Silent Echoes

Silent Echoes

  Gareth Lewis

  Copyright 2012 Gareth Lewis

  The liquid of dubious provenance shuddered in the cup as a patron staggered by, dragging his shadow toward the door. Skerin didn’t raise his eyes from his drink as the man passed. As the evening wore on, he wondered when they’d make their move.

  They’d studied him since their arrival a short while ago. Not that they were alone watching him. Strangers were rare this deep into the city, especially lone strangers.

  He couldn’t nurse the drink all night, and didn’t want to risk getting drunk, so he’d finish it leave, see if they followed.

  Catching a glimpse of Althek rising as he lifted the cup, Skerin stuck to a sip rather than emptying it. He set it down as the shadow crept over the table, and glanced up to meet Althek’s smile.

  “Welcome,” said Althek, taking the seat opposite. His clothes were unusually fashionable for this district, well-cut and cleaner than those of the other patrons. And his short, spiky hair seemed well-tended. He maintained a personable smile. “We don’t get many strangers in here.”

  Skerin glanced around at the mostly averted gazes, paying particular attention to the pair who’d accompanied Althek, the only ones who met his eyes. “Really?” said Skerin. His voice had a gravely tone, his lips barely parting to let the words out.

  With an amused smile, Althek joined him in glancing around the room. “It’s not the most sociable of neighbourhoods. I’m Althek.”

  “Skerin.”

  “Pleased to meet you. And please excuse my neighbours. I’m afraid they’ve reason to be suspicious of strangers. Mainly strangers from other parts of the city. From the look of you I suspect you’re stranger than that.”

  His eyes swept over Skerin, taking in the dark leather coat and green silken shirt, either of which alone would be exotic in the city these days. He’d dressed for the occasion, shifting from the local fashions he’d used to merge into the area during the past days. It meant less suspicion that he worked for another gang, but drew curiosity.

  “I’m sure everyone’ll be more relaxed once we get to know a bit about you,” said Althek. “Such as what’re you doing in Thelmus.”

  “Looking for something,” said Skerin.

  “I’d be only too happy help,” said Althek.

  “Found it. Need to work out a trade.”

  “It must be valuable, to bring you into this cesspit?”

  “Heirloom.”

  While the smile remained on Althek’s lips, his eyes tightened in irritation. Still, for a thug he exercised remarkable restraint. “You a merchant?”

  “No,” said Skerin. “Scientist.”

  His eyes grew tense. “A practitioner?”

  Skerin nodded.

  “What’s your discipline?” said Althek.

  “Whisperer.” A student of Audiomancy, Whisperers used the magical energies to explore the subtler applications of the discipline, as opposed to Thunderers, who basically made a lot of noise.

  “Don’t know any Naming, do you?” said Althek.

  “Naming’s rare where I’m from,” said Skerin.

  “Here too,” said Althek, relaxing slightly. “Now, anyway.”

  He didn’t elaborate, despite Skerin’s curious glance. Not that it was necessary. Brak Shadoweater hated Namers, and Althek was one of Brak’s men. He’d report the presence of a practitioner to Brak, and they’d at least keep an eye on him. If he let things go that way.

  “Interesting talisman,” said Althek, nodding at the twisted piece of wood hanging from Skerin’s neck. “Is it imbued?”

  “No,” said Skerin. “Just plain woo...” He grabbed Althek’s wrist as the man reached to examine it.

  Althek’s gaze went cold in a snap. The room went quiet, as people forgot to ignore the conversation. Althek’s flunkies were on their feet, but held their distance.

  The smile slid from Althek’s face. “That wasn’t a smart move.” He tried retracting his arm gently, so as not to lose face if Skerin didn’t let go. He did, and Althek sat back, regarding him.

  “No,” said Skerin. “It wasn’t.”

  “Looks like this doesn’t happen the easy way.”

  “Easy way was too much work.”

  “You might reconsider that. You’ll have to come with us now.”

  “Do I?” said Skerin.

  “This is our domain. You’re challenging our authority. That we can’t let stand.”

  “If I refuse?”

  Althek smiled, this time bereft of any hint of warmth. “I’ll have to ask you to refuse outside. I like it in here.”

  After draining the remains of his drink, mainly for effect since he’d rather have left it, Skerin stood and led the way outside. He was confident they’d wait at least a few strides before attacking.

  The skies had grown dark, and not simply from the departing sun. The edge to the air meant Althek could be reluctant to call on lightning from the skies. With the local weather systems, it’d be too unstable.

  A Lightcaster, Althek could call down and play with lightning. Even without using the skies, he’d have a few lightning bottles. A skilled Lightcaster rarely needed more than that in a fight. If he got beyond the first bottle, Skerin had a problem.

  Turning after a few steps, he found the three spreading out, Althek in the centre. Since his flunkies drew blades, Skerin’s research appeared correct in identifying them as non-practitioners. It was uncommon among city-born, anyway.

  Taking a metal container from his belt, Althek gingerly drew a glass vial from it. The white flicker within identified a bolt of pure lightning, trapped by the imbued glass.

  Uncorking it, Althek slipped his hand over the end, grabbing the lightning as it tried to flee. It sparked and flailed in his grasp as he replaced the vial.

  He met Skerin’s gaze, and a red flame danced along the lightning. Showy, but splicing together Optomics and Pyromancy was dangerous, and using them in combat would be too volatile, risking them blowing up in his face. This’d be to put his opponent off, but Skerin had done enough poking around to know Althek combined Optomics with Kinetics in combat. As with most amateur splicers, he’d found a combination that worked and stuck with it.

  His splice meant the lightning wouldn’t be a one-shot attack: he could keep it in motion until it struck its target. But he’d have to slow it, or risk it discharging too much energy when it hit other surfaces, leaving it reduced when it found its target.

  Clearing his mind, Skerin closed his eyes a moment, entering the meditative state that let him access Audiomantic energies. Itself a splicing of other disciplines, Audiomancy had become commonplace enough to have its own discipline.

  Opening his eyes, he inclined his head questioningly at Althek.

  “I’ll assume you’re ready,” said Althek. The predatory glint in his eye betrayed his enthusiasm. He’d killed a Thunderer not long ago, and didn’t seem to think much of Audiomancy.

  Skerin shrugged, starting the sub-sonic hum which prepared his energies. He drew the small throwing knife from up his right hand sleeve. It was made of thelmis, a metal too soft for common weapons. Found in Yursten, where it was a component of a discipline limited to local bloodlines, the metal proved unusually responsive to Audiomancy.

  The thugs advanced as Althek hurled the lightning, the flame around it vanishing. While slower than it should be, it was still fast. And blinding enough he had trouble judging how fast. The glare would also work against Althek.

  He barely reacted in time, a sharp whistle raising an invisible vibrating barrier before him. It disrupted the lightning’s path enough to let him duck aside. Letting the shield drop as soon as he was clear, he snapped to a sharp high-pitched whistle as he continued moving, not wanting to provide a stati
onary target.

  The left-most thug stumbled as blood spurted from his throat. The invisible blade evaporated as soon as it struck. The thug grabbed the wound as he fell, too late.

  The other two grew alert at this. A Thunderer announced his moves, and apparently Althek hadn’t seen a Whisperer in combat before. Not a skilled one, leastways.

  Rolling from where he expected the lightning to be coming at his back, Skerin hurled the knife at Althek, setting him back a step. He yanked the lightning back to shield him. An abrupt whistle at the last moment altered the knife’s course. It turned aside, thudding into the second thug’s head. A bit too solidly to pull loose.

  The lightning wasn’t as slow this time, and Skerin had no time to raise a shield as he dodged. It caught his left shoulder, searing agony lancing through him as his legs gave way. He shook the pain away, remaining conscious. The charge must have been dissipated by the flight and collisions, or it’d have been worse. His fingers still worked, so the damage couldn’t be too bad, despite the smell of burnt flesh which threatened to make him woozy.

  Althek reached for a second container.

  Quickly recovering his meditative state, Skerin whistled as Althek drew the vial. While the imbuing of the glass strengthened it with magical energies, the reinforcement was to contain the lightning. It was still glass.

  The vial shattered in Althek’s hands, breaking his concentration before he was ready. While Lightcasters were resistant to lightning, an unexpected fresh charge was enough to send him stumbling in pain, the lightning lost.

  He was stunned, but still standing, and had a container left.

  Skerin threw his second knife. He couldn’t get much strength behind it, but a whistle added to its momentum. Panic gripped Althek as his senses returned, and he tried ducking aside while fumbling for the last container. The whistle shifted, and the knife followed him. He didn’t escape.

  Maybe not as clean as he’d hoped, but Skerin had won. Or at least survived.

  Ensuring his legs would support him, he stood. Checking Althek was dead, he retrieved his knives and left.