Sample Chapter: Never Trust a Librarian
Omsar knows what he wants. Saliph, of pure noble blood, thinks he knows what Omsar wants. As the abduction progresses, Omsar must make sure his lies don’t trip over one another, lest his intended sacrifice become unwilling.
I wrote this as part of a series of short stories set in the world of the fantasy epic I’m working on. Truth is Darkness, an exploration of the relationship between trauma and transcendence, is another and you can read it here.
Gara has made a name for herself in the Emperor’s quest to cleanse the world of religion, but her own past tortures her. An expert in getting answers out of others, Gara has her own questions, questions that her latest victim might be able to answer.
Anyway, I’d planned this one being no more than 5-10,000 words, but it’s already at 10,000 and I’m barely halfway through.
So, I thought I’d share Chapter 1 and post more if ya’ll like it :)
Chapter 1
“The guards outside the door are not yours.”
Saliph, first son of the Magister of Kamit, gasped as he scrambled for the jewelled dagger hanging from a bedpost.
Omsar stepped from the shadows, the darkness seeming to stick to his sharkskin vest and midnight skin. Unwilling to let go. “There is no need for that, First Son, I am here to save you from them.”
“Who are you?” Saliph slid up the bed, wide enough for ten. The dagger was out now, the boy’s grip sure, dangerous even. Omsar would have to be careful with this one.
“My name is Kreska,” Omsar lied, “and I was sent to kill you.”
Saliph slid from the bed and hunkered low, the blade held out in front of him. Omsar smiled and opened his hands, showing pale palms.
“Please, First Son, if it was my intention, this would surely be the worst attempted assassination.”
Saliph’s eyes softened, but the point of his dagger didn’t dip a hair. “Speak.”
Omsar made a show of glancing towards the double doors. “We don’t have time. The men outside have been paid to finish the job if I don’t.”
Saliph’s lips writhed. “Prove yourself.”
Omsar didn’t bother cursing. He was halfway to the double doors by the time Saliph had opened his mouth, poised and ready by the time the last syllable of “GUARDS” had rung out through the vast bed chamber. The doors caved inwards and Omsar stepped in.
In his village, children with metallic eyes were sold. If you were lucky on market day, a priest would take you back to temple and train you to follow in their hallowed steps. If you weren’t lucky, a witch would buy you for parts. Omsar had always been lucky, even though on his market day, he’d been sold to a witch.
Omsar’s blade spun through the air, nudged by his luck, and slipped through the opening door and was follow by a wet click. Sternum, if he wasn’t mistaken. The door swung inwards, pushed by the weight of a guard as he toppled forwards. Omsar wasn’t mistaken. He plucked his blade from the man’s chest. The second guard stood just behind the first, staring with wide eyes. There was recognition there, confusion, betrayal. He opened his mouth, but Omsar’s wet blade cut short whatever condemnation was coming. The guard gurgled, blood foaming through his beard.
Omsar spun. Saliph was watching with folded arms, the dagger hanging over an elbow.
“We must leave. Now.” Omsar said.
Saliph stalked over. He kept his eyes on Omsar until they stood toe to toe. The First Born was a head shorter than Omsar, slighter too. That was to be expected. Few men were taller or thicker than Omsar, let alone a boy of thirteen. But he had that hungry leanness that Omsar knew not to trust. Wound up, ready to strike, a cobra in the grass. He’d need breaking before their journey was over.
Saliph inspected the two dead men. His eyes were studious, no flicker of revulsion or fear. “These aren’t my guards. Who are they?”
“My men. Or rather, they thought they were my men.” That part was true enough. Footsteps slapped down the corridor to their left. “We must go. Now.” The lies could wait.
They ran, Omsar leading with silent footfalls, Saliph’s bare feet smacking the marble. They rounded a corner and Saliph skittered, knocking a side table littered with Kamarri vases. Something smashed behind them. Omsar scowled. Nobles were taught to be the centre of attention and even in a life-or-death dash they couldn’t help themselves.
He slid to stop in front of a silk tapestry. Shrikes and hawks circled a mawdog and its prey, all picked out in red on a green field. Omsar ran a hand over the needlework, tracing the antelope in the mawdog’s jaws. The materials were exquisite. The tiny ridges of thread sent warm tremors up his fingers.
“What are you…” Saliph’s voice sawed through Omsar’s moment.
With a hiss Omsar flung the tapestry aside and squeezed through the tiny opening that lay behind.
The tunnel was cool, the trapped air musty with limestone. Saliph stepped in beside him and the tapestry fell back to throw them both into darkness. Omsar relaxed. Darkness was a greater comfort than any source of light. While light excited, darkness soothed. You could hide anything you wanted in the dark, whereas light only revealed. He reached down and his fingers closed around soft leather. He flipped open his satchel and took out a candle and flint.
“Where are we?” Saliph asked as Omsar begrudgingly struck bright sparks into the dark.
“Have you ever wondered, First Born, why you never see servants in those nice big halls out there?”
Omsar saw the outlines of Saliph’s shrug. It was an annoying gesture, a light flick of bony shoulders unburdened by any real interest.
“These tunnels are how the small people bring your food, change your sheets, clean your mess, ferry your wine.”
The wick caught and Omsar looked up at Saliph’s unimpressed face.
“Have you really never wondered how that all happens?”
Saliph pursed his lips. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this. Omsar smiled, showing perfect teeth, all white except for two golden canines. He was going to enjoy breaking this one.
Omsar led them down the tunnel, his head bowed lest his shaven scalp scratch on the rough ceiling. Sometimes they heard voices through other doorways hidden by tapestries, the veil between the world of commoner and noble as thin as silk. Hot voices, loud and excited. Omsar breathed in the darkness, felt it press against him. Cool and calm.
They followed the map in Omsar’s head through the warren of servant’s tunnels and spiralling staircases. They met no one. The servants must be keeping low, avoiding the turmoil out in the halls. Omsar was thankful. While all spilled blood was sacred, and the Mother of Red was always thirsty, Omsar preferred to let the small folk keep theirs if he could help it.
They arrived at an iron grate, the fresh air of untombed night passing between the bars. Omsar pushed it open and stepped out onto a wooden walkway that clung to the side of the palace, thirty feet above the still water of Greenlake. The lights of the next palace glittered distant through the fog. The tall structure was stacked up on its small island, the highest tiers free of the haze, laughter and music drifting from the wide balconies.
“Come.” Omsar said.
Saliph was standing in the tunnel, half hidden in shadow, staring at the threshold. He looked up and, in the candlelight, Omsar noticed how silver the boy’s eyes were. Like mercury in a circular dish.
“Those guards weren’t mine, true. You slew them for me, a true act,” Saliph’s stare was hard. “but you? Sent to kill me? That’s a lie.”
Omsar sighed and ran a hand over his scalp. “Near enough, First Born. I was not sent to kill you but to save you.” As Omsar’s hand fell from his head a blade appeared between his fingers, right before Saliph’s face. The blood of two men still ran down its keen edge, filling the groove, pooling around the cross guard. “And save you I did.”
The blade disappeared and Omsar resisted the urge to lick the drop of guard’s blood running down his thumb.
“Why?”
“The great city of Kamit is the largest of the seven.”
“I know.”
“Then you must have assumed that this was not the first attempt on your life.”
Saliph said nothing, and Omsar knew that the boy had swallowed the bait.
“I am all that stood between you and three poisonings, then a shade with knives. And now, guards who were not yours.”
“Who are you?”
“I am your shadow, Saliph. I have watched over you since birth, chasing any rumour laced with your name. I have killed for you. I will do so again.”
“Then why have I never seen or heard of you, Shadow?”
Shouts came from somewhere in the palace. Omsar looked up at the smooth adobe walls, his view of the stars obscured by a balcony above.
“Your enemies cannot prepare for what they do not know is an obstacle. And an obstacle I have been. Here.” He dipped a hand beneath his sharkskin vest and drew out a square of silk parchment. The forgery was immaculate, calligraphic swirls and scrolls as flawless as if Saliph’s own father had written them. The only weakness in the document was the seal seared into the silk. While a master with the quill, Omsar was a novice at casting brass, and replicating the Magister of Kamit’s insignia had been the most difficult part of this venture. So far.
In the dim candlelight it must’ve passed, because Saliph crossed the threshold to stand on the wooden walkway with Omsar.
“We must get to the lowest pier. Come.”
They hurried along the walkway and soon the wooden planks dropped down as stairs onto another walkway, now fifteen feet above the water.
Not far along the second walkway Omsar stopped. He blew out the candle in Saliph’s hand and raised a finger to his lips, then gestured with his palm out. Wait.
Omsar crept along the planks, feeling the fibres flex beneath his feet, each wobble warning him when the wood might creak. Two guards stood on the walkway below discussing what to do about the small boat they had found bobbing at the lowest walkway. One wanted to cut it loose and carry on with the patrol. The other thought their captain should know about it. The commotion from indoors hadn’t percolated this low then. Yet.
Omsar retraced his steps. “They have our boat.” He whispered.
“They? You mean my guards?”
Omsar shrugged. “You can’t be sure. I only know of seven infiltrators in your uncle’s service. Well, there are five now. But there must be many more.”
“My uncle?”
Omsar nodded. “Power is like climbing a cliff. The higher you go the more dangerous it is, and the fewer people are willing to catch you.”
“But killing me will achieve nothing unless,” Saliph gasped, “where is my father?”
Omsar put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He was bonier than expected, trembling. “Your father is safe, First Born. I have been sent to bring you to him.”
Saliph gnawed his lower lip. “But our boat.”
Our boat. Omsar hid his smile. “I’ll sort it. Wait for my signal.”
Only one guard stood beside the tiny boat. The other must’ve gone to alert their captain. Omsar crouched down and grabbed the edge of the walkway with one hand.
“Bugger this.” Came a tobacco-roughened voice from below. The guard drew his kukri and with one swing hacked through the rope, then pushed the craft out into the lake with a foot. The famous glow of the water swirled green in the boat’s wake.
Omsar dropped, darkness gathering around him as he fell, gloom dragging out from the shadows to join him. Time seemed to slow, the world moving moments behind Omsar. He landed and the sound was swallowed by the pool of darkness. His right hand wrapped around the guard’s forehead and pulled it back as his left dragged a blade through the guard’s throat until the edge clicked on bone. Omsar froze, feeling the tides of warmth run over his fingers.
His silent prayer complete, Omsar let go and kneed the guard into the lake. While not as heavy as full battle regalia, dress armour contained enough iron and wool to drag a body down. The guard vanished beyond the reach of Greenlake’s luminescent ripples.
Omsar whistled and by the time Saliph appeared on the walkway.
“The boat.” Saliph said.
The lake was still, offering no tides or wind to resist the guard’s kick, and now Omsar’s little craft was over fifteen feet away, a jump not even Omsar could make if all the darkness on a moonless night were with him.
“A shame you’re not a sorcerer, First Born, or you could just bring the boat back to us.”
Saliph sniffed. “If I were a sorcerer, I wouldn’t need you looking over me.”
Omsar did smile this time. Need you.
“Now what?” Despite the balmy night, Saliph was hugging himself, rubbing his upper arms as if cold.
Omsar reached into his vest and pulled out a reed pipe wrapped in cord. He knelt on the walkway and bent low, placing one end of the pipe in the water and the other in his mouth. He blew. Bubbles rose to the surface, hiding the clicking music that was playing underneath.
“Hah!” Saliph said. “Our guide used one of those callers on the hunt. I threw the first harpoon!”
Omsar splashed his hand in the water and a few heartbeats later something warm and smooth nuzzled up to his palm. A splash and a bloom of green light announced a fin breaking the lake’s skin.
Saliph chortled, and Omsar was reminded of how young he still was. No matter, Omsar had been far younger when he’d been taken.
“Look, they’re bringing it back.” Saliph said, stabbing a finger at the boat. It’s slow journey out into the lake had reversed and now it bobbed back towards them, nudged by the two dolphins.
Omsar frowned but waited for the boat. It bumped against the wooden walkway and Saliph reached down. Before he could grab a gunwale, Omsar booted the boat back out into the water.
“Hey!” Saliph jolted. “What’re you doing?”
“Rowing a boat through waters that light up is no way to make an escape.” There was a clatter somewhere down the walkway through the fog. Shouts soon followed and Omsar rolled his shoulders. “We’d make a fine target for your uncle’s archers and leave a trail for his snake boats to follow. This empty boat, however, might make for a passable decoy.”
Saliph’s almond eyes tightened. “You’re playing games, Shadow. You think killing some guards will scare me along with you?” The silver of his eyes glinted.
The boy didn’t flinch as Omsar drew one of his blades and thrust it at him, handle first. “If you do not trust me, prove it now.” He pressed the knife into Saliph’s hand and moved it to his own throat. “Your father made me swear that I would only leave Greenlake with you, or in a coffin. And I am an honest man.”
Saliph’s hand twitched beneath Omsar’s. Omsar pressed the knife tighter, grunting as his skin peeled. “Make your choice, First Born.”
Silver eyes scoured Omsar’s black. The pressure behind the knife increased and blood began running freely along his collarbone. Saliph gave a final sneer and let his hand fall.
“What now then?”
Omsar wiped the blood from his neck. “We can’t disturb the surface. We need to go underneath.” The thought of it, of being immersed in all that cool, calm, silent darkness, sent a shiver up Omsar’s spine.
He knelt and slapped the water until the dolphin nudged him again. He ran his hand along it’s smooth skin until he felt the twisted rope of the harness.
“Come. Take a hold.”
Saliph stared down at Omsar, biting his lip, eyes wide.
“You hunted these creatures, First Born, threw the first harpoon. Surely, you’re not afraid of them?”
Saliph pursed his lips and glared. Then he knelt and grabbed the harness.
The tramp of boots could be felt bouncing through the walkway now, the agitated voices taking on dark forms through the fog.
“Hold on with both hands, take a deep breath, and do not let go.”
Saliph swung around to sit on the edge with both feet into the water. He reached down with his other hand.
“You took the lives of their kin, now be grateful that they are going to save yours.” Omsar said as he pushed Saliph into the water.
The boy’s yelp was swallowed by the lake as he disappeared beneath a glimmering green splash.
“There!” A yell slammed against Omsar like a blast from a blackpowder tube, shattering the silence that sheeted the lake. He scowled and slid in to a welcome world free of light and sound.
As the water rushed past him in the blissful dark, he ran a tongue over his golden canines. It been a long time since one as potent as the First Son of Kamit had been brought to the library, and the Mother of Red was always hungry.
So was Omsar.
