The King's Thief

Chapter 4

Kaliss walked along the dark beach. Blackness spread from the sea to the stars as Kaliss wandered through his own mind. The sand crunched underfoot and the sea lapped gently beside him. Walking alone, the silence was suddenly broken by a voice speaking in deep tones.
“Would you not rather come in friendship?”
Kaliss turned to see the speaker, a figure seemingly made up of pure darkness. No features could be discerned; more than darkness, it seemed there was a man-shaped hole in space itself. Leaning closer to the centre of the figure, Kaliss could see a small pinprick of light within the darkness rapidly growing, or perhaps rushing towards him. Quicker than thought, the light grew to dazzling brightness and engulfed him. Stumbling backwards, he fell flat on his back and was suddenly somewhere else.

*    *    *

Blinking in the harsh light of a lantern shone in his eyes, Kaliss’s eyes watered. As the lantern withdrew, he found himself laying flat on his back in a circular stone chamber. Chains dangled from the walls and, turning his head to the side he could see a guard posted at the door. As more parts of his body came back from unconsciousness he found that he was strapped to a wooden table. Thick iron bands circled his wrists and his unbroken leg. As he slowly cleared the fuzz from his mind, Kaliss began to notice the little details that were more concerning; the array of spiked objects on a table to the side of the room, or the single chair with the iron bands at the arms and feet. Then there was the way something sticky was gently gluing his leg hairs to the table, and the strange smell that took a moment to recognise, a mixture of blood and urine. Wearing just a thin, roughly-woven shirt and trousers, Kaliss began to shiver in the slightly chill air. He coughed to try and clear the fuzz from his throat.
“Back in the land of the living, I see.” As he spoke, the man stepped forwards. It had been eighteen months, but Kaliss groaned inwardly as the stolid figure of Captain Beck moved in to the light. His blond hair was shaven close to the scalp and he was wearing the full uniform of the King’s Army; a steel breastplate inlaid with golden scrollwork, heavy mail gauntlets, and Kaliss could see the hilt of a sword just visible. Beck signalled to the guard, who left the room, and then began to remove the armour as he continued speaking.
“I suspect you know why you are here. You have no idea of the trouble you caused the last time we met. I was demoted to Lieutenant and reassigned to hunt you down. Eighteen months you kept me searching. You and your damned sewer rat friends. Well they’re dead now, aren’t they?” Beck sneered as he drew the heavy breastplate over his head. It fell with a clang to join the rest. The soldier was left wearing just a pair of cotton trousers cinched with a belt, and a bandage high up on his left arm.
Suddenly the ill-treatment and irritation, mingled with the emotions of the previous night, swirled in the Thief’s mind. He felt the need to be a complete bastard, no matter what the cost, and his natural cockiness came to the fore.
“Well, sorry to keep you waiting, Beck. I guess I had things to see, people to do. Or the other way around, I’m never quite sure…”
Beck cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the small space. “You think you’re pretty funny, sewer rat, but this is no joke. I’ve got you now, just you and me for a whole-” he stopped to check the C-mag strapped to his wrist; “-forty minutes. I think we’ll become the greatest of friends and, meanwhile, you will tell me everything you know about your void spell, and your rat friends.”
Beck moved round to the other side of the table. Now sweating slightly, Kaliss quickly searched his memory for anything that he could say to Beck, but came up blank. Beck smiled. “Not so cocky now, little runt.” As he spoke, Beck casually lent on Kaliss’s broken leg, grinding the broken bones together.
The pain was indescribable; waves of agony swept up from the wound and centred somewhere behind Kaliss’s eyes as Beck continued to apply pressure. Gritting his teeth as tightly as possible, he was unable to stop a thin screech coming out, until finally Beck let go.
“Now that we’re clear how this is going to go, you might want to consider saving yourself any further pain by telling me what I need to know.”
“I haven’t… got anything for you,” Kaliss panted, “So why not just let me go and we can get some drinks, get a bit legless…” He screeched again as Beck pressed down on the break in his leg. When the pain receded, Kaliss said “Seriously, we… could even find… a wench and get… a leg over…” Beck growled in anger and slammed his hand flat down onto Kaliss’s leg. Blackness rolled over him, tinged with red, and he gave full throat to his feelings. His anguished screams seemed to echo for a long time.

*    *    *

A sharp blow to the cheek brought him back to reality; Beck was standing over him. As he watched, the Lieutenant grabbed a handful of hair and pulled back his fist.
“Tell me.” said the soldier. Kaliss just stared. The blow, when it came, was the complete opposite of the now dull pain in his leg. Again Beck took hold of his hair and shouted “Tell me!” but still Kaliss could say nothing. Another blow, followed by another; he felt something liquid stinging on his face, his own blood and the man’s dripping sweat mingling.
“Stop this at once!” shouted an imperious voice. The door had opened unnoticed, and as Beck still held his hair, Kaliss was unable to see the newcomer, who continued “Unhand the prisoner, Lieutenant. You are in breach of your orders!”
Beck looked down at Kaliss, fury twisting his expression. His already-raised fist came crashing down one last time, and as the back of his head hit the wooden table, the lights went out again for Kaliss.

Lieutenant Beck climbed off the table. His expression was blank, displaying none of the burning anger inside him, as he put his armour back on and then turned towards the man who had interrupted the interrogation, Malketh. Beck formally bowed to his superior and said “I hope that I have played my part well, my lord.”
“A little too well, possibly, Beck, but I think this will be sufficient. Have the infirmary see to those scratches on your hands on your way out.”
Beck looked down at his knuckles, which were red raw from the beating he had just inflicted. “Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I prefer to keep them as reminders.” Bowing stiffly once more, he turned and strode from the chamber, leaving the magician and the thief in silence.

While Kaliss was unconscious, Malketh began to experiment. He began with a simple charm to waken sleeping people. Waving his hands in a complicated motion, the magician mouthed the mostly-nonsense syllables that focused the energy inside him. The spell coalesced in the air above his palm, showing up as a slight cloud, before floating to land on Kaliss’s head. The spell soaked in to the flesh, but nothing happened. Malketh cocked an eyebrow in minor surprise, then began a more complicated spell designed to cause intense irritation and sores in the target. Pulling open the man’s torn shirt, he directed the spell on to Kaliss’s stomach, but as before the spell soaked in to the flesh with no apparent effect. Malketh tapped his index finger against his lips while he thought. Normally there should be a whole raft of festering sores on the man’s stomach by now, but apart from the beating he had taken there was not a mark on him.
Turning his eyes to the broken leg, Malketh began a gentler spell designed to mend broken bones. The effect this time was a white smoke with green sparkles in it, which seemed to extrude from the magicians fingers and wreathe around the wound. Watching closely, Malketh moved himself around the table and put his face as close to the smoke as possible, senses tuned for anything. As before the smoke was absorbed without any discernable effect.
Malketh tapped his fingers idly on the table as he considered his next approach. His studies had theorised the existence of a person like this, but never had he thought the inept City Guard would actually catch him. His brow furrowed as he flicked through the prodigious library of tomes and treatises he had read in his lifetime; there was something, a footnote on Abernack’s On Magick and Shrowdes; gingerly, to test his theory, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a leather strap and a flat stone. Turning his attention to the stone, Malketh focused his energies into a single point at the end of his finger, and inscribed a sign on the stone. He then strapped the stone to Kaliss’s leg, and sat back to wait. It was not long before he saw the swelling on the leg visibly start to fade. Satisfied, the man withdrew another stone and strap, and repeated the process, this time attaching the stone around Kaliss’s forehead. Then he sat down to wait again.

*    *    *

Kaliss came awake. His head felt strange, as if it were surrounded by cotton wool, but even as he realised this the feeling vanished. He opened his eyes to see a thin-faced old man unstrapping something from his forehead. The man pocketed the whatever-it-was and moved down to his leg, beginning to delicately check the wound over. Kaliss tried to speak, coughed once, cleared his throat and managed to croak out a few words.
“Who… are you?”
“My name is Malketh. I am the King’s Principal Magician, and I am also his closest advisor. He instructed me to question you and to find out more about you. You’ve caused quite a stir, young man, in your time here.”
Speech came easier to the thief. “How long have I been here?”
“Oh, only a day or so. Your stay would have been quite short indeed had I not intervened when I did. Beck exceeded his responsibility; his role was merely to keep you secure, not beat the life from you.”
Kaliss grunted and lifted himself on to his elbows. Looking down at his body he could see that his shirt was torn open, one leg of his trousers had been removed and he was barefoot. Malketh continued to gently manipulate the injured leg. There was some sort of stone and strap wrapped around the calf.
“Is it a bad break?” Kaliss asked.
“It was, but I have taken the liberty of repairing it for you. You see, you are something of a conundrum. You are impervious to any direct magic I can bring to bear against you. You have some sort of… barrier to magic.” Malketh began to pace around the table, gesturing as he spoke. “No, more than that, it passes through you as if you were not there. It’s somewhat similar to a void aura that a skilled magician might use to escape detection, but even I could not keep such an aura active for more than a day or two, and when I slept it would deactivate. Yours seems to be more permanent.”
Kaliss lay back again on the table. At last he had an explanation for what happened on the night of his capture, as well as for the uncanny knack he had for neutralising magical traps and locks. The relief he felt for his mended body rushed through him, seeming to revitalise tired muscles and to sweep the cobwebs from every corner of his brain. Then a thought struck him.
“Wait a minute, old man; you said your magic was useless against me, but you fixed my leg; how does that work?”
“Ah, my dear boy, why would I lie to you? It is true that my magic would be useless were I to turn it directly on to you, but it seems that general spells, which work in the space around them rather than on a target, can still affect you, given time. Imagine it like a sieve; a single spell, directed at you, passes straight through a hole, but a general spell fills up the space quicker than it drains away and, after a while, the sieve is filled, however slowly.”
The magician took the strap off of Kaliss’s leg, then undid the restraints binding him. Stepping back, Malketh said “Try it for yourself, young man.”
Gingerly Kaliss sat up, then swung his legs to the ground. He half expected immense pain as his foot touched down, but only a dull ache responded. Putting more weight on, he discovered that the leg was healed.
“I healed your face, too. Lieutenant Beck may be a thug, but he is a capable fighter.”
Malketh sat down on the table, dangling his legs. “You could attack me now, if you wished; my magic is useless. I am old, and you are strong. But then, you are in the heart of the King’s Palace. A thousand armed men stand between you and escape. So, you have a choice. The King has need of your services and he has instructed me to offer you a deal. You can perform a single act of thievery in the name of the King, or,” said Malketh, smiling gently, “You can be hanged at dawn from the Barracks wall.” He steepled his bony fingers and stared at Kallis over them.
“Your choice.”