The Rostikov Legacy (Malykant Mysteries #1)

Chapter Nine

There was a deathly stillness out in the forest, that air of expectancy that seems to wait, breathless, for some event to occur or some danger to pass before customary activity may be resumed. It was the dead of night, but even at this hour there should have been more life. As Konrad passed through the half-frozen, mist-drenched trees, animals hid in their burrows and birds cowered in the dormant winter branches. Even the moon refused to shine, hiding itself behind a cloak of heavy cloud.

   Konrad ignored it all. He had his purpose now, and this was the part that he both anticipated and dreaded: the hunt, and at the end of it, the kill. He strode on, relentless, following Irinanda’s directions in his mind as he made for the house where the treacherous poison-man resided.

   He found the house, though not without difficulty. Nanda had told him to use his spirit-eyes, and so he did. He had not yet asked her how she had come to take this approach, nor how she was able to as a mere apothecary. That conversation could wait. But that Irinanda had secrets of her own was becoming quite clear to him.

   He let the deep shadows of the real world fade as his physical vision gave way to his spirit-sight and the forest turned pale and gauzy. In this state, walking halfway between the planes, he could just about bear the extreme brights and darks of the spirit lands. The contrasts served him well now: the trees and earth faded to white, while figures and structures stained themselves darkest black.

   The house revealed itself to him, tucked into the embrace of a hoary old tree. A slight sound reached his ears, coming from within. Someone, then, was at home.

   Konrad stopped, letting the spirit-vision fade. He could see it, now that he knew where it was. The doorway was nothing but a slit in the woodwork, just wide enough for a grown man’s shoulders to fit through. He took a moment to extract the powder packet from his pocket. With his other hand he drew a long, obsidian-bladed knife from the sheathe on his boot.

   Thus equipped, he went inside.

   A man stood facing the far wall, his back to the door. This man was tall, with skin and hair of similar shades to Konrad’s own. Konrad watched him for a moment in silence, blocking the doorway with his own tall frame. The man was pulling things out of a rough cabinet, rummaging in drawers and packing things into a bundle that lay beside him. He worked fast, knocking things over in his haste. He hadn’t heard Konrad’s arrival.

   ‘Are we going somewhere?’ Konrad asked in a low voice.

  The man spun around, eyes wide. He didn’t ask who Konrad was; he didn’t need to. Konrad had thrown off the camouflage that protected his identity during his daily life. Everything that he was shone in his face, in the aura of menace and power that hung heavy in the air around him.

    The man’s lips moved soundlessly, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing in breath under the sudden paralysing fear that seized him. Konrad watched him in silence.

   ‘She… spoke the truth.’ The words emerged shakily, and sweat shone on the poison-man’s forehead.

   Konrad lifted a brow. ‘She. That “she” whose sanity you condemned in order to save your own worthless skin. Another offence, for which you must also pay.’

   ‘Malykant, ’ gasped the poison-man, and Konrad smiled.

   And waited.

   The rush of fear began to abate a little, and cunning reasserted itself in the eyes of the man who had destroyed Navdina Rostikova. Good. This one would fight for his life; he would run, and perhaps he would run to the one person he imagined could protect him.