LITMIR.BIZ

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him, brushing his calves as a frightened cat might do, for solace.

      From out of the swirling, yellowish mist came a band of men. Foremost was a three-strong watch patrol in grey uniforms. Beside them, his scarlet tunic contrasting with their drabness, strode a paladin clansman. The patrol’s requisite sorcerer brought up the rear, dressed in tan robes and bearing an ornamented staff. Two of the watch held charmed lanterns, bathing the scene in a soft, magical glow.

       ‘Drop the weapon!’

      He realised they meant the cane, and let it slip from his fingers. The clatter it made was all the louder in the taut silence.

      They approached him warily.

      ‘Don’t you know there’s a curfew?’

      The speaker was the watch captain, grizzle-faced and lanky. Despite the cold, his arms were bare. One was tattooed with a rampant, fire-spitting dragon, emblem of Gath Tampoor, the prevailing empire.

      Still masked, the youth said nothing.

      ‘Lost your tongue too, have you?’

      ‘I’m sorry, I …’

      ‘You’re breaking the curfew,’ the paladin barked. ‘Why?’

      The young man swung towards the new voice, swallowing hard. ‘I … misjudged the hour. I thought –’

      ‘That’s no excuse,’ the watchman snapped.

      ‘Any more than being blind,’ somebody added gruffly.

      ‘But I’m –’

      ‘Ignorance is no defence,’ the paladin recited. ‘The law’s the law.’

      Someone elbowed his ribs, making him wince. ‘What’re you doing here?’

      ‘Where’re you from?’ asked another, breathing the fetid odour of cheap pipe tobacco.

      ‘Who brought you?’ rasped a third, his mouth unnervingly close to the youth’s ear.

      He reeled under the barrage of questions. Floundering, he tried to answer, tried to placate them. But they were as bent on harassment as interrogation.

      The captain eyed the millipede. ‘Where did you get a glamour this expensive?’

      ‘It was a gift,’ the young man lied.

      ‘And who would you know with that kind of wealth?’

      He didn’t reply.

      ‘Can you prove ownership?’ the clansman pressed.

      ‘As I said, it was –’

      ‘Then we have the right.’

      The clansman nodded at the sorcerer. Gravely, he produced a long-bladed silver knife, embellished and fortified with spells, and offered it hilt first. The watch captain took it.

      ‘If you can’t prove,’ the watchman said, ‘you can’t keep.’

      ‘Please, don’t …’ the youth implored.

      The millipede looked up with doleful eyes.

      Stooping, the captain raised the knife, then plunged it into the creature’s back.

      A myriad cracks appeared on the insect’s husk. It bled light. Thin needles at first, piercing the gloom in all directions. A second later, shafts; intense as summer sun and just as dazzling. The millipede turned translucent, no more than a hollow outline, before melting into a silvery haze which flickered briefly, and went out.

      The glamour died.

      A little inrush of air filled the vacuum it left, and the leash the young man clutched hung slack, its collar vacant.

      His persecutors mocked him with laugher.

      ‘There was no need,’ he protested weakly.

      ‘You can’t account for yourself and you’re in violation of the curfew,’ the paladin told him. ‘We’re taking you in.’

      ‘C’mon.’ The watch captain laid a rough hand on the youth.

      ‘I won’t!’ the young man blurted, trying to shake himself loose.

      ‘You what?’

      ‘I mean … it was just a mistake. I didn’t know I’d broken the law and –’

      The watchman cuffed him, hard. It was enough to make the youth stagger.

      ‘You speak when you’re spoken to.’

      A red welt coloured the youth’s cheek, a trickle of blood snaked from the corner of his mouth. He braced himself for another blow.

      ‘And you address us with the respect we’re due,’ the watchman added, raising his fist again.

       ‘Take your filthy hands off him.’

      A figure emerged from the fog. He was tall and dark. His flowing cloak made him look like some kind of giant winged beast.

      The watchman swung to face him. ‘Who the hell are you?’

      Forgetting their captive, they all turned their attention to the newcomer.

      ‘Stand aside,’ he said. His tone was even. Calm.

      ‘Who in damnation do you think you’re giving orders to?’ the paladin thundered.

      ‘I said stand aside.’

      ‘Who are you,’ the watchman repeated, ‘to be out in curfew and obstructing the watch?’ Stupefaction tinged his building rage, unaccustomed as he was to having his authority defied.

      ‘The boy’s coming with me.’

      ‘Is that so? Well, we’re in charge here.’ He sliced air with the sorcerer’s knife to stress his words. ‘If he’s going anywhere, it’s with us. And you with him.’

      The stranger came closer. His movements were unhurried, almost leisurely. But now that he stood in the lantern’s glow they saw that there was something disturbing about his eyes.

      ‘No we’re not,’ he said.

      The watch captain glared at him. He took in the man’s brooding features. The somewhat angular structure of his face, the slight ruddiness of complexion, his long raven hair.

      ‘Should have known,’ the captain sneered, turning his head to spit contemptuously. ‘We’ve got ourselves a real lowlife here, lads.’

      His comrades laughed again, united in bigotry, if a little uneasily this time. The paladin stayed silent, and so did the sorcerer. Bewildered, the youth’s head swung from side to side, trying to make out what was going on.

      ‘Reckons he can insult his betters,’ the watchman grandstanded. ‘We’ll show him the price of that.’

      The stranger moved forward. He only stopped when the tip of the watchman’s raised knife touched his chest. It didn’t seem to bother him.

      They locked gazes. The stranger didn’t blink, or move a muscle. The captain’s knuckles were white.

      A flock of oversized butterflies fluttered past. They were garishly coloured and appeared to be made of hammered tin. A faint squeaking emitted from their beating wings. Nobody paid them any mind.

      ‘We can settle this peacefully,’ the stranger said. ‘Give me the boy and I’ll let you go.’

      ‘Let us –?’ The captain seethed. He applied more pressure to the knife. ‘It’ll be a cold day in hell when we bow to your sort.’

      ‘I can arrange for you to check the temperature personally,’ the stranger offered, and smiled. There was nothing comforting about it.

      Perhaps there was a glimmer of realisation in the captain’s features, a suspicion

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