Quicksilver Rising
From the author of the internationally acclaimed Orcs series comes a powerful new epic fantasy filled with spectacular magic, action, adventure and political intrigue.In the land of Bhealfa magic underpins the social order. Different classes enjoy different qualities of magic; from meagre charms for the destitute, to grand conjurations for the rich. But the most skilful and expensive spells of all are those used by the authorities to control the entire population.Reeth Caldason is the last remaining member of a tribe of warriors who were brutally massacred decades ago. Cursed with episodes of blind rage that endanger anyone near him, he is forced to wander the world seeking revenge for his people and a cure for his magical affliction.But the spell that binds Reeth is an esoteric one, and his search has so far been fruitless. Only when a young sorcerer's apprentice named Kutch tells him of the mysterious Covenant does he regain a glimmer of hope. Forming an uneasy alliance the two head for Bhealfa's capital city in search of this secretive magical society, unaware that they are about to be drawn into a dangerous world of conspiracy and sedition.
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Quicksilver Rising
Book One of the Quicksilver Trilogy
STAN NICHOLLS
For making a stranger feel a little less alien in a strange land, Quicksilver Rising is dedicated to the Brum Balti Boyz â Mike Chinn, Peter Coleborn, John Howard, Joel Lane, David Sutton; and to the Gurlz â Jan Edwards, Sue Edwards, Sandra Sutton. And, of course, to my wife, Anne.
Contents
It was a place of cheap magic.
A swarm of tiny sphinxes gathered, fluttering just above her head. Snapping jaws, whipping wings, curling tails. They werenât convincing. Their colours were wrong, and up close they were semi-transparent.
Serrah swatted irritably, her hand passing through them as if they were dawn mist. They disintegrated into countless infinitesimal specks, like glowing rust. The tips of their spread wings were the last to go, popping out of existence in little burnished puffs.
âWe going to skulk here all night, Ardacris?â Phosian hissed.
He hid next to her, but the alley was too dark to make out his features. His garb, like hers, was uniformly black, with a silk mask covering nose and mouth. Where flesh showed, it had been smeared with ash. The sheen of their blades was dimmed by grease and soot.
Serrah inwardly bridled at his familiarity and the disregard of her rank. But in deference to his connections she whispered only, âPatience.â
Phosian sighed. Serrah needed no light to picture the conceited expression on his callow face.
Nothing much stirred. The street was a midden lined with hovels, all gloom and demented angles. Its glistening cobbles were silvered by a half moon. Flies teemed, the air stank. Now and again a low-priced glamour walked, crawled, flew or drifted by, waning, and was ignored.
The house they watched was grander than the others and set apart. Two guards were visible at its front. There were more at the sides and rear. Again Serrah wondered if her modest forces would be enough.
âThink our strengthâs up to it?â Phosian asked, hinting criticism of her.
She was struck by the idea that he might have read her mind. But she knew such magic was likely mythical. And if it did exist it was so rare even his relatives probably couldnât afford it. âNumbers arenât everything,â she said. âIâd take one seasoned fighter over a regiment of conscripts any day.â
âAnd what would you call those inside, seasoned or green?â Sarcasm dripped.
âRuthless bastards,â Serrah replied, still seething at having him foisted on her. âBut Iâve a team I can trust.â With one exception, she thought, adding, steely-toned, âItâs taken weeks to get to tonight. Nothingâs going to jeopardise it.â
His silent contempt was almost tangible.
By knowing where to look, and straining to see, several others in her group could be faintly made out, grey against the blackness. They were in position.
âItâs time,â she decided. âYou know what to do. Stay close.â
He gave an indolent grunt.
She had a short piece of twine, and worried its end with thumb and forefinger, as though flipping a coin. Suddenly the tip glowed cherry red. Less conspicuous than a naked flame and generating no heat, it was a very basic glamour; just an ember, but enough for those alert to it. Serrah quickly signalled, then pinched it out.
They waited.
The nearest guard, a shaven-headed colossus, stood gazing at the night sky. His broadsword was thrust into the ground at his feet, his palm absently caressing the hilt. Further back, a leaner companion prowled with meagre enthusiasm.
A sound cut the air. High, smooth, and abruptly stilled by a soft impact.
An arrow quivered in the big manâs chest. He looked down at it dumbly. The sound repeated and his comrade dropped. A second bolt winged into the giant. Arms outstretched, he fell heavily.
âMove!â Serrah barked.
Dashing out of the shadows, limbs pumping, she ran for the house. Phosian chased her, his scrawny form contrasting with her athletic build. As they arrived at the entrance, two more of her crew slipped from the darkness to join them. Like Phosian, they hefted axes.
The double doors were oak with iron bracings. At her sign, the battering commenced. Almost immediately the rest of her team began pounding at the back of the house.
Serrah scanned the street, feeling vulnerable. Imperial agents werenât exactly popular in this quarter and she half expected to see locals rushing in to take issue.
But she was more worried by what might be waiting inside.
The doors gave.
A dimly lit passageway stretched ahead of them. There was another door at its end. A corridor was set in the right-hand wall. Serrah motioned for one of the party to keep watch, then she, Phosian and the fourth group-member carefully advanced, weapons drawn.
Something came out of the side passage. They froze.
It slinked, ebony fur bristling, a mass of fangs, claws and ill temper. Its hard, tawny eyes regarded them haughtily. It let out a wheezing snarl.
