Emeric & The Thief
“Notameer, blind me!” Emeric cursed sharply, sitting up from the rubble. His chemise sleeve and the right side of his front were stained in blood, but a quick examination showed that it wasn’t his own. Far above, at the top of the quarry, he saw Arlen Zachary peer over the side.
“And you both alright!?” Their Captain shouted down, and Emeric glanced across to Marcel Hathely a few strides from him. His master was sat amidst the rocks, shoulder-length blond hair askew and mattered with dust, but aside from looking disgruntled, there seemed to be no obvious damage. Knowing that Marcel wouldn’t shout unless forced to, Emeric cupped his mouth and called back up.
“We’re fine!” He assured Zachary.
“Stay where you are!” Zachary instructed, “I will find a way to get you out.” He disappeared from over the edge and Emeric picked himself up, brushing away the dust. Beside him, he could see an arm sticking out from beneath the rubble, and he waved his hand in-front of him, trying to clear the dust that hung in the air.
“Are you hurt?” Marcel’s voice was gruffer than usual. He had risen and was moving cautiously over to Emeric who shook his head, surveying the damage around them. Marcel reached his side and cast his eyes up and down Emeric’s body before giving a satisfactory nod. Emeric noticed the almost invisible limp his master had adopted and glanced down to his leg. “Twisted in the fall.” Marcel explained before Emeric could ask, “Its fine.”
“It will make climbing back up harder.”
“Zachary will find a way out.” Marcel’s voice did not change – he had a monotonous tone by nature – but there was a confidence present, none the less.
“If you say so…” Emeric sat back down, feeling strangely light-headed. They had not been anticipating the attack. The thieves had not matched them in skill, but had been great in number and possessed the element of surprise. Emeric had misjudged one of his attacks, causing the unstable stone at the edge of the quarry to crumble until, with a sudden crash, the whole line of rock had collapsed beneath their feet, taking Marcel and Emeric down with it. Of course, the fall which should have killed them, had been stabilised by Marcel’s magic. He had thrown a blast of air beneath them as they descended, so that the high concentration of wind would slow their descent. Emeric would have to thank Rufus when they returned home; it was his technique after all and without it they would surely be dead.
“You know, when I decided to be a magi, this is not what I had in mind for myself.” Emeric huffed, glancing again to the visible arm sticking up from the rocks.
“Liar.” Marcel said plainly, and settled down beside his apprentice, taking his pipe out from where he always kept his handy. He filled it lazily and lit it with a flick of his fingers. Emeric still found it bizarre the ease in which some of the Magi could control the capricious element. Zachary was also good at wielding fire, but then by far the best of them was Rufus. Emeric felt a novice in comparison, though he and Rufus were the same age.
“Cousin-” He began and then corrected himself, Marcel exhaling hard. “Sorry, force of habit…Hathely-”
“-There is no one else here.” Marcel said pointedly. “Fold.” He added and Emeric gave a wry smile. His surname still sounded strange coming from Marcel, but it was a Magi habit to adopt this semi-formal way of address, one that Emeric struggled with.
“Marcel…” Emeric said, almost timidly and Marcel gave him a brief and very rare smile. Emeric’s heart lifted at the sight, and Marcel passed the pipe across to him. Emeric took a drag, breathing out and watching the smoke curl in front of him, mingled with the dust. He coughed and passed the pipe back. “Do you think there any of those thieves escaped?”
Marcel shook his head, blowing a smoke ring. Zachary would no doubt take care of any stragglers; he was the most capable amongst them.
A low groan suddenly rose from the dust and Emeric peered around, tilting his head. “Did you hear that?” he asked. Marcel stiffened, the pair of them holding their breath. Again, came a long moan and Emeric rose to his feet and began forward, following the sound. Marcel followed him in silence.
Reaching down, Emeric found the source, brushing away tiny stones as one of the thieves looked up at him, one
side of his face mattered with blood, legs trapped beneath a pile of rock. He blinked blearily up to Emeric who squatted beside him.
“He’s still alive.” Emeric noted and the thief gave a soft whine, coughing. It was obvious he was in great pain.
“Kill him.” Marcel suggested, but Emeric took out his water-pouch instead and offered some to the man. The thief eyed him sceptically, and then allowed Emeric to tip the water slowly into his mouth. He drank greedily and gave a sigh of relief as he finished, his eyes closed.
“Can you move?” Emeric asked and the thief looked down to where his legs were trapped.
“Free me,” he said huskily, “and I’ll show you the way out of this quarry.”
Emeric glanced over to Marcel who shook his head. Emeric frowned, “We can’t leave him.”
“I can.”
“Marcel…” Emeric pleaded.
His master gave a grunt and gestured for Emeric to do as he wished. Emeric looked down to the rocks which had trapped the thief’s legs and calculated their weight. The last thing he needed was to create a support that was too weak and would collapse the rocks back onto him.
“Stay still.” Emeric instructed the thief and carefully he concentrated on the ground. He had always had a good grasp of the manipulation of rock, as was to be expected by a boy born under an Earth star. Carefully he focused, extending his will to the earth beneath and made it rise slowly into a wedge either side of the thief’s legs. Gently it relieved the pressure and lifted off the rock and the thief wriggled free, gasping in relief. Emeric extended out a hand to help him up.
“Are you alright?” he asked, and the next thing he knew the thief had a knife on him and had turned him around, blade caressing his throat. Marcel flinched, but didn’t move otherwise, his amber eyes burning as he watched the thief pull Emeric back.
“You and your friend,” the thief said, “that other magi – you are going to leave me alone. I’ll be taking this one with me until I am far away. If no one attacks, I let him go free.”
“I told you should have killed him.” Marcel flicked his eyes to Emeric, who had his head tilted back, trying to put some distance between himself and the knife which was almost kissing his throbbing jugular.
“I like to see the best in people,” Emeric explained, “even if it’s only a fleeting potential.”
“It will get you killed.” Marcel sat down with a grunt and the thief began to edge back, Emeric still in his grasp.
“Enough talking. You are coming with me.” The thief tried to grasp control of the situation again, the tense air seeming to dissipate.
“You know, I was raised in Helena’s fortress on the Harmatian boarder into Kathra.” Emeric sighed as he was slowly dragged back. “I saw a lot of banditry there, met quite a few thieves like yourself.”
“Shut up, or I’ll slit your throat.”
“If you let go now, I will let you walk away, I promise.” Emeric offered, but the thief just raised the knife higher and Emeric hissed as it nicked his skin. The man had every intention of killing him, that much was obvious. Emeric sighed again.
“I just want to see the best in people…” he repeated sadly, twitching his fingers forward in summons. Behind the earth shifted, and the silence was broken by an unruly squelch. The thief stopped sharply, growing taut. Emeric slid his hand up to the knife and pushed it delicately away from his throat, stepping out of the man’s loosened grip and turning around. The thief stared, wide eyed and confused and then look down to his unblemished stomach. He spluttered, a mouthful of blood dribbling down from his chin. Slowly and shakily he looked behind him to the spear of earth which was thrust out of the ground at a forty-five degree angle, pushing up through his spine into his stomach. He gurgled, more blood spilling out of his mouth as Emeric leant forward and pushed him firmly back further onto the spike, the end splitting open his belly and protruding out.
“I don’t like to kill,” Emeric informed the thief who grew limp in death, “but when I do, I am not fastidious about it.”
Turning he rejoined Marcel, taking back his previous perch beside his master and accepting the offer of Marcel’s pipe. He drew in a long breath and let the smoke curl from his nose.
“He could have lived…” Emeric noted, almost sadly as a voice suddenly carried out from further down the quarry. The caught sight of Zachary striding toward them, his hand cupped over his eyes to see through the glare of the sun. He waved to them. “Oh, you were right. He found us a way out.”
Marcel gave Emeric a knowing look and stood as their Captain re-joined them, casting a quick eye over the newly dead thief.
“Trouble?” Zachary asked casually.
“Only the tragedy of human nature.” Emeric replied lightly and Marcel grunted a faint laugh. Zachary pointed back toward where he’d come.
“Oh, well if that’s all then,” he gestured, “shall we be on our way, gentlemen?”
The three magi set off, Emeric leaving a faint trail of bloodied footsteps across the rocky terrain.
-
Thank you for reading. This is one of a series of HarmatiaShorts promoting my upcoming book The Sons of Thestian being published this November. The stories are designed to give slices of life, introducing setting and characters.
For more on the books, check out the book website at http://www.harmatiacycle.com
If you enjoyed this story, please like, share or leave a comment, and look out for the next one which will be published soon under the hashtag #HarmatiaShorts
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