Ophelious’ eyes grew very wide. He scrambled back in his seat, plastering himself against the button-tufted back to distance himself from the abomination.
Well, that’s just…horrifying, thought Crow, staring in wonder at the delicious monstrosity Ophelious had created.
The man was a sorcerer.
In a dumb, lethargic manner, the ogre turned to make sense of his surroundings. Before he could catch Mosscrow in his sights, the Lord Advisor snatched a near-empty chalice of wine off his desk, tossed out the remainder of the drink onto the flagstones, and clomped the overturned cup over the miniature creature.
He would have to find something to do with it later. In the meantime… A wicked gleam played with his gaze as he regarded Ophelious in a new light. “What you have is a neutral ability,” he assured the man, “which you can use for good or evil. And I would like to give you the opportunity to use it for good.”
*
“I have it,” Mosscrow declared to the king.
“Have what?”
“The perfect solution.”
“To what?”
“Catching the Spylord and his – and her associate.”
“Go on.”
“I was in the throes of despair, lamenting the fact that ordinary men have failed for years to catch the Shadowmaster, that there is simply no possible way for our ilk to best him – her – because the Master of the Shadows possesses this thing…this quality that the rest of us simply do not. Many have long suspected he is unnaturally gifted. And then it occurred to me; the solution is in the problem. No ordinary man can best him. So all we need is an unordinary man. An extraordinary man.”
“An ‘extraordinary man’ being…”
A small twang of nerves preceded the big revelation. There was always the chance Isavor would stop Crow in his tracks and forbid any such scandalous notions from moving forward. “You have never been shy about rescinding aspects of your father’s legacy,” he hazarded, avoiding coming right out and saying it. “How would you feel about…merely taking that one step further?”
“Out with it, Crow. You have leave to speak freely.”
Very well. “I have brought in a sorcerer.”
No reaction, except – perhaps the barest hint of wariness hardening those stoic hazel eyes.
Crow blazed on. “Spared him from execution in Terryvale, as it were, so we are in the convenient position of him owing us his life. Further to that, I have seen his work, and…I only wish I had thought of this before, Majesty, because it is truly revolutionary. Precisely the edge we need to rise to the Shadowmaster’s standards as worthy rivals.”
Isavor rested his chin on his thumb, hooking his index finger over his top lip in thought. “You are consorting with sorcerers now. Without first clearing it with me.”
Mosscrow shifted anxiously. “I admit I was afraid, your Eminence, that you would not approve of this discourse if I suggested it prior to securing enough proof that it would be both safe and worth our while. I assure you I was careful, and I have every intention of ceasing the operation in its tracks if you so order, but I do beseech you to consider the possibilities. To at least interview my ward and see for yourself what he can do, and just how…subservient a temperament he possesses. He would be a pawn on our board, Sire. I don’t foresee he would cause even a morsel of trouble. Due in part to how artfully I arranged for him to owe us a great debt, and in part because he is merely….pitiful.”
“Pitiful.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“I thought you said he was the key to the Shadowmaster’s downfall. And yet he is pitiful?”
Mosscrow spread his hands, searching for the right way to put it. “Pitiful and powerful, your Majesty. Our ideal combination.”
“And what, precisely, can this sad little sorcerer do?”
“His particular expertise is animating stone, your Majesty. Bringing statues to life. A skill I have a delightful scheme for, but I would be lying if I tried to pretend pursuit of this notion hasn’t inspired curiosity about procuring…other gifted individuals, as well.”
“You wish to cultivate an entire fleet of witches.”
“I know you have long opposed the idea that those with extraordinary abilities should be automatically discounted and condemned. You have already forged the way for these beings – these people – to work their way toward being accepted in society. It might be time, Majesty, to accept that as a significant part of your legacy. Stopping the widespread executions was the first step in a humanitarian cause that cannot exist while at the same time stopping there. You have made a statement that compassion must be extended to all – but compassion is cut short the instant a soul is yet required to continue living their lives in the shadows. For what kind of life is that?”
The king made a wry expression. “The kind the Mistress of the Shadows will die defending.”
Mosscrow gestured in consent. “A poor choice of words. But you take my meaning.”
“I do.” The king tapped his cheek thoughtfully with is index finger, and Mosscrow swelled with excitement that he was actually considering this. For once, the king was taking heed of his advisor’s advice! “I should like to meet this sorcerer,” Isavor agreed. “But tell me more of your delightful scheme. How exactly bringing stone to life is to aid in our hunt for the slippery Shadhi.”
“So,” Mosscrow acquiesced without needing to be told twice, clapping his hands keenly together. “When this fellow brings a statue to life, the animated entity is mentally a blank canvas – a gullible mind waiting to be crafted, finished, same as an artist originally began the process. These fresh-born creatures can be molded, finished, any way we see fit. We can shape them, instruct them, to do our bidding. And I know of a few formidable statues atop a choice architectural dome that would provide the most epic bodies for supernatural soldiers. I believe you know of which figures I speak.”
“Beasts of myth and legend from the old cathedral.”
“Indeed.”
For the first time, Isavor let his unconvinced façade slip to show his intrigue.
In turn, Mosscrow let slip his insatiable, chilling smile. “Surely ghoulish gargoyles, avenging archangels, and ghastly gryphons will pose a mystifying and magnificent problem that even the SFH won’t know remotely how to combat. I do believe that magic is the ultimate key to their downfall.”
17
Something Wicked from the Sky
“If ever there is something you need, I will get it for you. If there is something you desire, make it known. I will always be here for you,” Clevwrith had promised Despiris – and though he had not shown his face in over a month, he would return to prove he still lived by those words.
*
Despiris held her open palm beneath the dripping eaves, hyper focused on each raindrop that splatted rhythmically into her hand. She’d been at it for nearly an hour, laboring to manipulate even the smallest effect. So far, she’d been rewarded with nothing more than a tremor, and couldn’t even say she’d been the cause.
But she had to do something to distract herself. Clevwrith had been scarce since their kiss, and his aloofness was beginning to bother her. She’d hardly caught wind of him in the stacks, and hadn’t technically laid eyes on him in nearly a month. Anyone with lesser-trained senses would say he had disappeared entirely, but there were times Despiris caught his scent, or glimpsed his shadow, or picked up the barest whisper of movement as he made his escape.
Too, the greenhouse hadn’t gone to ruin, so he had to be coming and going. Admittedly Despiris did her part, but she always arrived expecting everything to be overgrown and underwatered, and there were always signs that things had been recently tended.
Which meant that Clevwrith was merely avoiding her, and the thought left her restless and morose. She had wounded him, responding the way she had to his kiss. Wounded him, embarrassed him…who was to say, really. She had no experience with such things. But it obviously hadn’t been the reaction he’d been hopin
g for. And although she didn’t feel guilty for stopping him when she’d grown uncomfortable – and knew he wouldn’t want her to – it pained her that he had opened up, made himself vulnerable, poured out his affection to her, and had been snubbed in return. He’d looked so disheartened…
In the back of her mind, she wondered what would have happened had she not stopped him. Had she kissed him back.
What would those mirrors have shown instead of her pulling away?
A hot prickle of goosebumps ghosted down the nape of her neck, breaking her concentration from the raindrops. Shaking her head, she honed in again, brows furrowing to retrain her focus.
‘I guess I’ve never really thought about it,’ her clueless words echoed in the back of her mind, and Clevwrith’s reply:
‘Try. Thinking about it. You might be surprised what you can do.’
So there she was, thinking about it. Consciously interacting with the element she supposedly held power over. Trying to get it to do something – anything – to prove what Clevwrith suspected.
Some elemental, she thought sardonically as raindrops continued to splash unaltered into her palm. Her fingers were starting to turn wrinkly. Maybe Clevwrith was wrong.
But the cooling trick with the tea had to mean something. And there were the other things, too. Things he’d noted, as well as the tricks she’d been practicing unconsciously in the rain for years, which she had chalked up to the heightened senses Clevwrith had taught her to harness. But now that he’d told her she possessed something extra… Well, it all made sense. She just had trouble believing it.
All but giving up for the day, she let her mind wander, returning to her less than settled feelings. She couldn’t stay away from them for long. Couldn’t shut off the whirlwind of confusion and confliction, new concepts and old loyalties, strange powers and stirring passions. The eclipse of her reawakened, traumatic past over her suddenly tumultuous present was too much all at once, a rising tide that rushed in to overwhelm her and kept layering on top of itself, wave after wave, not letting her up for air. She was trampled by the torrent, couldn’t tell up from down, wrong from right, friend from foe.
Friend from lover.
Her thoughts were a kaleidoscope, churning and warping and rambling. The noise in her head grew deafening, waves of nervous energy cycling on repeat, making her feel crazy, building to a crescendo…
Stop!
The noise went silent.
And she stood staring at a perfect bead of water, suspended over her palm.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She stood stock-still, hardly daring to breathe. At first she was afraid to blink, sure it was an illusion that would shatter the instant she lost sight of it, but in the end she blinked to prove it was real.
The droplet hovered yet in midair.
She stared, wonderstruck, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Evidently, her subconscious had much more control than her conscious did.
As another drop fell from the roof, she expected the levitating bead to rupture on impact. Instead, the two morphed, the first absorbing the second to create a slightly larger glob. Despiris watched, transfixed, as another and another droplet fell from the eaves, enlarging the bead each time.
The bead was soon a small sphere. It was bubble-like in appearance, but projected a sense of heaviness even as it didn’t touch her palm. The weight of it was on her mind, somehow, and grew heavier with each drop added. Instinctively, she found herself concentrating to keep from dropping the glob. She couldn’t say how she had initiated the suspension, but once the water was harnessed, a distinct awareness of it rested within her.
Amazing.
Clevwrith had been right. How could she have never sensed that this lurked just beneath the surface?
While still distraught over the turbulence of the last few weeks, the allure of a new trick – and one so fantastical – brought a genuine smile of delight to her face for the first time since the incident of her capture.
I’m an elemental. Just how far could she take an ability like this? Would it always be restricted to little party tricks such as conjoining droplets of water, or could she learn to harness great currents? Control the weather? Bring a storm down upon the city?
Her immediate response to harnessing a bit of magic was to run off to show Clevwrith what she could do. Excitedly, she snapped her fist closed around the sphere to break the spell, the glob splattering through her fingers.
Then she remembered Clevwrith was gone.
The pang in her gut returned. Come on, Clev. Where are you? She’d known things might change when she graduated to Shadhi, but she’d never imagined they’d become this strained. If someone had told her that she and Clevwrith, so inseparable, would end up estranged like this in a matter of months, she would have dismissed the notion out of hand.
How could things change so much, so fast? After following the same course for years?
As the last of the water ran through her fingers, she was gripped by a heavy sadness. A distinct loneliness. Clevwrith had disappeared for spans before, but there was something different about this time. Something more meaningful.
Depressed, she wandered the alleys of the Cob, awaiting his return. Afraid to do anything lest she tip the scales of uncertainty poised like an avalanche all around her.
Maybe if she left Clevwrith a letter, he would respond. But what would she say?
Maybe if she waited in his room… No, that would surely be taken the wrong way.
Maybe if she–
A shadow passed suddenly over the alley, briefly blocking the light of the half-moon. Despiris glanced sharply upward, but a heavy wingbeat carried the culprit out of sight. She halted mid-stride, a chill sliding down her spine.
What was that?
Too big to be any kind of common bird.
Realizing she was holding her breath, Despiris exhaled slowly. Probably just some…rare-seen heron, or something, out for an unorthodox late night swoop.
The sound of heavy wingbeats returned, circling back around. Despiris watched the dark sliver of sky for another glimpse, curiosity keeping her rooted even as caution warned her to duck into the shadows. Even for a heron, it sounded huge…
Just as the wingbeats sounded like they couldn’t be more than an alley over, Despiris caught a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye. An arm snaked around her waist, a hand clamping over her mouth as the figure that seized her spun her into a shadow.
“Don’t breathe,” came Clevwrith’s whisper in her ear.
Complying, Despiris froze in his embrace. The creature passed overhead again. There was only a fleeting moment in which to catch a better glimpse than before, but Despiris caught the impression of a ghoulish silhouette bearing both arms and legs in addition to its impressive wingspan.
What in the gods’ names…
Curiosity turned to horror. That was no nocturnal heron.
Clevwrith held her there as the creature circled the area. Its wingbeats never strayed far, as if it could sense its prey somewhere below and needed just to pinpoint it.
Despiris’s heart thudded against Clevwrith’s arm where his hold crossed her chest. His heartbeat against her back, she noted, was rhythmic as ever. But his behavior told her he knew there was danger.
The wingbeats paused, a sound like scraping talons raking closer across some rooftop or ledge. There came a deep huff of breath, too close for comfort.
Despiris’s lungs were beginning to burn, but she didn’t dare gasp in a breath now. She clamped her airway tightly closed, resisting the desperation for air, and her vigilance appeared to pay off. With a whoosh the creature took flight again, passing once more over the top of the alley.
Clevwrith waited one single moment after it cleared their sights. Then he released her, thrusting her into the open alley. “Run,” he commanded, and she didn’t ask questions.
As she bolted, Clevwrith split in the opposite direction.
He wasn’t trying to contrive some
kind of distraction, was he? Despiris had assumed when he said ‘run’, he would be doing it with her. She didn’t know what the beast prowling the Cob could be, but if Clevwrith was this wary of it, his only course should be getting to safety alongside her.
A deep, grating snarl sounded from above, the speed of cutting wings increasing behind her.
The creature had chosen its prey.
Despiris ducked into one alley and then another, dodging at random through the network in an attempt to lose the beast. But the bird’s-eye view awarded the hunter an advantage, and he carved a straight path unhindered by having to maneuver around the twists and turns of the maze.
Where was Clevwrith? If he’d run off to create some diversion, it wasn’t work–
As if on cue, the Shadowmaster emerged from a side alley at a dead run. His grasp snaked out as he swept past her, towing her along behind him in a new direction. She made the adjustment seamlessly, keeping pace with his fleet steps. She realized quickly he was leading her down all the narrowest alleys, making it difficult for the flying creature to swoop down after them.
What could be so intent on hunting them down?
The narrower alleyways only proved a hindrance for so long. On a straightaway that allowed for a few attempts, the creature found its opening. Suddenly, the wingbeats cut to silence with a sharp slice, and a gust of wind caught Despiris in the back.
It was in the alley behind her!
Clevwrith ducked quickly right at the next intersection, and Despiris nearly ran full-tilt into him as she slung around the turn only to find him skidding to a halt and falling to his knees. She careened to a stop behind him, arms pin-wheeling to help catch her balance over his crouched form.
What was he doing?
Back heaving, he dislodged a stone from the ground, casting it roughly to the side. A second one followed.
The terrifying sound of screeching claws came from behind as the creature attempted to scramble around the same turn.
A third stone clattered against the alley wall, and although Despiris couldn’t say what he was digging for, his objective was clear. She dropped down beside him to help him dig, prying up a fourth stone with a breathless grunt.
Girl of Rooftops and Shadows (The Shadow's Apprentice Book 1) Page 14