Knight of Shadows, page 19
“My contact says it is in Kaibain. That is all I know,” replied Urvuay.
“If this is true,” said Tieran, “then we must either steal this weapon or destroy it before he has a chance to use it.”
Tieran turned to Kai. “Have we heard from Mage Wesson? Is he still in Kaibain?”
“Last we heard, he was still there. That was a few days ago.”
“Good. Get him a message that he is to wait there. We must put together a team to find this weapon, and we will need his skills.”
Chapter 14
Wesson straightened his tunic and ran a comb through his hair before leaving his humble quarters. The inn had seen better days, but Wesson was not concerned about anyone breaking into his room to steal his few belongings. He had warded the room to deter anyone from even wanting to enter. He wrapped a similar ward around himself, although this one would prevent people from looking too closely at him. Many people would not even notice his presence. It was a spell inspired by his time spent with Rezkin in which the warrior seemed capable of the same thing. The only drawback was that if another mage was close enough, they would detect his use of vimara and become suspicious. Rezkin had never had that problem since his power was not detectable by mages.
The streets of Kaibain were growing dark as he made his way through the throngs of last-minute shoppers and tavern visitors. When he neared the mage relay, he dropped his ward and clamped down on his power bleed so that no one would detect that he was a mage. Then he entered the building and waited. It was not long before the young woman handed him the message from Cael. He read the brief, coded message quickly before leaving the relay.
Once outside, he ducked down an alley and set the paper on fire. When it was nothing but ash, he exited the alley and headed toward the site of the temple construction. As he neared, the already-congested streets became nearly impassable. The newly converted devotees of Ygrethiel were filling the streets, and he knew it would only get worse the closer they got to the opening ceremony.
Wesson found a vantage from where he could watch the temple entrance unimpeded. He did not have to wait long. He had arrived just in time. The battle mage known as Avikeev came sauntering out of the temple with a pleased expression. Wesson wrapped his ward around himself and kept his distance as he followed Avikeev through the streets as he always did. This had been his daily routine for the past couple of weeks since he had arrived in Kaibain. The more he watched the battle mage, the more he knew something was not right about him. Avikeev was prone to moments of temperance interrupted by bursts of intense cruelty. Wesson had witnessed multiple instances of the man’s sadism since he had been following him.
He followed the man to the same estate he had visited nearly daily, the old Marcum estate. Wesson had asked around about the place, and it turned out that Caydean had granted the estate to Avikeev after General Marcum had been declared an outlaw and disappeared with his wife. Of course, Wesson knew the general was gathering troops at the northern fortress where Rezkin had been trained, but either Caydean did not know it, or he did not see the general as a threat because no move had been made against him.
The estate was quiet as usual, and Wesson saw no one else enter or exit the home while he waited. Wesson’s investigation had revealed that Avikeev was the new battle master, and Caydean had granted him the rank of general. Two more battle mages had also been designated generals. The female, named Ulessa, occasionally visited Avikeev’s estate, but he had not seen the male, Trivian, since that first day he had followed Avikeev. Wesson did not know what they had done that day, but whatever it was, it had been big. Shockwaves of nocent power had suffused him even so far as across the street where he hid. It had happened a few more times since he had been watching the house, each time when Ulessa visited.
He desperately wanted to know what went on in the home, but he had no way of finding out. Every possible entrance was no doubt warded; and, while he could break the wards, he could not bend them to his will like Rezkin could. If he did break through, the generals would be alerted, and he might even trigger a trap. Still, the house was worth investigating since following Avikeev and Ulessa had not revealed anything more. He waited until Avikeev left the estate then scurried down the path to the main entrance. As he suspected, the door and windows were warded, so he slid around building searching for any weak points in the wards. When he reached the back of the house, he was forced to hide in the bushes to avoid notice by the servants who were going about their daily chores. A man stepped across the yard toward the stables, and a woman was hanging laundry on a line. Wesson wondered how it was that the servants could come and go through the wards, especially considering they had no power of their own. Then he considered how he might use that to his advantage.
The woman finished hanging her laundry, bent to retrieve her basket, and headed for the servants’ entrance. Wesson watched carefully as she entered the home, passing through the ward. In his mind’s eye he could see the intricate patterns of the ward and the power that suffused it, and with a heavy heart, he realized the power was not constructive in nature. That made sense since Avikeev was a natural battle mage and did not have access to constructive magic. His natural affinity for destructive, or nocent, power would override any constructive vimara he might possess. Only Wesson had been able to overcome the limitation through intensive training and dedication.
What was more interesting than the type of power used, however, was the way in which the ward had recognized the maid. It had been fast, but Wesson had seen that just as the ward probed at the woman, an answering power surged back from her. He was nearly certain that the seemingly mundane maid was possessed by a demon. The ward had been designed to recognize her demonic signature. Wesson realized that if he could mimic that signature, he might be able to trick the ward into believing he was the maid and allow him through. He needed to see the signature again to be sure, though. After all, he had only a split second to view it. He waited for her to return, and two hours later, she did. Wesson watched for her signature twice more as she came out to gather the laundry and take it back into the house.
Wesson had never attempted to mimic a demonic signature. Until now, he could not have thought of a reason he would want to. But as he crept toward the house, he formed in his mind the spell he thought might accomplish the task. It was a spell he designed while he waited for the maid and was untested. He considered waiting until dark to break into the home when everyone was asleep, but then Avikeev would have returned. He was not yet ready to confront the battle master general. The message he had received earlier in the day had indicated he was to remain in Kaibain in search of some sort of weapon. Apparently, a team would be coming to join him, and he wanted to have something concrete to report.
Wesson paused beside the doorway. His gaze roved the yard. Although he was warded to prevent people from noticing him, he was still cognizant of the danger. If the servants were demons, he could ill afford a confrontation that would alert the generals to his presence. Seeing no one, Wesson began concentrating on creating the spell that would mimic the demonic signature of the maid. Once he felt that he had it, he activated it and stepped through the ward.
The ward slid over him like oil with only the slightest resistance. So far as he knew, no alarms had been triggered, but he could not be certain. He entered the home through the servants’ passage near the kitchen. A cook was busily preparing a meal as he tiptoed past the entrance. Then he was forced through the nearest doorway as someone rounded the corner into the hallway, and Wesson nearly tumbled down the stairs. Catching himself, Wesson decided to explore the cellar first. After all, if he were doing unscrupulous things, he would do it in the cellar. He picked his way past stacks of supplies then found that the cellar opened into an expansive space. It was poorly lit, but Wesson could just make out the bars of the cells. Past the rows of cells was a workspace that was presently empty.
A whimper from the side arrested his steps. Wesson stopped beside the cell and peered into the darkness. After a moment of searching, he finally found a darkened lump that might have been a person.
He spoke in a harsh whisper. “Hello? Who is there?”
The whimper came again, and the lump shivered.
Frustrated with his inability to see in the dark, Wesson cast a fireball over his outstretched hand. The large space was suddenly illuminated, and Wesson realized all the cells were occupied. There were six people in all, each cowering at the back of their cell. What caught his gaze next were the plentiful runes etched across the bars, the ceiling, and walls. The runes were intended to negate a mage’s power and to prevent escape. Now that he was illuminated, he saw a few pairs of eyes blinking back at him. Curiosity won out, and one of the prisoners whispered, “Who are you?”
Wesson started to answer then realized his predicament. If he saved these people now, Avikeev would know someone had been there. If Avikeev knew someone was spying on him, it would become that much more difficult to find out what the man was up to. If he did not release these prisoners now, it would be better if they did not know anything about him in case they were interrogated. Plus, he would be leaving them to Avikeev’s mercy, and he did not think the man had any.
Instead of answering the man’s question, he repeated his own. “Who are you?”
The man looked at him suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”
“You don’t,” said Wesson. “But I give you my word, for what it’s worth, that I am not.”
The man glanced at the other figures who were huddled in their cells. Some still cowered, but others appeared cautiously curious. “I am Bargus. I—we—are all mages. The battle master brought us here for his experiments. I have already witnessed him kill four others since I’ve been here. Please, help us if you can.”
Wesson eyed the bars with their unfamiliar runes. “Do you know where the key is kept?”
Bargus shook his head. “No. I’m not sure there is one. They use power to open the cells when they come for us.”
“Really? With all these runes, they are still able to open the cells?”
“So it would seem. Are you a mage?” asked Bargus.
Again, Wesson did not answer. Instead, he moved toward the workspace to search for the key or any clues as to what the experiments were all about. He called back to Bargus. “Do you know anything about the experiments?”
Bargus said, “Only that the subject of those experiments always ends up dead. And that they’re using nocent power, but that is obvious since they’re battle mages.”
Wesson examined the contents of the large worktable. A number of random items were strewn about. Some of the items looked costly while others were ordinary and of little value. A rack for securing a prisoner was situated to one side opposite a small writing desk. Wesson moved to the desk but found no notes or letters of interest save for one page full of arcane runes that seemed familiar even though Wesson knew he had never seen them before. Using a piece of blank paper and a stick of charcoal, he recreated the runes for himself before moving back to the cells. He placed another paper against the locking mechanism and used the charcoal to make a rubbing of the runes inscribed there. He folded the papers and tucked them into his tunic as he replaced the charcoal at the desk.
He said, “I am going to study these runes and find a way to release you. I will return as quickly as possible. Do not tell anyone I was here.”
The man came forward and gripped the bars of the cell. His clothes were rumpled, and his face was scruffy, but his eyes still glinted with hope. “No, you must release us now! I have no desire to die here.”
Wesson swallowed hard. “If I find a way to release you, they will know I was here.”
“Not if it looks like we escaped on our own,” said Bargus.
Wesson had not even left the cellar yet, and already the guilt for leaving them behind was eating at him. He turned his attention to the runes around the bars and across the walls and ceiling. Again, the runes seemed familiar. The longer Wesson stared at them, the closer he got to understanding them. Wesson felt his nocent power squirming at his core. It was responding to the runes he was studying. He drew up his power and fed a small stream into the runes probing for their meaning. And then it clicked. Wesson suddenly knew what the runes were for. He fed his nocent power into the locking mechanism of the first cell. There was a click, and then the cell door swung open.
“Thank you!” said Bargus as he came shuffling out. He headed for the stairs, but Wesson held him back with a firm hand.
“Wait,” said Wesson. “You cannot go yet. You must wait here while I release the others. Then we will all escape together after I have set my plan in motion.”
“What is your plan?”
“You need to die.”
“What?”
“Not for real, of course. We are just going to make it look like you died during an escape attempt.
“How do you intend to pull that off?” asked Bargus.
“These runes here on the ceiling and walls hold enchantments that cause some serious incendiary effects if tampered with. It’s possible that one or more of you were able to access a small bit of your power and attacked these enchantments.”
“Not possible,” said Bargus. “I tested myself against these enchantments for over a week and couldn’t get a single spark of power.”
“Nothing is fool proof,” said Wesson. “Let us say you did access your power and you did throw it at these enchantments. You would cause an explosion that would wipe out everything in this cellar. It is a built-in failsafe. If you try to access these cells in any way other than the way I just did, you will set off the explosion—if you tried to escape, you would die.”
“Is there no end to their cruelty?” muttered Bargus.
“I am afraid not,” said Wesson as he opened the remaining cells. The prisoners all eyed the stairs, but none made a run for it. “All right, all of you huddle on the stairs but do not go up yet. I am going to set a spell to go off in ten minutes that will trigger the explosion. We are going to escape unseen before it goes off, but you must do exactly as I say. Understood?”
He cautiously ascended the stairs, listening for any indication that someone might be coming. Slipping through the doorway, he headed back toward the exit just as he heard the clomp of boots coming from the room at the end of the hallway. The owner of the boots did not turn his way, however, and disappeared around the corner. Wesson peered through the backdoor to see that the yard was clear. Then he motioned to Bargus who was waiting at the top of the cellar stairs. Bargus sent one of the prisoners down the hallway to stop when he reached Wesson. Quickly, Wesson created a sort of shroud of nocent power that he laid over the escapee. He hoped it worked to match the demon signature well enough to fool the ward on the backdoor. He crossed his fingers as he set the escapee through the doorway.
The ward slid over the escapee just as it had him when he had entered, and Wesson breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he motioned for the next prisoner. He repeated the same process with each one until all the escapees had made it across the yard. His heart raced as he quickly exited and dashed across the yard keeping his stealth spells in place so as not to be seen. Once he was back behind the cover of the foliage, he turned back to see Avikeev standing in the doorway surveying the yard. The man looked suspicious but not alarmed, so Wesson thought they had not been detected.
The explosion detonated at that moment, rocking the entire house. Avikeev darted back into the house, and Wesson and the escapees ran for their lives. When they were far enough into the city to go unnoticed, they paused for a breather in an abandoned workshop in a poor district. He instructed the mages to wait for him there while he acquired for them the supplies they would need until they could escape the city. Once Azeria arrived, he could send them back to Cael.
The sky was beginning to darken as Wesson hurried through the city toward the inn where he was staying. He took a roundabout route so as not to be followed. He was dashing down an alley when he suddenly stopped short. Three men blocked his path, each bearing a weapon. He started to back away when he heard the approach of two more from behind him.
“What do we have here?” said the largest one who held a wicked knife in front of him. “Hey, pretty boy, didn’t your mama ever tell you not to go down dark alleys? The wolves will get you.”
“You should be worried about why I’m not concerned with wolves,” muttered Wesson. The knife-wielding thug lunged, slashing Wesson across the forearm just as he unleashed a spell that radiated, capturing all five ruffians and dropping them to the ground at once. As Wesson stepped over their unconscious bodies, he noted the mark of the Raven tattooed on each of them. He wondered what Rezkin would have done in that situation. He figured he probably would have killed all five without getting a drop of blood on him and then gone about his evening as if nothing had happened. Wesson felt momentarily guilty for leaving them alive to attack someone else, but he could not stomach the thought of killing them. He paused at the end of the alleyway. If he did leave them alive and they ended up killing someone else, then he would be responsible for that innocent person’s death.
Wesson tugged anxiously at a lock of his hair as he considered his conundrum. He was utterly torn—and angry that this had landed on his shoulders. He knew what Rezkin would do. And he knew what he, himself, would have done a year ago. But who was he now?
Wesson returned to the unconscious men. Blood pounded in his ears and slid down his forearm as he bent over the largest one. He examined the man’s rough, scarred face and imagined what kind of life he had lived. It was likely a sad, vicious one. Wesson reached out with his power and inscribed on the man’s forehead a circle within a diamond with an x through it—the brand of a criminal. Then he removed the mark of the Raven tattooed on the man’s collarbone. He repeated the process with the other four and left them to their fates. Henceforth, they could go nowhere without everyone knowing what they were. It was a desperate compromise but one he could live with.
