‘Brianna,’ said the Magelord, uttering the name like a curse. ‘She now suckles at the White Lady’s teats.’
According to the report the Halfmage had received, a group of soldiers had chased a small band of rebels from the village of Farrowgate down to Deadman’s Channel. A brief and bloody massacre would have followed but for the timely arrival of a caravel flying the colours of the White Lady. Aboard the vessel was none other than Brianna, formerly one of Dorminia’s most powerful wizards and a survivor of the Culling. She had chased off the pursuing soldiers with a magical assault that had devastated a small stretch of the coastline. Two Highlanders had been involved — as had, Eremul did not doubt, a certain insipid manservant.
The sudden appearance of a Thelassan ship to save the day struck him as fortuitous to say the least, but the exact details of what had transpired were no clearer to him than anyone else. He was trapped in the city and had no way of contacting those aboard the mysterious vessel.
‘My lord,’ said the Supreme Augmentor hesitantly. ‘We did not count on Thelassa sending wizards. It was my understanding the White Lady has no tolerance for them.’
‘She does not,’ the Magelord replied. ‘Brianna was… difficult to part with. Powerful, and yet demure. Loyal. Perhaps the White Lady has learned the value of pragmatism.’
‘I fear even your Augmentors will be hard pressed if she brings her magic to bear against them, my lord. My men are peerless on the field of battle, but against the arcane they are as vulnerable as any other soldier.’
The Tyrant of Dorminia was quiet for a time. ‘The White Lady herself will not come, that is certain,’ he said eventually. ‘However, her servants most assuredly will. The task of nullifying their threat falls to you and your men. I will deal with any magical assault, with the assistance of our friend the Halfmage.’
Eremul’s blood froze as Salazar turned to him with a faintly mocking smile. Even in his current weakened state, the Magelord could shred his mental defences and strip his mind raw of secrets with the ease of a man crushing a maggot between his fingers. ‘I will do anything to serve,’ he wheedled as convincingly as he could manage.
‘I know you will,’ replied Salazar. ‘Now then, Marshal Halendorf. Update me on the progress of the city’s fortifications.’
Eremul sat in silence as the magistrates discussed the upcoming invasion. The men at the table barely looked at him unless he was called upon to answer a specific question, and that suited him perfectly. He tried to make himself inconspicuous.
An abused dog. Salazar’s little plaything. He wondered what had happened to the White Lady’s agents who were supposed to be contacting him.
Perhaps they, too, had decided he was beneath notice.
By the time a Watchman was assigned to wheel him back to the depository, Eremul’s head felt as if it was about to explode from the tension. He was therefore less than pleased to find an unpleasant-looking fellow with a slightly panicked look in his eyes loitering before his door. He waved the soldier away and frowned at his unexpected visitor.
The man’s mouth dropped open slightly. ‘What happened to your legs?’ he asked.
Eremul sighed. ‘Why, I appear to have temporarily misplaced them. Who are you and what business do you have here?’
‘My name’s Lashan,’ said the man irritably. ‘I’m looking for a fella named Isaac. He owes me money.’
Lashan. Where have I heard that name before? ‘Does he indeed. And who told you he could be found here?’
‘Don’t you worry about that. I need the money before nightfall. The full one hundred gold spires.’
‘I know you,’ Eremul said. ‘You’re the assistant harbourmaster.’ He blinked as the man’s words sank in. ‘One hundred spires? Isaac’s a manservant, not a bloody magistrate.’
As it happened, Isaac was paid a gold spire each month, which was a reasonable sum for a servant. A hundred was more than he had earned in his entire time at the depository.
‘A manservant?’ Lashan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘That don’t make no sense. This Isaac fella — or whatever he’s calling himself now — he’s got connections. There ain’t a month goes by when he doesn’t receive visitors from any place you could name. At least I assume they’re here to see him.’
Eremul’s eyes narrowed. This conversation was making him uneasy. ‘Why does he owe you so much money?’
It was the assistant harbourmaster’s turn to narrow his eyes. ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business.’
‘Fine. Isaac isn’t here. I know where he might be found — but alas, I wouldn’t want to meddle in business that’s none of my concern.’
Lashan looked angry. ‘Don’t mess me around, cripple. You’re in no position to take the piss. If you won’t tell me where he is, I’ll just have to beat it out of you.’ He cracked his knuckles menacingly.
Eremul gave the glowering little man an ugly smile. ‘Why waste your energy on a legless fop like me? There’ll soon be plenty of Sumnians for your mighty fists to beat into submission. Unless, of course, the vastly important office you hold prohibits you from risking yourself in defence of our fair city. I expect it might, particularly if a sizeable amount of coin greases the right palms.’
Lashan snorted. ‘You’re a smart bastard, I’ll give you that. So I want to secure myself a position away from the fighting. Who wouldn’t, given the choice?’ He spat a glob of thick phlegm, which landed perilously close to Eremul’s chair. ‘I have a wife and three sons. Concerns a real man could understand.’
‘As opposed to a half-man,’ Eremul said quietly.
‘You got it. Now tell me where he is or things will get ugly.’ He took a step towards the Halfmage.
‘I’m afraid it’s too late for that.’ He finished his evocation, felt the magic spiral out from his fingertips and wrap unseen around Lashan’s limbs. The assistant harbourmaster yelped and then toppled over like an upset glass. He struggled to rise and got as far as raising his hips off the ground before collapsing back down. He tried again, to all outward appearances a man determined to get intimate with a particularly attractive pothole in the street.
‘What’s happening to me? I can’t move my arms or legs,’ he moaned. Eremul wheeled his chair forwards until he was looming over the struggling man. He peered down at him.
‘Now, now, Lashan,’ he said, his voice full of mock sympathy. ‘I’m sure a small thing like the temporary loss of your extremities won’t discourage you. I was quite looking forward to a good beating.’
‘You… you did this to me.’
‘Ah. Perceptive as well as brave. You should be more careful about whom you threaten.’ His voice became grave. ‘I would sit here all day and watch you squirm like a worm, but to tell the truth my arse aches and I quite fancy a lie down. Answer my questions and I’ll let you crawl back to your hole.’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
Eremul sighed. ‘As if I had an alternative.’ He lined up his chair and ran the wheels over the man’s outstretched fingers, which were scrabbling at the dirt. Lashan howled in pain.
‘Keep it down,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t want everyone to witness you being humiliated by a legless cripple, would you?’ He reversed the chair back over Lashan’s other hand. This time he felt the crack of tiny bones beneath the wheel. The cries of pain intensified.
‘That sounded like it hurt,’ he said conversationally. ‘And you have at least eight more fingers to go. Then we can work on the toes. After that, well, things get interesting. I have a vivid imagination.’
‘Argh! Stop, I’ll talk!’ The words came out in a rush. Tears tumbled from Lashan’s eyes, joining a damp patch on the ground beneath his chin where drool had gathered.
‘Good.’ Eremul glanced around. People were beginning to take notice. He wanted this over with quickly before too much interest was aroused. ‘What do you know about Isaac?’