PLATINUM 1.9: GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN
“Eldritches are not merely soulless. They are facades of personae. Bundles of abstractions given face and shape. They are not responsible for their actions. Indeed they take no actions. In each and every case it is the summoner’s culpability in question. Be warned – the law will never find in your favour if a fiend at your command harms an innocent.”
– from Mistress Arithos’s Lectures to the Neophyte Assembly
“Should I have interrupted, when I first noticed them? I –“
Thanks, Zel. I owe you one discretion point.
Releasing Emrelet’s hands was an inevitable annoyance – we sprang out of the bedroom, then quickly ushered Jaid, Jaroan and Xastur past us as we’d agreed earlier. Once all three of them were removed from the main room I went to the apartment door and started to undo the locks.
We’d sorted the room out after the battle and now Orstrum and Morsus occupied the bench that afforded them the best view of the front door; the old man looked tired, but his grandson looked positively agitated, jouncing his knee up and down by tipping his foot from ball to heel and back again in an endless, irritating loop, his flat hand held above the knee so that on every upward bounce it’d give a faint tap-tap-tap sound… Xantaire and Emrelet had taken similar stances, their arms folded across their chests; but while Emrelet wore a cool, unconcerned look on her face, Xantaire’s brow was furrowed and her breath came in quick, angry puffs.
I opened the door.
Peltos was at the front, the bald patch in the centre of his semicircle of grey hair glistening with sweat. Even the third floor was too much for someone carrying as much weight at he did; his belly preceded him into the room, strapped bulgingly-tight into a vest that would’ve provided enough cloth to fit a horse with barding. Behind him lounged an unknown number of taller guys with their heaviness clustered more around the shoulders, biceps and such like than the waistline. Peltos’s ’Gentlemen’ didn’t mess around, either. They were basically Bertie Boys running under a different name – the Bertie Boys being the chief gang in Helbert’s Bend. If you disappeared one or five of them, ten or fifty more could soon be showing up, cracking skulls till they got answers.
To ensure I kept him out of my circle-shield I stepped back as the belly entered, two of the Gentlemen moving in to flank him, standing behind him with their arms folded. Xantaire was strong, but she wasn’t going to out-intimidate one of these fellows. Emrelet, on the other hand, was merely hiding the Magisterium sigil in the centre of her chest – and her strength wasn’t something measured in sinew.
“Sir,” I greeted Peltos politely, nodding my head slowly and respectfully, like bowing in miniature. If he wanted acquiescence, he could have it. Take it by the spadeful. I could do that much.
“Boy,” he purred, not meeting my eyes but instead looking around, appraising the room’s contents, the vast amounts of books on the walls, “you should have heard the tales spun by my associates when last they came by your residence.”
“I –“
Now he met my eyes. “In short, they told me I should have heard the tales spun by you. Sounds like you came into your family inheritance at last. Where’s it been these last, what, three years, eh?”
I closed my mouth.
“Nice and calmly, now, Kas.”
I plastered a smile on my face before parting my lips again.
“Indeed. Three years.” My throat was suddenly dry.
“And double the pay? Three-hundred and sixty g-”
“Good sir.” I felt I could risk interrupting him so long as I kept up the charade of obeisance. He didn’t look disturbed; he smiled, as if he’d expected this.
It was supposed to be three-hundred and twenty gold, but I wasn’t going to quibble on the amount exactly. That was one of my bargaining chips, and if he expected me to protest about the amount going up, he was about to be disappointed.
“Could I owe you the tail-end? As you will soon see, I’ve kept good on the majority, and I’m good for more where it came from.” I dug into my pocket, where in preparation for this very moment I’d emptied out all but two of the platinum coins. I began counting out coins one by one, the whitish metal dazzling his eyes as it tumbled from one of my hands to the other, the weird flame-like design on the coins’ faces such a rarity to behold.
“Quit stalling, boy. My time costs, even if you’re offering me plat.” I could see his eyes gleaming in spite of his words. “How much do you have?”
I shirked at this part. I would be willing to part with all thirty, if it meant this all going smoothly, and if I went in with a lower amount I wouldn’t be able to offer him the rest without making myself look both weak-willed and deceitful.
I’d given myself until this moment to decide, and it was a painful decision. Could one or two more platinum pieces tip the balance in my favour?
Platinum. Its allure was tremendous, especially while you handled it.
“Twenty-eight. I –“
“Not enough.” Peltos’s smile broadened. “I’ll take this in lieu of the rest. You can leave.“
I had to react instantly by retreating towards the main room as he started moving forwards, his bodyguards keeping pace – and suddenly there were two more of them, visible behind Peltos in the centre, making escape impossible.
Well – making escape funny, really, if you wanted to be technical. It’d be easy, and oh-so-satisfying to listen to these massive guys squeal in terror. But escape was supposed to be impossible. For me, it’d just mean giving up my entire life…
I wouldn’t be doing that unless things went very wrong.
I couldn’t see Emrelet, Orstrum or Morsus from here, but I could see Xantaire in my peripheral vision, her fingers clenched into fists; her arms, still folded across her chest, rippled with tensed muscle.
I’d asked them all to leave it to me, and, so far, they were.
“Wait!” I gave it my best Soulbiter treatment, virtually roaring at them. “Do you really want to turn this down? Think about it. I’ll offer you the same rate of interest on what I owe you.”
I brandished the platinum like a weapon and he halted again, his piggy eyes narrowed on me. “Double, plus forty gold’s appearance-fee, on the eighty you’d still owe me? Another two hundred gold?”
I hesitated for just one heartbeat.
I’d made thirty plat in one night, when you thought about it. Making twenty more… It would be easier this time, too – I had better resources, if I had two plat left over – I could probably buy five explosive daggers with that –
I’d hesitated one heartbeat too long. As I tried to say ‘yes!’ I’d barely had chance to blurt out the first consonant when he continued, no longer purring but roaring right back at me:
“You think me a fool, boy? You came by a very specific amount of treasure, this isn’t something someone like you’s just going to repeat –“
He took another step towards me. About half a ton of muscle followed him.
I stuck my platinum-filled hands back in my pockets and mirrored his step. “I’m known for crazy stunts like this! I –”
“You vill stop now. I vill vouch for zis man’s honour.”
It was a pleasant feeling, to be backed-up by someone so competent, polished. She was right to move when she did, coming to my side and dropping her arms, displaying the ten-spoked wheel. It could no longer be salvaged without using my powers and yes, of course there was a possibility Peltos would put two and two together with the whole Feychilde-Cannibal Six thing being in the news – but it was worth the risk. It wasn’t like he had the whole context like Xantaire had when she’d figured it out, watching my weird behaviour over the last couple of weeks.
“A magister?” He sounded incredulous, and his face twisted between a leer and a scowl. “What’s a magister doing here?”
She said it in a sweet tone, clearly doing her best to give no overt offence while simultaneously telling him to drop off: “Vhat is your security clearance?”
Oh dear, I thought.
“Yes, dear?”
Don’t do that.
“Okay, dear.”
The look on Peltos’s face finally settled on option B: scowl.
“Zere vould be no reason for you to stick your nose in Magisterium business –“
“This is my apartment!”
“You own it but you do not inhabit it.” She spoke with the ease of someone practised at defending herself against hot-heads. “Ve are not required to consult with ze landlord vhen ve vish to visit a resident, and ze landlord may not hinder or interfere with our inquiries.”
“And landlords are not required to accept the word of magisters when it comes to dealing with their clients,” Peltos retorted, “or take their direction in any business interactions. Unless you’ve got two-hundred gold –”
“Eighty!” I barked.
“Two hundred gold, in your pocket right now, young miss, then your little friend here is getting kicked out.”
There was a link in my mind between kicking and kicking-their-grave, between their-death and the fact that this-was-their-apartment – and here was this disgusting creature crawled from his putrid lair to snap like a demon at me – the wave of revulsion came over me, and my reaction was anger.
“Kastyr! No!”
My mind was painting a ring of red flames on the floor between us, and Zel could see it – could prophesy it was about to happen.
“Well well,” drawled an unexpected female voice from behind the Gentlemen, “it seems ‘Kastyr Mortenn’ is having another party. Where was my invite?”
Peltos turned and gestured his heavies out of the way.
Ciraya.
Next to me, I heard Emrelet suck in her breath.
Game-changer. I felt the shivers running up my spine, my very skin tensing, hairs standing on end. Was this a darkmage plot?
The shaven-headed, tattoo-covered sorceress was nonchalantly leaning with one shoulder against the door-frame, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, hands hidden in the overlong black sleeves. The ten-pointed star stitched on her chest was comprised of irregular sticks, creamy-white, like rib- and femur-bones.
Behind her there was only a thick grey cloud, like a wall of smog had decided to camp out on my doorstep for the night. If Peltos had brought more than four bodyguards, they weren’t visible right now.
Even to me, even at this distance. That wasn’t right.
A faint flash of purple lightning flickered through the mist, as if just to confirm my assessment.
“That’s no simple spell she’s brought with her,” Zel observed. “Nethermist – almost pure, right from the shadowland.”
“This is a private matter,” Peltos snapped at Ciraya. “I don’t know what the Magisterium thinks it’s doing –“
“I don’t know what the Magisterium thinks it’s doing either,” the sorceress interrupted, with a pointed look at Emrelet.
Peltos whipped his head about to follow Ciraya’s gaze, then frowned, as if beginning to put the pieces together.
That had to be avoided at almost any cost…
“Me? I am ze one out of place here?” Emrelet managed to put all her superiority into her voice. “You are supposed to be on shift with me at nine, not –“
“So I picked up an extra one,” the sorceress retorted; “since when was that against the rules?”
“Since it sent you searching for me, instead of doing real vork!”
“But this is real work,” Ciraya insisted. “Haspophel came with a report from his section-head, something about, let me see – uncontrolled archmagery –“
“Oh, how convenient; zis is absurd!” Emrelet was starting to lose her cool, I could tell.
I chanced a glance at my landlord. At least Peltos wouldn’t be able to tell from the way Ciraya had phrased it that I was the most likely culprit for the diviner’s vision. He’d assume Emrelet, the clear magic-user… Either way, this likely meant the whole situation was unsalvageable. He wasn’t going to trust her word after this… We were going to get thrown out.
But when I realised what I was looking at, I recognised the craftiness in his eyes. His eyes weren’t wide with some realisation about my identity or anything as prosaic as that – this was the thoughtfulness of someone who’d conceived a way to use a situation to his advantage.
I looked around. Xantaire was staring at Peltos too; she now had her left hand clenched at her hip, her right arm bent across her midriff, the right hand clenched about the left’s wrist as if holding it back.
She was a leftie – and if she got in a good uppercut with that barely-restrained left fist he’d be lucky not go down at the one punch.
I didn’t glance back at Orstrum and Morsus, but they were keeping out of it, which was enough for me.
“We’re stepping out of her way,” Peltos said abruptly, but didn’t move, merely looking askance at the sorceress.
Ciraya’s mouth creased into a full-lipped smile, and she stepped farther into the room, away from the doorway, so that they could go around her.
“The fog won’t hurt you,” she said, her voice mocking in its gentleness, her head cocked at an angle as she regarded the larger-than-life Peltos, like one might study an insect. “Your other… friends… are just by the stairs.”
Peltos shuffled forwards, testing the fog with his belly, then ushered his Gentlemen through. Once they’d stepped outside, barely visible even as they waited for him on the threshold, he turned back to face us again.
“Is this one renegade?” he asked, pointing a finger at Emrelet.
I saw her stiffen out of the corner of my eye.
The smile left Ciraya’s face; she very deliberately moved her gaze across to Emrelet, staring at her calmly, and slowly shrugged her shoulders a single time.
You could’ve heard a pin drop.
Peltos cleared his throat.
“I am the landlord. This dropstain owes me hundreds of gold. I am in the middle of kicking him out –“
I bristled again – Zel muttered words of patience in my inner-ear –
“– and this so-called magister is trying her best to intimidate me!”
I sensed rather than saw Emrelet very consciously relaxing her stance. “I did no – no such thing,” she declared in a shaky voice.
“She did no more than argue she could even be present,” I explained, doing my best to encapsulate it all into one core idea quickly. If this could be rescued it’d have to be now. “She isn’t here in any official capacity, she isn’t actually on patrol…”
“The office of magister isn’t part-time, Kastyr Mortenn,” Ciraya purred, not looking at me. “We aren’t watchmen. For us there is no off-duty. You…”
… ‘champions’, was she going to say? Either way, she bit off the word before letting herself utter it.
So – whatever was going on in the sorceress’s head, she was still going to play by at least some of the rules.
“The word you’re looking for is dropstain, my dear magister,” Peltos crooned. “Would you be so kind as to vacate these premises for me?”
“What, now?” I cried. “With no warning, no –“
“You have had over the requisite warning period, boy. You’re refusing to leave, and you’ve got magical back-up. I think the only proper response in that situation is to turn the matter over to the relevant authorities. The law is on my side. This good lady –“
“Leave now,” Ciraya said, not moving her eyes from Emrelet.
It was unclear as to whom exactly she was talking, but her voice sounded both very bored and very deadly.
For a moment, no one reacted –
She swung her head about to level her glare at Peltos.
Grumbling, the fat man finally relented. At the moment Peltos was only wet with his own perspiration, but situations involving magic-users could turn in an instant; it could just as well have been a pint of his blood drenching his vest if it got to the point where the small, irritated sorceress ripped out his tongue.
“There’s to be no annihilating my property, understand?” he said over his shoulder. He tried his best to inject some authority into his voice but it just sounded like pleading to my ear. “My – we will be watching – from a distance… Or I’ll be back! Yes! Tomorrow!”
Peltos vanished into the fog. With grunts like animals, his Gentlemen followed on his heels.
It’s still not over, I sighed internally. My pockets were still full – I was richer than I could’ve ever believed – and I didn’t even get to think of it as my own money.
“If zere is to be any ‘uncontrolled archmagery’ it is going to be due to your interruption,” Emrelet warned.
Ciraya shook her head. “Now all that ugliness is over, we just want to talk to Kastyr. In private, if that’s at all possible.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact, and a sarcastic-sounding one at that.
I considered the much-changed situation, then cast Xantaire a sidelong glance.
She met my eyes. I flicked my gaze towards the bedroom.
As I turned back to face Ciraya once more, Emrelet at my side, I heard Xantaire gathering up her family members and taking them into the bedroom, with the kids.
Within seconds, the three of us were alone in the main room of my apartment.
My apartment…
“Who is ‘we’?” I asked as soon as I heard the bedroom door shut, and quickly moved to check that it was properly closed, reaching out to tug the handle before turning back – doing my best to hide my gestures in the ordinary motions that were involved. “Talk to me about what? You mean you aren’t going to… throw me out?”
I stopped as far from her as I could feasibly get, watching the pentagon revolving just a few feet in front of her.
Her eyes left Emrelet, moving to me at last, her smile reappearing.
“Kas! Something out there!”
“Well firstly,” the sorceress said, “when I say in private, I don’t mean here.”
I felt pressure against my outermost shield, the pentagon rippling, the blue line wavering and wobbling as it rotated.
Quickly I focussed my attention on the area in front of the open door, where –
I could see it – another blue line was pressed against my own, as though there were someone outside with their own shield contesting mine.
Well this was new.
“You said you wanted a ride on Fe,” Ciraya continued, probably genuine in her apparent inability to see the shield-lines; “now’s your chance, Kastyr Mortenn. I can summon her here in a matter of minutes, and you can come with me to the Maginox –”
“And if I won’t?” I asked. The way she kept saying my full name was starting to grate on me now. “Who’s building shields out there?”
“– and if you won’t,” she went on, “our outside contractor who was so kind as to give me a lift over will remove you from the premises.”
The broad blue line pressing against my own shield suddenly angled sharply, narrowing into a point, pressing against my pentagon. All the touching blue lines abruptly wavered again, and my pentagon distorted inwardly, the spike pressing into it from outside gouging deeper and deeper, like the sorcerer was approaching my front door – bending my defences without breaking them. My pentagon hit my square and the square bent in too. I could see other spikes coming from outside, radiating down the first spike, reinforcing it as it came closer and closer to me, a steepled matrix of unstoppable power…
A man appeared just outside the doorway, settling down into view rather than stepping forward.
His lower half was shrouded in the grey fog – it moved with him; it was part of him somehow. On his upper half he wore a light grey robe that matched the mist almost precisely, the cowl marked with little glittering black scythes. A white mask covered the entirety of his face, the sunken visage of a long-dead corpse staring at me from the wall of grey. His hands were coated in dark metal gauntlets, blackened or scorched.
“I know him –“
I know him. Dustbringer.
The most experienced arch-sorcerer champion in the city. Veteran of probably a couple dozen Incursions. Slayer of Hierarchs, Titans and Demon-Lords – but he specialised in undead eldritches.
Here. For me.
The triangle bent, a little more slowly than the other two shields.
“Interesting configuration,” he grunted from behind the mask. The voice of an older man, in his forties maybe, the tone calculating but not quite as cold or highborn as I’d feared it’d be. “Amateur shieldcraft, but there’s some potency to it.” There was almost a hollow texture to the sounds coming from his throat, like an echo coming out of a well.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Ciraya drawled, leaning against the wall.
Dustbringer came nearer, floating on the broiling cloud beneath him, the top of his head a little closer to the door-frame than it should’ve been – assuming his legs weren’t disproportionately long, he was definitely floating. And as he slowly entered, bending his neck to fit beneath the lintel, I could see the shapes radiating out around him. The azure lines were layered in a whirling helix of circles close to his body, filled with so many stars that my head span – I felt dizzy even looking, sick –
I turned my face aside, trying to shut out what I couldn’t now unsee, and without looking I could tell that he immediately stopped advancing. Out of pity for me?
Drawing a deep breath, I dared to peek with one eye over my shoulder, and saw my triangle, square and pentagon, all compressed inwards, touching my single reinforced circle. The spikes continued radiating down the length of Dustbringer’s wedge, reinforcing it the spike, reinforcing it, pressing with ever-redoubling pressure against my solitary circle.
Would the circle crack? I could feel sweat starting to trickle down my forehead.
Emrelet must’ve witnessed my reaction to his appearance – something had snapped in her.
She pointed both arms straight down at the wooden floor, palms facing up and out, in the general direction of Ciraya and Dustbringer – and then the left hand was alight with a frosty white-blue radiance, visible coldness swirling like a snowglobe but without any dome, her will alone responsible both for its creation and its control –
And at the same time, an inch above her right palm, a sphere of deep, pulsing orange the size of a child’s ball formed right out of the air, surrounded by a coruscating nimbus of yellow heat.
But the arch-wizard’s voice was cooler now, more confident, perhaps due to the fact she was basically wielding a couple of paused explosions in her hands. “Do you see, Ciraya? Vhy has it come to zis? I vill get rid of zis damned fog to begin viz –”
“You idiot,” Ciraya snarled.
“Em, don’t,” I gasped, pushing my face into my sleeve to mop the sweat from my eyes. “Stand down.”
She glanced back at me. I met her eyes and shook my head slightly.
“Yes, Em, stand down,” Ciraya mocked. “Henthae sent me herself. I had two orders: put a stop to whatever’s happening here and bring in our new friend for a chat. You know he doesn’t want to be in her bad books.”
Emrelet faltered at this, lowering her hands, the frostbolt and fireball diminishing, dimming slightly.
“He’s joined with several spectres, and possibly a wight or two. I don’t know how he’s keeping that many under wraps like this, but –“
Get to it Zel!
“Tell her two fireballs are better than fifty frostbolts? They’re basically immune to cold.”
We can’t fight him! Have you seen his shields? I –
“Then we go with them. But I don’t think he’s getting through your shield anytime soon. You have options, Kas. Why not try to break his shields the way he’s breaking yours?”
“We’re at an impasse,” Dustbringer said quietly, turning aside to face Ciraya as he spoke. “The kid’s got some raw strength.”
I still wasn’t looking at him directly – the shield-interactions were too bright when I focussed my eyes in his direction – but I could feel his eyes burning into me from behind the mask:
“This is gonna go much easier on you if you drop your last shield, Mortenn.”
He knew my name. He’d been informed, or allowed to listen in –
It didn’t matter – who was I, anyway?
I forced myself to face him. For some reason, the more I focussed on him, his shields, the easier it became.
And I felt it as the grin came over my face.
I am Feychilde, damn it.
“This is going to go much easier on you if I drop my last shield, you mean.” I shrugged, and put out one hand in the universal gesture for ‘stop’. I felt the change as his spikes of blue lines slowed, slowed and ceased… “I thought the Magisterium kept everyone on a need-to-know basis? Today a magister abducted me. I’m just thrilled at the thought of him giving away my identity to my enemies.” While I spoke I pressed my other hand out slowly, as if to push him away; one by one, his spikes of reinforcement reversed, decreasing the pressure on my shield second by second. “And now you’re giving it away, too. I’m not impressed, Ciraya.” A touch of my anger entered my voice. “Not impressed at all.”
I looked down at my star, revolving less frantically now that the spike pressed in with less force.
My ‘stop’ hand clenched, gripping Dustbringer’s spike tightly with my mind more than with my fingers – the gestures were just a conduit, a tool by which I might shape my thoughts into reality.
At the same time, my pushing-out hand dropped and gripped one of the points of my star, casting it out into Dustbringer’s frozen spike.
His force-weapon shattered like hammered glass, the blue lines evaporating instantly, and suddenly my shields snapped back out to their full distance – he had a spike pressing in on his own whirling shields – the startling reversal left him reeling, floating back as if buffeted by an unseen wind, even with his barriers up –
“No!” Zel hissed. “Not like that! Your own defences –“
I saw it happen.
Two of his other spikes that hadn’t been pointed towards me arced towards the walls of the room, and then, as if reflected by some hidden surface before striking the bookcases, folded back towards the flanks of my shields.
Abrupt, relentless pressure on two sides, with my star still unmoving within my circle, one of its five points extended through the circle to threaten my foe – through the circle like the book had said not to do…
All my walls fell at once under the pincer-attack, winking out fully.
“Spectre!”
I felt a hand as cold and hard as ice press across my throat – a spectre behind me? – and an arm of bone as unyielding as solid steel caught me up around my midriff, hoisting me up into the air, pinning my right arm against me –
Something with breath like mould and spiders pulling me against it so that my back was pressed into its chest – oh, I could feel its bare, moist ribs against my shoulder-blades –
“As I said,” Dustbringer muttered, recovering and floating back into position; “amateur, but strong.”
Em glanced at me again as I struggled.
She looked back at our opponents, and flexed her fingers.
The frostbolt and fireball swelled once more, resuming their former diameter and brightness.
“I shall take him to Henthae myself,” she said. “Release him now, Dustbringer, or you vill face me in combat, and I shall not hold back.”
She didn’t wait one heartbeat for a response before playing her first card.
Wind tore through the room, extinguishing the candles; the glitter of frost and glow of flame alone lit the chaos, the better to shed light as the gust surging into the room drew Emrelet a foot into the air.
The mist was ripped apart, and the thing holding me pulled me back to the bookshelf against the wall in a futile attempt to keep its ‘footing’. It staggered, and I jerked my head around to see it –
It was a fleshless skeleton beneath the ragged black hood, eye-sockets empty save for a single gleaming purple flame, glaring at me with undecipherable fixedness. It too was floating; that was why the wind had so easily staggered it, why it was so tall.
I tried to take it, even as it clutched me.
It didn’t respond to my will; wouldn’t loosen its grip even marginally. Dustbringer had bound it more firmly than anything I’d yet encountered.
Well, what had I been expecting, really? He wasn’t going to let his enemies take his foot-soldiers away from him, was he?
“I accept your terms, arch-wizard!” came the steady grunt from the far side of the room, raised in volume to better pierce the rippling booms of Em’s storm.
The gust lessened in intensity, then dropped slowly away. A good ten percent of the books had left their places on the shelves, and some torn-free pages fluttered briefly before carpeting the floor.
The mist around Dustbringer was dispersed, and the mist outside too – Emrelet had been good to her word. Through the doorway behind the champion I could see the dim light of the sky once more, and the apartments opposite on the other side of Mud Lane.
Abruptly I fell to my feet, Dustbringers’s undead servitor vanishing at an unspoken command. Emrelet lowered her hands to her sides, her spells aborted. Ciraya had been clinging to the wall by the door, and didn’t look very flustered by recent events.
The four of us took a moment to get our bearings once more, but then Dustbringer broke the stillness by removing one of his black gauntlets and then reaching up towards his throat –
I watched with fascination as he removed his mask, levering it off at the chin.
“My apologies, Mortenn.” He didn’t sound apologetic, but I guessed actions and words counted for more than tone – he lowered his hood back, revealing a shaven face and head of an ochre hue, bushy black eyebrows flecked with grey, framing dark, alert eyes. “I should’ve dealt fairly with you from the outset. I’m Endren Solosto.”
He held the mask down at his side and stepped farther into the room; my eyes widened when he dropped all but his innermost shields. His robe still billowed, as though it were somehow imbued with the mist, occasional traces of purplish lightning rippling through the cloth.
Somewhat hesitantly, I went to meet him in the middle, doing my best not to damage any of the stray book-pages scattered around – and he walked straight into the slightly-askew circle and triangle I’d surreptitiously redrawn in the aftermath of the spectre’s disappearance, his own remaining shields buzzing around him.
His wards overlapping mine.
No ill-will now – or could he fool that?
“Not with sorcery,” Zel supplied. “But you can’t rule out some kind of enchantment of seeming-friendliness. ‘Here’s my name and face. Now come with me to this secluded location with no witnesses except my colleagues.’ I know, I’m ‘paranoid’…”
We’ve got Em.
“She’s a ma-”
You saw her the same as me, Zelurra. She’s not dark. She’s not going to let them off me.
“Or that’s what she wants you to think… or she’s been enchanted…”
Dustbringer – Endren – extended his arm through the haze where our shielding overlapped. I still kept a wary eye on him as I pressed the flesh of his de-gauntleted hand. He was shorter than me without his vortex of nethermist, but his grip was firm and fast, the handshake of a guy with some pretty serious muscle on his frame.
An interesting trick, that nethermist, though. And I’d have to remember how his shields looked. I hadn’t realised how they could be layered like that.
“We’ve got work to do, then.”
We have.
I stepped back from Dustbringer, then looked across at Emrelet, who had retained her severe demeanour, gaze unwavering as she stared at the champion.
“So ve go together?” Em asked.
“I have some trouble leaving immediately,” I hedged.
Dustbringer just grunted a wordless ‘hunh’-sound and looked at me, his deep-bronze eyes flashing more with surprise and curiosity than anger –
“I just mean – that man, Peltos – my kid brother and sister are back here –“
“That was Peltos?” Ciraya asked, stirring from where she leaned. “Peltos Kemmenon? I’ve heard of him. He’s your landlord?”
I considered it a moment, before saying, “Former landlord.”
“Oh, man.” She actually sounded sympathetic – normally when she used that voice there was a heavy sardonic spoonful in the mix, but not this time. “What did you owe him?”
I briefly explained the situation, whereupon –
“Give me sixteen plat,” she said, brooking no refusal, coming forward with her hand already extended as if my mistrust of the Magisterium wasn’t a massive factor in the near-disaster that had unfolded in the last five minutes. “I cannot believe you were thinking of giving him twenty-eight. He probably just has some morons he can stick in here willing to pay him fifteen silver a week rather than ten. Come on.“
I looked back at Em, who offered me nothing more than a guarded smile.
Ciraya stopped advancing, regarding her band-leader with a strange look.
“I didn’t know for sure what the diviners meant, you know,” the sorceress offered, managing to sound half-apologetic. “For all I knew you two were about to fight each other, or kill a bunch of Peltos’s Gentlemen…”
“Ve have all misbehaved a little tonight,” Em replied, looking around a bit guiltily at the mess she’d made. It was worth it in my eyes, though. She’d made it damn clear she meant business. “Don’t tell ze others?”
The arch-wizard turned it into a question, and the sorceress winked in response before turning toward me. “And don’t think I don’t appreciate you didn’t bring any of your minions out to get in the way. I’ll make sure that goes in the report.”
I made a face. “What about the fact me and Dustbringer almost squared off?” I asked, starting to count out coins. I didn’t mention the fact that I’d been seriously considering bringing out my kinkly-man to get some cheap payback on Peltos. Could it really have all devolved into ‘uncontrolled archmagery’?
Dustbringer didn’t reply to my question – he just grunted. But it was an appreciative sort of grunt.
“Let’s skip over that bit too, eh?” Ciraya suggested. “It won’t do us any good if… an enchanter goes poking around in our minds, but they won’t have any cause to do so, so long as Kastyr shows up for a chat and we all smile innocently when questioned about how it went. Mud Lane’s still in one piece – and I’ll have a chat of my own with Peltos and his Jellymen. The watch have got so much on him, the last thing he wants is my personal vendetta, trust me.”
I felt my mouth falling open a little in shock again. Every instinct was telling me there was about as much chance of Ciraya being a darkmage as there was Xantaire. She just sounded too straight-forward for deception, and that kind of honesty was something that, in my experience, couldn’t easily be faked.
Am I under enchantment? I murmured to Zel, as if whispering internally would do anything to protect me. If my mind was already under telepathic surveillance –
“I’d have mentioned if I noticed anything… And I’m pretty good at this, you know.”
Ilitar…
“Ilitar just read your surface thoughts. Mind-control, will-subversion – while I’m joined with you? No. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it’d surely take an enchanter of the highest calibre. Not that I actually like the thought of going to the Maginox…”
I handed the sorceress the sixteen plat without further complaint.
“I’ll go… say goodbye to my family.”
“I wouldn’t say it like that,” Ciraya said without looking at me, mouth curling into a twisted smile as she counted out the plat for herself, even though she’d just watched me do it right in front of her. “See you later will be fine, you know. We aren’t in the business of offing upcoming talent. Save goodbyes for the next Incursion.”
I had to admit to my sceptical side, this was feeling less and less like a trap, even while it might have rationally looked more and more like one.
As Dustbringer settled his mask and hood in place, I turned towards the bedroom door. Before I got there I heard Em say to Ciraya, “I have some news about Belexor, courtesy of Kas.“
“That’s what we’re here for,” Dustbringer interrupted in his dry voice, sounding even more monotone through the little mouth-gaps in the mask, “why they want Mortenn brought in. I believe Ishemen and his friends are what this is all about.”
I froze, my hand on the bedroom door handle.
Slowly, I turned.
“You couldn’t have just started with that?”
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