by Brandon Fox
A candle inside the room flickered in the breeze from a partially open window. The candle rested on a massive casework desk, a formidable piece of furniture fully enclosed on three sides. Dirty dishes and several large books surrounded the taper. Thane shivered as the desk’s lines became clear. It matched the one he had seen in his vision.
A fat man in a black robe rested in an armchair next to the desk. The red sword of the zamindar’s crest decorated his robe, and a key hung from a cord around his waist. The rest of the room was lost in shadows. He was motionless, and a trickle of spittle dripped from one corner of his mouth. Though he appeared to be sleeping, a shimmering black veil around the candle’s flame revealed magic’s presence in the room.
After a few seconds, Thane pulled back. He drew Nicolai a few feet down the corridor, then leaned close. “He’s in there. Probably in a trance, watching the kei for threats. But he’ll come out of it fast if we make any noise.”
“I felt for cantrips while you were at the keyhole. If there’s anything there, it’s too subtle for me.”
Thane nodded. “As we thought, they’re only worrying about magical attacks. If we can get to him before he leaves the trance, we’ll be able to take him before he raises an alarm. I’ll try the latch.”
They went back to the door. Thane put his hand an inch from a metal ring that operated the latch, feeling for tingles, chills, or other signs of a cantrip. A sense of menace still simmered in the back of his mind, but it seemed to emanate from the sorcerer. Satisfied that the latch didn’t hold a trap, he grasped the cold iron and twisted gently. The ring turned a fraction of an inch before stopping. He turned the ring back, making sure it didn’t bang against the door. They retreated down the hallway again.
“I’ll try to pick the lock,” Thane whispered. “We’ll need luck. He might hear me working, or he might hear the lock’s bolt when it’s thrown.” He scowled, not sure whether the chances of success were good enough to warrant the risk.
“Let me take a look before you start,” Nicolai said. “I’ll need to know where things are as soon as the door opens.” He went to the door and peered through the keyhole, returning a few seconds later. He prodded Thane further down the corridor before whispering in his ear.
“Maybe there’s a better way. Did you notice that the window’s not latched?”
“The candle’s flame was shivering, yes. How does that help? We’re on the third floor.”
“I spent the whole day on the side of this house, remember? There are framing timbers about seven feet below the bottom edge of this floor’s windows. The timbers stick out a couple of inches from the stucco.”
“A couple of inches? I don’t know, Nicolai. A fall from here would be bad. Even for an acrobat.”
“So I won’t fall. Trust me, this isn’t half as dangerous as some of the stunts I do. And it’s safer than trying to rush a sorcerer who hears a lock opening in the middle of the night.”
“All right.” Thane’s agreement was reluctant, but it seemed their best option. “Let’s look for a way outside.”
Nicolai tried the door next to the sorcerer’s study, but it was locked. Thane went further down the hallway and tried another. The iron ring turned without resistance, and the latch opened quietly. He swung the door open.
His nose told him what they had found before his eyes could make out the details. The air was ripe with the smell of stale piss, and the shadows held a pair of blocky wooden chairs with chamber pots beneath the seats. Thane ignored the odors. The room had a window.
They unlatched the window and swung it open. As Nicolai had said, the edge of a framing timber ran parallel to the ground about seven feet beneath the windowsill. It looked impossibly small, nearly invisible in the faint moonlight, but Nicolai climbed out with no hesitation. He lowered himself, then felt with his toes for the shallow ledge. Thane kept a grip on his wrists while he found his footing.
“I’ll watch the sorcerer while you’re coming through the window,” Thane whispered. “I’ll try to distract him if it looks like he hears you. Maybe you can surprise him while he’s checking the door.”
Nicolai nodded without looking up. “Don’t do it unless you’re sure he hears me, though. He might sound an alarm and investigate later.”
“Agreed. Good luck.”
Nicolai began sliding along the beam a few inches at a time, the front of his body pressed against the wall. Watching made Thane queasy. The slightest misstep or imbalance would cause a thirty-foot plunge into the courtyard.
A glimmer of light caught his eye just as he was about to leave. He glanced up and saw the yellow glow of a torch approaching from a side street.
“Nicolai! There’s a patrol coming.”
Nicolai immediately stopped moving, his arms splayed across white stucco. The tramp of booted feet echoed in the quiet night. In seconds a patrol rounded the corner and entered the cobblestone street fronting the house.
Thane held his breath as the patrol approached. In a few seconds, they reached the front of the commander’s house. But the hour was late, and they were looking for trouble on the street. No alarm sounded. Thirty seconds later they turned another corner, and the light of their torch disappeared. “They’re past us now,” he said softly. “You can start moving again.” Nicolai edged forward, lacking enough space even to turn his head.
Thane watched a little longer, a painful realization in his gut. The thread of his friend’s life could be cut at any second. Then he took a deep breath and stepped back from the window. There’s work to be done. Nicolai knows what he’s doing.
He returned to the corridor and knelt at the door to the sorcerer’s study. Ages seemed to crawl by without the scene through the keyhole changing. Finally he saw one hand, then another, grip the bottom of the window frame behind the sorcerer. Nicolai found the shutters by feel and swung them open. The candle flame wavered as a gust of wind entered the room. Thane’s heart pounded, but the sorcerer didn’t react. Within moments Nicolai pulled himself through the window. The sorcerer remained slumped in his chair with his eyes closed.
As Nicolai swung his feet to the floor, a cat sprang from the shadows. It hissed and then uttered a low yowl, its back arched and fur bristling. The sorcerer’s eyes snapped open.
Nicolai sprang forward as the sorcerer lunged from his chair. He clamped one hand over the man’s mouth, then slipped behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck. He lifted, bringing the man’s feet off the ground.
The sorcerer struggled, thick arms flailing and slippered feet kicking in the air. Nicolai held him fast and tightened the arm around his neck. His struggling soon ceased, and the body went slack. Nicolai eased him to the floor. The man was still breathing, though his face was mottled and puffy. The cat hissed from a dark corner while Nicolai removed a key from the sorcerer’s belt and unlocked the door.
Thane entered warily. He felt the air begin to tingle when he got within arm’s reach of the desk. He extended a hand, then snatched it back. “A cantrip, strong. Made with blood magic. There’s no way around it without using the art.”
Nicolai prodded the unconscious sorcerer with the toe of his boot. “Who’s going to notice? You only felt one presence in the kei, right?”
“Just the one. I suppose we have to chance it.”
“Then let’s get started. Delay worsens our odds.” Nicolai pulled off his shirt and sat on the floor near the desk.
Thane removed his shirt and knelt in front of his friend. They kissed briefly, a ritual reminder of their bond; then Nicolai spread his legs. Thane sat cross-legged with his back against the northerner’s chest. The familiar embrace helped him relax and clear his mind. “Don’t worry,” Nicolai said. “I’ll keep guard here.” He put his hands on Thane’s midriff and spread his fingers to cover as much skin as possible.
Thane nodded, already feeling the flow of anima. Their lovemaking earlier in the evening had renewed and strengthened their link. He felt his friend’s calm presence in the strange dimens
ion where their essences had merged. An aura seeped from their skin and tinged the room with the color of embers in a dying fire. His flesh began to tingle.
Golden sparks filled Thane’s vision. His surroundings faded to nothing more than a remote awareness of his friend’s encircling arms. The sparks shimmered and then exploded in rainbow hues. A swirling curtain of color engulfed him.
As the dazzling light faded, the cantrip started to manifest itself. His mind visualized the impressions as a web of colored threads forming a sphere around a silver box. The threads quivered, as if straining to contain expanding energy. At the top of the web sat a huge black spider. Multifaceted eyes like red jewels stared at him with cold hunger. The spider’s rear legs were bent, ready to propel it into a leap.
Thane studied the vision with iron calm, keeping the warm glow of his anima concealed behind a mental shield. As he had feared, this wasn’t a passive spell to unknot. Death and blood were bound up in it, yearning for a life to destroy. The cantrip looked impenetrable. The spider was poised to attack anything with a spark of life that touched the threads.
There’s nothing I can do. Unless… could I make it spit its venom elsewhere? Cautiously, knowing that attracting the spider’s attention would be fatal, Thane reached out with his mind. His surroundings slowly took form as variations in light and darkness. The brightest light, shining like a beacon, was Nicolai. As long as the northerner didn’t touch the cantrip, he would be safe.
He opened his mind further and sensed a quickly pulsating green light. The cat. Perhaps… no. This cantrip is too well made. It will know the cat’s too small.
He turned his attention to the last source of anima, a sickly ochre glow that pulsed slowly. The sorcerer. Unconscious, but the right size. It was a dangerous gamble, but he saw no alternative. He released a small portion of his own anima in a tightly spun thread. Attaching one end of the thread to the sorcerer was an easy task. A wave of nausea swept him as he felt the man’s malignant soul; scores of innocents had died at his hands, and he had taken pleasure in every moment of their pain. Any lingering hesitation over what he was attempting vanished.
The spider shifted on its web, waving two front legs overhead as if feeling vibrations in the air. Thane held his mind motionless, calming the disgust that contact with the sorcerer had generated. A minute passed before the spider lowered its legs.
Moving with infinite deliberation, Thane spun out the thread of anima, arcing it overhead until one end was connected with the sorcerer and the other end dangled above the web. The spider’s jeweled eyes seemed to fix on him. He dropped the thread.
An explosion of sound and movement tore him out of the kei. He gasped, his mind reeling. He felt himself being dragged to his feet, Nicolai’s powerful arms wrapped around his chest.
“Are you all right?” Nicolai asked urgently.
Thane’s vision cleared in seconds. Nicolai had dragged him halfway across the room, away from the desk. The sorcerer’s body lay on the floor in front of them. His eyes were open, and foul-smelling smoke wafted from his mouth and nostrils. Brown, charred patches discolored the dead man’s clothing.
Thane wiggled out of Nicolai’s grasp and knelt by the sorcerer’s body. The odor of burned meat mingled with decay and sulfur. Without warning the sorcerer’s head wrenched to the side, and his face twisted into a demonic mask.
Thane rocked back on his heels. “Look at this! Was this creature still a man? Either he’d been twisted by his magic or some dark power in the kei possessed him.” He poked the creature’s mottled red face. It felt like rough leather.
“A good question. But we don’t have time for it now. We’d best finish our business here quickly.”
Thane went back to the desk. No warning tingle greeted him. He pulled open the top drawer. Empty except for a curled piece of parchment. He held it close to the candle. Nicolai looked over his shoulder, his breath warm against Thane’s neck.
“Can you read it?” Nicolai asked. “It looks like the tracks of a fox chasing a rabbit across snow. Is it a code?”
“No, not a code. It’s written in Old Meyherian. I studied it once, when… back when I lived in Lord Tolmin’s house.”
Nicolai pressed against him gently, a gesture of comfort against painful memories. When only sixteen, Thane had worked for a landholder who recognized his ability and tried to shape him into a tool. It hadn’t taken him long to discern the landholder’s plans. He rebelled and was severely beaten. When he recovered, he fled to Chanture and found work in Lord Tolmin’s house.
The sanctuary he’d found in Chanture had led to boundless joy in the arms of Lucian, another of Lord Tolmin’s young servants. Together they explored the mysteries of love and began to perceive realms that could be reached by channeling acute pleasure in unexpected directions. The seeds of the art sprang from their discoveries. But their two years of happiness ended in a bitter defeat. Lucian had died when he and Thane had rescued Lord Tolmin’s daughter from prison, where she was being held on suspicion of treason.
Thane was too engrossed in the parchment to dwell on memories. He brought the document closer to the candle and tilted it to make the characters more distinct against the parchment’s stained background.
“It’s been a long time….” He pushed fingers through his hair, his brow creasing. “I’m not sure of some of the words. But I understand the basic meaning. These are orders.”
“Orders to who?”
Thane turned the document over and inspected the broken wax seal on its back. “See this emblem, a skull with crossed swords behind it? It’s the mark of the imperial sorcerers. These must be orders to the man we just killed. His name was Doganay, according to this.”
“Maybe that’s what he was guarding. What does it say?”
Thane put the paper on the desk and leaned over it, his brow furrowed. “This is obscure. It seems to refer to something called the Kynda Fortia.” He chewed his lower lip. “Fortia is an old word for force, but I don’t know the other term. Could it be some new sorcery?”
“Maybe not new,” Nicolai said. “Up north, the word ‘kynda’ means to kindle something. Like a fire. Or new life.”
“The device we destroyed in the basilica at Fochelis,” Thane said. “The leech. It might be used for that purpose.”
Nicolai nodded. “You thought the zamindar planned to use it to extend his life. To kindle his life force, you might say.”
“It looks like we were right. The leech’s purpose was to preserve his life by stealing anima from others. He intends to build a new one.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “How can this help us stop him, though? We need more, a way to attack.”
Nicolai glanced at the sorcerer’s corpse, his unease clear. “Maybe we should leave now, figure it out later.”
“Just a little longer. Let me see what the rest of this says.” Thane’s finger traced the marks across the page from right to left. His eyes widened as he read.
“This is what we’re looking for! The orders tell Doganay to collect seventeen crystals. He’s to press the garrison commander hard. The soldiers and peasants can’t be allowed to rest. The zamindar wants no delay.”
Nicolai looked worried. “If those crystals are the same kind we found in Fochelis, they’re dangerous.”
“Unless they’re shielded by silver.” Thane’s anxiety faded as his excitement grew. “We’ve got to look. If the sorcerer was collecting crystals, he might have hidden them here. That’s probably what he was guarding.” His gaze swept around the dark room.
“I’ll search that chest,” Nicolai said. “You look through the desk.”
The chest proved to be filled with the sorcerer’s clothes, mostly robes made from silk and velvet. Several bore crusty bloodstains. The zamindar’s sorcerers, though ignorant of the art discovered by Thane, were expert at using pain and terror to work spells.
Thane pulled all the drawers out of the desk and dumped their contents on the floor. He was still rummaging through the pile as Nic
olai crouched by his side. “Nothing,” he muttered as he poked at moldy apple cores and other rubbish with the sorcerer’s key.
Nicolai turned a drawer over. “Nothing hidden underneath. Sorel says you should always check the bottoms of drawers when you search a desk.”
“He should know,” Thane agreed. While Sorel was thoroughly honorable, he had learned the ways of the world under the tutelage of his father. It was fortunate he had found commerce so unsavory since restlessness had led him to defy his father and embark on new adventures.
Nicolai started to turn the drawer right side up, but Thane put a hand on his wrist. “Wait. What’s that mark on the back edge?” He took the drawer and examined it closely. Shallow indentations at the bottom edge of each side panel showed where the drawer had repeatedly slammed against something.
Thane put the drawer down and picked up the candle, then crouched in front of the desk. He peered into the space the drawer had occupied. “Found something! Stops in the drawer tracks and wood panels just past them. It looks like there’s space between the stops and the front of the desk. There might be a hidden compartment.” He put the candle back on the desktop, then reached into the cavity and tapped on the panel beyond the stops. Hollow thumps echoed from the desk’s recesses.
He explored by touch. Soon his fingers brushed over a tiny lever concealed behind a wedge of wood at the joint between the desktop and the panel. “Found it. This must release a catch—”
The panel sprang open, and a burst of violet light bathed Thane’s face. He fell back, his arm numb. A cloud of oily smoke boiled out of the cavity and engulfed his head. His scream came out a muted gurgle as angry motes of red light swarmed out of the smoke and converged on his eyes. He fell onto his back, thrashing and choking.
Nicolai fell on top of him and grabbed his flailing limbs. “Listen! The cantrip didn’t attack me. Use my strength!”
Thane’s body convulsed as agony surged from his arm through the rest of his body.
