“Did you bring the tablet?” he said.
I swallowed, desperately trying not to show any of my fear. He would not respond well.
“No,” I said.
He stared at me in silence for a full minute, and I forced myself not to look away. His eyes were cold in that gaunt, alien face, colder than the air in the duct, colder than the blast of the winter’s night.
“Why not?” he said.
I knew my answer would determine whether or not I lived or died.
“Someone else took it before I could take it,” I said.
“Who?” said Morvilind.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He was a human man. Caucasian, probably English, about thirty or thirty-five. Blue hair, brown eyes, about six and a half feet tall.”
Morvilind raised his white eyebrows. “Did he overpower you and take the tablet?”
“He was a wizard,” I said. “He used a spell I had never seen before. It made him disappear and…”
“What?” said Morvilind. His voice was flat, hard.
I started talking faster, unable to stop myself. “It wasn’t a Cloaking spell or another illusion, I would have detected it. It looked…it looked almost like a rift way to the Shadowlands, but I don’t think that was it. I…”
“His name,” said Morvilind, eyes narrowed. “Did he use a name?”
“I don’t think it was his real name,” I said, “but he called himself Armand Boccand.”
Morvilind went still, and my terror redoubled. His face had become a cold mask, his eyes blazing.
He was angry.
I had only seen him truly angry once before, on the day of the Archon attack upon Milwaukee. Two Archons had made the mistake of attacking him, and their attacks had so offended him that he slaughtered all of their orcish soldiers and butchered the two Archons. It had been a terrifying display of power, and in my bones I knew he was about to direct that wrath at me.
At least it would be quick.
Then Morvilind let out a hissing breath, and I blinked in surprise.
He was furious…but he wasn’t angry at me.
He was angry at Armand Boccand.
“Tell me precisely what happened,” said Morvilind.
“I infiltrated Lord Castomyr’s Thanksgiving banquet, as you commanded,” I said, trying to force my exhausted, spinning brain to put my thoughts into order. “While I was there, Boccand approached me and asked to dance. I thought he was a Homeland Security agent or one of Lord Castomyr’s security men, but he left me alone after the dance. I then entered Lord Castomyr’s vault, and as I walked towards the tablet, Boccand appeared out of nowhere. He said that I would make the perfect patsy for the crime, took the tablet, and vanished using that spell. The alarm went off, and I hid myself for two days in the ventilation system. Once the guards had relaxed, I escaped and made my way back here.”
Morvilind said nothing. He was glaring, but not at me, at something only he could see.
“I warned him,” he said. “I warned that fool what would happen if he crossed me again.”
“My lord?” I said.
“Get up,” snapped Morvilind, stalking back towards his work table. “There is work to be done.” He stabbed a finger at the phone next to his monitors. “Rusk!”
“My lord?” came Rusk’s voice.
“Retrieve the file marked 8756 from the first-floor archive and bring it here at once,” said Morvilind.
“At once, my lord,” said Rusk.
Morvilind let out a long breath, and I suspected he was trying to bring his temper under control.
“My lord,” I said, getting to my feet. I couldn’t stand the waiting any longer. “Are you going to kill me for…”
“What?” said Morvilind. “Do not indulge in idiocy. I have work for you to do. You had no means of stopping Boccand from taking the tablet. He is simply a better thief and a more skilled wizard than you. The fact that you survived and escaped at all is…satisfactory.”
He didn’t blame me? That was unexpected. Given the choice between his wrath and his patronizing condescension, I would take his condescension every single time.
His wrath had made one of those Archons explode against the street like a dropped watermelon.
Morvilind continued to stare at nothing, his jaw clenched, his fingers tapping against the table.
“My lord,” I said at last. “Who is Armand Boccand?”
He glared at me, and I tried not to flinch.
“Because I suspect you are going to send me after him,” I said, “and the more I know about him, the better I am able to fulfill your commands.”
Morvilind snorted. “How clever. Yet I have trained you to be clever, so I suppose I should not be surprised when you occasionally exhibit the quality. Armand Boccand was originally from Manchester in the United Kingdom. At a young age he exhibited magical talent, and so was taken to the High Queen’s Academy, where he trained to become a member of the Wizard’s Legion.” His lip twisted. “He found that life unamenable, and so deserted and became a freelance thief.”
“He wasn’t executed?” I said.
“By now you have realized there is a substantial black market among both Elven nobles and wealthier humans,” said Morvilind. “Someone with Boccand’s particular skills is able to make a lucrative living, so long as he keeps his activities quiet. Like you, his particular talents proved useful for criminal enterprises.”
“That spell,” I said. “The one he used to escape the vault. What was it?”
“It was called a shadowjump,” said Morvilind.
“Shadowjump?” I said. “That sounds like some kind of stupid circus act or a bad movie or…”
I was tired enough that my smart mouth was kicking in again.
Morvilind looked at me. I shut up.
“A shadowjump,” said Morvilind, as if I had not spoken, “is a very dangerous spell. You know the spell to open a rift way to the Shadowlands. You therefore understand that physical entry to the Shadowlands is difficult, that by its nature the Shadowlands resists any incursions from this plane of existence.”
“Yes,” I said. Morvilind had taught me the spell to open a rift way, and it had saved my life a few times…and it had nearly gotten me killed just as often. The Shadowlands between the worlds were not for the faint of heart.
“A shadowjump,” said Morvilind, slipping into the familiar lecturing tone I recalled from my lessons in magic, “relies upon that property. The wizard essentially starts to enter the Shadowlands, but instead exploits the resistance of the Shadowlands to physical penetrations. The resistance flings the wizard back to this world, resulting in near-immediate physical transportation over a large distance.”
I blinked. “Like…like a teleportation device?”
Morvilind scowled. “Of course not. We are discussing the properties of magic, not the tawdry science fiction your civilization vomited forth in its declining decades before the Conquest. Teleportation is impossible. A shadowjump is simply very fast.”
“Then why don’t more wizards use it?” I said.
“It possesses several limitations,” said Morvilind. “For one, the talent is quite rare. It is a trait somewhat like color blindness in humans. One is either born with the ability to shadowjump, or one is not. Additionally, accuracy with a shadowjump is extremely difficult. The destination depends on the current flow of the currents of magic through the Shadowlands, and those change constantly. No single wizard can map those currents precisely, and so the destination of the shadowjump is nearly random.”
“Nearly random?” I said. “But the Earth's surface is eighty percent water.”
“Seventy-one percent,” said Morvilind.
“So if he uses a shadowjump, there is a good chance he’ll land out in the Pacific Ocean somewhere and drown or get eaten by sharks,” I said. “Why is he still alive?”
“Because the jump is nearly random, but not entirely random,” said Morvilind. “The wizard can guide the destination to some de
gree, though error is always possible. The range of the shadowjump spell is also limited – the farther the distance or the more mass to be transported, the more arcane power is required. Additionally, it is also possible to create an anchor, an enchanted object that acts as a lodestone, or perhaps a lighthouse. Aiming a shadowjump spell at the anchor will exponentially increase the probability of an accurate jump.” The doors to the library opened, and Rusk entered, carrying a cardboard filing box. “Rusk. Put the box upon my table, and then return to your duties.”
Rusk bowed, placed the box on the work table next to the phone, and left without another word.
“You have met Armand Boccand before,” I said, hazarding a guess.
“Yes,” said Morvilind, opening the box.
“Might I ask the circumstances, my lord?” I said. Morvilind was not usually so forthcoming with information. He must have really hated Boccand if he was willing to tell me so much.
“Five years ago, I hired Boccand to obtain a relic,” said Morvilind, reaching into the box. “You were not yet skilled enough for the task, and I was otherwise occupied with more pressing matters.”
I blinked in surprise. I didn’t know that Morvilind hired freelancers. On the other hand, he had a large number of employees with skills of questionable legality, so maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“He performed satisfactorily,” said Morvilind, lifting a wrapped bundle from the box, “and I therefore provided his requested payment.” His lips tightened. “However, he saw fit to demand double the price for his services. I required the relic immediately, so I paid, but I warned him that if he ever hampered me again, he would regret it.”
“And you let him live?” I said, before my brain could stop my mouth.
“I had more pressing concerns,” said Morvilind, unwrapping the bundle. “Additionally, I thought his skills might be useful should you be unable to fulfill the tasks I required of you.”
“Ah,” I said. In other words, he had wanted Boccand as a backup in case I had gotten myself killed.
“I warned him,” said Morvilind, “and he chose to disregard that warning. Therefore you are going to find him, and you are going to steal the tablet back from him.” I wondered just how I was going to manage that, but Morvilind kept speaking. “I will equip you with two tools to find him.”
He drew aside the cloth, revealing the fanciest compass that I had ever seen.
Come to think of it, it looked a great deal like the watch that Boccand had been carrying in the vault, and the strange compass I had seen Morvilind use during the battle with the Archons. It was big, nearly five inches across, and wrought in gleaming brass with a crystalline face. Elven hieroglyphs marked the circumference of the compass, and I recognized the Elven symbols for the four cardinal directions. A needle rested in the center of the compass, and as Morvilind held it flat, the needle swung around to point northwest, though more to the west than to the north.
Except the needle kept twitching in the way that a real compass needle would not.
“There is something wrong with that compass, my lord,” I said.
“That is because it is not a compass,” said Morvilind with a touch of asperity. “A compass points to the magnetic north pole of Earth.” I knew that, but I also knew enough to not point that out. “This device has been attuned to point at Armand Boccand.”
“Really,” I said, peering at the compass. “How did you do that…if I may ask, my lord?”
“Magic,” said Morvilind. From anyone else, it would have been a sneering answer. From him, it was a straightforward statement of fact. “The spells required are far beyond your level of ability, but another disadvantage of a shadowjump is that it is possible track a shadowjumping wizard with a high degree of precision. Once a device like this has been attuned, it will point towards the wizard so long as he yet lives.”
“That will be helpful, my lord,” I said, “but it is pointing northwest…and that could cover everything from here to Alaska.”
“It might,” said Morvilind, “but it in all probability, Boccand is within one hundred and twenty miles of La Crosse. Either Eau Claire or the Twin Cities, with the Twin Cities being more probable.” His lips thinned. “A large urban area would favor his extravagant tastes. As I told you, the power requirements for a shadowjump go up exponentially the farther the distance covered by the spell. Practically, a wizard of Boccand’s power would could not travel more than twenty miles at a time, and would require rest afterward.”
“I see,” I said. That was useful information. “Once I find him, I assume I should force him to tell me what he did with the tablet?”
“By any means necessary,” said Morvilind. That meant he didn’t care what I did, so long as I returned with the tablet and I didn’t get caught. “If you can steal the tablet without drawing his notice, that will serve. Otherwise, compel him to tell you where it is.”
“If I do that,” I said, “how am I going to keep him from shadowjumping away?”
“By means of a Seal,” said Morvilind.
Despite my fear and exhaustion, a little prickle of excitement went through me. I had heard of Seal spells before, though I knew little about them. If Morvilind was going to teach me a new spell, that meant I would become more powerful, and I could always use more magical power.
“A Seal, my lord?” I said, keeping the excitement out of my voice.
“Your education has contained little detail about warding spells so far,” said Morvilind, “since your tasks did not require them.” The Knight of Grayhold had taught me a warding spell against the elements, but Morvilind definitely didn’t need to know that. “A Seal is a specific class of warding spell, inscribed upon the ground, and lies latent until activated. When activated, the warding effect applies to the interior area of the Seal. To trap Boccand, I shall teach you the Seal of Shadows.”
“What does the Seal of Shadows do?” I said.
“It prevents all access to the Shadowlands within its boundaries,” said Morvilind. “No rift ways can be opened, and no creatures of the Shadowlands can be summoned within its perimeter. It will also prevent a shadowjump spell from functioning.”
“That will be useful,” I said.
“Be warned,” said Morvilind. “The Seal will in no way inhibit Boccand’s other spells, nor shall it impair him physically. You will require other means to compel him once you have trapped him.”
“I can think of a few, my lord,” I said. Oh, yes, I could. Armand Boccand deserved payback for what he had done to me. He had been content to let me die, taking the blame for the theft of the tablet, and if I had been killed Russell would have died.
Boccand would regret that.
“Now,” said Morvilind. “To teach you the Seal of Shadows.”
He lifted the vial of heart’s blood, and I swallowed with remembered fear. Morvilind had a brutal but effective method of teaching. After he taught me a spell, he had me cast it under his critical eye. If he was in the least dissatisfied, he cast his summoning spell on the blood, filling me with agony. Once the agony passed, he ordered me to cast the spell again, checking for flaws.
And again.
And again.
And still again.
I was exhausted and fuzzy-headed, but I managed to learn the spell. It was nearly four in the morning by the time Morvilind pronounced himself satisfied. Tears of pain streamed from my eyes, and a steady quiver went through my legs, but I refused to start sobbing. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. That, and crying in front of him would be unwise.
“Adequate,” said Morvilind at last. “Return with the tablet by New Year’s Day. You are dismissed.”
With that, he turned back to his monitors as if I was not there.
I staggered out the mansion, climbed into my van, and drove across the darkened, silent city until I reached my basement apartment in Wauwatosa, not far from the medical college. I parked, let myself inside, and locked the door behind me. My apartment looked more like a wor
kshop and a private gym than a place where someone actually lived, which made sense. My heart resided with Russell and the Marneys. I just came here to work and sleep.
One last thing to do.
I cast the warding spell to cut off my psychic spoor, hiding my trail from the anthrophages. I had missed two days while in the vent, and I really didn’t want the anthrophages finding me again.
Then I staggered into my bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, and fell asleep before I even pulled up the blankets.
Chapter 4: Hide & Seek
I slept for nearly twenty-four hours.
When I woke up, I felt stiff and sore, and an unpleasant scent filled my nostrils. I wondered if the apartment had suffered water damage in my absence, and then I realized I was smelling myself.
Eww.
Well, it had been three days since I’d had a shower.
Since I was stiff and sore anyway, there was only one thing to do. I donned exercise clothes and got to work. I started with strength training – pushups, planks, squats, deadlifts, and others, using the equipment in my living room. Once that was done, I fired up my coffeemaker and then switched to my treadmill. I intended to do four miles, but I wound up doing seven and a half, running until I was drenched with sweat and I had begun seeing spots. After that, I drank several glasses of water, poured myself an enormous cup of coffee, and took a long, hot bath, letting my limbs float as I sipped the coffee.
Once the bath was done and I had drank all of the coffee, I felt almost human.
Even better, I had the beginnings of a plan.
I got dressed and changed the license plates on the van, taking an hour or so to print off the necessary forged documents. Once I finished applying a new VIN number to the dashboard, I packed all the clothes and equipment I would need and drove across town to visit Russell and the Marneys.
We had a nice dinner. I mentioned that I had another job from Lord Morvilind, but I intended to be back in time for Christmas, or New Year’s Day at the latest. James was even nice enough to share some of his cigarettes with me, and I had three of them before my lungs burned too much to continue. God, I loved cigarettes, but I needed to stay in shape, and cigarettes were not the way to do it.
Cloak Games: Shadow Jump Page 6
