports are still falling behind, though.’

‘Have the lead elements drop sail. Hold back, if necessary. No sense arriving without the damned army.’

‘Yes, sir. If I may, Admiral…’

‘Yes?’

‘Our speed — does this not change our plans? Will we not arrive ahead of schedule?’

Scowling, Urko eyed Bala. ‘Anything new from Choss?’

The Dal Hon mage edged her head side to side, her fan flickering so swiftly as to be invisible. ‘Nothing, dear Urko. A word perhaps, to my resource — congratulations? He has earned as much surely.’

‘That or my fist in his face. I'll decide which once all this is over and done. Until then, nothing. Understood?’

Bala gave an exaggerated huff that shook her broad bosom. She muttered under her breath, ‘All my efforts…’

Ullen could only shake his head. Here they were running ahead of typhoon winds threatening to swat them from the face of the sea, shouting to be heard, and she's fanning herself, able to communicate her faintest complaints. ‘Will they be there, in Cawn, to rendezvous?’ he called to Urko.

The admiral shook his head; spray glistened on his scar-mottled mostly bald pate. ‘No. At this rate, we'll beat them. Mind you, making the Horn could be touch ‘n’ go. No matter, when we arrive in the harbour those Cawnese'll come around. Always able to tell which way the wind's blowing, them.’ And he laughed then for the first time in months. ‘Get it? Wind blowin’? Ha!’

Ullen smiled, relieved to see his commander in a lightened mood. Yet he could not keep his gaze from returning to the glistening dark face of their High Mage. She sat where she always had, at centre deck, where she'd first positioned herself, and, thinking on it, Ullen could not call to mind a single time when she could not be found there. She even took her meals there, and slept sitting up, her fan shimmering and hissing through the night like a giant insect. He had to admit to being impressed — she reminded him of their old powerful cadre mages, A'Karonys or Nightchill.

Her eyes rose then, capturing his — huge brown pools, and she smiled as if guessing his thoughts. ‘They don't know you have me,’ she said, or seemed to say; he could not be sure. ‘They think this will be a contest of hedge-wizards and wax-witches. But I am of the old school, friend Ullen. I was taken in by Kellanved — and expelled by Tayschrenn. And for that I will teach him regret.’

The fan seemed to snap then with a slash that Ullen could almost feel above the storm driving them on. He glanced to Urko but the commander seemed oblivious to the exchange. Keep her in check — Urko had expressed every confidence he could keep the woman in check. Yet even now she hinted at larger ambitions and her own motives, playing her games undeterred by, or contemptuous of, his presence. What sort of a viper had they taken into their midst — a viper even too traitorous and unreliable for the emperor and his kind?

All the while the fan hummed, almost invisible, shimmering, and Ullen wondered, was it this ally of a priest of a sea cult helping them along, or were they all merely at the mercy of a flickering fan?

From the profound dark of a tunnel opening off the Pit, Ho sat watching the slightly lesser dark of the shadowed half of the large circular mine-head. He started, jerking, as yet again his chin touched his chest and he glared about wondering what he'd missed. But all remained quiet. Everyone seemed asleep, including, for all he knew, the two newcomers; the spies he'd last seen entering those shadows and now sat waiting just as he was. Waiting for what? Some sign among the stars? The right moment for a midnight escape attempt? Ho tried to identify their figures amidst the monochrome dark, but failed. No movement. He chided himself; maybe they just couldn't sleep in the caves; maybe they simply longed for a touch of the slight breeze that sometimes made its way down here when conditions were just right. Yeah, and maybe they were worshippers of the cult of Elder Dark.

Something then — movement? Someone standing there in the dark? The pale oval of a face upturned? Ho leaned forward, straining. A call sounded, an owl's warning call. From his friends? Or above? Hard to say. A flash in the moonlight streaming down into the open mine-head. Something small falling. His friends stepped out into the light; one, Grief, stooped, picked up the thing, examined it. They talked but Ho couldn't hear any of it.

As they retreated into the shadows Ho could not contain himself any longer. He marched out to confront them. Damn them and their schemes! Don't they know everyone here lives only at the sufferance of their captors above? That the slightest provocation could mean shortened rations, perhaps death for the more sickly among them?

When he reached them they were waiting for him, the object, whatever it was, nowhere in evidence. He