Swords & Dark Magic - By Jonathan Strahan Page 0,73

a pang from the wound in his shoulder and a renewed ache in his foot.

“I appreciate the thought,” said Mister Fitz. “Now, tell me. This broken mandora doubtless figures in the strange events that have just come to pass?”

“There is a triangle-folded thrice-sealed missive inside,” said Hereward. “Which is strange enough, and stranger still when you consider yonder book, which until I hit that shade-walker, or whatever it was, was a much larger volume.”

“I remember opening the chest to pick up the mandora, and nothing since,” said Lallit. “Perhaps I may take your second blanket for a robe, Sir Hereward?”

“Pray do not cloak your beauty on my account…” began Sir Hereward, then, as Jabek of the Ax shifted noisily behind him, hastily added, “I mean, please do.”

Mister Fitz crouched over the remnants of the book, flipping the pages with one of Sir Hereward’s daggers. He then examined the mandora.

“It is simple enough,” he said. “The book—which I am surprised you did not note is set in that type called Sorcery and thus highly suspect—is part of the revenge upon their creditors set in play by the sorcerer-merchants of Jerreke. Forced into slavery by their own economic ineptitude, they contrived to bind twinned otherworldly entities to their service. One would be constrained within a book or some such household item, the other in an instrument, or perhaps a game set. The items would be sent separately to the chosen target, in the hope that this would enable them to bypass any sorcerous protections. When both were in proximity, the bonds would release the entities, who would slay everyone within reach.”

“But only one entity came forth,” said Sir Hereward. “And it didn’t try to kill me, at least not at first. It wanted me to open the parchment that was inside the mandora.”

“The sorcerer-merchants of Jerreke were famous as inept merchants and ineffective sorcerers,” sniffed Mister Fitz. “In this case, the spell was set off long ago, but due to the botched execution, only one entity was released. Realizing its twin was still entrapped within the mandora, it had to wait inside the chest for the opportunity to make someone else release its companion. Neither Sister Gobbe, who initially brought you the book, nor Lallit, both being in the eye of her god, would be suitable persons to release the twin, so it came down to you. However, by breaking the item that had once held it in bond—the book, or rather the outer pages bound around these remains—you immediately banished it.”

“But the twin is still trapped inside the mandora?” asked Sir Hereward.

“Indeed,” said Mister Fitz. “And as, of course, it is a listed entity, albeit a minor one…”

“Yes,” said Sir Hereward. “Lallit, Jabek, if you would excuse us for a few minutes?”

“Certainly, Sir Hereward,” said Jabek. He turned and left at once. Hereward helped Lallit to stand, holding her perhaps a little closer than was necessary. She looked him in the eye as she stood up, and smiled.

“I am sorry about your vow, Sir Hereward,” she said. Her breath was very sweet, and the blanket very loose upon her body. “I have a vow also, as do all the novices of Narhalet-Narhalit…that until we are consecrated, we shall not…”

“I know,” said Sir Hereward, with a glance at Mister Fitz. “I mean, I know now. Best you be going, Lallit.”

“If it were not for the god’s presence, reminding me of what I will become, I might have forgotten that vow,” whispered Lallit. Then she was gone, wafting past him.

Hereward sighed, hopped over to his saddlebag, and got out a silk armband, a brassard embroidered with sorcerous symbols that shone with their own light, though this was faint under the sun’s bright shaft that came in through the northern window.

“Should I fix your shoulder first?” asked Mister Fitz, as he took his own brassard out from under his hat, and slid it up his arm.

“It’s only a trifle. I think that Nar-Nar has already stopped it bleeding,” said Sir Hereward. He gave a grunt of pain that lessened the effect of this statement, twitching his shoulder as he settled the brassard above his elbow. “I may well get another wound in the next few minutes, to keep you busy. Now, will you open the parchment and I shall strike it on the head with the mandora?”

“Yes,” said Mister Fitz, his slim puppet fingers reaching in through the now-slack strings to pull out the sealed triangle. He held it ready, and looked at Sir