by Unknown
On the one hand, Slate was relieved to hear the command and confidence return to the Sicarius headmaster’s voice. The moment of vulnerability he witnessed after the death of the guardsmen seemed to disappear with the formulation of a plan. On the other hand, the loss of Sicarius seemed to release a reckless side of the headmaster that Slate hadn’t previously seen. He didn’t care to predict the carnage a reckless Sicarius headmaster could create.
Slate’s thoughts were broken by light that filtered in around the edges of the tunnel, forming a halo around some indiscriminate shape. That must be the exit. As they approached, the lantern’s light reached the silhouette, giving shape to a large rock blocking the entrance. Slate noticed another track mechanism on the floor of similar construction to the trapdoor in Sicarius.
The headmaster stopped short of the rock and pointed upwards. Slate looked up and saw two handholds recessed in the ceiling. The headmaster reached up, grabbed hold, and gave a quarter turn. The handholds, now released, dropped down to eye level in the tunnel via a telescoping tube. “Take a look.” Slate peered into a clear viewport on the side of the mechanism, revealing a grassy knoll a few hundred feet from the arena. It might even be the same grassy area where his tent had stood during the tournament; the memory of that day seemed to be from a distant age.
Slate pulled away, questioningly, so the headmaster explained. “There are two mirrors inside the view piece. One is near the viewer and the other is atop this hill. The light from the grassy knoll bounces off the two mirrors and into the viewport, which lets me check for any citizens who might be strolling into this area at the precise moment I want to exit. I have found this configuration of mirrors to be very useful, both for avoiding chance encounters and for observing people without attracting notice.” The headmaster returned the mechanism to its original configuration.
Slate thought this was every bit as impressive as any magic he had seen Brannon summon. “It’s brilliant. Did you come up with all of this on your own?”
“The previous headmasters wrote down their thoughts for various mechanisms that might be of use to future Sicarius members. I was the first to put it to practice.”
“You aren’t the original Sicarius headmaster?”
“Our line of work has a high mortality rate. It’s one of the reasons we stop using our names when we take the position. I may die, but the Sicarius headmaster will live on. I tell you this now because we are the final two members of Sicarius. If I die and you do not, it will be your responsibility to take my place.” The finality of the statement was not spoken as a question. Before Slate could argue, the headmaster changed the subject. “Now let’s get out of here.”
The headmaster walked up to the boulder and Slate noticed two more handholds carved into the rock. A locking mechanism was released on the track and the headmaster pulled the handholds, sliding the stone quietly along the track into the larger tunnel. There was just enough room for Slate to slide by the side of the stone to exit the tunnel. “I will need you to hold the rock in this position. There is a slight downhill slope which will slide the rock back into the locked position. If you allow it to lock, I won’t be able to access my storeroom.”
“You didn’t plan a way for you to get back in?” With the complexity of the plans put together up until this point by the headmaster, it seemed like a major oversight to not have a method of entry.
“This was designed as an exit, not an entrance. If there was a way to enter, then I would need to worry about someone discovering it and finding their way into Sicarius.” The logic made sense but sounded slightly defensive. “Just hold the rock.”
Slate did and was relieved that the decline wasn’t too great. The headmaster found a collection of small stones and sprinkled them into the rail until they went past the locking mechanism. “Ok, release it.” The rock slid down the track but stopped when it butted up against the rocks in the rail mechanism. It left a small gap around the edge of the stone, but it wasn’t noticeable unless someone was looking for it.
“Now we part ways. I will see you at Ispirtu. Fractal’s fortune, Slate.” The headmaster shook hands with Slate as friends, fugitives, and the last remaining members of Sicarius.
Slate navigated the streets of Ravinai in his Ispirtu robes and Sicarius mask. People didn’t want to be involved with Ispirtu business to begin with and the effects of the Sicarius mask compounded the effect. People parted for him to pass on the busy city streets and closed in around him. Bellator Guardsmen stopped citizens and searched houses looking for the escaped Sicarius fugitives. He walked right past them and they averted their eyes at his approach. He felt like a ghost, no more interesting than the city walls around him. He was a master of his environment. He was a Sicarius Guardsmen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SLIDING FILAMENTS ALIGN
The Ispirtu walls rose above Slate in magnificently shifting splendor. Rather than soak in their beauty, Slate soaked in sweat. Not long ago, he had been chased out of the Regallo estate by a security orb, expelled, and nearly killed. Brannon told him in no uncertain terms that if he saw him again, he would consider him an enemy. Now he stood at the front gate of Ispirtu, relying upon friends to sneak him in and get him out without alerting the wizard.
Relief overran trepidation when Tommy and Annarelle stepped out of the guardhouse. “Slate, it’s great to see you!” Annarelle and Tommy greeted him in excited whispers.
“I wish it were under different circumstances.”
Tommy filled him in on the plan. “We’ll get you into the basement storeroom that Lattimer described as your preferred point of entry. Forgive me if I was skeptical of Lattimer when he approached me to help you. You hide your allegiances well.”
“He saved my life. What do I need to do?”
“I’ll accidently open the security gate from the guardhouse. It happens from time to time when someone isn’t attentive at their job. I’ve done it often enough that it won’t be questioned too closely. When the gate opens without the security orbs scanning someone first, the alarm will be raised. Security orbs will then attach to the person who first crosses into or out of Ispirtu.”
“I’ve been tracked by security orbs before and I can’t shake them.”
“That’s where I come in.” Annarelle’s confidence made Slate’s heart sink. He didn’t want to endanger any more of his friends. “I’ll run out of Ispirtu, drawing the orbs with me. Then I’ll run back inside and act like it was an accident.”
“I’ll tackle her to make a good show of it, but she should get out of the incident with just a slap on the wrist.”
Slate still didn’t like the plan. Annarelle read the look on his face and her demeanor became more forceful. “Quit worrying about us and do what you need to do!”
Slate knew she was right, but hated the circumstances that required it. “Let’s get this over with then. Fractal’s grace to both of you.”
Tommy ran into the guardhouse and opened the gate. Annarelle ran through and gave Slate a hug. She whispered, “Thank you for helping me survive in Ispirtu. I’m glad I have the opportunity to help you now.” She pushed away from him as security orbs blared and rushed toward her. She put a confused look on her face and ran into the Ispirtu grounds with her hands flapping in mock apology, drawing the security orbs away from Slate and his entrance route. Tommy emerged from the guardhouse and tackled her on the grass.
Slate slipped into the grounds of Ispirtu and sprinted toward the storeroom window with his heart in his throat, fearful of the consequences of capture. He rounded the corner of Ispirtu and saw the storeroom window had already been broken for him. Hoping everything was ok with Tommy and Annarelle, he slid through the window with a tremendous crash when a shelf full of cleaning supplies fell on top of him. He brushed himself off quickly and listened. He thought he was safe, but then the doorknob turned and he froze. He hadn’t heard anyone coming. How had he been caught?
Lattimer looked into the room with a scowl. “If I knew you wou
ld announce your arrival like a circus act coming to town, I wouldn’t have bothered with all the secrecy. You might as well have been carrying cymbals and banging on a drum. Now get over here…quickly.”
Lattimer and Slate slipped through the hallway and into Primean’s laboratory. The lights were off except for a single orb floating in the far reaches of the lab. “Don’t tell me you’re the nostalgic type.”
“No one knows that I’ve been using Primean’s old laboratory and I’d like to keep it that way. If anyone looks in the windows of the double doors, it’ll just look like a dark room.” That made sense, but then Lattimer admitted to some superstition in his nature. “Plus, I wasn’t sure if there was anything else that made Primean’s experiment successful that night. I wanted to duplicate everything as precisely as possible.” They walked to the back of the room and suppressed memories came back to him. Sawdust covered the floor, hooks hung from the ceiling, and all that was missing was his blood pouring onto the floor.
Slate rescued himself from his memories by asking about the most obvious change to the room. A large tank of water sat prominently atop the sawdust. Behind it was a black curtain, held taut. “You require a larger bucket of water than Primean needed?”
“You would find it difficult to swim in Primean’s bucket.”
Slate groaned, thinking of Sana’s experiments during their trip to Pillar. “Is there any other way?”
“I’m afraid not. What do you know about muscles and how they work?”
“I don’t want to face Magnus in a feats-of-strength competition…otherwise, nothing.”
“After the Sicarius headmaster suggested I try to improve the strength or speed of our warriors, I looked into manuscripts from the infirmary. Muscles consist of overlapping fibers or filaments that slide over each other. Stored energy momentarily binds these filaments to each other and pulls, or contracts. To create more force, your muscles use more stored energy and optimize the amount of overlap. I want to train your muscles to know where that optimal overlap is and to access it instantly.”
“But how would that make me stronger or faster?”
“Think about when you are running. To reach your top speed, you need to accelerate over a long distance. As your body adjusts to what you are asking, it recruits more muscles and makes the contractions more efficient. If this experiment works, you will be able to reach your top speed, or your maximum jump, or throw your strongest punch every time, right away…”
Slate was beginning to understand the benefit. “Essentially making me stronger and faster… How does swimming play a role?”
“I needed a link, and the best analogy I could think of was people rowing a boat. Their paddles enter the water simultaneously and during the rowing motion it propels the boat forward. This synchronized effort is similar to how muscles work. Unfortunately, our discretionary needs prohibit me from bringing an entire boat and rowing crew into the lab. You need to do the job yourself.”
“How do I serve as both the link and the subject of the experiment?”
“I am hoping a Perceptor has the capability to figure it out. In essence, the better you perform in the water, the better link you will become and the easier it will be on me. This will be the difference between Primean’s experiment and mine.”
Slate understood enough to know his role in the experiment. He stripped down and entered the tank of water, flinching as it reached his waist. “You couldn’t have made it a little warmer?”
“You are going to save us from a Blood Mage and you are afraid of a little cold water? We’re all doomed,” Lattimer deadpanned.
Slate started treading water to warm up his muscles. For the first time, he noticed small ribbons attached to the walls of the tank. As he moved his arms and legs, the ribbons swirled. “What’s with the ribbons?”
“I’ll need to control the water to match your speed. The ribbons help me to visualize the water flow in the tank. I hung the curtain behind to see the ribbons better.”
Slate had warmed up his muscles in the cold water. “Let’s do this before the stone in my hand makes me too fatigued.”
The water began to flow in a circular pattern, with the water in the top of the tank running headlong into Slate to apply resistance to his swimming strokes.
When he settled into a rhythmic breathing pattern, a spell was cast upon him by someone powerful but tentative in its application. Lattimer was a powerful wizard, but the tentativeness was unexpected. Slate couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the spell was doing. He could feel it all over his body, but he couldn’t pull on it in the manner he had before. Then he remembered Lattimer saying the harder he swam, the better the link would become. As confirmation, he heard Lattimer shout in between strokes. “Harder, Slate! Swim harder!”
Slate pushed himself and the current sped up accordingly. The feeling in his muscles caused by the spell became more pronounced. He concentrated on it and sensed the spell trying to shift his muscles with each contraction. He tried to pull on the feeling but couldn’t quite grab hold. Slate swam faster.
Slate felt the spell’s effect increase with his effort and Lattimer shouted encouragement, “Go, Slate! Go faster!” The problem was that Slate’s stonehand started to lag behind the rhythm established by his arms. He struggled to maintain his pace, but then Lattimer increased the speed of the current, pushing Slate to his breaking point. Gasping for air between strokes, he focused on the spell affecting his body. He could feel it prominently now, ebbing and flowing with the contractions of his muscular strokes. He had tried pulling on it as he had done with Primean but without benefit. Exhaustion clouded his thoughts, leaving only the cyclic motions of a swim stroke. They coincided with the ebbs and flows of the spell. Without thinking, he slowly started to pull and relax with the ebbs and flows of the spell. His speed increased immediately. “That’s it! Keep going!” Lattimer increased the current’s speed and Slate kept up by pulling harder during the ebbs of each stroke, relying on the spell to maintain his speed more than physical exertion. The spell felt stronger, but worry crept into Slate. Was he pulling too hard on Lattimer? Would he meet Primean’s fate? Slate couldn’t think clearly. The current kept increasing and Slate’s empty mind could only focus on the pulsating spell urging his muscles forward. Pull, relax, pull, relax…faster, stronger, faster, stronger—the current kept increasing and Slate kept pulling harder, right up until his empty mind slipped into unconsciousness.
Whack! “Slate! Are you ok?” Whack! Someone hit Slate repeatedly on the chest. Whack! Slate wretched all over, projecting water in the general direction of the voice. “Bastard!” Slate recognized Lattimer’s voice and other conscious thoughts followed quickly behind.
He opened his eyes to see that Lattimer was soaking wet, having jumped in the tank to rescue him after he passed out. Then Slate realized that Lattimer had received a second bath for his troubles. Despite his exhaustion, he had to laugh.
“You think this is funny? You almost died, you fractal-forsaken fuck!”
“…but I didn’t…and neither did you…” Slate laughed in joy and relief. Lattimer hadn’t met the same fate as Primean.
Finally, Lattimer’s anger at having been vomited on gave way to relief and laughter of his own. “You think you can take my spark? The Regallos are the strongest wizards in the kingdom. The only people with stronger sparks were my sister Rose and my father.” The mention of his sister sobered Lattimer. He stood up and extended his hand to help Slate to his feet.
Slate grabbed it, but Lattimer flew face-first into the sawdust covering the laboratory floor instead of Slate rising. When he tried on his own, his body launched into the air. He rotated in midair to land on his feet, consciously trying not to push off the floor when he landed.
“Woah…I guess it worked.” Lattimer said from the ground.
Slate looked down at himself, moving his arms and legs slowly. He jumped from a standstill and flew into the air as if he’d had a running start. “This is awesome…” He tried
to run, but his first step was at the speed of a full sprint, covering more ground than he anticipated and sending himself into the laboratory wall in a thud. “…but it might take some getting used to.”
That brought laughter from Lattimer again. “Try a punch.”
Slate walked slowly and carefully over to where his clothes lie, getting redressed. With the glove from Lucus in place, Slate eyed the small table that once contained Primean’s whip. If anything deserved to be demolished in this laboratory, the table would do. He held his fist an inch above the surface of the desk and punched. The desk exploded in a shower of splinters. Slate smiled. “That should work against a Fury…”
“I’d say so.” Lattimer rubbed his jaw with a smile. “I’m just glad you punched me a few months ago. I wouldn’t want to get one on the jaw from you again.”
“The Blood Mage will have a surprise in store now…”
“I just hope it isn’t my father. What are your plans?”
“I’m not convinced that Brannon is the Blood Mage, because Villifor and Magnus presented Darik with a modified account of the Minot attack. The king will attack Ispirtu this evening with the aid of Bellator. I plan to visit your father’s estate one last time with the Sicarius headmaster. We will find out once and for all if there is evidence of Blood Magic manuscripts in your father’s personal library. If a battle is imminent, I want to be on the right side. Would you like to join me?”
“I need to stay in Ispirtu and prepare a few tricks of my own. If you find out my father is to blame, place an exploding orb at the southwest corner of Ispirtu’s walls. I am assigned as the commander of those forces and will make sure the defenses are down at that location.”
“Won’t everyone be suspicious?”
“Not if I figure out a clever way of doing it…so get out of here and give me time to plan.”
“How do I leave unnoticed?”
“You are a Sicarius Guardsman. It shouldn’t be a problem with the combination of your training and newfound abilities.” Lattimer said with a smile but an air of finality. Lattimer had obviously inherited Brannon’s sense of authority.
