by Lakshman, V.
Something was dreadfully wrong. In the back of her mind, there existed a tenuous link, a common bond amongst all the adepts on the Isle. It was so constant it was largely ignored. Even now, she could sense Giridian in his chambers, and Dragor training. Thera... that link had been severed and only one thing could break it.
“Pit—Tomas, get inside. Now!”
She had almost called him “Piter,” but the boy understood the message. Without checking to see if he obeyed, Kisan went to the edge of the observatory, looking down into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything but that didn’t mean there was no danger. Something or someone had silenced Thera. She didn’t know what, but she was going to find out. Whatever it was, it was about to face a true Master of the Way.
* * * * *
Time crawled along, but the leader’s composure never wavered. They trained for this and knew their opponents’ strengths and weaknesses. The key to their success would be their speed and surprise. He had, however, made a calculated deviation from their assignment and detoured to finish this hall first.
His reasoning had been simple. Once the adepts knew of the attack, the conflict would create chaos, and in that chaos, some of the magelings might escape. It was a priority none who used the Way survived, especially the young ones, who dreamed more vividly than did the elders.
A moment later four shapes came racing down the stairs, still silent, and crouched next to the team leader. With hand signals, they made a curt report: All dead. The quick hand motion was too short to give full weight to the fact that dozens from the Hall of Apprentices would not wake the next day. The leader nodded once, then looked to the next structure. Like ghosts, they slipped into the darkened spaces along the path and leapfrogged their way to the Hall of Adepts.
As they neared, the leader held up his hand again and the team came to a halt. Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a small metal cross, carved with runes. He gingerly placed it against the doors and waited.
The metal cross began to glow, then the runes lit. With a flash, the tiny talisman was gone, as was the protective spell that held the door shut. The leader raised two fingers and two men shot past him like black darts, through the now open door. The rear two took positions in the dark recesses of the entryway, protecting their egress. He and his second slid through the doors and joined the two already inside.
The Hall of Adepts had a grand curving staircase on the inside spiraling up through each level to where the masters’ chambers lay. Taking those stairs would be suicide, he knew. Too many wards and cantrips designed to alert these so-called, adepts. He looked to his team and flexed his gloved hands. They scintillated for a moment, purple and amethyst. He then moved to the underside of the staircase.
Without hesitation, he grabbed and pulled, flattening himself against it. The magic of his uniform and his training took over and he climbed like a spider rapidly up the underside of the staircase. His team silently followed, the four of them looking like black, four-legged insects.
When they reached the first landing, they grabbed the lip of the floor and vaulted over the banister. Their feet barely touched the rail before they leapt upward to the ceiling. There they clung again like spiders and made their way to the first door.
The first man to the door took out another talisman and affixed it. Silently the device negated any wards on the door, dissipating in a flash and sparkle, leaving no trace of itself. They looked at one another, synchronizing their next move.
Then, without a sound, one pulled the door open while two fired poisoned darts into Giridian’s back as the adept replaced a book onto his bookshelf. The poison’s double dose went to work immediately, locking his muscles and constricting his breathing. Even without a coup de grâce, Giridian would be dead within moments.
As the first two held their positions, a third man entered and punched a lethal dagger into Giridian’s back. The blade was cross-shaped, designed to create a wound that would not close. A small huff was the only sound the ursine adept made as the knife punched into his heart, then pulled out. His attackers were moving out of the room before Giridian’s lifeless body hit the floor.
These adepts were proving to be easier targets than had been indicated. He had thought their element of surprise would have been over with the death of the first... but that did not seem true. No matter, now they needed to find Themun Dreys and put an end to him. At four against one old man, he was confident in the outcome and continued forward toward the main chambers.
* * * * *
Kisan did not have time for the circuitous route down the main stairs of the observatory. Instead, she leapt from the parapet and dived like a falcon, falling down the side of the building. At careful measured moments, she reached out and touched the citadel rushing by, slowing her fall using the Way and her own training. Just before she reached the ground her legs snapped out, the balls of her feet kicking the rough stone wall.
In an instant, her downward velocity transformed into a rotation and Kisan used that momentum to flip herself, arcing gracefully over and out from the wall. She landed lightly, crouched in the darkness. Summoning the Way, she sank low to the ground and expanded her senses: sight, hearing, smell, and touch. As she did so, she quickly reviewed what she knew.
Whoever silenced Thera must have known much about the Isle and the people living here. It made sense they had intimate knowledge of adepts, the training ground’s layout, and the defenses they could expect. She would be foolish to assume they were any less trained than she was. Kisan quickly readied another spell, then cast it.
The air next to her began to darken, then separate into two distinct clouds. They sucked in the surrounding air as they sparkled and coalesced. Where Kisan crouched, two duplicates of her now mirrored her stance.
“I speak, you obey,” she said to them.
They nodded and said, “Yes, Master.” Their voices, exactly like her own, sounded eerie in the night air, but Kisan knew they would serve their purpose. Though they were not alive and could only follow simple verbal commands, they were better than normal mirror images. She could create dozens of those, but they lacked substance and could only follow a single order. These were more complex and served two critical needs.
The most obvious was as decoys... but because of the increased power spent in making them, Kisan could also use their senses as her own, even control them to some degree. As scouts, they would serve to provide her with information, and that would be her key advantage. Should they be discovered and attacked, they would even die, feeling solid and real. It was her only chance.
“We will make our way behind the Hall of the adepts.”
“Yes, Master,” the doppelgangers whispered.
Kisan looked around. She had purposely fallen into a shadowed area that was almost pitch black. Her line of sight to the front of the hall was obscured by the building itself. Nevertheless, she had no doubt whoever was attacking was just around the corner, waiting.
She looked to the duplicate on her right and said, “Walk to the front of this building. Do not stop for anyone.”
The doppelganger nodded, then stood and started walking around the circular hall. Kisan motioned to the other to follow and they started circling the other direction. Her mind opened a path to the Way, and whatever the first doppelganger saw became clear. She then moved to the first defensible position she could find, one that had a clear view of the courtyard in front of the Hall, but where someone hiding in that area could not see her.
Through her simulacrum’s eyes, she saw its approach to the front of the building. At first, nothing seemed amiss, and there were no obvious signs of attack. Perhaps she had been wrong. It was then she saw that the front door stood ajar. That would never happen...
Before she could do anything, she heard through the doppelganger’s ears the sound of something firing with whispers of air. Her double had few battle skills, so it was pointless to try to evade. Rather Kisan concentrated on the doppelganger’s response.
She
felt two small pinpricks on her own skin, letting her know her doppelganger had been hit with two dart-like objects. The grouping was tight, no more than a hand span at fifty paces, and centered on her throat. Within a heartbeat, she felt a numbing paralysis in the doppelganger’s body. If those darts had hit her, she would have been helpless.
Quickly, she mentally forced her double to fall facing the door with its eyes open. She could feel what the double felt, hear what it heard, and knew these attackers expected those darts to work. Until she knew what and whom they were facing, she was going to play along. The double collapsed in a heap and turned its head exactly the way she wanted. Now Kisan could watch what happened next.
At first, nothing stirred the night. Neither movement nor sound broke the silence and no one appeared. Kisan realized they were waiting... then it dawned on her they were waiting for the poison to take effect. Even as she came to this conclusion, two shadows detached themselves from the dark recesses of the doors. They moved quickly, their wide forms blurring with some sort of magic.
Kisan was shocked at their speed and their seeming ability to use the Way. However, her training took over and she watched dispassionately as these men made quick work of her first scout. One punched a dagger into the base of the skull. The other searched the body. They worked with the practiced efficiency of highly trained thieves. As both finished their gruesome tasks, no word was exchanged. Then they quickly dragged the body out of sight and resumed their stations, melting back into the darkness.
Kisan’s resolve hardened as she watched their quick and controlled movements over her double’s corpse. She knew two things from observing them. First, she would not underestimate them, for they were highly disciplined. This would have been her fate had she rounded that corner without a plan. Second, no parley had been offered, no terms, nor discussion. She was facing enemies with the clear objective to kill, not talk.
She was not worried that the ease with which they dispatched her doppelganger would arouse their suspicion. The fact was that given the right circumstances, anyone could be killed by surprise, even a master as well trained as she.
Inwardly, Kisan smiled. She was no longer surprised, and that meant these men would be facing a true disciple of the Way in battle. She motioned to her remaining double and together they moved forward into the night. Nothing these assassins did would save them now.
* * * * *
Dragor finished the end of his kata with a fast spin kick, his mind and body one. His breathing came easy, exhaling on time with each point of impact while he continued his practice movements. The point of kata was to allow him to train his body and mind for that perfect strike, against a perfect opponent.
He knew that in reality, there was no such thing... but fighting against his own mind helped him learn what strikes should look like when unencumbered by the clash and din of battle. His body remaining loose until the point of impact, then tightening with the strength of steel to focus all the power into one small area. It was this point, this focus, which caused damage.
He spun, ducking under one imaginary opponent then striking with his open palm at another. It was times like this when he could practice alone that he felt most connected to the Way. It flowed through him like his breathing, connecting him at once to all that was around him.
When the link to Thera vanished he stumbled, his breath catching. Instantly he knew there was something seriously wrong. Without a thought, he skinned himself in power. His flameskin flashed a sublime purple once, as it hardened for defense, then became invisible to the naked eye. He then moved up the walkway leading from his training area to the outer hall.
Whatever was happening, he reasoned, must be near where he last felt Thera, to the north of the school. He meant to head in that direction and see if he could find out anything more. Slowly, he continued his way up and to the outer halls. As he moved, his form wavered, then vanished like smoke. No reason to let whatever it was, see him coming. Like a black panther, Dragor made his way out into the darkness.
* * * * *
Kisan remained motionless, then looked at her remaining doppelganger. She knew where they were, but needed a better distraction to accomplish what she wanted. She concentrated, reaching for the Way. As she did so, the form of her doppelganger changed. It morphed, becoming younger, leaner. In moments, an exact copy of Piter crouched next to her, ready to do her bidding.
The effort cost her dearly. It was one thing to create a duplicate of oneself. To create a full duplicate of another took immense concentration and an intimate familiarity with the subject. Piter, she thought sadly, you are the one I remember best. I need you to serve one last, noble purpose tonight.
She looked past the curve where the two assassins lay hidden, out of her line of sight. “On my command, you will run past the entrance. You will stop for nothing.”
The Piter look-alike nodded, then turned to stare straight ahead. Kisan continued to look at her creation, feeling her loss threaten to overcome her composure. It was unfair her boy did not get the chance the others did, the thought crawling in like worms through mud. Then her will snapped down, training taking hold. She would only get one chance at this and needed to focus.
She enhanced her vision to include heat and silenced the sounds of her footfalls and clothes. For this next part, she would need stealth and speed.
“Go!” she whispered, and her doppelganger shot off like an arrow.
Kisan followed at a slower pace, keeping her form hidden within the low grass. As her simulacrum rounded the corner and continued its sprint, she heard the sound of at least two darts fire at its retreating back. They were close, but their attention was on the fleeing “boy.”
Kisan knew they would have to make a choice soon and hoped they would make the one she knew they must. Less than a moment passed, then like a black streak, one of the assassins sped after the fleeing image of Piter.
She didn’t hesitate, but moved with blinding speed silently up and over the stone entryway. Her enhanced vision easily picked out the remaining man, who only now realized his peril. Before he could offer any defense, Kisan struck his sternum with an open palm, her hand vibrating in tune with the man’s bones.
A silent detonation occurred within the assassin’s body as Kisan’s focused strike shattered every bone in a circular pattern from the center of the man’s chest outward. His lungs liquefied and he convulsed, then vomited out a gout of black liquid and bone into the grass. The force of the blow knocked his body backward against the hard stone wall with a solid, wet smack, before he rebounded forward and fell into the waiting arms of the master.
His weight surprised Kisan the most, for it was at least three times what a normal person should have been. It took all her enhanced strength not to stumble under the sudden burden. She steadied herself, quickly pulling the dying man into the side bushes, then ripped the face cover off to look at the person beneath.
The face was square, younger than expected, a boy with blond hair and peach whiskers now speckled with his lifeblood. A whispered gasp escaped his lips and in that moment, his eyes focused on his killer.
Kisan concentrated, then touched the man’s forehead. Names and images flooded her mind. A stone fortress, set deep in the Dawnlight Mountains. A black sun surrounded by blue fire, standing like an open maw. A small cat, calico and mewing piteously. A dark cavern with hundreds of glass caskets filled with men like him.
The flood of life, of this boy’s life, gushed from his mind into Kisan’s like water bursting from a cut sack before slowing to a trickle and finally... nothing. The memories had transferred and the mindread was complete. The spell was taxing, however, and she would not be able to read much more from anyone else until these memories were purged. Still, she needed information, and one more thing.
She leaned back, looking at her handiwork, noticing the details. Small beginnings of a beard framed the boy’s face, and the eyes were pale blue, no longer glowing and still wide in the shock of death. Even as she
watched, those pale blue irises were eaten up by the widening black of his pupils. His skin was tan, with a scar on his left cheek, a quick slash that spoke of a misstep against a sharp blade.
Kisan drank in the features, focusing, memorizing. She looked at the mask, the gloves, and the uniform. She inspected the shoes, the belt. She ran her hands over the man’s body, feeling the strength and size of the limbs. She had already spent a tremendous amount of energy tonight in creating her doppelgangers and sifting the assassin’s mind, but this one last spell had to be perfect. She looked inward, diving deep into the Way, and called upon the little power she had left.
She refocused herself and shaped the Way to do her bidding. A sparkle consumed her form, a quick flash of ethereal starlight vanishing before it even seemed to take substance. Then Kisan stood and moved back up to the entranceway.
As she did so, her form blurred and changed, becoming stronger, thicker, and taller. In moments, a dark-clothed assassin took watch, with features identical to the boy that lay hidden and dead, some feet away. Tamlin, the thought came to her. My name is Tamlin. With time, more of her victim’s memories would become available as the mindread assimilated the dead man’s memories.
Kisan, who was now Tamlin, scanned the direction the other assassin had run, watching with eyes glowing the same soft, deadly blue. The time for a reckoning would soon be at hand.
* * * * *
The leader of the team paused in the hallway, presumably leading from the main landing to the lore father’s chambers. He held up a hand and one of his men came forward with a small canister. They moved carefully up to the door, fanning out to both sides like black fingers. Another cross talisman was set against the door, negating the wards with its familiar flash, silent detonation, and sparkle. The man readied the canister, then waited for the signal.
The leader made a fist. The door was yanked open, then pushed shut as the man expertly tossed the canister through the small opening his team had made. The detonation of sound and light within was designed to disorient someone, interrupt any spellcasting, and blind those who did not protect their eyes.
