Imperial Traitor

by Mark Robson

  The two men nodded. Nadrek looked more than content to wait at the doorway, but Bartok’s nod was more reluctant. The faint green glow emanating from somewhere along the dark passageway had clearly piqued his curiosity, but he did as he was told and remained with the gladiator as Jabal unhooked a burning torch from the wall nearby and stepped cautiously inside.

  He would not have thought it possible, but the buzz of magic in the air ahead was even stronger than in the chamber he had just left. So much so that the power was manifesting to the naked eye. The rocks ahead were glowing with a vast store of magical energy, the like of which Jabal had never encountered before. Even the flickering orange light of his torch did not mask the eerie green glow.

  ‘What in Shand’s name has Derrigan done?’ he whispered, totally awestruck as he moved forwards step by tentative step. About ten paces along the passage, Jabal felt the magical barrier reform behind him, but he was not concerned by it. The verbal key was unlikely to be different on exit, so he could open it again when needed. His immediate concern was what awaited him ahead.

  He emerged into the cave with eyes so wide they bulged from their sockets. The walls were alive with magic! Power surged and flowed, pulsating around the chamber in waves of ghostly green, yet the large altarlike stone in the centre of the chamber appeared cold and untouched by any magical influence. With tentative caution, he stepped into the chamber, his eyes darting about constantly with wonder and nervous apprehension at the phenomenon. About four paces from the central stone he stopped stock-still. There was no mistaking the sensation. The stone began to draw energy from him like a leech sucking blood. The flow was not dangerous; in fact it was barely more than a tiny trickle, but it gave him cause to pause and consider why the stone would react to his presence in such a way.

  A simple adaptation of his mind shield expanded the barrier around his entire body and transformed it such that the stone’s energy-draining effects were unable to touch him. With his barrier in place, he stepped forward to the altar. Even as he approached, a sparkle of magical energy began to form in one of the shaped recesses on the surface of the stone. As the fizzing motes of light subsided, Jabal saw a silver griffin icon nestled in the recess. With no warning a loud BONG reverberated through the chamber. He clamped his hands over his ears, but he was a moment too slow. The resounding noise was so loud that the shock of it hitting his eardrums felt as if someone were spiking them with giant needles. The ringing aftershock vibrated through his body such that his teeth ached and his eyes watered.

  No sooner had the first noise died away than another sparkle of energy announced the arrival of a second icon. Jabal was ready this time. He kept his hands clamped over his ears like limpets, gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. This made the second BONG far more tolerable. When the aftershocks had receded, he was slow to remove his hands from his ears, but quick to begin studying the central stone. The pain thrumming through his head from the intense overload of sound served as a focus for achieving his goal: destroying the stone before it rang again.

  Given the arrival of the two icons in quick succession, it appeared that the rest of the team were being at least partially successful. The thought that his companions were engaged in mortal combat gave impetus to his study of the master stone. Although it did not appear to be bursting with energy like the rest of the cavern, he did not want to destroy the stone without taking some precautions against any possible magical backlash.

  With infinite care, Jabal began to cast a spell to reveal all the magical bonds he knew to exist between the master stone and the remaining icons. As he completed the spell, a spider web of glowing blue energy mixed with the green light emanating from the walls. Strands of pulsating magic reached out from the master stone like fingers of lightning stroking the walls in a variety of directions and angles. It was clear that the energy was emanating from the central stone, rather than reaching in from each individual icon. However, what fascinated Jabal more than the strands was a faint blue nimbus that coloured the air throughout the chamber. The subtle glowing indicated another, weaker link, but one that was omni-directional. The only space that was not filled with the faint haze was the small space inside the bubble of his shield.

  ‘Shand’s teeth, Derrigan!’ The shock of revelation, as Jabal realised what Darkweaver had done, was mind-blowing. ‘A magical accumulator! You built a magical accumulator! Gods, you were a genius!’

  The magician came alive as he realised exactly what he was dealing with. The centre stone had been quietly drawing energy from its surroundings for centuries. Doubtless, Darkweaver’s original intention had been to make the system self-sustaining. This was the powerhouse that fed the icons the energy they needed in order to transfer the assassins between their associated satellite stones.

  If Jabal were to make an educated guess, he would say Derrigan had set the master stone to attract a tiny surplus of energy based on an average usage of the system. Over the centuries that surplus had built and built until now so much magical energy was amassed in the rock walls that it was a miracle the chamber did not implode. A closer look at the wall revealed a containment barrier at the surface of rock face that acted like a dam, only allowing a trickle of energy through, whilst holding back a vast flood of magic that unchecked could wreak a disaster of calamitous proportion on far more than just this chamber.

  One look at the pattern of power and the solution was obvious. In theory, all Jabal had to do was to smash the stone. The magical magnet effect would then be disrupted and cease to attract more energy, the bonds with the icons should sever, and the energy in the walls would gradually disperse again, though that process might take decades. Despite this assessment, he felt a sudden reluctance to smash the stone.

  His purpose in coming here had been to destroy the Guild’s ability to use this magic, but on seeing what had been done, he found he wanted to share his discovery with other magicians. The system created by Darkweaver was sheer genius. It displayed simplicity, yet was also complex. Somehow he had harnessed vast amounts of magical energy and contained it in such a way as to present a marvel for any that understood even the most rudimentary precepts of magic. If kept intact, magicians from all over the continent would flock to see what had been done here.

  A sparkling on the surface of the bonding stone gave the warning that another icon was appearing. Then another fizzing apparition appeared, and another. Jabal put his fingers in his ears and braced for the alarm. Three ringing tones resonated through the chamber in quick succession. The assassins were being eliminated, but at what cost? It was no use. He knew he could not delay any further.

  Strengthening his personal magical barrier with as much power as he dared in his current surroundings, Jabal prepared a spell that would deliver a crushing blow to the top of the bonding stone. He drew every last ounce of energy he felt he could safely control from the walls around him and hurled it into the spell. He had not wielded this amount of energy for many years and the burning sensation inside his head gave him warning that he was reaching his limits. Any more and he risked burning his mind. With gritted teeth, he released the spell and staggered backwards with the effort. There was a thunderous crack as the invisible force smashed into the stone from above like an enormous pile driver. The bonding stone split and with agonising sluggishness it fell into five main pieces, with many smaller pieces crumbling from the edges as it went.

  The weblike tendrils of energy winked out instantly and the echoing aftershock of the stone’s destruction faded to silence. Jabal sat down, exhausted. Tears hung in his eyes as he surveyed his handiwork. The eerie green glow of the walls gave a ghoulish edge to the quiet. It was done. The bonds between stone and icons, and between icons and assassins, would no longer function.

  Unable to look at the broken stone any longer, he bowed his head and allowed his tears to run. He had always sought to create, rather than to destroy. Intense weariness from channelling vast amounts of magical energy mixed with a heavy sense of responsib
ility for his actions, to leave him feeling empty and sad. He doubted he would ever truly forgive himself, but he had done it out of friendship and loyalty to his friend, Kempten. Sometimes maintaining friendships required personal sacrifice. He wondered for a moment what repercussions this particular sacrifice might have over the coming years. It was impossible to tell.

  It was the subtle change in the colour of the light in the chamber that alerted him first. The hairs on the back of Jabal’s neck began to rise as he realised something catastrophic was happening. He looked up and his jaw dropped in horror. In the centre of the pile of rubble a brilliant point of light was growing in size and intensity. Vortices of energy were forming all around the cavern, swirling and growing in speed and size even as he watched, feeding vast amounts of energy into that central point in a flow that no magician in Shandar could hope to stop. Somehow, Darkweaver must have set a final trap that he had not detected. The point of light in the centre of the chamber was becoming brighter by the second, its core burning with the intensity of a tiny sun.

  ‘Bloody . . .’ Jabal didn’t bother to finish his oath. He forced himself to his feet and scrambled away down the passageway towards the exit. He had to get out of the chamber as fast as he could. When that ball of energy reached a critical mass it would explode. With the amount of energy in that chamber, no thickness of rock could be enough to make Jabal feel safe from the resulting forces.

  As he staggered along the corridor towards the exit, he instinctively drew further energy into his personal shield, pushing his already depleted reserves to the limits once more. His breath was ragged and his heart thumping wildly as he bounced from one side wall of the corridor to the other like a drunkard. The intense flash of light gave him an instant of warning.

  ‘Sh—’

  His voice was cut off mid-syllable. The primary wave of magical energy as the coruscating ball exploded, brushed through his personal shield as if it were not there. Jabal was vaporised where he stood. Any tiny remnants of his person were swept along with the unstoppable wave of force. The magical door at the end of the corridor was held in place by the separate energy source in the central Guild chamber. The magic of the illusory door proved stronger than the rock walls to either side of it. However, the split second of resistance offered by the walls of the chamber was sufficient to reduce the power of the shock wave, thus preventing the full destructive force of the blast from ripping through the Guild complex.

  Bartok was unfortunate to be standing to the left of the magical barrier as the wave blew out the rock wall. He was killed instantly as a huge chunk of rock smashed into his body with hideous force. By chance, Nadrek had moved behind the magical door relative to the blast, having just despatched the assassin with whom he had been battling. He felt rock and debris sweep past on either side of him as all the torches in the cavern extinguished simultaneously, but was fortunate enough not to suffer any injury. The last thing he saw before the inky-black darkness clamped in on the chamber was Serrius and his two opponents being flung across the chamber like leaves on the wind.

  ‘Come in, darling. Don’t skulk about out there in the corridor. If you have something to say to me, then come in and say it.’

  Femke paused just out of sight. How had the Fox known she was there? Her movement along the corridor had been totally silent. How the assassin had detected her was irrelevant. The crucial element of surprise was lost. Femke was now faced with tackling the confrontation on even terms – not ideal, she realised, but she felt confident of her abilities.

  Knife held in front of her, she stepped into the open and through the doorway.

  ‘Ah, the Emperor’s pet spy!’ Shantella exclaimed. ‘I suppose I should have expected to see you turn up again about now. The Guildmaster was a fool to keep you alive. Had it been my choice I would have killed you at the first opportunity. What do you want?’

  Femke took in the layout of the personal chamber. It was similar in shape and size to the others she had seen. As was the case with Reynik’s quarters, images of the assassin’s designated predator dominated the room. Her eyes completed their sweep of the chamber and settled on her adversary. The Fox was wearing her cloak with her hood drawn forward such that Femke could see nothing significant of her facial features. She had a glass of red wine in her left hand and was clearly concealing something in her right.

  ‘If the Guildmaster was a fool, it was for trusting you to be a member of the Guild,’ Femke said, her voice cold and emotionless. ‘That error cost him his life. Your mistake was to kill him. Now I feel obliged to take your life in recompense. What did you think I would want?’

  ‘You’re honest. I like that,’ Fox replied, clearly amused by the notion. ‘But you’re in way out of your depth, Femke. I would never allow you to stick me with that little knife of yours, no matter how good you are with it. I confess, though, I’m intrigued to know what Ferdand was to you . . . Yes, I know his real name. The Guild rule about not knowing the real identity of the other members was always one I felt to be tiresome, so I made a conscious effort to break it at every opportunity. Ferdand had a much higher public profile than most here, so it was not hard to figure him out.’

  Femke watched her intently as she spoke. Her body language was relaxed. There was no sign of tension in the way she held the glass of wine – probably the celebration glass for having disposed of Ferdand, she thought, an acid taste burning at the back of her mouth. The move, when it came, was so fast that Femke barely saw it. In one motion the Fox dropped her glass, drew and threw a blade at a speed that beggared belief.

  Instinct saved her. She ducked under the thrown knife and dived forwards, simultaneously making an underarm throw of her own. Her throw was true, but at a height that allowed the Fox to dodge it with fluid ease. Femke rolled to her feet, deflecting her opponent’s vicious front kick with her left wrist, and instantly driving a fingertip thrust towards the woman’s throat with her right. Her thrust was met by a solid block.

  The hand-to-hand fight that ensued was ferocious. If either had possessed lesser skill they would have been overwhelmed in seconds. Punches, kicks and knife hand strikes were matched with blocks and counterstrikes of equal skill and speed. Seconds ticked and the two blurred in a whirling dervish of flashing arms and legs, but neither could gain a clear advantage over the other.

  Femke fought with a single-minded intensity she had not felt since she had battled Shalidar on the roof of the Royal Palace in Thrandor. Had the Fox not been encumbered with her cloak, she might have possessed an edge. It was impossible to tell and irrelevant to the situation. Despite wanting to know who was concealed beneath the dark hood, Femke was not about to encourage the Fox to gain more freedom of movement.

  It was a back kick that turned the fight. Femke spun and kicked out backward with her right heel. The power of the strike was such that it drove through the Fox’s defensive block and caught her squarely in the solar plexus. The kick was so hard that it lifted the assassin from her feet and threw her across the chamber. She landed with a whoof on her back, not far from the transfer stone.

  Femke saw the woman’s eyes shift to the stone, but her kick had left her awkwardly placed to prevent the Fox from reaching her goal. Femke spun and dived, both fists outstretched. It was an all-or-nothing strike that would leave her horribly vulnerable if she missed her target, but fast as she was, Fox had far less ground to cover.

  Something silver flashed in her hand as the Fox slapped it down on the transfer stone.

  Femke literally flew across the intervening gap, but even with her lightning-fast reactions, she was not fast enough. Sparkling motes of energy swirled in place of the assassin and Femke felt a chill race down her spine as she passed through the space that the Fox had occupied a split second before. She landed hard, but felt no pain as she scrambled to her feet.

  ‘Damn!’ she cursed, smashing her fist down on the transfer stone in frustration. There was nothing she could do. She did not even know where Fox would emerge, so ther
e was no chance of catching up with her. There was nothing to be gained by remaining here in her chamber. It was unlikely that Fox would come back for a while – if ever, assuming Jabal could destroy the bonding stone.

  It was as she bent to pick up her knife from where it had come to rest on the floor that the chamber lurched in the most alarming fashion. There was the shortest of pauses before the blast wave hit. The force of the impact picked her from her feet and smashed her body into the nearby bookcase. Femke’s last fleeting thought was that the entire underground complex was collapsing, and then there was nothing.

  The shock wave rocked Rikala’s front room as if it were a ship running aground at speed. The little seamstress placed her arms over her head and closed her eyes tight as the sound of falling pots and pans mixed with that of breaking glass and shattering pottery. When the shaking stopped, she cautiously lifted her head. The first thing to catch her eye was the alarmingly wide crack in the wall in front of her. Without a second thought for her possessions, she staggered up out of her chair and ran out through her front door into the street, terrified that the house might fall down around her at any moment.

  No sooner had she stepped out through the door than a piece of falling masonry twice the size of a large man fell from the sky, crashing through the front wall of the house opposite. Rikala screamed in terror. Turning towards the Palace, she saw a huge mushroom cloud billowing upwards, black and forboding.

  ‘What in Shand’s holy name could have created that?’ she mouthed in astonishment. Even as she completed the thought, a deadly rain of smaller pieces of stone began to shower down, clattering and crashing into the rooftops and across the cobbled streets. Dangerous though it may be to remain inside with a huge crack in your wall, to stand out in this would be to invite death with open arms.