A blur of movement in the corner of Reeth’s vision made him turn. Weasel was charging him, anger outweighing the pain in his jaw. He ran low, keeping his vulnerable chin down and offering a minimal target. Reeth spun aside, getting him clear of the mountain and putting him at a right-angle to his rushing comrade. His goal suddenly removed, Weasel was unable to slow himself. He would have overshot, except for the solid kick Reeth landed on the side of his head.
Weasel was sent cart-wheeling, limbs akimbo. He went down with a hefty, bone-breaking jolt, bounced several times and came to rest senseless.
Enraged, the mountain ploughed in again. Reeth dodged a roundhouse punch that would certainly have felled him. By way of payback he turned himself around and viciously booted the back of his foe’s knee, not once but twice. That brought pain home to the mountain, and threw him off his balance.
Caldason intended finishing it then, but the man was stubborn about standing.
It was the mountain who went on the attack. Swerving from him, Caldason saw a wooden pail on the boardwalk. It was filled with soil and some anaemic flowering plants. He swept under the mountain’s latest pass, threw himself across the walk and grabbed the bucket’s handle. The pail was reassuringly heavy. He swung it with all his might in a wide arc that intersected with the mountain’s advancing head.
When it struck, with a meaty
thunk
, the onlookers winced aloud. The mountain swayed. Reeth swung again, then once more, scattering soil and petals. Vacant-eyed, the mountain plodded a pace or two before going down like a felled oak.
Caldason tossed aside the bucket and looked over to the rest of the drunks outside the tavern. They were an appalled tableau.
‘Next!’ he barked.
They stood mesmerised and open-mouthed for two whole seconds before fleeing, ignoring their fallen comrades as they scattered.
Kutch and Ockley hurried to Reeth and began hustling him away.
‘We do not need this kind of attention,’ Ockley complained.
‘I don’t back down from anybody,’ Caldason told him. There was something about his manner that brooked no comeback.
Ockley steered Reeth and Kutch into the back ways of Valdarr again.
It took half an hour to reach their destination. Caldason suspected it would have been a lot less but for Ockley taking an even more roundabout route. The Covenant man was silent but obviously angry at Caldason’s antics. Caldason himself was growing visibly impatient.
Then Ockley discreetly indicated a particular building. A large warehouse, obviously disused, its windows were shuttered and the doors nailed up. It spoke of neglect.
Alert to watchers, they took an alley that went to the rear of the warehouse. If anything, the back of the building was even more decrepit than its front. Lumber and rubble lay in heaps, and a harvest of weeds had sprung up. Again, doors and windows were blocked.
Incredulously, Kutch asked, ‘This is Covenant’s headquarters?’
‘Just for today,’ Ockley assured him.
He crept to a door and rapped out a series of knocks. Nothing happened immediately, then it opened a crack, and a second later was thrown wider. There seemed to be more than one person inside, but it was too dark to be sure.
‘Come,’ Ockley commanded. ‘Quickly.’
Caldason paused for a beat and glanced at Kutch. Hand on sword, he stepped inside. Kutch and Ockley scrambled after him. No words were spoken by the people who let them in. The door was slammed and secured. An instant passed in total darkness.
Then the whole place lit up. Illuminating glamour orbs hovered far above their heads, giving out a strong, bright light.
Squinting, eyes adjusting, Reeth and Kutch saw that apart from Ockley there were half a dozen other people in the room, facing them in a large semi-circle. Dressed in simple grey robes, with masks covering all but their eyes, they had no obvious weapons. None of them spoke or moved.
The room was vast, layered in dust and festooned with cobwebs. Apart from a few empty crates and some innocuous clutter, it contained nothing in the way of furnishings or any indication of the business once carried out there. The air was musty with the smell of wet rot and general dilapidation.
‘This way,’ Ockley said, directing them to a door set in the far wall. The six masked guardians stayed where they were.
On the other side of the door there was a narrow wooden staircase, dimly lit by radiance from above. Spurred by Ockley, Reeth and Kutch began to climb the creaking treads.
Two turns of the staircase brought them to a landing. Off this, a doorless entrance opened into another room, much smaller than the one below and also glamour-lit. Unlike everything else they’d seen, it was clean here, the floorboards having recently been scrubbed. In the centre of the chamber there was a large table and several mismatched chairs. The sweet aroma of incense pervaded the room.
‘What now?’ Caldason asked.
‘Please make yourself comfortable,’ Ockley replied. ‘Phoenix will be with you in a moment.’ He nodded towards a door they hadn’t noticed before. It was no more than a faint outline in the opposite wall, and it had no handle.
Caldason began to ask another question, but when he turned, Ockley had gone.
‘Probably glad to be rid of us,’ Kutch quipped. But there was an anxious edge to his voice.
‘The feeling’s mutual.’
They moved into the room. Caldason checked it out suspiciously, scrutinising every drab detail. He went to the near-invisible door and tried pushing it, with no success. It was hung flush, so he couldn’t get the purchase to prise it open either. He gave up and joined Kutch by the table.
‘I can’t believe I’m going to meet Phoenix,’ the boy confided, speaking low.
‘He’s just a man.’
‘Well, yes, but an exceptional one if you believe all the stories.’
‘You’d heard stories about me too, remember.’
Kutch smiled. ‘Having seen you in action, I’m not sure they were so farfetched.’
‘So what do these stories say about him?’
‘They’re not all consistent, to tell the truth. But they do agree he’s a great magician, and very old. And that in some way he defies death, or in the more colourful versions, that he can’t be killed.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Caldason responded thoughtfully.
Kutch didn’t notice this moment of introspection and carried on. ‘He’s said to be very wise. Which I suppose you’d expect from someone really old.’
‘Don’t count on it. In my experience that isn’t always the case.’
‘Well, I’m dying to find out. I hope he doesn’t keep us waiting too long.’
‘I think your wish has just been granted.’
The door was opening. Slowly, inch by inch, and it was dark on the other side. They could make out somebody in the shadows, but no detail. All they could say for sure was that the figure was surprisingly short.
It came into the light, and whatever they expected, it wasn’t this.
Standing before them was a child, a girl of about ten years old. She was thin, with almost stick-like arms and legs. Her hair was in pigtails. She had azure eyes and long blonde lashes. Her clothing consisted of a white smock embroidered with tiny flowers, and shiny black, buckled shoes. Not pretty by any stretch, her looks weren’t improved by the deep-set scowl on her freckled face.
Kutch gaped at her.
Caldason reacted irately. ‘What
is
this? Another trick? More delay?’
‘That’s not a very polite way for a guest to speak,’ the girl replied. Her voice had a high-pitched, sing-song tone, and she sounded annoyed. ‘Particularly after Phoenix was kind enough to grant you an audience.’
‘Is this some kind of
joke
?’
‘Reeth,’ Kutch murmured, ‘I think -’
‘And Phoenix isn’t happy about you brawling in the street,’ the child went on, ‘like some common gutter ruffian. Especially when you were told to be cautious on your way here.’