by Randy Nargi
And one thought. One answer.
A dark mage.
BANDER STAGGERED OUT OF THE PORTAL AND FELL TO HIS KNEES. His head spun and he vomited. Wegg racing over was the last image he saw before the darkness closed in.
Some time later, he woke up, laid out on his cot in the cooperage, warmed by the fire. His team was around him. Shakily, he sat up. “Portal sickness?” he asked Wegg.
The healer nodded. “That was once too often. I warned you it was dangerous.”
“I had no choice. We all had to be there.”
“Maybe, but you do this a few more times and you’ll be dead.”
Bander didn’t say anything.
Wegg handed him a steaming cup of some musty-smelling herbal tea. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”
And it did. Eventually.
Hours later Bander’s head began to clear. At least enough so he could speak to everyone about what they experienced on the island. They all told a similar story. The racing thoughts, verging on madness. And then the answer: a dark mage.
“I still cannot comprehend what happened,” Dusk said.
“Perhaps we’re not meant to,” Faramir Boldfist said.
“It is not so mysterious as the Witches would have you believe,” Hirbo Thrang said. “They are accomplished in a particular art. Mind magic. Phrenomancy. Whatever you want to call it.”
“So that was all in our heads?” Faramir Boldfist asked.
“Yes, in a sense. The mind is their domain. She was able to harness all of our thoughts together. And then make sense of it. Collective knowledge.”
“That’s what she meant when she said that the answer was within us?” Wegg asked.
“Yes.”
Etthar Calain nodded. “Fascinating. My former division at the Ministry did much the same thing. We analyzed various bits and bobs of information, rumors, hearsay, eyewitness accounts, and evidence and attempted to find connections between them. This Witch did that as well, but she harvested the information from our minds.”
“It is a dangerous technique,” Meomannan Quill muttered. “We could have all been rendered dumb as stones, our minds permanently damaged. I should not have agreed to it.”
“Desperate times require desperate measures, old friend,” Etthar Calain said.
“But what of the conclusion? Do dark mages even still exist?” Dusk asked. “I thought they were the stuff of fairytales. My mother used to tell us stories of dark mages when we were naughty.”
“Oh, they are very much real, young lady,” Meomannan Quill said. “Or were. For centuries the Guild has worked tirelessly to eradicate their evil presence from the land. The last known dark mage was Maestath, who was vanquished only after he felled a squadron of battle mages at Hild’s Peak. That was over forty years ago.”
“And there are none left?”
"That's what we believed. Apparently, we were wrong."
Bander asked, “Is it possible that a dark mage is behind these terror attacks?”
Meomannan Quill rubbed his chin. "Yes, in fact, I myself had been thinking along those lines."
“But you never mentioned your suspicions?”
“No. It was a passing thought that I dismissed. Foolishly, I could not admit to myself that a dark mage could still exist. I still find it hard to believe. Although it would explain a great deal.”
“How so?”
“They have great knowledge of magical lore and artifacts. Activating something like the Donden Cage would not present any sort of challenge to a dark mage.”
“Especially if one was in possession of a codex, as I suspect. Isn’t that true?” Silbra Dal asked.
“Yes. A terrifying possibility, but yes, it would explain much. They are also masters of manipulation, with power over men. They are known for dominating weaker souls, and bending minions to their will.”
“I’m not sure that I would describe Gredarl Kar as a minion,” Etthar Calain said.
Meomannan Quill shook his head. “He would be no match for a dark mage.”
“So we have someone with the means and the knowledge to plan and execute these acts of terror,” Bander said, thinking out loud. “As well as the ability to command others to aid him.”
“All true.”
“But what of his motive?”
Meomannan Quill sighed. “That is where this theory makes more sense than ever. The dark mages hated the Guild and would have stopped at nothing to destroy us. It was only their constant warring against each other that prevented them from uniting and vanquishing us.”
“Their power was so great?” Silbra Dal asked.
“You seem to believe so,” Meomannan Quill said ominously.
“What are you implying?”
The Grand Guildmaster straightened up and glared at both Silbra Dal and Hirbo Thrang. “The two of you have strayed from the true path. You’ve turned your back on the Guild, performed forbidden spells, and tread the fine line into darkness.”
“Save your accusations, old man,” Hirbo Thrang said. “We both know that spells are spells. They are tools. Nothing more.”
“And they certainly do not have good or evil dispositions of their own,” Silbra Dal added. “That’s nonsense.”
"You whelps may think so, but you are wrong. Very wrong. Dark magic is based on pain and death—"
“And blasting someone with a fireball is not?” Silbra Dal shot back.
“That’s a defensive spell, used only to—”
“Spare us your equivocation, sir!”
“Bah!” Meomannan Quill turned away from the mages and spoke to the rest of the group. “Sadly, this is how it begins. I fear for those who walk the crooked path, like your friends. It is the path that leads into darkness.”
“Let us return to the issue at hand,” Bander said. He did not want the team to turn on one another. “You said that all the dark mages had been destroyed, but clearly there is one who is unaccounted for.”
Meomannan Quill nodded his head sadly. “There can be only one. Morin of Thect.”
“I have not heard that name before,” Etthar Calain said.
“You wouldn’t have. He supposedly died before you were born.”
“How can that be?” Wegg asked.
“Dark mages are powerful in death magic, necromancy. They seek and often achieve dominion over life and death.”
“So this man—”
“Oh, Morin is not a man. Not by any means. He is a warlock and disciple of the fallen god Thect. An ancient god of blood and madness.”
“Gods do not exist,” Silbra Dal said.
“They do if you believe in them, child. And Morin had the strongest conviction of them all.”
“This type of mumbo jumbo will not help us, old man,” Hirbo Thrang said.
“Our whole world is mumbo jumbo, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“So, if I am understanding this correctly, Morin of Thect was a dark mage who lived—what? Sixty years ago?” Bander asked.
“More or less. He apparently met his doom at the hand of Ahantophan, which is another connection of note.”
“But you don’t think he really perished?”
“Who knows? Maybe he died, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was resurrected. There were stories to that effect. And Ahantophan was paranoid his whole life. Maybe he didn’t finish Morin off. Maybe he expected his enemy to return.”
“Maybe he was right,” Etthar Calain said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“IMPERIAL MAGISTER, WHAT BRINGS YOU TO SKYDAGGER AT THIS HOUR?” Commander Ter Kalosian looked surprised to see Chiran Hemmig accompanied by a mage whom he did not recognize. It was three hours before midnight and, prior to the magister’s arrival, the place had been as quiet as a tomb.
The two men had appeared at the checkpoint at the base of the ancient mage tower which served as the headquarters of the Imperial Ministry of the Murmurs and the repository for the Empire’s stockpile of magical artifacts.
Chiran Hem
mig said, “We have a lead on the incident at Old Lausk. How many staff are present tonight?”
“Only a handful. Dalig Nanto left a few hours ago.”
“He shall be returning presently. We’ll go up now. We have rings.” Chiran Hemmig and the mage showed that they were wearing the emerald pass rings which allowed the wearer to teleport to the upper levels of the tower.
“Very good, sir.”
Chiran Hemmig looked around the guard room. “Is this the full complement of guards this evening?”
“Yes, sir. We also have three men in the upper levels. I could call in more…”
“No, this will do.” The Imperial Magister of the Shield motioned to his mage. Without warning, the mage loosed a spray of magic bolts into the unsuspecting guards. The bolts exploded into the men, knocking them back.
Ter Kalosian shouted in alarm and reached for his sabre, but Chiran Hemmig drove a thick knife into the commander’s neck and savagely ripped out his throat.
As the man lay on the ground, burbling in blood, Chiran Hemmig stepped over him and moved towards the fallen guards. Behind him, Raggur Nil cast a fyrwael spell which created a tall barrier of magical flames, sealing them off from reinforcements. The two men hacked at fingers until they had a collection of pass rings, and then Raggur Nil sent a farspeech message to Aglaard Shie that they were ready.
Moments later, a half dozen battle mages teleported in. They had been hand-picked from the group rescued from Old Lausk. Gredarl Kar, who prided himself on being a superb judge of character, had appraised each of the mages to determine who might be most loyal and sympathetic to their cause. These six had best fit the bill.
"This way," Chiran Hemmig yelled. The invaders raced through the maze level of Skydagger, which was so named because of its labyrinth of passages designed to confuse and slow intruders. Chiran Hemmig, however, was extremely familiar with the layout of the mage tower and got them to their destination quickly. It was an interior chamber which towered up nearly a hundred feet and was filled with a twisting pillar of magical purple light. The pillar of light provided a connection to the upper laboratory level to those who wore the specially attuned pass rings. They stepped into the purple glow and immediately found themselves in the Sanctum laboratory, ten storeys above the ground, and overlooking the entrance chamber below.
Chiran Hemmig quickly surveyed the laboratory but didn't see anyone there. Likely because most of the mages—including those who worked for the Imperial Ministry of the Murmurs—had been sent to Old Lausk. The other Ministry workers and guards must have been upstairs.
He led his force up a spiral staircase to a large circular room with windows in every direction. This was the command level, and sure enough, there were three guards and five Ministry workers. Typical feeble functionaries. They were all surprised by his presence.
“Imperial Magister, what can we do for you? Is there anything amiss?”
“Yes,” Chiran Hemmig said. “I’m afraid there is.”
His battle mages made short work of them.
Next, they ascended to the top level of Skydagger: the vault level. This was their true destination: the site of hundreds of ancient magical artifacts. Some were locked in niches carved from stone and protected by thick iron gates, but those safeguards were designed to prevent casual pilfering, not the full-on assault of seven battle mages.
They worked quickly, grabbing artifacts and loading them into silk sacks which had been hidden beneath the mages’ cloaks. Still, it took them several hours and when they were done, they had thirty bulging sacks of the most powerful items in the realm. Raggur Nil contacted Aglaard Shie once again to set the final part of the plan in motion.
The sacks could not be teleported, so the mages used various spells to gently levitate the cargo over the balcony of the laboratory level down to the entrance chamber. Then they entered the pillar of light and appeared below.
“I’ll check on the men,” Chiran Hemmig announced. “Extinguish that damn fire!”
After Raggur Nil dispelled the fyrwael, the Imperial Magister of the Shield skulked through the courtyard. He heard the clatter of horses and two sleek black wagons appeared with a complement of rangemen—as well as Daras Mirth—riding alongside as guards. Chiran Hemmig signaled them to approach and soon the sacks of artifacts were loaded and whisked off into the night—without a hitch.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
NIAM RETURNED TO THE COOPERAGE THE NEXT MORNING, BUT HE WAS ALONE.
“Where are the others?” Bander asked. He was feeling better this morning. Especially after a big morning meal and a hot cup of moxa.
“May we speak in private?” the locestra asked.
“I think not. Unless you suspect one of our company to be a traitor—”
At that Wegg and Faramir Boldfist looked up from their plates.
“No, nothing like that at all. It’s just that this has got to be one of the most dangerous plans Jaden has ever come up with—and I’ve known the man for 22 years.”
“Tell me.”
And so Niam did. And Bander agreed that it was an exceedingly dangerous plan. But it also was an ingenious way to get inside of Gredarl Kar’s fortress.
Bander called over the rest of the team. They were all here except for Meomannan Quill who had gone off on his own last night, and Etthar Calain who was presently checking with his sources to see if there were any further developments in Old Lausk. Bander asked Niam to repeat Jaden's plan and then they all tried to figure out how the plan could fail.
In less than ten minutes, they came up with nearly eighty-one probable paths to disaster. But Bander was still impressed by the plan's raw audacity.
He was mostly concerned about one particular thing. If they proceeded, they would have to act immediately. Tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. That would leave almost no time to prepare. Of course, in his experience, the best-laid plans usually fell apart once the first crossbow bolt was fired.
Then Etthar Calain arrived, his face pale and worried.
“What is it?” Bander asked.
“Skydagger has fallen.”
“What do you mean?”
The former Magister shook his head in disbelief. “There was an attack last night. Everyone there was slaughtered. The artifacts were stolen.”
“What?” Silbra Dal exclaimed.
“The vaults were pillaged.”
“What did they get?”
“Everything.”
Bander asked, “How could that happen?” But then it occurred to him exactly how it could happen. Chiran Hemmig.
“This complicates things,” Hirbo Thrang said.
“That is an understatement,” Etthar Calain replied. “Our enemies now have the most powerful weapons in the world in their possession.”
“And the means to decode them,” Silbra Dal said.
“We need to move quickly,” Bander said.
“What do you propose?”
Bander told him Jaden’s plan.
“That’s suicide,” Etthar Calain concluded. “Complete and utter suicide.”
“I know,” Bander said.
“How can I help?”
“Any ideas to make it less suicidal?”
“Hardly. But let me see what I can do,” Etthar Calain said. He got up and headed towards the door.
Bander turned back to Niam. “Jaden’s plan—how much gold will it take?”
“Depends on how many of them we need.”
Bander did a quick mental calculation. “Three dozen would be good. Fifty would be better.”
Niam named a figure and Bander shook his head. “We’ll never be able to raise that amount in a few hours.”
“How could we raise it all?” the short man asked.
“Waterside’s treasury,” Bander said. “It wasn’t destroyed in the blast. I’m sure of it.”
“Then what happened to it?”
“Asryn must have had it relocated. It probably took him a while, but once he knew that the city would
be destroyed, he would have begun removing all the gold, jewels, everything. I’m just not sure where.”
“Gredarl Kar’s fortress?”
Bander shook his head. “Asryn would not want to share his spoils. Even with his co-conspirators. No, he has cached it. Somewhere.”
“I might be able to find it,” Niam said. “That’s what I do, you know. But you’d have to give me something to go on.”
Bander nodded. “Let me think about it.”
While Niam left to get himself some bread and moxa, Bander leaned back on his bench. He looked up at the rafters of the old cooperage and tried to clear his mind. This was a well-defined problem, and those were the problems he liked best. He started with the facts.
The treasury of a city would be large. Thousands of gold bars, all crated in strong wooden boxes. 5000 bars, maybe. That would be around 200 crates. There would be sacks of coins, gems, jewelry, artwork. Also, all packed in crates. Let's say another hundred. And then miscellaneous items. Scrolls, books, tapestries, rare weapons and armor, maybe even some magical artifacts. Fifty more crates on the low end, a hundred more on the high end. That made between 350 and 400 crates. Over a hundred tons of treasure.
That would be too much to transport by caravan. It would have to go out by ship—which would make sense. Before it had been destroyed, Waterside’s Palace District had its own private docks. It would have been fairly easy to load up a few small ships and transport the treasure. That meant it could be hidden at just about any destination with a dock to unload it.
No, that wasn’t true at all. Asryn wouldn’t try to bring that much treasure to any port town or city. Even a place like Port Othan which was within his own province. People would notice 400 crates of anything.
It had to be a somewhat remote location. A cave or a fortress. But right there on the shore. And not too remote. Asryn would need to access it. He would have expenses. Men to pay off.
That was it!
He recalled what Hirbo Thrang had learned from Keryana’s spies. Asryn himself had stepped in the doldar’s shadow and had to pay reparations. Then Asryn hired the doldar again to assassinate Bryn Eresthar. The sum they demanded for such a contract would not be trivial. Asryn would have to access his trove in order to pay the doldar. And the payment would not be in crates of gold either. It would need to be portable. That meant high-value gems, like lemuells, cloud diamonds, or tarfets. Just the kind of thing a locestra needed to touch in order to do what they do.
