The Emperor's Mask (Magebreakers Book 2)

by Ben S. Dobson

  “That won’t be a problem,” said Tane, and tipped his head toward Kadka.

  She grinned. “Don’t need to mask anything. We have me.”

  A smile of understanding spread across Bastian’s face. “Of course! Oh, well done, my friends! Brilliant! It couldn’t work for anyone else, but with your natural invisibility to the Astra… the ward will detect a sentient creature with Mister Stooke’s signature, and nothing else! Wait here!” In a flurry of wings, he flew out of the room, and Tane heard him rummaging around outside. A moment later, he reappeared, holding a brooch-sized cylindrical artifact in both hands. “I’ll have to make some modifications, of course.” He moved to an empty worktable at the edge of the room and set down the vial.

  Tane stood to observe; Kadka and Endo followed. The mimic vial was a small glass tube in a copper sleeve, with glyphs etched around the outside. Whatever divination focus was put in the vial would give off the semblance of its owner’s Astral signature to detection spells and the like. They were quite illegal—usually used, as Bastian had mentioned, to confuse divinations or raise false alerts from detection spells. No one had ever managed to use one to get through a ward, though.

  But there’s a first time for everything.

  Bastian took a small scrap of copper in hand, uttered a spell in the lingua, and began pulling and shaping the metal in his hands into a thin, sharp point, like a sewing needle. “This is the easiest way to bind it to you,” he said to Kadka. Another spell uttered, and Bastian fused the needle to the copper case of the vial. Then, with an incredibly tiny etching tool, he began scribing glyphs too small for Tane to read along the narrow length. “Stick the needle into your flesh, and the copper will direct the decoy signature inward. The shoulder, I should think, where it won’t do much damage. The spells will hold it in place until you remove it yourself. It won’t be pleasant, but I suspect you can handle that if anyone can.” Finally, he hefted the vial in his hands and fluttered down to the arm of Endo’s chair. “There we are. If you would be so kind as to provide the focus, Mister Stooke?”

  Endo took the vial, and—after a short hesitation—plucked a hair from his head with a wince. “I’ve… never done something like this before,” he said, looking up at Tane. “Illegal, I mean. Are you sure… is this going to help find the person who killed Ulnod?”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I thought otherwise,” Tane said. “Noana Uuthar is hiding something, and we need to know what it is.”

  “Then…” Endo took a deep breath and slipped the hair into the vial, then sealed it again and offered it to Kadka. “Here. Take it.”

  She did, offering him a toothy smile in return that was as gentle as Tane had ever seen her manage. “No one will know you helped us. Is right thing, to find Mask before he kills again.”

  “I know,” said Endo. “Please, just… stop him.”

  “Soon,” Kadka said. But for an instant, Tane thought he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. No more than he’d been feeling himself, but it was worse, somehow, coming from her.

  “We’ll get him, Endo,” he said. I hope.

  Bastian’s relentless enthusiasm, at least, was undimmed. “You’ve put your trust in the right place, Mister Stooke! These two will not disappoint you.” He raised a finger. “There is one more thing, however. The vial will not work forever. Once the needle is inserted, whatever Astral energy is left in that hair will be drained quickly to cast Mister Stooke’s signature. But you needn’t worry so long as you get inside within a few minutes—wards only function on entry. There may still be detection spells, but we both know those are of no consequence to our dear Kadka.” He gazed at her wistfully behind his extravagant mask. “Ah, if only I could convince you to turn those gifts to my service. We would make such a beautiful team.”

  “Keep dreaming, little man,” Kadka said with a fond grin. “One day, maybe I get desperate. But not now.” She glanced down at the mimic vial in her hand, and then up at Tane. “Come, Carver. We have crime to do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  _____

  “IS BROKEN HERE,” said Kadka, peering up at the ten foot wall around the Uuthar estate. “I can climb.” After leaving Bastian’s, she and Carver had waited for the cover of dark to sneak along the banks of the Aud, careful to stay out of sight. It wouldn’t look good if the Mageblade patrols found a half-orc creeping around the Roost at night.

  Here, where the estate walls butted up against the river, a number of bricks were loose or broken—enough to work as handholds. As Carver was so fond of noting, people who relied on wards and magic tended to let the old fashioned methods fall by the wayside.

  “Alright,” whispered Carver, peering nervously over his shoulder. “Wait until you hear me shouting before you go. I’ll make sure the guards are distracted.”

  “Go, then.” Kadka shooed Carver away. The plan was the plan—there was no purpose going over it for the tenth time.

  He scurried away down the river, keeping low so that the walls of the estates along the bank hid him from sight. Kadka leaned back against the bricks to wait. She hated waiting. She’d learned to do it well enough in her youth, hunting prey in the Svernan tundra, but never patiently, and the time she’d spent guarding doors at the University hadn’t made her like it any better.

  Finally, after a quarter hour, she heard shouting from the far side of the estate. Her orcish ears had no trouble recognizing Carver’s voice: “I demand to see Senator Uuthar! I have questions she hasn’t answered, and I won’t be denied!”

  As good a signal as any. Kadka took the mimic vial from her trouser pocket, careful not to prick her hand on the needle, and then, without hesitation, jabbed it into her shoulder.

  It stung, but not unbearably. A sudden warmth passed through her body, and she grinned wide. Magic never got old.

  Carver shouted again, far across the grounds: “The Magebreakers won’t rest until our questions are answered!” That must have been hard for him—he hated that name. She could picture vividly the way he’d have cringed as he said it.

  No time to enjoy the thought. She had to get in before the vial’s magic ran out.

  Kadka turned, and started climbing.

  Carver was still yelling as she peeked her head over the wall. She’d picked an isolated spot in one corner of the grounds, and there were no lights here. Her keen night vision picked out two guards beside a small gate to the riverbank halfway across the garden, and no one else. The rest must have already gone towards the noise. No Mageblades inside the walls either—according to Carver, House Uuthar lacked any notable magicless members to protect from the Mask.

  The way was clear. Now all she could do was hope Bastian’s device worked, and that she hadn’t already run out of time. She took a breath and heaved herself over, preparing to smash her face against an invisible wall. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Instead, she felt the tingle on her skin that she always felt passing through a ward. The white fur on the backs of her hands rose slightly, and then she was through. She dropped down on the other side of the wall, landing in a quiet crouch.

  She was inside the Uuthar estate.

  For a moment, she didn’t move, just hunkered at the foot of the wall and surveyed her surroundings. She was alone; there were no guards nearby. The garden was wide, but not without cover—tall hedges divided it into sections. So long as she kept quiet, making it to the cellar would be easy enough. And not even that quiet, with Carver bellowing at the gates.

  Ignoring the slight but persistent pain of the needle in her shoulder, she crept across the grounds, staying in the shadow of hedges where she could and placing her feet gently with each step. The pliant grass muffled most of the sound, but if she went too quickly, it would crunch underfoot. Moving silently was something else she’d learned hunting in Sverna when she was young. The white elk of the orcish homeland were more alert than most anyone in Audland.

  As far as she could tell, no one had seen her by the time she reached the man
or. The cellar was set into the ground against the back wall, a short distance to the left of a magelit patio overlooking the garden. The silver-blue glow reached far enough that she’d have to be careful getting closer. She could move without sound, and for whatever reason she was invisible to most magic, but she couldn’t stop herself from casting a shadow.

  There was a fairly clear sightline down the center of the garden, a cobbled path from the patio at the back of the house to the small gate opening onto the river. If either of the gate guards saw movement against the light, it would be a problem. The cellar was far enough to the side that it might be out of sight, and she hoped the gazebo in the middle of the garden would provide some cover, open-sided as it was, but she couldn’t be certain.

  Kadka went ahead anyway. Who needed certainty, really?

  She was all too aware of her shadow against the grass as she closed the distance, but it was faint, blending into a hundred other darknesses. Drawing alongside the cellar doors, she stopped, glanced down the central path. The gate was hidden behind a hedge at this angle, but just barely; she could see the arm of one of the guards peeking around the edge.

  The doors were standard cellar fare, a pair of thick wooden slabs in a stone setting, large enough for an ogren to pass through easily. Less common was the iron chain that joined the handles together, fastened with a heavy lock. Hardly enough to raise eyebrows—the Uuthars had a right to security on their own property—but intuition told Kadka that they were hiding something beyond preserves or old furniture.

  She gripped the chain where it looped through the handles and pulled. It jangled slightly and held fast. Kadka looked over her shoulder to see if the sound had been noted; the bit of the guard’s arm she could see didn’t move.

  Carver was still arguing with the guards at the front gate. She could hear him, distantly, although the shouting had hit something of a lull. A lull that wouldn’t last, if she knew him. She gripped the chain again, and waited.

  It didn’t take long. “You can’t send me away! I’ll raise a formal complaint! I have a right to…”

  Masked by his ranting, Kadka braced her feet against the stone setting, wrapped the chain tight in both fists, and yanked violently. The metal didn’t break, but wood buckled and bent. Which was just what she’d been hoping for. Thaless was a city of magic—the prevalence of wards meant that even when someone bothered with a lock, they rarely thought about the strength of the door itself. Another pull, and one of the handles broke free in a burst of splinters.

  Again, she looked to the far gate. Still no movement.

  With one quick motion, she cast both doors open. They always creaked louder the slower you tried to open them, she’d found. Behind them, a stone stairway descended beneath the manor. She’d expected darkness, but there was a light at the bottom of the stairs, faint and silver.

  Kadka stepped through the doors.

  Something resisted.

  There was nothing there under her foot, but she couldn’t lower it any further. A ward. Either the magic of the vial had run out, or Endo’s invitation wasn’t enough to enter. Probably both.

  There was definitely something down there, though. Which meant she had to get in.

  How would Carver do it? He knew about tricking wards. Always a flaw, he liked to say. Maybe Endo couldn’t get in, but someone had to be allowed. And Kadka thought she knew who. She glanced at her shoulder, where the small vial jabbed into her flesh, and an idea started to form.

  The handle she’d yanked from the door lay on the ground at her feet, a heavy iron thing large enough for ogren hands. She picked it up; it had a solid heft to it. Aiming for a spot on the side wall near the back, she hurled the handle in a high arc over the hedges. It hit the wall with a loud clang and clattered to the ground.

  “What was that?” One of the guards at the riverside gate, far away but loud enough for orc ears.

  “Better have a look,” his partner answered.

  Across the grounds, the arm poking out beyond the hedge disappeared.

  Kadka made for the path down the center of the garden. When she rounded the hedge that had blocked her sight before, both guards were gone, off to investigate the noise. That was lucky—she’d worried one might stay at the gate. Probably one should have stayed, but she couldn’t blame them. She’d spent all night guarding a door before, and after a few hours, any distraction was welcome.

  The gazebo was her target. She made for it in long, loping strides, covering ground as quickly as she could without giving away her presence. Stepping onto the marble base of the structure, she ducked low to take cover behind the furniture, and crossed to the huge chair Noana Uuthar had been sitting in when they’d visited earlier. She didn’t have much hope of finding what she needed, but sometimes luck provided.

  This time, it did. She had to climb halfway into the massive seat just to get a look, but against the back cushion, her keen night-eyes found a long strand of flaxen hair. Kadka plucked it up between two fingers.

  She could hear the footsteps of the guards returning to their posts, and she was in clear sight of the gate now. Had to move quickly. She stole back up the path and ducked out of sight behind the hedge. No shouts from behind. Good. They hadn’t seen her.

  Her back against the hedge, Kadka grabbed the vial jutting from her shoulder and pulled it free. It hurt as much coming out as it had going in—not unbearable, but annoying. She unscrewed the cap and fished out a single dark strand of Endo’s hair. She didn’t need it anymore; it had probably lost power by now anyway. In it’s place, she inserted the long blonde hair she’d taken from Noana Uuthar’s chair. Then, bracing herself, she jabbed the needle back into her arm.

  Magic never got old, but that particular part of it was becoming tiresome. She preferred the kind without needles.

  The same strange warmth as before passed through her. Which meant it was working, she hoped.

  She crossed to the cellar, and stepped over the threshold once more. This time, her foot touched the steps without interference.

  “…one of those Magebreakers. They were here earlier. Don’t know what he was so riled about.” A man’s voice from around the corner of the house, and footsteps moving in her direction.

  “Persistent, I’ll give him that,” a woman’s voice replied. “Well, he’s in the Mageblades’ hands now.”

  So the Mageblades had interceded to stop Carver’s distraction. And as soon as the returning patrol rounded the corner, they’d see her.

  Kadka moved quickly down the steps, and the tingle of a ward ran over her skin as she passed through. She drew the doors closed behind her. How she was going to get back out now, she had no idea, but at least she’d made it in unseen.

  She descended toward the light at the bottom of the stairs, slipping one hand behind her back to grasp the hilt of the knife hidden there. If this was the Mask’s lair, she was going to be ready. As ready as she could be, against an opponent who had barely seemed to notice her the last time they’d fought.

  But it wasn’t the lair of a murderer she found at the bottom of the stairs.

  She was in a child’s bedroom.

  Except the child must have been a giant. Or an ogren.

  A massive bed sat on one side of the room, and on a table beside it was the source of the dim magelight: a porcelain night-lamp shaped like a crescent moon. The bed was empty, the sheets left in messy disarray. Whoever slept there, they weren’t anywhere in sight. To her right, a closed door led to another room. A privy of some kind, Kadka hoped, for the sake of whoever lived down here. Glyphs were carved in places high on the ceiling—relating to wards, she assumed. She recognized the upper half-circle within a circle glyph Carver had explained to her the other day, the one than meant ‘all things sentient’.

  Toys were scattered everywhere, just like in Dernor Deepweld’s room, but the little dwarf boy would barely have been able to lift these. A ship, and a knight, and a dragon, and several others, all carved from wood, all near the size of Kadka
’s torso. Most were broken and battered and bent, and several had been torn clean in two. Whoever had done that, they were incredibly strong. Kadka remembered Carver saying that the Uuthars had no children, and Noana had only talked about a grown nephew, so whose bedroom was this?

  Beside the bed was a chest of drawers. That seemed as good a place as any to start looking. Kadka picked her way across the room through the ruined playthings and pulled open the top drawer. Simple clothing, nothing of interest. She shifted the top layer aside, and metal glinted in the dim light. The edge of something, wrapped in black cloth.

  Kadka pulled the object free, unwrapped it. The cloth covering it wasn’t just cloth, it was a long black robe.

  And inside was a brass mask with narrow eyeslits, emblazoned with the Mage Emperor’s sigil.

  “Deshka,” Kadka swore under her breath.

  Footfalls from across the room. Heavy ones.

  Kadka whirled. The door at the side of the room swung open.

  It was the furthest thing from a child she could imagine. At a glance, the figure in the door was muscular enough to win a wrestling match with a manticore, and ugly enough to lose a beauty contest. He stood close to ten feet tall, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a heavy gut and arms as thick around as ancryst cannons. His face was hideous and misshapen, one eye larger and higher than the other under a thick, single eyebrow that stretched across his bulging forehead. His nose was turned up like a pig’s snout, and a wide mouth drooped at one side above at least four chins of folded fat.