The Emperor's Mask (Magebreakers Book 2)

by Ben S. Dobson

  And she didn’t like running from a fight.

  She reached into her pocket and fished out the heavy silver coin Iskar had given her, marked with a rising sun. He’d said to put it in the window, and someone would come. The office had a single small window that looked out onto the street, and Kadka wedged the coin into one corner so it could be seen from outside. Then she sat herself down behind the desk, put her feet up, and waited.

  It was near two hours before anything happened, and the wait was excrutiating. Kadka was lounging in her chair, picking her fingernails with her knife and seriously considering practicing her aim on the magelight lamp on Carver’s desk when she heard footsteps outside. Then, the slight rustle of something being dropped in the letter box, and a tap on the door. She kicked back her chair, let it clatter to the ground as she lunged for the door to yank it open.

  No one. They were already gone.

  She looked inside the letter box. A small piece of folded paper rested at the bottom, and she pulled it out and unfolded it. Nothing but a single sentence, hastily scrawled. Right out the door, again at the first alley.

  No way to know it wasn’t a trap. But that was Carver’s thinking—he’d wanted her to pick the meeting place, and his warnings had gotten into her head. If the Silver Dawn wanted to hurt her, they could have done it last time. She slipped the knife back into her belt and stepped out the door, locking it behind her.

  The alley mentioned in the letter wasn’t far up the street, and no one paid her any mind when she turned in. Alleyways could be dangerous in Porthaven, but even so, everyone cut through them to save travel time. A large figure leaned against the wall, and stood straight as she approached. Taller than her, broad shouldered, grey-skinned. Vladak, the orc. He smiled around sharp tusks as she approached.

  “Shishter,” he said in that deep , rumbling lisp. “It’sh good to shee you again.”

  “You are one who leaves note?” Kadka asked. “Why not just knock? An orc in Thaless is noticed, sneaking or no.”

  “It washn’t me,” Vladak said. “Gurtle dropped it off and went the other way. Mishdirection, you know. You ready to come with me? Ishkar shaysh I shouldn’t push it, if you don’t want to.”

  “No blindfolds?”

  “No blindfoldsh.”

  Kadka nodded. “Then I will follow.”

  Vladak led her a short distance through narrow alleys, and Kadka took care to mind the route for later. Eventually, between two long brick warehouses, he knelt and heaved aside a round metal plate set into the ground, just like the one they’d taken her down before. She went down first, and he pulled the cover back into place behind them with one muscular arm.

  It was dark, but they both had orcish eyes, and here and there old magelights still glowed, oases of silver-blue light against the black. Kadka knew from listening to Carver that the lights wouldn’t have lasted so long without Astral power—she guessed they were still connected to the main disc lines. Vladak led her past sealed hatchways and broken ladders, until they came to what looked like a dead end. An old hatch was set into the wall, but it had been welded shut all the way around.

  “Maybe you take a wrong turn,” Kadka said, grinning.

  “Don’t be sho hashty, shishter.” Vladak took the hatch wheel in both hands and turned it. The door didn’t open—it couldn’t—but Kadka heard a grating noise, and followed her ears to a spot low on the wall to the right, where a brick jutted an inch out from the others. She didn’t think it had been like that before. Vladak pushed it back in with his foot.

  When he did, a section of brick parted from the wall beside him and swung open, revealing a hole scarcely over three feet high. They’d taken her through a secret way before, too, a section of metal in one of the tunnel walls that slid aside. She’d been blindfolded going in, but she’d seen it on the way out.

  “Is not how these were built,” Kadka said. “Does Silver Dawn add the secret passages?”

  Vladak shrugged his big shoulders. “Before my time. Before the Shilver Dawn too, I think, but Ishkar shaysh other vershionsh exishted before ush.” He didn’t say more, just bent down and crawled through the hole.

  Kadka followed, and then straightened up on the other side to look around. They were in a much larger tunnel, round and lined with glyph-etched copper plates on all sides—where they hadn’t fallen away from the wall, at least. The tunnel was sealed off with a great brass plate at the near end, a few feet to Kadka’s left, and with a crumble of rock and dirt at the far end, some hundred feet down. It didn’t look like it had collapsed, though—more like it had never been finished at all. Recessed into the ceiling, enough magelights still survived to cast the tunnel in faint silver-blue. Along the bottom of the circular passage, a flat wooden floor had been erected, and desks and chairs and worktables sat all along it, most showing signs of recent use. A large meeting table sat in the approximate center of the tunnel, surrounded in an array of mismatched chairs.

  “This is real disc tunnel,” Kadka said, pointing at the copper plates along the curved wall. The discs were platforms of ancryst levitated by a magical field conducted through copper on all sides—Carver had explained it to her once. There was no other reason for a tunnel like this to exist. “Why seal it like this?”

  A deep, pleasant voice answered her. “The artifice that created the discs became obsolete with the invention of the ancryst engine. Plans for a more extensive network of tunnels were abandoned, and in a few places where construction had begun, they were sealed away.” Iskar rose from a worn armchair at a desk halfway down the tunnel. He’d been hidden by the high back until he stood. “Kadka. I’m so glad you reached out. I had hoped to see you again.” He was as pretty as she remembered, silver scales glittering in the magelight, great wings flaring as he rose and then folding at his back.

  As he drew near, Carver’s warnings came to her again, unbidden. She was outnumbered now. She glanced over her shoulder at Vladak, standing by the hidden door they’d entered through. It was closed now, only seamless brick showing through where one of the copper panels had fallen away from the wall. Closed, and even if it had been open, she already knew that Vladak could stop her. She might take him by surprise, but the odds weren’t in her favor. She hated how hard it was to put that wariness aside. It felt like admitting Carver had been right.

  When she turned back to Iskar, his luminous sapphire eyes were fixed on Vladak too. Had he noticed her looking?

  “Vladak, if you would give us the room?” Iskar said.

  “Is fine. He can stay.” Kadka wanted to believe in Iskar and the Silver Dawn. She couldn’t let Carver’s suspicions control her.

  “No,” Iskar said firmly. “We should speak as equals, and we cannot do that while I have you at a disadvantage. And besides that, Vladak and his friends are some of our busier agents. I’m sure he has things to do.”

  Vladak grunted. “You sure, Ishkar? I can shtay.”

  Iskar nodded. “Absolutely sure. Give the others my regards—we’ll speak again soon.”

  Vladak didn’t argue, just looked to Kadka. “Hear him out, shishter. It meant shomething to a lot of ush, how you shtopped Nierish. You could change thingsh for people like ush.” And then he turned, fiddled with the wall for a moment, pushed in a few places. The passage swung open again. He crawled through, and a moment later the way closed behind him.

  “Well,” said Iskar, his dragon’s snout opening in a fanged smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Maybe I can’t resist pretty dragon men.” Kadka glanced down at his bare, scaled chest and quirked an eyebrow.

  He chuckled. “I almost wish it was as simple as that, but somehow I doubt it. Have you given more thought to working with us?”

  Kadka shifted her feet uncomfortably. She didn’t have an answer to that yet. “I am… not so good, speaking,” she said. “Can’t even make Carver trust you. No stranger will listen to me.”

  “Mister Carver is… a unique man. Perhaps not representative of t
he larger whole.” Now Iskar turned the full force of those shining blue eyes on her, solemn and serious. “The people we deal with speak of you very highly, Kadka. A half-orc woman who prevents mages from taking advantage of those without magic. Who bested one of the most powerful mages in Thaless, rumor has it. That means something to the goblins and kobolds and orcs struggling to make a place for themselves in this city. Your name has weight.”

  “Maybe.” She didn’t know what to do with that; she wanted to believe it almost as much as she didn’t. And then a question popped into her head, and she was asking it before she could stop herself. “Why not you? You say is dangerous, but a kobold like you would be hero with your people.” Carver’s distrust again. But she was curious to know the answer, she had to admit. “They always say they come from dragons. If they see you, people will believe it. Worth some danger, yes?”

  “That is something I have been thinking about quite a bit since last we met. You asked me then about hiding too.” Iskar bowed his head, and his wings flared slightly. “I do have my reasons, Kadka. I have been doing this for a long time, and I have found that it is better this way. Not just for myself. There are things I can’t… it is more complicated than it may seem. But I understand that it is hardly fair to ask you to do something I will not. I won’t push you. I believe your voice would make a great difference, but it is your decision to make.”

  Not what she’d been hoping for. His answer had a hole in the middle of it that Carver would never have let pass. But there had been something like sorrow in his voice. It didn’t feel like a lie so much as something too painful to talk about. And she didn’t think pressing the issue would get her anywhere.

  “Is not why I came, anyway,” she said. “We need help with Mask. Your people see him once. I need to know if they see him again, or anything else strange. Every place, every time.”

  “Of course,” said Iskar. “As I told you before, there have been others in the tunnels recently, but I have seen nothing of note since we last spoke. What I can do is put word out for any of our agents with information to meet here. I should have something for you within the hour.”

  “How do you put out message so fast?” Kadka asked. “Sending? You have magic?” She’d assumed not, given the nature of the organization.

  He shook his head. “Too few of us have magecraft to rely on sendings. But we have ways to spread word quickly. Signals and runners, artifacts where needed. We have cells pursuing our agenda all over the city—Vladak, Seskis, and Gurtle are one of many. If anyone has seen anything, they will be glad to share it. The Mask’s message has to be stopped. Magic for the magical is a sentiment that cannot be allowed to thrive.” He paused. “Perhaps… if you would like, you could stay and speak to some of us. See who we are, and how your presence could make a difference.” He sounded a little bit uncertain now, almost shy; his tail flicked back and forth along the floor. “Only if you want to, of course. As I said, I don’t intend to push, and we will help no matter what you decide.”

  Carver would hate that—letting herself be surrounded in Silver Dawn agents in a closed tunnel with a man who was quite obviously keeping secrets from her. But it wasn’t Carver’s choice to make. Secrets didn’t concern Kadka. Everyone had pain in their past. Whatever Iskar’s particular pain was, it wasn’t her business, and something in the way he’d talked about it made her trust him more, not less. She understood wounds. It was the people who didn’t seem to have any that worried her.

  And he was just so pretty. Kadka always knew when someone returned her interest; that hint of nervousness when he’d asked her to stay was a dead giveaway.

  She grinned. Maybe she was just being a fool for a pretty face, but it was so much more fun that way. “Since you ask nicely, I will stay. Send for these agents.”

  _____

  Tane breathed deep and clutched his watch case in one hand, trying to find calm as he watched the gentle hills of the Audish countryside roll by through the coach window. He could handle the discs—barely—to get around Thaless, but the ancryst rail was something else. His heart was still beating too quickly even now, a quarter hour after disembarking, and he knew by the wary looks the other passengers and the coach driver had given him that there wasn’t much color left in his cheeks.

  And he still had to take a train back to Thaless when he was done here.

  Can’t think about that. Right now I need to focus on how I’m going to get in to see Nieris. He’d hired the carriage to take him the rest of the way to House Nieris’ country estate—it was a twenty minute ride from the rail station, and far longer by foot, so he’d grudgingly accepted the expense. They were nearly there, and he still didn’t know how he was going to convince the family he’d disgraced to let him see the Astra-riven criminal son they were trying to hide from the world.

  Not for the first time that morning, he was distracted by thoughts of Kadka. Without her, he would never have stopped Talain Nieris from destroying Audland’s first airship—he would have died beside Lady Abena, falling out of the sky over Porthaven. And last night she’d walked out on him, called their friendship into question. He didn’t have enough friends that he could afford to lose any, and especially not her. There was very little she could have done to help him get at Nieris, but after the way she’d left, he felt somehow less equipped to deal with the problem. Or any problem. Like he was alone again, the way he’d been for a long time before they’d met.

  He hadn’t been worth much in those days. He didn’t want to go back.

  But he also couldn’t let the Mask get away, and he didn’t know how else to move the investigation forward. The Silver Dawn was one of the few potential leads they had left. Still, I should have handled it better. Shouldn’t have tried to talk around what she was saying. All she wanted was for me to listen.

  The coach driver rapped on the wall, stirring Tane from his thoughts. He glanced out the window to see that they’d arrived. The coach was drawing up a hillside road shaded by large elms toward an ivy-covered manor house built in stately elven fashion. There were no guards—out here in the country, there was little need for them.

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and Tane climbed out with a nod to the driver, a goblin man with a bushy mustache under his long nose.

  “Wait here. This might not take long.” He’d paid for the trip both ways—he was going to need a ride back when he was done.

  He approached the doors. There was a glyphed copper panel at one side, and he laid his palm against it. A chime sounded inside the house. A moment later, the door opened, revealing an elven footman in black and violet Nieris livery.

  “Who may I say is calling?” the man asked, standing with impeccable posture on the other side of the gate.

  “Tane Carver.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “…One moment.” He closed the door once more, and Tane heard hurried footsteps on the other side.

  A few minutes, and then the door opened a second time. Now a haughty-looking elven woman in a dress of fine violet silk stood beside the footman. Tane couldn’t guess her age at all, other than that she was beyond childhood—she had the smooth, unlined face common to even the eldest of her kind. Her hair was raven black without a hint of grey, so perhaps younger than Talain.

  “Tane Carver. You have nerve, coming here, I’ll give you that. What do you want?”

  “Talaesa Nieris, I take it.” That was a guess, but an educated one—it was common knowledge that the ex-chancellor’s youngest sister had been tasked by the family with caring for him, and there was a family resemblance there. “I need to talk to your brother.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “You want to… No. Of course you can’t. No one can ‘talk’ to my brother after what you did to him. I’m going to give you thirty seconds to turn around and get back in that carriage before my men throw you off our property.”

  There was no finesse approach here—or at least Tane hadn’t come up with one on the ride over. It was blunt force or nothing. “You don�
�t want to do that. I know you’ve heard about the Emperor’s Mask by now, even out here. I’m investigating the case, under the oversight of the constabulary and Lady Abena’s office.” Stretching the truth a great deal there, but it was close enough. “Your family can’t afford to look like you aren’t cooperating, after the airship incident. You certainly can’t afford for one of the few people who knows the truth”—Tane tapped a finger against his chest—“to start confirming rumors. It’s as simple as that. You give me ten minutes with your brother, or all your efforts to keep what happened quiet are over.”

  Talaesa said nothing for a long moment, just glared at him with overt hostility, and then, “Fine. It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re wasting your time. He hasn’t said anything coherent since…” She trailed off, turned around, and marched away into the manor.

  It took Tane a moment to realize he was supposed to follow. The footman didn’t stop him when he stepped through the door, just fell in behind. Talaesa led the way down a hall of seemingly endless doors, and then outside again to a central garden courtyard. There, in a chair beside a small pool, sat a man whose face was burned into Tane’s memory.

  Talain Nieris looked the same, a fine-featured elven man with black hair greying slightly above pointed ears, the only visible sign of some three centuries of life. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a black and violet suit that probably cost more than everything Tane owned put together. The only difference was that his bright blue eyes, once full of piercing intelligence, now stared emptily at nothing in particular. He didn’t so much as look up when Talaesa drew near, and he showed no reaction to Tane’s presence.

  “Talk, if you like,” said Talaesa. “It’s pointless. He might respond, but it’s always just… random babble.”