by Jay Swanson
Which was the last intelligible thing Larry ever said. The sword in question lodged itself firmly in his neck before being pulled hard, grating out against the spine. The severed artery spurted blood in heavy gushes as he gargled a scream and dropped to the ground.
The Shade spun low. He dodged the inbound club and brought his biting edge up against the last remaining goon's belly. It sliced clean open and let loose warm guts intermingled with a dying howl.
Hank had his pistol out, hammer cocked back, and now he opened fire. The cloaked man walked towards him, sword at his side, brow lowered, eyes staring deep into his soul. Hank screamed as he emptied his rounds into the demon in the night. He hit nothing but distant walls and barrels.
“Of the rules of war, the first is is 'know your enemy,'” the Shade said as he plunged the long blade clean through the gang leader's gut. He smiled as he gripped the man's wet vest with his free hand. “One of my own is 'never underestimate the power of finesse over strength.'”
He twisted the blade and pulled up, killing the man and letting him slide slowly off and onto the ground. The Shade looked around, half expecting and half hoping for more trouble to follow. No one seemed to take notice as more guns fired in the distance. Whether they marked a celebration or the death of some other poor slob, the Shade didn't know.
He hadn't wanted to draw any attention to himself, and thankfully it looked like he hadn't. He held his blade out and watched it shimmer and disappear with his hand. The blood dropped through empty space where the sword had been and splashed into the puddle below. His hand and blade came back clean.
He sheathed the sword on his back and continued down the road. Pulling up his hood against the rain, he walked towards the Lorendian University of Liscentia. Nearing, he hoped, the answer to his conundrum.
NINE
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE DEAD?” The chief of police put his coffee down in disbelief.
“One of old Willy's boys found 'em last night by one of the brothels.”
“You mean to tell me they're all dead?”
“Yesir.” The officer shrugged. “All of 'em 'cept Jimmy. 'Course he got the tar kicked out of 'em. Found 'em nekked in the mud. He'll be a'right.”
“Like hell he will. Get 'im in here so we can get some answers.”
“He's over with the doc, sir. Still ain't woke up fully.”
“Who the hell was it then? That old screw tooth, I wager.”
“Can't've been, beggin' yer pardon sir. He's still locked up fer cheatin' the cards.”
“Canter's boys?”
“Nah, they was east, gamblin' at the Hillside.”
“Two Tooth Teller's gang?”
“They was in another fight in another part of town too, sir.”
“Then who the hell was it?” He hit the desk, knocking his coffee mug onto the floor. It shattered and spilled the grimy liquid across the floor. Most of it drained through the warped wooden floorboards before they could do anything to stop it.
“Damnit all to hell,” the chief muttered as he got down on a knee to clean it up.
“Let me help you there sir.” The officer knelt to collect the broken porcelain. “The army's scoopin' up all the wretched bastards around town for the infantry. Makes me think it were someone new.”
“You think?”
“They was sliced up, like pigs in a butcher's shop, sir.”
“Well who the hell slices people up then? We dun hung the Blade two years ago! And Wrigley ain't been seen for as long.”
“Dunno sir, but one of the gate guards says a strange feller came in late last night. Dressed in a long black cloak, all alone. I reckon it's him.”
“Hell, everyone has long cloaks 'round here.”
“Not like this, at least not the way they described it. Sounds magic-like.”
“Don't you go soundin' all queer now, too.”
“Beggin' yer pardon sir, but there's reports of Elandir sendin' spies our way. Makes full sense they'd use somethin' queer to do it.”
“Well what in sam hell are you doin' here then? Go find the bastard!”
“Right so, sir. Not sayin' I'll try an' arrest him though.” The officer rubbed the coffee on his hands off on his vest, attempting to hide the shudder the thought gave him. “Don't feel like gettin' sliced up my own self.”
“You'd damn well better arrest him! At least shoot him, elsewise it'll be me doin' the slicin'!”
The Shadow King watched and waited as the rising sun slowly illuminated the university. Golden veins of white grew until the granite pillars of the buildings around him shone. He sat as still as a gargoyle on the decorative ledge, leaning against the wall the surface sprouted from. It ran around the outside of the third story of what he supposed was a lecture hall. Liscentia had once been the cornerstone of education on the continent. Lorendian University had been considered unsurpassed among its peers. The greatest thinking minds had once come out of this school.
Now it provided little more than a haven for children to remain children. It produced few, if any, true free thinkers any more. Since the passing of the Magi there had been a rapid decline in the general desire for knowledge. The courses were geared much more towards training the next work force, producing something slightly above the level of your average drone.
The Shadow King rarely thought about such things. They were part of a life he had never led, paths to dreams he had never kept. It was a beautiful place though. Peaceful. The marble and broad grassy spaces between the halls had a calming allure. That much he could appreciate.
To its credit, the campus was one of the few places in the city that maintained a presentable appearance. The people liked to maintain the illusion of their former reputation.
He sat and waited, surveying a hall opposite him that he assumed was named after some former professor or benefactor. There were pipes running everywhere and vents practically covered every inch of its ceiling. If that hadn't been enough to tell him it was the scientific research department, the sign on the lawn certainly was.
Then his target appeared. A bulky man in a sweater, tie stuffed awkwardly underneath. His glasses looked like they were about to fall off of his upturned nose. The Shade couldn't help but wonder if this was really who he was looking for.
The man fumbled with the stack of books in his arms to get at his keys. He only dropped two of the books in the process. After a few awkward moments, he finally managed to get the door open and moved inside. The Shade didn't think any students would be coming soon. The sun had barely broken the horizon and he had only seen two other people on the whole campus. He jumped to the ground, falling silently and landing with an underwhelming thud. His cloak spread around him as it followed, fanning out as he stayed on one knee, hand outstretched for balance. He stood, drawing the long black cloak up with him and walked towards the research facility. It flowed gently behind each purposeful step.
He walked inside, thinking to jam the door handles shut with a nearby umbrella for a moment. He decided against it; better not to alert anyone arriving unannounced that something was awry. Only one of the branching halls had lights on; it was easy enough to figure out where to go next.
He didn't bother masking his approach; he just wanted to get in and get out. He rounded the corner into the adjoining hallway, half as long but lined with as many doors. One was cracked open, the light spilling out from beyond. He could hear the man fumbling with something in the room; the noise was hurried.
The Shade continued walking and pushed the door open. To his surprise the man was pointing a cluster of three pipes at him as he walked in.
“Who are you?” the researcher's voice wavered as he made his stand.
The Shade, for his part, was not expecting a welcome like this.
“I wouldn't–” A stream of liquid shot out of one of the tubes, igniting into a dense spout of fire.
He tried to make the jump, hoping to leave the flames behind, but found with a shock that he couldn't. He spun back
into the hallway, the flames catching him in the shoulder as he did so. He threw his cloak off to keep the fire at bay, burns tearing at his skin. The temperature in the hallway skyrocketed. Why couldn't he jump?
“This is the last chance I'm giving you to walk out of here, mister!”
“I'm not leaving until I've talked to you.” The Shade worked to keep his tone even. God, this was infuriating.
“Like the last guy who came 'just to talk?'” The man's voice was quivering, pulsing with adrenaline the Shade realized. “I don't think so!”
“What 'last guy?'”
“I don't even know who you are!”
“I know who you are, and that should suffice, Craster.”
The name gave the researcher a moment's pause, but only served to deepen his suspicion. “You're one of them, aren't you?”
“One of who, Craster?”
“Stop using my name! Stop using my goddamned name!”
“Who came to talk?”
“One of those Hunters, those bastards from Elandir.”
“I'm not–”
“You're dressed like one!”
The Shade had to keep his mouth shut on that; no point trying to correct the man. The dark leathers of the Hunters were close enough in appearance to his own, he supposed. At least to the casual observer.
“I promise you, I'm not.”
“Well I don't have what they wanted, ok? I don't have it so leave me alone!”
“What did they want, Craster? A shelter?”
“Yeah, how did you know that? How could you possibly know that if you weren't one of them?”
The Shade was already scanning the area for any signs of it. He knew why he couldn't jump. He hadn't thought he would ever run into another shelter outside of Elandir. The things were delicate, prickly even. Maintaining them cost more than feeding half a battalion. After the Purge, the threat of the Shadow had been thought to be extinct, and where there had once been hundreds of shelters, only a few remained. He had actively sought to have them discontinued and destroyed after assuming Silvers' identity. Apparently he hadn't managed to get them all. That was how it always seemed to work.
And if anyone would have an active shelter, it would make sense that the apprentice of their creator would. He shouldn't have been so careless. And now the only way out was across the open door. The shock of the fire was the first time he had been genuinely afraid for his life in a long, long time.
“I'm not one of Khrone's, Craster. And I know you have a shelter.”
“How do you know that then? Huh? How could you possibly know if I have one?”
“Call it a hunch.” He spun into the room as he said it. He had seen the thick red power cables entering through the ceiling earlier. Now he threw his sword for the circuit breaker he knew would be there. The flames jumped out to meet him instantaneously. It was a huge risk, but he was out of options. Sparks flew from the box and his gamble paid off as he jumped into the metaphysical realm. The flames passed, just a vague whisper of energy rolling through him.
He continued swiftly past the researcher, who by now was certainly panicking. He jumped back to the physical behind the man, gone for only seconds. Without saying a word he closed off the gas line running from the tank to the makeshift flamethrower. The squeaking drew the researcher's attention who spun and shot at the Shade, but he was already vanishing. The flames ran out quickly now, little more than a burst. Before Craster could get to the tanks he found a long slender blade resting against his throat.
“How about we have that conversation now?”
It took the researcher a long time to calm down, but the Shadow King waited patiently. This wouldn't be the type of man to be pressed for answers, that much was obvious. He was the kind of coward that would only crumble under pressure. Weak of mind in spite of his mind being his greatest attribute. He looked like he was about to burst into tears as he sat shaking in his chair.
The Shade took it as an opportunity to assess him as bits of flaming paper fell to the floor and died out. He grabbed his cloak from the hallway, brushing it off before he put it back on. The researcher's rolling chair was missing one of its five casters. The back and seat were covered in a fake green leather that had long since dried and begun to crack. There were drawings and sketches covered in formulas and equations he couldn't even begin to read. It looked like half of them had been burned or blown off the wall by the last blast of fire.
He wasn't tidy, that was certain. But there was a clear method to the madness. Even the mess of papers tacked to the walls seemed to ebb and flow like a vertical, curling river. He didn't take much care of his office, or even himself, as the stains on his clothing betrayed. But his tools and equipment were immaculate. There was brilliance here, even if it was accompanied with a touch of eccentricity.
And something else. A long pink scar ran down the side of his face from under the gray at his temples; it was freshly healed by the look of it. Whoever had come to 'talk' with him last must have left him in his current state.
The Shade sat on one of his work benches, placing a black boot on the stool beneath him as his cloak flowed over the edge. He rested his elbow loosely on his knee, watching the researcher called Craster quiver and calm until he thought he might talk.
“Your mentor was the man who invented MARD, was he not?”
“Yeah.” Craster's red eyes shifted, looking around as if he might spot ears in the walls. He sniffled. “I mean, yes. Metaphysical Atmospheric Repulsion Devices. Made to keep the Magi from using their power...”
“And before he killed himself he was working on reproducing that power, the power of the Magi, through a similar method, was he not?”
“Yes. He always thought if he could reverse the process and focus it, he might be able to replicate their power. But... but he never completed the work.”
“But you're following the same path, aren't you?”
The man began to shake visibly again, shrinking back into his chair as if afraid of being struck. “I haven't managed it,” he blurted. “I gave up years ago.”
“I don't believe you.”
“I swear it!” he squealed. “I lost my funding almost a decade ago! They said I hadn't made enough progress, that it wasn't worth the money now that the Magi were dead and gone.”
“But you could have completed it...”
“No. I mean yes!” Richard took off his glasses to clean them between fumbling fingers. “I mean maybe. I don't know any more. I thought I could have, but they were right. I was hardly making any progress. The math... the math involved was beyond anything anyone has really worked through. And his scribblings... I could barely understand half of them. And no one pays for real research any more!” He was lamenting now. “They think that keeping this place clean and presentable is enough to pull the city back up to some level of respectability. But it isn't! Not when the walls hold nothing but musty air and unread books!”
“Can I see them?”
“Can you... the books?”
“The papers. Your predecessor's papers.”
“Oh.” The man perked up a little. “Yes... yes.” He hurried over to a desk covered in books and loose papers, shoving a whole pile to the ground in his rush to please his captor. After a fair amount of digging he produced three tattered old notebooks. Each looked like it had been tossed underfoot a few times for good measure.
“Here.” He thrust them towards the Shade. “If anyone should have them it's one sworn to protect the Magi.”
The Shade took the notebooks, looking at the man sideways as he did so.
“You sympathize with the Magi? Even after all your master's work to undo them?”
“Sure,” he said still shaking. “I mean, it's weird to think of him as my 'master.' But the Magi, without them, where would we be? Where would I be? They taught us practically everything we know about science, the way we research, statistics... I just wish they'd stuck around long enough to help us get a handle on stuff like that.”
He gestured to the books in the Shade's hand, who in turn flipped through their pages. In here was the key to the power he was looking for. He doubted he could manage it. If this man had spent decades of his life on it, what hope did he have to crack it in a matter of months?
“This will have to do,” he said as he slid them into a pocket in his cloak. The leather armor underneath creaked as he pushed them down into place.
“How did you do that?” the man asked, curiosity finally winning out over fear.
“Do what?”
“Get rid of the burns? Your armor looks... it looks like you were never even singed.”
“Tricks of the trade.” He stood up to leave, doubting there was anything else he could dig up here. “And do me a favor,” he said as he walked out the door. “Burn that shelter.”
He walked back out into the hallway and started to turn the corner before he heard the researcher shouting for him. He turned his head back towards the man just as his shoulder was caught by a massive impact. He slammed to the ground and slid into the door behind him before he knew he had been hit.
“Oh God!” The researcher ran to him and knelt down. Broken glass shattered as it fell lazily to the floor at the far end by the entrance. The crack of a single gun shot resounded in the distance.
The Shade groaned, tenderly touching the spot where he had been shot. He chided himself silently for letting his guard down. The researcher watched with wonder as the shoulder wavered and disappeared.
“What on... how do you do that?” Craster looked on in disbelief.
It took a minute longer than the flames had, but soon the shoulder reappeared whole.
“Did they make the material especially to disappear too?”
“Yes.” The Shade grunted and rolled back into the side hall to avoid giving whoever was outside a second shot. “Everything we wear and carry was made to travel with us between states. It's practically an extension of who we are.”
“And my books?” Craster looked like he might cry at the mention of the notebooks.
