‘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.’
‘To
hell
with Phoenix and his opinions! I didn’t come here to be lectured by a child.’
‘Er, Reeth,’ Kutch said, ‘you might find -’
Caldason ignored him. ‘I thought we were supposed to be meeting with the head of this…
sect
. If I’d wanted to be rebuked by a kid I’d have gone to a kindergarten and avoided all this nonsense.’
‘You’re not a very nice man,’ the child decided, huffily.
‘We came here to see Phoenix,’ Caldason explained, adopting a speciously reasonable manner, ‘at his invitation. I don’t know who you are, little girl, his grandchild perhaps, but why don’t you run along and bring him here?’
‘You want to see Phoenix?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now?’
‘
Yes,’
through gritted teeth. ‘Or else we’re leaving.’
‘Very well.’ For the first time, she favoured them with a smile. It was so unlike a child’s grin, so
abnormal
, that they both thought they preferred the scowl.
Then something started happening to the girl. Something strange.
As Reeth and Kutch looked on in astonishment it became very strange indeed.
18
The girl began to mutate before their eyes.
Her features seemed to melt, to become malleable. She was enveloped by a haze, like the agitation heat currents make in air, and light played around her. The swirling mist and sparkling illumination grew fierce, so much so that Reeth and Kutch couldn’t see what was happening.
As the light faded, the haze started to dissipate. They could make out a shape, a heap of what could have been flesh, pulsating on the floor. Then there was a crouching figure, shaking itself the way a dog does when it comes out of water. The figure rose, and it was much taller than the child had been. Its features clarified.
A very old man stood before them. He was white bearded and rangy. Uncountable wrinkles creased his seasoned face. He wore a deep blue ankle-length robe with silver trimmings.
Caldason had his sword half unsheathed. ‘What the hell -?’
‘No, Reeth, wait!’ Kutch exclaimed. ‘I think… I think it’s all right.’
‘Heed him, Qalochian,’ the old man said, ‘there’s no danger for you here.’ His voice was like aged rum and warm honey. He stretched, fists bunched, shoulders back, as a man might when he’s just woken up.
Reeth clacked his sword back into its scabbard. ‘You’re Phoenix, I take it.’
‘I am. Forgive my little deception.’
‘I’m not in the mood for jests, sorcerer.’
‘It was no jest,’ the old man informed him in a starched tone.
‘You call that charade serious?’
‘My
intent
is deadly serious. It’s to escape capture or worse at the hands of our enemies. A plight I believe you’re familiar with yourself. My appearance is known to the state, making a mask necessary.’
‘An odd choice of disguise.’
‘But particularly effective. It also has the virtue of amusing me.’
‘How did you
do
that?’ Kutch blurted out.
‘Ah, the apprentice.’ He fixed the boy with an unwavering gaze. ‘I think you might be able to explain as well as I.’
Surprised, and a little overwhelmed, Kutch stammered, ‘Me?’
‘Why not try?’
‘Well, Mage…
sir
… I imagine that the spell you used didn’t actually compress you to child size. It made you… invisible, which is to say glamoured, so it gave the
sense
of invisibility, and the image of the child took your place. It’s basically, er, an illusion, as all magic is on one level. But a…uhm… complex, impressive illusion. Very advanced Craft. Sir.’ Kutch completed his explanation with a hesitant smile.
Phoenix flashed unexpectedly white, even teeth. ‘Excellent! Wrong in every essential, but top marks for inventiveness.’
Kutch’s face fell.
‘There’s always more to learn, boy,’ Phoenix added, his brusqueness softening a degree or two. He turned to Caldason. ‘Look, we’ve got off on the wrong foot and that wasn’t the idea at all. I know you’re here seeking help for a grievous malady, and -’
‘What do
you
know of it?’
Phoenix, ruffled at Caldason’s curt manner, went back to brisk himself. ‘Would you like me to speculate on the symptoms? Let’s see. You have fits that are violent and dangerous to others, and when unrestrained you fight like a berserker. You hear voices. If wounded, you heal remarkably quickly…Will that do for a start?’
‘You seem a damn sight better informed than me. But I don’t hear voices.’
‘Oh, haven’t they started yet? Give it time.’
‘Are you trying to mock me?’
‘No, Caldason, I don’t want to provoke you or make fun of you. I’m just saying that your condition, or something like it, isn’t entirely unknown to us.’
Hope stirred in Caldason. It showed in his normally unreadable face.
‘Truly?’
‘I wouldn’t lie to a man with your burden.’
‘Can you help me?’
Phoenix sighed. ‘Perhaps. But before we go into that… It would be good if you didn’t misinterpret what’s about to happen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come!’
Phoenix called.
Two men entered the room. One was a stranger, ruggedly built, perhaps thirty, clean shaven but for a moustache, and he was armed. The other was Dulian Karr.
Kutch was taken aback. Caldason scowled suspiciously.
‘What is this, Karr? What are you doing here?’
‘Forgive me, Reeth. But please, listen to what we have to say.’
‘This was supposed to be a private meeting. Now half of Valdarr’s trooping through here. What can you say to me now that you couldn’t have said before?’
‘Plenty, as it happens. Only here it can be said with more authority. You’ve met Phoenix.’ He turned to the stranger. ‘This is Quinn Disgleirio, representing the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade. A man who can be trusted.’ Disgleirio nodded. ‘And I hope you know by now that you can trust me, Reeth,’ Karr went on, ‘and those I’ve brought you in touch with.’ He spread a hand wide, indicating Phoenix and Disgleirio. ‘What we have here is a three-pronged alliance. A union of dissident magical, martial and political forces.’