The Island Deception

by Dan Koboldt

  Maybe he’d feel her out, maybe he wouldn’t, but now sure as hell wasn’t the time. She was twenty yards away, and the crowd on the dock parted like the Red Sea in front of her. Even the Tioni mules edged aside. Living up to the name, as usual.

  He set his gear down on the ship that brought the mules, hoping no one would notice. One of the animals still dangled in midair because the student-magicians were busy getting the hell out of Relling’s way. Even a horse might balk at such treatment, but Tioni mules expected far better. So, of course, it started to kick and bray at around head level. A few of the dockworkers moved in to pull the animal down. Quinn hopped over to join them, which conveniently put his back to Relling as she breezed past without so much as blinking.

  She didn’t even notice the sword.

  “Appreciate the help,” one of the men told him, once they’d gotten the mule settled.

  Quinn reclaimed his gear and clapped him on the shoulder. “Right back at you, pal.”

  The Enclave island was roughly kidney-shaped, with the harbor right in the concave center. Quinn had forgotten how goddamn hilly it was until he had to climb up to it. He paused halfway up the sand-and-seashell road to catch his breath. Why did I have to bring all of this gear?

  The view was worth it, though. Most of the trading vessels had left the harbor. The sea had gone still with the sunset, leaving the Victoria perfectly framed in a bowl of glass. Like a ship in a bottle. Man, what a view. He was again tempted to break out the wrist-camera. At this distance, it might have been an Alissian vessel. But no, he couldn’t leave things to chance. Especially not where Kiara and the Enclave were involved.

  That’s when he first thought to check the wayfinder stone. He took it out, and for the first time, the thing was absolutely still. But the rock still felt warm to his touch, almost contentedly so. He hoped that didn’t mean it had lost its enchantment. But maybe it was simply that there was no way to find. The stone had come home.

  Probably time for me to do the same.

  He hoisted his pack again and marched toward the cluster of towers north of him. Now was as good a time as any to check in with the others, so he put the comm unit on burst transmission mode.

  “Quinn here, checking in.”

  The delay was longer this time. It was a good four minutes before the earpiece crackled with their replies.

  “Bradley? Thank God!” Kiara said. “I’ve got the others looped in, too.”

  “I’ll second that,” Mendez added.

  Chaudri spoke in the background. “Is it really Quinn? Is he all right?”

  “Sorry, her earpiece fell out again,” Mendez said. Then in a muffled voice, “Yeah, he’s fine. Guess I owe you ten bucks.”

  Damn, Mendez bet against me?

  Logan chimed in last with his usual compassion. “How the hell are you still alive?”

  “You trained me pretty well,” Quinn said. And he had modern tech on his side, which never hurt. “Anyway, I’m at the Enclave, just thought you should know.”

  “We’re glad you’re all right, Bradley,” Kiara said. “Do you still have the network antenna?”

  He fumbled with his saddlebags until he felt the oblong case. “Yes. It might have gotten a little wet.”

  “Get that installed at a high point where it won’t be noticed. But your main priority is to find out about Holt’s arcane protections, and how they can be circumvented.”

  “It’ll take some time, but I’ll start right away.”

  “I want daily reports on your progress,” Kiara said.

  “Roger that. Bradley out.”

  Everyone in the Enclave knew Quinn by his Landorian cover identity. Apparently there was a tiny village in northern Landor—at the base of the same mountains that held the gateway cavern—where people knew his name, had grown up with him, maybe even dated him years ago. The result of this painstakingly created fiction was that the Enclave hadn’t executed him, and instead had allowed him to take quarters in the Landorian tower.

  That tower loomed impossibly tall overhead as he approached. The entrance was nothing more than a dome-shaped hole in the dark, polished stone. A pair of torches lit the base of the winding staircase, which seemed to be carved right out of the rock. He skipped it and went down the hall to the ground-floor room he’d been assigned when Moric first brought him here.

  Probably wanted to keep me as close to the exit as possible.

  The Landorian tower had proven a stroke of luck back then. Everyone here had welcomed him as a long-lost brother, no matter the charges against him and the fact that he might be dead the next day. By the time he’d won provisional acceptance into the Enclave, it felt like a second home.

  He felt a strange sense of comfort when he walked in. The smell of it—sea breeze with a hint of stone—calmed him. Yet the feeling quickly faded when he got a look around inside. The normally bustling anteroom lay in injured silence. Someone poked a head out of their door down the hallway, and quickly ducked back in. So much for a warm welcome.

  He’d cleaned out the room before he left. Now, he paused at the door, and wondered if it was still his. He knocked four times on the stout wood. Silence answered. He pushed it open a crack. Everything looked just the same as he’d left it: narrow but surprisingly comfortable bed, wooden table and chair, and a small bookshelf built right into the wall. He hurried in and set down his pack, because why not? Possession was nine-tenths of the law.

  “Well, well. The prodigal student’s returned,” a woman said.

  He knew that voice, half from the imperious feminine tone, and half from the way he snapped to attention when he heard it. “Hello, Sella.”

  She stood in the doorway, which was odd. He hadn’t heard her boot steps on the stone-tile floor. She wore a long robe in bright purple, her favorite color. Between that and the shock of bone-white hair, he should have spotted her a mile off.

  “I wasn’t sure we’d see you again,” she said.

  “Wasn’t it you who said I needed more instruction?”

  “That sounds like me.” She regarded him like a bird of prey.

  His hands wanted to fidget, so he shoved them into his pockets. “I think I’m making progress. But it’s clear I have a lot more to learn here.”

  “I see. And how did you manage to return?”

  I guess there’s no harm in telling her. “I caught a ride on a ship out of Crab’s Head. The Purity.”

  “In Pirea.” She sniffed, almost in disdain. “I’m surprised you convinced the captain to take you.”

  “Please don’t hold it against him, because he didn’t make it easy,” Quinn said. “Luckily, I had this.” He pulled the amulet free from beneath his shirt.

  Her eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”

  “It was a gift.”

  She pursed her lips. “From Moric.”

  “He wanted me to return.”

  “Wayfinder stones are not meant to be worn by students.”

  Well, I’m not taking it off. He shrugged, and put an innocent look on his face. “I just do as I’m told around here.”

  She softened her glare, and even forced a smile. Which was far more frightening. “It’s good to have you back, I suppose. Especially after that fool’s errand we were sent on by the Prime.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “I assume you’ll be returning to class tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Moric may not have been wrong when he said you have potential.”

  Quinn wasn’t sure he agreed, but now was not a time to show uncertainty. “He does have a way of being right about things.”

  Her frown deepened in a way that made him glad she didn’t have her walking stick with her. Well, “walking stick” was a misnomer. She used it far more for student discipline.

  “I believe I can find some time for private instruction, if you thought you could use it,” she said.

  What is happening right now?

  Sella being nice to him was as new as it
was unsettling. But when in doubt, he let the Vegas instincts take over. “And spend some more time with you?” He flashed her a smile. “How could I say no to that?”

  When Quinn had first come to the Enclave—back before even CASE Global knew that it existed—Moric had been a constant companion. He’d always seemed to be around, and because he looked uncannily like Mr. Clean, he was easy to pick out of a crowd, too. Sella’s visit was a surprise, but Moric’s would feel like home.

  Quinn had no sooner had that thought when someone else knocked on his door. There he is.

  But the man at the door wasn’t Moric. He was taller than Quinn, clean-shaven, with long black hair pulled into a queue down his back. And he wore an embroidered cloak that was, without a doubt, the most handsome garment Quinn had seen in this world.

  “You must be Quinn,” he said.

  “Yes.” Man, he looks familiar. But he couldn’t place it.

  “My name is Anton.” He offered his hand. His tone and his bearing said regal.

  Quinn almost shook it by instinct. Shit, they think I’m from Landor. He locked eyes with the man, clasped his arm, and held both for a three count. “Good to know you.”

  Anton betrayed no hint of surprise. “Good to know you. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet after your trial.”

  The trial in which the Enclave nearly executed him. With a little help from Moric—not to mention the tech from CASE Global’s research labs—he’d managed to persuade them that he belonged here. Now I remember where I’ve seen him before. The hawk nose and high cheekbones had been among Moric’s rivals on the council. The ones who’d been against Quinn’s acceptance into the community.

  So not exactly a friend.

  “I was a little busy trying not to get executed,” Quinn said.

  “Ah, yes.” Anton gave a thin smile. “An unfortunate mistake on our part. True magical power is a rare gift, not something to be falsely claimed by the common man.”

  “Seems a little harsh to me.”

  “Surely you understand the need to protect our reputation,” Anton said.

  He sounded like a damn mafia boss. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

  Something flashed in Anton’s eyes, but his smile never wavered. “Of course.”

  No, not mafia. He’s something even scarier. A politician. Quinn wished he could ask where he was from, but that would be much too forward. They tried to put the past in the past at the Enclave. “So, how can I help you?” he asked.

  “I thought I might help you, actually.”

  “Oh? How would you do that?”

  “I have a great many influential friends, both here at the Enclave and elsewhere. If there was something you needed, perhaps we could assist.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  Quinn gave him the dubious look. Come on, buddy. We’re both pros here.

  Anton broke eye contact and spread out his arms. “Of course, there might be a time when you could return the favor. One friend to another.”

  And we’re back to mafia. “Aww, and here I’d hoped you were just swayed by my natural charms.”

  Anton laughed in a quiet, princely sort of way. “There is something about you. I can see why someone like Moric would believe you had magical abilities.”

  “Are you suggesting that I don’t?” Quinn held him in a stone-cold stare. Something about Anton just rubbed him the wrong way.

  “I was offering you a compliment.”

  No, you weren’t. “What about the part where I made it snow? I assume you were there for that.”

  Anton pursed his lips. “An impressive display, to be sure. I’ve yet to figure out how you did it.”

  “I’m good under pressure.”

  “I believe that. I’m certain you’ll prove your ability beyond any doubt, and we’ll go on to become the best of friends.”

  “I can’t wait,” Quinn said.

  Anton inclined his head, acknowledging that the conversation was about to end. “Perhaps I’ll offer you something right now, asking nothing in return. A bit of advice, if you will.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Moric’s star is falling. You’d be wise to distance yourself from him.”

  You wish, buddy. Moric was about the only friend Quinn had in this place, and he wasn’t about to distance himself. “You know, where I come from, there’s an old saying about free advice.”

  “What’s that?”

  It was Quinn’s turn to smile and spread out his hands. “You get what you pay for.”

  Chapter 19

  Visible Fractures

  “It’s hard to know how much a magician should share about his tricks. I like to err on the side of secrecy.”

  —Art of Illusion, May 9

  After Anton left, Quinn set out to find Moric before anyone else decided to pop in on his Landorian quarters. If anyone knew the nature of Holt’s magic protections, it was him. Whether or not he’d share that information with someone he considered a student was a harder question to answer, but Quinn had to start laying some groundwork.

  The Pirean tower stood slightly away from the other six spires, much like the nation itself. Quinn hustled across the wide green space that set it apart. The lawns here were perfectly manicured, though it occurred to him that he’d never seen a single gardener or maintenance worker. It was like walking on a golf course, or a baseball outfield. Forget precious metals and fossil fuels: if CASE Global figured out a way to sell this grass on Earth, they’d make a killing.

  He watched two little girls play some kind of game with a stick-and-hoop across the lawn. One rolled it, and the other would try to throw the stick through it before it fell. When her first throw missed, she made a strange little gesture with her arm, and the stick flew back to her outstretched hand like there was a string tied to it.

  Hard to believe the things they take for granted here.

  The Pirean tower was just as tall as the others, which is to say hundreds of feet. They didn’t so much as sway in the wind, so Quinn figured that they were all the same hard unyielding stone as the Landorian tower. Yet when he got close to this one, the entire thing seemed to be made of wood.

  “Oh, come on.”

  He had to touch it himself to be sure. Damn, it definitely was wood. Polished smooth with the passage of time, sure, but he could feel the grain of it. How old was this place? The bones of it were more than ancient. They were deep, too.

  This tower had an actual door, a wooden one with a thick iron ring for a handle. He pulled it open, half expecting a loud groaning and creaking. Instead, the door whispered open on well-oiled hinges. Of course.

  Despite the plain exterior, the inside was cheerily lit with glass lanterns that hung on chains from the ceiling. A cluster of men and women sat together at a long wooden table, sharing an early meal. The aroma of spicy fish and warm bread was like a siren’s call. Quinn’s feet carried him toward them, Moric temporarily forgotten. He couldn’t have fought it if he wanted to.

  “Quinn?”

  Quinn turned to find a familiar face, a young fire magician he’d met his first time to Alissia. “Hey, Leward.”

  Leward’s grin nearly split his face in half. “When did you get back?”

  “Just now.”

  “We were just about to eat. Man, you’ve got great timing.”

  Quinn chuckled. “All magicians do.”

  There were six or seven people there, Pireans he hadn’t yet met. Leward made hasty introductions. Then they ushered him into a chair and shoved a plate in front of him before he could so much as protest. Two whole-roasted fish as thick as cigars were the centerpiece, flanked by boiled clams and a pile of marble-sized sea potatoes. The savory spices touched his nose, and all will to resist just melted away. Time to take a page out of Logan’s book. “I guess I could eat.”

  Leward found a wide serving spoon and loaded his plate for him. “I hope you can handle spicy food.”

  “Bring it on
.”

  Leward scooped out a little bit of everything for him. Quinn found a spoon and dug in right away, which seemed like the polite thing to do. The food was spicy, but it was hot and flavorful and as satisfying as anything he’d ever tasted. God bless the Pireans. How was it that the poorest of Alissia’s nations still managed to be the most hospitable? He pondered this while the din of soft conversation resumed around him. He could feel their eyes on him, though, while he focused on the food. Nothing hostile, of course. It felt more like the crowd in Vegas, when he’d stop by to shake some hands in the casino after a show. A feeling of celebrity.

  After weeks of ball-busting by Logan and company, he rather enjoyed it.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Leward whispered finally. “We don’t get a lot of visitors.”

  Quinn shook his head. “With food like this, I don’t know why.”

  “Oh, you like it?”

  He pointed down at his nearly empty plate. “It’s the best thing I’ve had in a while.”

  Leward shrugged. “Everyone’s walking on eggshells around here lately. Makes it hard to find dinner guests.”

  Quinn slathered a dark brown roll with butter and took a bite. The butter had a stronger flavor than he’d have liked—they got their milk from goats—but it was still heavenly. “Trust me, man, it’s their loss.”

  “So what happened to you on the—” Leward cut himself off to make sure no one was openly eavesdropping. “On the mission? I woke up and you were gone.”

  Leward had been part of an Enclave contract assignment to escort Kiara’s party back to Felara. That was a little bit of insurance arranged by Holt, to make sure his former colleagues got the hell out of Alissia without any detours.

  “Sorry about that. Had to take care of some things.” And by things, he meant the mercenaries who’d been trying to kill the rest of his team. “I’m actually looking for Moric.”

  “You came to the right place.”

  “He’s around?”

  “Should be here at any second.” Leward gestured with his fork. “See? Told you.”