The Emperor's Mask (Magebreakers Book 2)

by Ben S. Dobson

  Endo wheeled his chair around to face them. “Please, forgive her for any offense she might have caused,” he said with an apologetic glance at Kadka. “She’s taking this very hard. Ulnod was always her favorite.” He glanced down at his hands. “My brother had a way with people. He would have known how to comfort her better than I do.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can say,” Tane said. He was no stranger to grief. “Trust me. When you lose someone close to you, it takes time to make sense of the world again.”

  “Is good you do this, though,” said Kadka. “Take burden from her.”

  Endo gave them a shallow, sad smile. “Thank you,” he said. “But this is about my brother, not me. Before we get started, can I offer you anything? Tea?”

  “Anything… stronger?” Kadka asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Oh, I… I’m not sure what we…” Endo stammered.

  “Tea is fine,” Tane said, and elbowed Kadka again. “We’re working.”

  She flashed him a shameless grin. “Yes. Hot water and leaves is fine.”

  Endo let out a small chuckle “Well, you can add as much sugar as you like. Just a moment.” His eyes lost focus, and not long after Tane heard a sound from the hall outside, the squeal of wheels rolling across wood.

  I thought he said they didn’t have any servants here. The door swung open, and a small rolling table pushed in, with a fine porcelain tea set and tray atop it. It seemed to be moving under its own power—no one was pushing it.

  And then Tane saw the automatons, the brass spiders Endo called ‘crawlers’. Several of them scuttled along the floor, pushing the tea table; two more sat atop the surface, setting cups on small plates. These ones appeared to lack the daze-wands the others had used to attack Tane and Kadka—instead, they had surprisingly dextrous three-pronged pincers at the end of each arm. Their eye-like lenses glowed silver-blue, brightening and dimming as the brass iris behind modulated focus.

  “So they’re not just for security,” Tane said as the crawlers rolled the table up to him and Kadka.

  “Oh my, no,” Endo said, and looked appalled at the thought. “They’re meant for this, not stopping intruders. I made them to help with tasks that I have a hard time with from the chair. Extra hands.”

  One of the crawlers took the teapot in its pincers; another held a cup in place, then pushed it toward Tane when it was full. He accepted it, and smiled as the crawler that had poured the tea prodded a small cream pitcher and a bowl of sugar toward him. After he’d added his cream and sugar, they rolled the table on toward Kadka, who was watching with abject fascination.

  “Is almost like they live,” she said with delight as the little automatons filled her cup. “Best magic I see yet.” She paused, and then, “Except maybe airship.” She even accepted the tea, which Tane had never seen her drink before—though her interest in the crawlers couldn’t entirely mask the scowl of distaste when she took a sip.

  “They’re amazing, Endo,” Tane agreed. “I’ve never seen anything like them. You said I could look at the spells?” It wasn’t what he’d come for, but he couldn’t contain his curiosity. Even without any magic of his own, Tane considered himself as well-versed as any mage in the theory behind it, and this was an incredible advance in a field most artificers treated like story-book fantasy.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Endo’s eyes went unfocused again, and one of the crawlers hopped from the tea table onto the couch, and crawled toward Tane.

  Tane flinched slightly at the approach—it hadn’t been very long since he’d been attacked by these things—but hesitantly put out his hand to pick it up. When he did, a hatch on its back opened with a click, and the crawler’s eight segmented legs ceased moving and fell limp. Inside the hatch sat three tightly rolled scrolls perhaps as thick as a child’s clenched fist, each held firmly in a pair of copper end-caps.

  Tane reached for the first scroll, and then paused. “Can I…?”

  Endo nodded. “It’s safe to remove. They go dormant when the panel opens.”

  Tane carefully removed the scroll and unfurled the first foot or so of glyphs. As he’d suspected, it was incredibly dense. Rolled as tightly as it was, it had to hold thousands of glyphs in the lingua magica, every one of them utterly necessary to animate such an intricate automaton. For spells this complex, glyphs engraved in metal were impractical—surface area became a very real restriction. It was little wonder that it didn’t all fit on a single scroll.

  “It’s… very thorough,” Tane said, reading through line after line of instructions in the lingua. The first foot of the scroll just dealt with activation and basic mobility, and even that was incredibly complicated.

  Kadka leaned over to look. “Nonsense to me. You can make sense of this, Carver?”

  “Some,” Tane said. “But the way some of these commands are nested inside each other… I can barely follow it.” The spells were sufficiently detailed to allow Endo’s creations to navigate unfamiliar terrain without guidance, and Tane kept getting lost in complicated conditional loops. “The broad strokes, I think I understand. They see through the lens, and the rest of it is outlining how they react.”

  “More or less,” said Endo. “Although that ‘rest of it’ is the hardest part. I’ve given them enough to move on their own and react to a range of situations, but it’s impossible to cover it all. They still work best when I’m directing them.”

  “But that has to be easier with the basic functions already laid out,” Tane said. “Outlining every motion you want them to make would get tedious.” That was the fatal flaw of any automaton he’d ever seen: they required too much direct oversight to be practical. He had to respect Endo’s magecraft—the attention to detail in these crawlers was far beyond the slipshod work he was used to. Most mages took their power for granted, and lacked the patience for precision.

  “Yes, exactly!” Endo beamed broadly. “They don’t need to be fully autonomous, as long as they have the framework to respond to commands in a useful way.”

  Kadka laughed. “Sounds just like you, Carver. Like Indree says. I never hear anyone else so happy to talk magic nonsense.”

  “It’s interesting,” Tane objected with feigned indignation. “Not my fault you and Indree lack the discerning intellect to see that.” He rolled up the scroll, slotted it back into place, and looked back to Endo. “It would take me weeks to begin to grasp what you’ve managed here, Endo. It’s brilliant work.” He shut the hatch, and the crawler’s legs came to life once more. When he set it down on the couch, it skittered quickly back to the tea table with the others. “You certainly live up to your reputation.”

  “So do you, Mister Carver!” Endo enthused.

  The honorific sounded odd, from someone so near his own age. “It’s Tane. Please.”

  “Tane.” Endo repeated it nervously, as if Tane might take offense to the familiar address even after insisting on it. “It’s just hard to believe you don’t have any mag—” He cut himself off, and his cheeks flushed. “That’s rude, isn’t it?”

  Tane shrugged. “It’s true. And being born with magecraft doesn’t have much to do with being good at it, in my experience.”

  Kadka grinned. “Carver thinks mages are stupid. Is mostly true, with ones we fight so far.”

  “I think some mages are… careless,” Tane clarified, shooting Kadka a glare.

  “It’s fine,” Endo said quickly. “I’m not offended. I knew something about your stance already. Ulnod was fascinated by your dissertation. I… can understand how you feel.” Consciously or not, he rubbed one of his shortened legs with one hand. “Your father was the conductor of the train we were on, is that right?”

  “What does that matter?” Long-smouldering resentment flared to life again, and Tane’s hand fell to the watch in his waist pocket. “It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t cast—”

  Endo raised both hands, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean—”

  Tane barreled onward angrily. “—the spells. He couldn’t h
ave known. No one ever taught him, and he wasn’t allowed to—”

  “Carver.” Kadka put a hand on his shoulder, and he snapped his head in her direction, glaring. “Is fine. Look.” She gestured at Endo; the young man was all but disappearing into his chair, his instinctive gnomish camouflage casting tones of brass and wood across his body.

  Astra, what am I doing? He was just asking a question. Tane took a long breath. “I’m sorry. That was… uncalled for.”

  “No, no, it’s my fault!” Endo insisted, his natural color gradually returning. “I was insensitive, I shouldn’t have—”

  Tane shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just a sore point. You didn’t know.”

  “I promise I wasn’t trying to accuse anyone,” Endo said. “I only meant that… we both lost something important in the accident. I’m not surprised it shaped your views on magic. It did the same for me. Maybe… we could talk more sometime?” He blushed, and lowered his eyes. “If you want to, I mean. I don’t meet many people who understand what I’m trying to do with my automatons.”

  Endo’s earnestness was hard to refuse, and his work was fascinating, but Tane wasn’t sure he was ready to talk any more about that particular day with this particular man. Too much history. “Maybe,” he said. “But we’ve strayed from the matter at hand. Right now we should really focus on the case.”

  “Oh. Of course.” There might have been a note of disappointment in Endo’s voice, but he bobbed his head agreeably. “Please, ask me anything.”

  “Well,” said Tane, “let’s start with the obvious. Is there anyone who might have wanted your brother dead?”

  Endo’s eyes widened. “Oh, I… I don’t think so. Ulnod got along with everyone he met. Do you really think this could have been personal? I thought… there was another murder, wasn’t there? Byron Rosepetal?”

  “You know about that already?” Indree won’t like that.

  “Only that it happened. Should I not? Mother… tends to get information promptly.”

  “I suppose it couldn’t stay hidden long,” Tane said with a shrug. “But even with another victim, we can’t rule anything out yet. If there’s anything at all about your brother, any grudge you can think of, it gives us a place to start.”

  “There is one thing…” Endo hesitated, but when no one interrupted him, he went on. “Ulnod had no magic, and he was rather outspoken about non-magical rights in the Senate. Like Mother said, he might have been Lord Protector one day. Someone might have… there are people who resent that only those without magecraft can hold the office.” He was clearly reluctant to offer a name.

  “Endo, we’re not going to start wildly accusing anyone,” said Tane. “But if we don’t have all the information, we’re not going to get very far.”

  Endo sighed. “I shouldn’t… It’s only speculation. I just thought, there are a few senators who have been arguing for removing the restriction on the Protector’s office.”

  “Who?” Tane asked, leaning forward in his seat. It had been a while since he’d read the political coverage in the Gazette.

  “Rulik Deepweld,” Endo said. “There are others who support him, but he leads the pro-magical movement in the senate.”

  The Deepwelds were an old and powerful dwarven house—it was hard to imagine any of them resorting to murder. “Both your manor and the Rosepetals’ would have been inaccessible by anyone without permission to pass your wards,” said Tane. “Has your family entertained Senator Deepweld as a guest?”

  “Oh, yes. Several times. Others from his house, as well.”

  “What about these houses you say are allied with them?”

  “Most of them have been guests, too,” said Endo. “House Uuthar, House Crysthammer, House Nieris… Mother does most of her politics over dinner.”

  “Can you get us a list of names? Anyone with access to your wards who might also have been able to enter the Rosepetal manor?”

  “Of course,” Endo said eagerly. “Whatever you need. Most of the names on the list will be at the Brass Citadel for tomorrow’s Senate meeting. I can get you in, if that would help. I… have to represent our family. Mother is in no condition.”

  “That would be perfect,” said Tane. “People will be wary when word of the murders gets out. Kadka and I may have trouble getting access.”

  “I’ll see that you’re allowed as my guests,” Endo said. “Give me a moment, and I’ll get that list for you.” He spun the lever on the arm of his chair and wheeled himself out the door.

  When they were alone, Tane turned to Kadka. “That’s going to be our list of suspects. The only ones who could get into both manors. Doesn’t explain why there’s no Astral trace on the weapon, but it’s a start. Although even if we get inside the Citadel, I’m not sure how you and I get a bunch of aristocrats to talk to us.”

  “Could ask Indree for help,” Kadka said, a mischievous glint in her yellow eyes. “Is just what she wants, us asking senators if they murder anyone.”

  Tane snorted. “Yes, I’d love to spend the next week in a holding cell.” He spread his hands. “She won’t like it, but we have a client now. We’re obligated.”

  “Could have refused.” By Kadka’s tone, she knew full well that hadn’t been an option.

  “No,” said Tane. “You heard what the Stookes said. Ulnod was an ‘admirer’ of ours. The message at the other scene could have just been a strange turn of phrase, but this is too much to be a coincidence. We’re part of this.” He could still hear Elsa Rosepetal’s voice. My son is dead because of you.

  Kadka nodded. “If someone comes for us, we should find first.”

  “It might not be that simple,” said Tane. “Whoever did this had to know we’d find these hints. That we’d feel some kind of responsibility.” A deep breath, and then he gave voice to the suspicion that had been building in his gut for hours:

  “I think the killer wants us on this case.”

  Chapter Seven

  _____

  AUDLIAN’S CROSSING TEEMED with protestors.

  The last time Kadka had been there, it had been late at night, and the bridge to the Brass Citadel had been empty. She’d come shortly after she arrived in Thaless to see the famed statues that lined the span, stone sculptures of past Protectors of the Realm. Most races were represented—from tiny sprites to towering ogren—but there were some exceptions. There were no goblins or kobolds among the Senate houses. And no orcs. No surprise there, but she noticed it even so. The statues grew older as the bridge neared the great brass dome of the Citadel. It was like walking through history in the wrong direction, towards the founding of the Audish Protectorate. There was something appealing about that, even if Kadka didn’t know most of their names or what exactly they’d done with their time in office.

  This afternoon, though, it was hard to concentrate on anything but the crowd, so thick that Kadka couldn’t see through to the Aud River flowing by below. Most were goblins and kobolds—races with no voice in the Senate and little magecraft in their blood—but people of all sizes and kinds swarmed behind the rope cordons on both sides. Some must have been there for days, or weeks—their clothes were wrinkled and filthy, and they’d set up small tents to sleep in. Here and there, groups crowded around portable artifact stoves, heating food or staying warm. A great many men and women wore the sign of the Silver Dawn: a twilight-blue armband emblazoned with a rising silver sun.

  Mageblades were posted all along the bridge to keep the crowd behind their cordons and out of the main thoroughfare, but their presence didn’t stop the protestors from voicing their displeasure. Cries of “Equal representation in the Senate!” and “Rights for the magicless!” and the like were most common, but they were answered by an “Audland for the magical!” now and again, which led to small shoving matches among the protestors. Kadka watched one lanky goblin woman lean over the cordon to scream “Give goblins a voice!” up at an ogren Mageblade’s face. The big warrior just pushed her back with one arm, apparen
tly unrattled. A few times someone even recognized them and called out “Magebreakers!” loud enough to make Carver flinch at Kadka’s side—he’d been jumpy since leaving the Stooke house last night.

  “So angry,” Kadka said. “Is funny. I go through worse places to come to Protectorate, and don’t see people yelling in streets like this.”

  “You mean like Belgrier?” Carver asked. “Makes sense. Speaking against the Kaiser isn’t exactly encouraged over there.”

  “Not just that,” Kadka said. This had been on her mind of late. A lot of what the Silver Dawn said—or shouted—made sense to her. “Is not like this when I first come here. Maybe letting non-magicals in University makes them see other things that need fixing. Hard to see their home so close to right, but not there yet.”

  “Maybe,” said Carver. “I wonder what he would think.” He jutted his chin ahead at the small square at the end of the bridge—the Founder’s Plaza—where a single statue stood apart from the rest. A tall, handsome elven man, looking down the road as if to judge all those who approached the Brass Citadel. He stood straight and proud, one hand over his heart and the other resting on the hilt of a sword at his hip.

  Kadka knew this one. The bridge was named for him. The first Protector of the Realm, a hero of the Mage War. Audlian. She couldn’t remember his first name—something particularly elvish-sounding. One of the only elvish Protectors, Carver had told her once. “He is one who makes rule that Protector must not have magic, yes?” she asked.

  “He was,” Carver said. “Illuvar Audlian. He made that law despite knowing it meant his people would rarely hold the office. They say he did it to appease the nations of the Continent, show them there wouldn’t be another Mage Emperor. But I think he also understood the value of putting power in the hands of people who weren’t born with too much of it. Imagine having armies at your beck and call and the Astra at your fingertips. It would be easy to forget you weren’t some kind of god.”

  “So he would support protestors, you think?” Kadka liked the idea. She’d come to Audland looking for magic, and she’d found it, but sometimes she didn’t feel a great deal more welcome here than she had on the Continent. It was nice to believe that the founder of the nation might have been on her side.