by Rowe, Andrew
Why was Istavan here in the first place? Lydia adjusted her newly-acquired robes and belted her sword back into place. He’s not supposed to be due back for weeks. Moreover, if he is back, why wasn’t I informed? Someone must have told him about the sword – otherwise he would have had no reason to be in the armory. There’s nothing else being stored here that has value to a sorcerer...is there?
Lydia quickly glanced around the room. “Dominion of Knowledge, illuminate that which is touched by your cousins,” she said, raising a hand to her forehead as she spoke. A flash of green in the corner of her eye drew Lydia to look toward Taelien, and she nearly blinded herself when her eyes settled upon the sheathed weapon he was holding. Gods around us, she considered, nothing should shine like that.
Her illumination spell was designed to be subtle – a quick indication of anything present with a detectable sorcerous aura. The power of the sorcery should have been irrelevant; the spell was not designed to display that. What could be causing that? Another defensive reaction? Several overlapping dominions, like I speculated about before?
Lydia turned her eyes away, ignoring the bright after-image from the weapon’s unexpected illumination. She saw no indication of any other objects in the room with a sorcerous aura. She did a quick scan over Istavan’s fallen body and found nothing on him, either. This particular spell would not detect his ability to use sorcery, or anyone else’s – it was only designed for finding objects. Similarly, it wouldn’t pick up the nightmare spell’s effect. She had other spells designed for tracking and identifying sorcerers and active spells.
“We should get moving,” Lydia said, blinking to end the effects of her detection spell. She knew that supper would keep the palace staff relatively busy for the next hour or more, but she didn’t need any additional complications.
“Ready when you are.” Taelien belted the sheathed Sae’kes around his waist and headed for the door. Lydia followed closely behind him, and then took the lead after they stepped outside.
The sorceress lifted a finger to her lips in the universal gesture for silence, and then began to lead the way toward the palace’s first floor. Once there, she knew they would begin to encounter more guards and palace workers.
Istavan could have been told about the prisoner by someone other than the other sorcerers, Lydia considered as she walked. If he hasn’t seen any of them yet, perhaps he thought he could get to the weapon first and do something with it. That would explain why he was not aware of the plan, and why I wasn’t warned.
Or, alternatively, Morella could have told Istavan about the sword. She didn’t seem to want to deal with the rest of us for some reason – maybe she’s hiding something.
Intriguing possibilities, but all bothersome, she concluded.
Taelien had fallen into position behind her and to the right, which Lydia noted to be an excellent position for him to protect her flank, given that most of the hallways that branched off from the main hall were on that side. It could have easily been coincidence, but it was also plausible that he was familiar with the layout of the palace and taking his position for strategic purposes.
For a time, their footsteps were the only noticeable sound, until they came near enough to the banquet hall to hear the sounds of supper. Several of the nobles who lived within the palace walls indulged in the late night meal, but Lydia had never had the stomach for anything past dinner. She rarely even ate breakfast. Taelien is probably starving, she realized with a pang of guilt. There’s no sense in risking a stop right now, but I’ll need to find him something to eat later.
She could see a steady line of servants making their way to and from the banquet hall as they approached, as well as the two guards posted at the doors. She nodded to the guards as she approached and they returned her gesture with a simple salute, bringing their right hands across their chest to their left shoulder. No further communication was required.
The pair passed the banquet hall without further incident, turning left to make their way toward the entrance to the main hall. A patrolling pair of soldiers passed them, engrossed in conversation. Lydia ignored them and they responded in kind.
She found herself holding her breath as they made their way through the final hall toward the palace’s entrance. Three of the door guards sat on the carpeted floor next to the closed door playing a dice game, while one other leaned over them, looking bored. Lydia mentally chastised them for their lack of discipline, but she knew that comings and goings at this hour were rare.
“Good evening,” Lydia addressed them as she approached. The guards immediately straightened their posture, looking up at her. One of the sitting guards scrambled to his feet, but the others didn’t make the effort.
“Evening, court sorceress,” the guard who had stood up said. “How can we help ye?”
“Istavan and I are heading out for the evening. Can you unlock the door?” she said, indicating the massive double doors with a gesture.
“Course, ma’am.” The guard replied, moving over to the door. “Up, boys. Help me out here.”
The door was barred by an iron-framed wooden beam, designed to prevent it from being opened from the outside. Taelien was eyeing the beam with a contemplative expression, which Lydia judged to be a sign that he was analyzing if he could manipulate the metal around from outside the door. The door itself was equally heavy and several inches thick. During the Xixian rule, the palace had been designed for a siege. Now, most of the defenses had been long abandoned, but the heavy palace door had been maintained.
The guards struggled for a few moments to lift the beam, setting it aside, and shoved against the heavy doors. Lydia felt the night air wash over her skin as the door opened. “Thank you,” she said, stepping past the guards and into the city. Taelien followed closely behind.
Lydia took hasty steps across the cobblestone road out of the palace, even as the guards struggled to shut the doors behind the pair.
“Impressive,” Taelien said. “There were fewer complications than I expected.”
The sorceress clenched her hands shut. “We’re not done yet. We still need to find you a safe place to stay.”
“Any inn should suffice, wouldn’t it?” Taelien replied.
Lydia shook her head, still walking swiftly. They passed between twin lines of flowers that lined the palace road and beneath the stone archway that led into the Noble’s District.
Her original plan was to take him to the Miner’s District, one of the poorer parts of the city. As the night chill washed across her skin, that plan grew less appealing by the minute. She also reminded herself that while the poorer parts of the city would have fewer guards, their robes of office would also stand out much more. “Nothing close by. Guards will start sweeping the city as soon as they discover your absence. And, once Istavan has been found, your disguise will no longer be usable.”
“Could we find a tailor, maybe?” Taelien inquired, his footsteps echoing just behind her. She couldn’t tell from his tone if he was being sarcastic.
“Not at this late of an hour. Perhaps I should have carried an additional change of clothing for each of us, but carrying that much baggage would have stood out.” Lydia led the way silently for a time, considering other destinations. A brothel would still be taking customers at this hour, and would more than likely be willing to sell them some other clothing. Unfortunately, she didn’t know of any brothels nearby, the parts of town more likely to have brothels would be less than safe at this hour. She didn’t find it likely that anyone would try to rob a pair of court sorcerers, but she had heard stranger stories, and she didn’t need any more trouble.
As she considered where to find a high quality inn on the edge of the Noble’s District that would be discreet enough to serve their purposes, Lydia heard her footsteps fall into a gradual rhythm along with Taelien’s.
That was when she noticed the additional rhythm of a third set of footsteps behind them, near-perfectly matching their own.
Lydia spun, drawing her
hand across the air. “Dominion of Knowledge, illuminate the hidden!”
A flash of green light momentarily silhouetted a young man trailing a few feet behind them, unarmed and dressed in a simple tunic and pants. A look of shock crossed his features as he flailed his hands and stumbled backward, disappearing near-instantly thereafter, but not before Taelien had closed the distance between the two and grasped the man’s shirt.
Lydia drew her sword as Taelien pulled the invisible man forward. As Lydia approached, she saw Taelien’s other arm reach upward and grab at the invisible figure at neck level.
“Stop! Wait!” came a choking voice from the nothingness. Taelien shoved forward and Lydia heard the other figure collide hard against the cobblestones.
A foolish move, Lydia considered. Taelien should have kept him pinned. Even as Lydia chastised the former prisoner in her mind, however, Taelien advanced on the invisible figure and knelt, opening his hands and bringing them down until they apparently connected with something.
“You should start talking,” Taelien said in his Istavan voice. Lydia was momentarily startled, having forgotten that Taelien was still supposed to be playing that role. “I prefer my prisoners alive. My companion, on the other hand...”
He wants me to play the antagonist? Fine, I can do that. Lydia approached, leveling her sword near where Taelien had made contact with the invisible figure. She couldn’t make out where the invisible figure was lying – his spell must have been potent, to keep him invisible even after he had been seen and assaulted. She could have revealed him again with another spell, but she decided to wait. Taelien seemed to be physically overpowering the man without difficulty, and every spell had a cost. “We don’t talk to assassins, Istavan. We eliminate them.”
“I’m not an assassin! Wait!”
The man appeared abruptly, holding up his hands in a warding gesture.
Taelien’s hands were encircling the smaller man’s wrists. How Taelien had managed to find the invisible man’s arms was a mystery, but she reassessed her earlier idea that he had been reckless. Apparently, once he had detected their pursuer, Taelien had some way of tracking the man.
“Talk,” Taelien repeated, maintaining his ominous tone.
“I know you’re not Istavan,” the man said. Lydia raised her sword, causing the man’s eyes to widen in horror. “No, no, stop. I’m here to help. Please!”
“Help?” Lydia asked, examining the fallen man. He was olive skinned, with short brown hair and a couple days of weak stubble. His glasses were thick enough to speak of some wealth, but his clothes were simple village fare, his tunic and pants a common brown in tone. There was a belt pouch on his right hip, but no sign of weapons.
“I saw you escaping – I was going to help you. I know a place where you’ll be safe,” the fallen man explained. “Please, I’m on your side.”
My side. How do you even know what my – oh, you’re on Taelien’s side. That makes sense. “Do you know him?” Lydia asked Taelien, intentionally omitting his name.
“No,” Taelien replied. To his credit, he maintained his Istavan voice. While the newcomer appeared to know that the sorcerer was an imposter, any confirmation would have been unwise. “Who sent you?”
Saved me that question, she considered.
“I, uh,” the man said nervously, struggling weakly against Taelien’s grip, “I should tell you my employer under more controlled circumstances.”
“Up,” Taelien said, standing, and wrenching the other man to his feet in the process.
“I’m not sure this is wise,” Lydia offered, leveling her sword at the newcomer. “There are good odds he’s leading us into a trap.”
“I know,” Taelien said, letting go of the other man. “The sooner I walk into this particular trap, the sooner I can eliminate whoever set it.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes. That sounded insane. It could just be extreme confidence, but insanity is more probable.
“It’s not a trap,” the now-visible newcomer said. “Just a place where other people won’t overhear us so easily. The name is Jonan, by the way. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”
Chapter III – Definitely not a Trap
Jonan rubbed at his sore wrists as he took the first steps into his borrowed home. That man has hands like iron manacles, the scholar considered. Best to feed him a few relevant lies before they end up around my neck.
The house was large by Jonan’s standards, but somehow he had managed to clutter the place almost immediately upon moving in. He stepped between a pair of tables near the entrance, attempting to put a bit of distance between himself and his would-be allies without looking too conspicuous about it.
“Stay within reach,” the woman in the sorceress robes instructed him. “If you have assassins in one of the other rooms waiting for us, I want to have time to execute you before they’re on us.”
So much for that, Jonan considered with a grimace. “No assassins, I assure you.” But he slowed his steps regardless, gesturing broadly within the building. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. There’s food in the cabinet over there,” he said, pointing to a cupboard near the opposite end of a distant room. “Feel free to help yourselves.”
“While I’m grateful for your hospitality,” the brutally strong man said to him, “I’d really rather know who you are.”
Jonan sighed dramatically. “Have a seat, then.” He found his way to the kitchen table, covered with bits of metal, panes of glass, and tools, and pulled a pair of chairs for his guests. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting multiple guests. I would have made more room.”
The other man seized one of the two seats that Jonan had offered, pulled it back a bit, and sat. The sorceress continued to stand, watching him closely. Jonan nervously turned away from her gaze, finally sitting in the second chair himself and turning to face the swordsman.
“Tell us who you work for,” the woman demanded, leaning toward him just slightly.
Jonan turned his head back toward her, playing through possible answers in his head, finishing the debate that had raged in his mind since they had discovered him. “I am but a humble scholar, and when I happened to-“
“That’s a bunch of resh. Start over,” the red-haired woman demanded, tapping the hilt of her sword meaningfully.
Now that his first lie had been so easily dispelled, Jonan began the next. “No need for that sword, I assure you. I’m a friend. I believe I work for the same people that you do, but if you have the same instructions that I do, you would know that we have orders not to confirm that or interact with one another.”
The sorceress’ hand drifted away from her sword.
Interesting, Jonan thought.
“Interesting,” the woman replied. “And almost plausible. But, given that we have already come into contact, it’s too late for that sort of behavior. We should share what resources we have available, if you are, in fact, working for the same people that I am.”
“Would either of you tell me who you’re talking about?” the masked man asked them. He was still using an outrageously deep voice. Jonan found it adorably pretentious.
“No,” the sorceress replied.
“Not really,” Jonan said, shaking his head.
When Jonan had been given his assignment, he had been told that there was a single other person affiliated with his organization in the city. His instructions had been to communicate with this contact by trading information through anonymous notes, but he had explicit orders not to determine his contact’s identity.
For that reason, he had started looking for his contact’s identity immediately, but thus far he hadn’t had any luck. When he had discovered that the bearer of the Sae’kes had been imprisoned, he had immediately reported that information to his contact. The sorceress’ actions implied that she might be acting on the information he had provided. He considered asking her questions based on the notes he had sent to his contact, but he decided that might be playing his hand too quickly.
Jo
nan turned back to the masked man. “Sorry, friend, but you haven’t even told me your real name.”
The masked man scoffed. “Any names we give one another are pointless until a level of trust is established.”
Jonan put a hand over his chest, trying to look wounded by the point. “You do not trust me? I have guided you to the safety of my home, at great personal risk.”
“We seem to be at an impasse.” The woman leaned back against one of the tables behind her, pushing an unfinished mirror on top of it aside to make herself comfortable. “Fine. I’m not in the mood for riddles and games. I am Lydia, and I am a court sorcerer for Queen Regent Tylan. This man,” she said, gesturing to Taelien, “Is Volar, my apprentice.”
“Let me stop you there,” Jonan said, turning to sit side-ways in his chair and address Lydia. “I already know that this man is a prisoner, and that you’re helping him escape. I was planning to break him out myself, but you got to him first.”
Lydia pushed her glasses up further on her nose. “That is quite an accusation you’ve made.”
“Again, there’s no need for these pretenses. I will hide you until morning, at which point you can safely escape the city.” He gestured to the next room, which contained the staircase, though it was currently obscured from his sight by a half-closed door. “I regret that I only purchased male clothing, as I did not anticipate your involvement.”
Lydia glanced at her masked companion, and then back to Jonan. “How did you discover us?”
“I am a practitioner of sight sorcery,” Jonan admitted. “As I’m certain you noted from my attempt to follow you invisibly. I have been monitoring the comings and goings at the palace as best I could. When I saw the bearer of the sacred blade captured, I could not stand idly by and allow him to be harmed.”
Jonan glanced back to the masked figure, but the other man just stared at him, his expression unreadable with the mask. It was somewhat disconcerting.
