Theft, Murder, and Crystals

by Benjamin Duke

  “Yes, sir, Markov of the Watch has indicated that these crystals are most likely being imported from out of the city. They’ve set up checkpoints at both gates.”

  “Good,” Prax said. They reached the courtyard, leading into the outside world. He glanced up at the immense crystal hovering above them. Every few seconds it would let out a small pulse of energy. “In all my time as a Lord, I have never once seen someone get past an Immiri crystal. No magic gets through, ever. This isn’t good. For anyone.”

  “Kalimar will know what to do,” Kern replied.

  “Oh, yes. Kalimar will simply order the destruction of the city. I wish to avoid that if possible. Glimmer is important. With control of this tactical position, we can expand our reach to the Far East. Global conquest can happen. We need these men and women producing weapons and food. With big walls maintained and kept strong, Glimmer has everything we’ll need to extend our reach.”

  “This empire is made of paper,” Kern said. “We can’t keep stretching ourselves. Glimmer is a waste of time. It would be better to simply destroy these people, take what we can and burn the rest down.”

  “And that opinion, Kern, is why Kalimar will never allow you in a position of governance,” Prax replied. “No. I was given orders of leniency for the first few years. Glimmerites are tough people to break. But over time, we will win them over. But in the meantime, we must look further into these crystals,” Prax said. “Send for Markov of the Watch. I need his counsel.”

  “Indeed,” Kern agreed as she walked off. She was whistling a jaunty tune, aptly named Take the Land and Leave them Weeping. Prax snickered at that. It wasn’t a bad idea at all. But still, if Prax was ever going to gain the right to claim the inheritance of the throne after Kalimar passed away, he would need a position of power within Glimmer. He couldn’t give up on the city just yet.

  “I’m not saying it will kill you,” Fred the Boozehound said as he held the bottle up in his hand. “But it might.”

  He was surrounded by drunks who were all like him, dry as hell and in the need of a few pieces of copper. Their home territory, a small alley in the Golden District, was the only home any of them had. Most were drunkards, unable to work because of their propensity to spend all day sleeping and all night drinking. The few who weren’t drunks were usually rambling madmen or worse, ex-wizards who were unable to come to terms with their non-magical lives.

  Fred the Boozehound was one such ex-wizard. A genius; he had mastered the six elemental spheres of magic by the age of seven, astounded the Great Wizards of Prithine by turning their towers into solid gold and single-handedly saved Glimmer by casting a spell that shielded them from a terrible firestorm that had been conjured by an evil warlord. He was, by all means, a hero and a man worthy of praise and accolades.

  Of course, that was before everyone found out that the firestorm had not been conjured by a warlord, but had, in fact, been a spell conjured by Fred while he was drunk out of his mind on brandy. It wasn’t his fault, of course, he had been working on a spell that would improve the potency and quality of alcohol, turning cheap wine into the finest tasting elixirs in the entire world. He hadn’t realized the spell would be that strong, turning a single glass of brandy into a solution so potent it would inspire him to recklessly try other magics.

  That was where he gained the name Fred the Boozehound. His original name, Fredlin Osirius, was quickly forgotten. No longer was he the Magnificent Fredlin, he was Fred. He was sued by the city, his accolades were taken and soon he was living up to his last name, drinking his life away. When magic was taken away, he found himself unable to even earn a living as a meager spell-clerk, copying spells for a magic publishing company.

  On the streets and alone, Fred eventually landed in a community of men and women who all wanted the same thing: Alcohol. They ran together, at least as long as someone had enough to buy something. But things might be changing for Fred. His most recent discovery could perhaps even revive his chances of recovering his image.

  Fred held up the glistening bottle of green liquid. “Come on, anyone want to try?”

  “It ain’t booze?” Crai asked. He was a haggard old man with a long beard and a large nose.

  “No, but it’s our ticket to booze,” Fred said. “The ingredients within this bottle will be worth a fortune. As long as it doesn’t kill anyone. So, who wants to be the hero and give it a try?”

  “Why don’t you try it?” Sanderalli asked. She was the smartest of the group, well, the second smartest, compared to Fredlin.

  “Because I have the proprietary ingredients to make said potion,” Fredlin replied. “If I die in the experimentation process, this entire group will be finished.’

  “Bah, I hope you die,” Fenwick said as he walked up and grabbed the bottle from Fred. “But I’m too thirsty to wait for lightning to strike you.” He knocked the entire bottle back and chugged until it was empty.

  Fredlin took a step back and waited. “Well?” he asked.

  Fenwick looked at his hands. “I feel…strong,” he said. He stretched and flexed his hands. “Like something crawled into my arms and made me…more muscly.”

  Fredlin walked over to Fenwick and shoved him as hard as he could. The man resisted easily. “Hey, watch it!” Fenwick complained. He pushed Fred back, tapped him really, and sent the ex-wizard crashing into the wall behind him.

  “Whoa!” everyone shouted.

  “If he’s dead, I get his shoes,” Sanderalli said. She laughed a little at her joke.

  Fred groaned as the world around him spun. He was on the ground, slumped against the wall. All of the air in his lungs was gone and for a few moments, he thought he was dying. He didn’t know whether he was disappointed or not. On one hand, dying wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience, but on the other hand, at least he would get to die doing what he loved: experimenting on the homeless with magic.

  “You okay?” Crai asked as he bent down to grab Fredlin.

  “I think I’m fine,” Fredlin said. He took the hand and groaned as Crai pulled him up. Fenwick was staring at his hands again.

  “I think you made me really strong,” Fenwick said.

  “Of course, I did, you dolt,” Fred replied. “I figured out how to make potions that work. We can sell these things for as much booze money was we want.”

  This caught everyone’s attention, even Sanderalli’s. All eyes were on him.

  “I just need to conduct a few more trials on the rest of you and we should be golden,” Fred continued, holding up another bottle. This one shimmered with a yellow energy.

  One afternoon, while Fred had been busy sleeping one off in a gutter, he overheard a few construction workers talking about crystals. Well, they were speaking in code, talking about “the gift.” They were impressed and wondered aloud about how to get more of these special little gifts. It was enough to peak Fred’s curiosity, especially when he observed one man carrying an entire statue as if it were nothing.

  Some investigation revealed that a few tradesmen had access to crystals that contained magical power. The giant crystal in the sky, the Luminous Artifact, was unable to affect this type of magic. Ever the crafty wizard, Fred had managed to swipe a crystal off of an-inattentive foreman with a simple pickpocket trick.

  A single crystal meant nothing to him, of course. Fred didn’t know any ways to circumvent the Luminous Artifact, despite his lack of trying. But, as a professional who was very short on money, he had an obligation to figure out how to profit from a single magical item. His solution? Grind the crystal into a fine powder and turn it into a potion. The one crystal would be enough to make at least 12 bottles. 22 if he halved the dosage. There was still a lot of factors to figure out, longevity of the potion, flavoring and toxicity, but if his calculations were correct, he would be able to turn a single crystal into a month’s worth of drinking for his loyal crew. The real problem was going to start after that month was over, when he’d need to figure out who the hell is making these crystals and
how he can get in on that racket.

  Captain Markov stood across from Lord Prax. He felt a cold sensation of anger well up within him. Even the sight of the Kalmite slaver was more than Markov could stand. He wished so desperately to draw his weapon and beat the interloper to death, but it would be no good. If Prax died than Kalimar would send his hordes. Instead, Markov was expected to be the whipping boy for the bastard.

  “Sir,” Prax said, bowing in his strange way, taking a step forward and bending his knee slightly forward. Markov could never tell if this was a serious way to greet someone. Bending forward like that with legs apart left one wide open for attack. It was foolishness.

  “Don’t sir me, I’m a Captain,” Markov said. He tried to combat the hostility within him, but what really made his blood boil was the foreigner’s refusal to use his official title. As if Prax was somehow better than everyone else.

  “You should know my stance on that by now,” Prax said. “I wish you would contain your anger. I am not here as an adversary.”

  “You are the captors of a defeated nation,” Markov said. “You have no loyalty to us. The moment it suits you, you will see us killed.”

  Prax laughed at that. He glanced around for a moment, making sure they were alone. It was late at night and they were in the courtyards, the only place Markov cared to meet with Prax.

  “Between you and me,” Prax said. “I quite like Glimmer and I quite like the people. I’m dedicated to keeping this city alive. Trust me, I don’t want to go back to my last post. You know where I was? A desert kingdom, where the people don’t bathe because a generational curse removed their sense of smell long ago. A place where the wind burns on your skin and the sun never stops shining, not even for a moment. I have no desire to go back there. If Glimmer falls, that’s what I have to look forward to.”

  Markov said nothing in return. He merely stared at the man. Prax was taller than him, but the captain knew he could take the man in a fight. The small crystal clasped beneath his armor ensured that the brawl would be over in a matter of seconds. All he needed to do was concentrate hard enough to activate it, to will the strength and speed to rush into his body. But he resisted the temptation. Killing Prax would do nothing but damn the city. At least, for now.

  Prax sighed. “I really do wish we could get along. But if you are still unable to realize that I am an ally, I suppose I’ll use this time to bark orders at you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve made the Magistrate aware of the crystal situation.”

  “Yes, I heard about your garish display of justice and mercy,” Markov said. “Killing a gagged and bound citizen, conveniently unable to be questioned about how he obtained the crystals and unable to plea his innocence to everyone.”

  Prax flinched at those words. “Yes, well, we had to act quickly, to send a message.”

  Markov shook his head. “Your message was heard loud and clear. What’s our next move? I’ve already secured the borders with inspections on all incoming supplies. My thought is that perhaps these crystals might have been brought in from the Far East.”

  “I concur,” Prax said. “There is much we don’t know about those lands. The strange snake people with their odd magics. Good thinking, but I want more.”

  Markov raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, do you demand of me, my sovereign leader?”

  “You can cut that sarcasm out with a knife,” Prax replied. “These crystals were found in the Fountain District. One of my men, on his way into the courtroom, saw a man lifting several heavy loads with inhuman strength. When he went to inquire about it, the man fled, throwing a bag full of evidence to the ground.”

  That was unfortunate, Markov thought. It would have been better if one of the watch members had caught the man instead. The construction business was starting to become a serious liability because of how obvious the magic worked. He would have to consult with Elias on the matter and see if there was a better way to solve this problem.

  Prax continued, blissfully unaware of Markov’s complete disregard for both the laws of Kalimar and the methods being devised to avoid getting caught. “I don’t wish to cause a stir within the builder community. If we go knocking in doors and looking for the magic user, we could potentially start civil resistance. I would ask that you go and inquire for me. I don’t really care about the man using the crystals, I just want to determine the source.”

  Markov nodded. “Understood. I’ll look into it.”

  Prax reached a hand out. “Your hand, please.”

  Markov frowned. “What are you on about?”

  “I’m ordering for you to give me your hand, Markov,” Prax said. There was no genteelness in his voice at this point.

  Markov gritted his teeth and reached out his left hand to Prax. The barbarian grabbed his wrist with one hand and with the other, grabbed Markov’s pinky and snapped it hard.

  “Ahhhhh!” Markov screamed as he dropped to his knees, clutching his broken pinky. “What the hell?” He wanted to stand and fight, to activate the crystal and beat Prax into a bloody pulp, but instead he simply stayed on his knees, wincing and holding his throbbing hand.

  “I don’t enjoy this type of relationship,” Prax said. “I would much rather work together as partners in this city. I broke your finger because you failed to ensure this city was safe from magic. If you do not bring me a lead within the week, I will take off your finger and you will thank me for the privilege.” He leaned down and whispered. “Every fiber of your being wants to fight me. You want to kill me. The worst part is that I know you could easily do it. You’re a hell of a fighter and Glimmer is a dangerous place. But you’ll never lay a finger on me, because you know the cost.”

  Markov took a deep breath and centered himself. He slowly raised his other hand and closed every finger except the pinky. “Thank you, sir, may I have another?”

  Prax’s eyes narrowed at the act of defiance, but he said nothing. He merely mumbled to himself in his native tongue, turned around and walked away, leaving Markov to nurse his ailing finger alone.

  Markov sat in silence, staring up at the oppressive crystal. It seemed to pulse at the same rate that his hand was throbbing from the pain. A broken pinky wasn’t a big deal. The bigger problem was figuring out how to throw Prax off the trail while keeping all of his own appendages where they belonged.

  Chapter 20:

  Erice held her hands out. The flames were pouring from her palms, flowing in all directions.

  “Hold it steady and shape it!” Cimir shouted from behind. They were in a warehouse that had been converted into a training area. There was nothing around but a few crates, two cots and an amused Groth, who was watching their every move.

  The heat from the flames was intense, but Erice could withstand it. Sweat dripped from every pore in her face as she narrowed her focus, ignoring the roaring flames and shaping them into a circular ball.

  “Perfect! Now throw it at him! Quick, he’s getting away!”

  Groth began to stomp away from the group, moving on all fours at a quick pace. The ball of flames, still hovering above Erice hands began to lose its shape as she shifted her focus to the moving target.

  “Hold it! Hold it steady, don’t ever lose focus!” Cimir yelled. He walked beside her and snapped a few times, causing the ball to regain its form. “Now throw!”

  Erice held the ball up high and willed it to fly from her hands. The ball did no such thing and instead burst above her causing everything within a ten foot radius to ignite on fire. They were both shielded from the flames, but the cots and the crates burned to ashes rather quickly.

  “Ah, I almost had it,” Erice groaned as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. “So close.”

  “You’re getting there,” Cimir said. “But you need to learn to stop caring so much about what happens. Just accept that the outcome is over the moment you decide it. Everything from then on is just a sequence. You’ve already lit the fire, thrown it and immolated your target. All
you’re doing is going through the steps.”

  “Got it,” Erice said as she fell onto her back and let out a sigh. “That was exhausting.”

  “Yeah, really,” Cimir agreed.

  As Cimir had explained to her, using magic while the Luminous Artifact was still active meant that it would be twice as hard. But, as had been his suspicion, since all she knew was the conditions created by the artifact’s dampening field, she wasn’t hindered at all. If there was no field of interruptive energy at all, she would be twice as strong. It wasn’t a bad way to train, that was for sure.

  Groth ambled up to them. He looked at Cimir and nodded but said nothing. Erice was unsure of why Groth chose to be around these people. He was a gentle soul who knew much about the world. They had spoken a few times, in the tongue of stone, but Groth was careful in what he said. He never revealed why he was working for such a sordid lot of criminals.