by Clayton Wood
The quiet sound of a man's breathing came to his ears.
The man on the bed was asleep, judging by the cadence of his breathing. Xanos had ordered that he be taken in his sleep, much to the traitor's disappointment.
The traitor walked up to the side of the bed, hearing the man's breathing much more clearly now. A soft, gentle sound, unlike the vulgar snoring of the fat or infirm. The man had managed to stay in remarkable health for his age, the traitor knew. A paragon of virtue, everyone in the Tower believed. A man who lived by his principles. But the traitor knew better. This was just another old man playing at ruling the world, no different than the countless others that had come before. Xanos had shown the traitor that.
The traitor paused, standing by the foot of the bed, closing his eyes. The half-dozen wards around the bed were already neutralized, of course. Pathetic, that these men fancied themselves experts of magic, when all they had was a child's grasp of the power. They'd accomplished so little in the last two centuries, barely scratching the surface of their potential. They were primitives, these people.
The traitor stood there over the bed, listening to the man before him sleeping peacefully for a moment longer. He took a moment to reflect on where he was and what he was doing. He'd waited a long, long time to serve God, hiding in plain sight among the enemy.
He wanted to savor this moment.
He reached into a hidden pocket on the inside of his jacket then, his fingers closing around the cool, textured handle of the knife he'd placed there. He drew the blade out, holding it before him, silently moving to the side of the bed. He was standing directly over the sleeping man now. He could feel the magic emanating from the man's bones, outlining his skeleton. The man was powerful for his generation, the greatest and most skilled among his peers.
And that, the traitor thought, was a shame.
He leaned his knees against the side of the bed, raising the knife above his head. Stood there for a long moment, marveling at how easy it was to take away the most glorious gift of all. Too easy, he thought. Far too easy. He would have preferred a challenge.
The traitor brought the knife down, hard, plunging it straight into the sleeping man's heart.
The man cried out once, his limbs jerking violently, and then lay still. Blood welled up around the blade, buried to the hilt in the man's chest. A long sigh escaped his lips, the release of his final breath.
The traitor let his fingers uncurl from the handle of the knife, straightening his back, then stepping away from the bed. He felt a giddiness come over him, and smiled down at the dead man laying before him.
“For Xanos,” he murmured.
Chapter 13
Ariana woke up with a jolt, hearing the high-pitched wail of the Tower alarm echoing through her bedroom. She glanced quickly about her room, then shoved her blanket from her body, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She grabbed the black pants and shirt that had been neatly folded on the nightstand beside her bed, slipping out of her pajamas and putting the clothes on. Then she ran out of her room and into the living room of Kalibar's retirement suite, sprinting to the magical front door. Without thinking, she wove the light pattern, a softly glowing globe appearing above her head. She searched for her black boots on the shoe rack on the wall near the door, finding them and tugging them on. Then she unlocked the door, opening it and stepping silently into the hallway.
It was empty.
The alarm continued, much louder in the hallway than it had been in her room, making Ariana cover her ears with her hands. Something was wrong...she was supposed to be guarded by two Battle-Weavers. They'd been posted outside of her door ever since the attack on the bank yesterday. Ever since Kyle...
She closed her eyes for a moment, willing that horrible thought away.
She opened her eyes again, peering down the empty hallway. The siren was only used when the highest government officials – the Councilmen and the Grand Runic and Weaver – were threatened. So whatever was going on had to be happening either one floor above or below her. The Councilmen had living chambers on the 40th floor, and Kalibar and Erasmus on the 42nd.
She paused, then ran down the hallway, toward the riser at the end. She glanced at the painted statues carved into the walls on either side as she passed, spotting Kalibar's likeness there. She felt a chill go down her spine.
She ran faster, sprinting to the end of the hallway, and stopping in the center of the riser. She sent a single magical pulse to one of the forty-two crystals on the floor of the riser, the one that would send her upward, to the 42nd floor.
Nothing happened.
Ariana frowned, trying again. Still, the riser did not move.
That's weird...
She paused, thinking it through. Someone must have deactivated the riser's ability to travel to the topmost floor...to protect Kalibar and Erasmus.
Or to prevent anyone from reaching the scene of the crime, she thought with another chill.
She heard a shout behind her, and spun around, spotting two black-clad men running down the hall toward her. She took a step back instinctively, then realized that they were Battle-Weavers. They ran up to her side, both panting with the exertion, their foreheads slick with sweat.
“Ma'am,” one of them blurted out. “Get back in your room now!” He grabbed Ariana's shoulder, turning her about and pushing her toward Kalibar's suite.
“What's going on?” she half-asked, half-demanded, resisting the man's attempts to get her back into her room.
“Someone's been assassinated,” the Weaver replied. “If you don't get back in your room willingly...”
“Okay, okay,” Ariana replied, allowing herself to be led back into Kalibar's suite. The two men followed her in, letting the magical door close behind them. They ushered her to one of the many large, white couches in the living room, motioning for her to sit down. She did so, knowing it was no use resisting two experienced Battle-Weavers.
“Someone's been killed?” she asked. The two Battle-Weavers sat down, one on a couch opposite her, the other beside her.
“Assassinated, yes,” one replied.
“Who?” she pressed, fear growing within her. She shoved it aside, knowing that panicking wouldn't do her any good. A year with the Dead Man had taught her that.
“I can't say,” the Weaver answered. When Ariana glowered at him, the man shifted in his seat uncomfortably. While Ariana was still only a teenager, she was the daughter of a living legend. Adopted or not, everyone knew how Kalibar felt about her...and no one wanted to get on Kalibar's bad side, particularly his Battle-Weavers. All of them practically worshiped the Grand Weaver, knowing that he'd been the greatest of their kind since Ancient times. “I don't know,” the Weaver admitted. “When we responded to the alarm, we were ordered to come right to your room.”
“Is it Kalibar?” she asked bluntly, immediately regretting the question. If he had been killed, she didn't want to know.
“I'm sorry,” the Weaver replied. “I just don't know. It must be someone important,” he added. “I've never seen Grand Runic Erasmus so distraught.”
“What?” Ariana blurted, bolting up out of her seat. “What did you say?”
“Grand Runic Erasmus,” the Battle-Weaver repeated, almost apologetically. “He was...weeping,” he added. “I've never seen him like that before.”
“What did he say?”
“He was overwrought,” the Weaver replied, shrugging helplessly. “I'm sorry, I don't know anything more,” he added. Ariana paused, then sat back down on the couch, closing her eyes. For some reason, all she could picture was Master Banar's corpse, lying on its stomach, a gaping hole in the back of the poor man's head. How Master Owens had reacted as they'd come upon the scene, how utterly pale her instructor had become.
She opened her eyes, staring at her kneecaps for a long moment. Then she glanced up at the Weaver facing her.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We wait,” the Weaver answered. Noting Ariana'
s incredulous expression, he shook his head. “We haven't found the assassin yet,” he explained. “Until we do, everyone is a potential target...including you.”
Ariana sighed. The man was right, of course. She just wished she knew what was going on. She needed to know that her loved ones were okay. Kyle had already been taken from her, as had Darius, apparently. Kalibar was the only one left, the only one who had been there with her in the Arena, who had helped her escape that hell. She couldn't bear the thought that she'd escaped at last, only to lose her second family the same way she'd lost her real parents.
For the first time since Kyle had been taken, Ariana felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she turned away, brushing them with the back of her hand. But still they came, and she broke down, thinking of that poor boy lost in some terrible prison, alone as she had been only a few weeks ago, wondering if anyone would ever find him. A sob escaped her lips, and she fought it back, her shoulders heaving up and down silently. She felt a warm hand on her back, and gave in, noisy, awful sobs escaping her. She hated the sound of them, the helplessness they conveyed. But try as she might, she couldn't hold them back any longer.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, followed by the sounds of boots clicking on the granite floor. Ariana looked up, hastily wiping the tears from her eyes, and saw Erasmus walking quickly toward her, a line of Battle-Weavers and elite guards in tow. The portly Grand Runic's expression was furious, his eyelids puffy. He stopped in the center of the room, turning about and facing a man dressed in white – one of the Councilmen, Ariana realized.
“So you just want to give up?” he shouted at the man. “Run with your tail between your legs?” The man's face paled, but he stood his ground.
“If they can get in his room, with all of his wards, and murder him in his sleep, what's to stop them from killing us all?” he retorted. Erasmus rolled his eyes.
“You've got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “It's all well and good when other people are dying, but the minute your lives are on the line, you fold!” He shook his head. “You're pathetic, you know that?”
“Calm down, Erasmus,” the Councilman pleaded. Erasmus spun on him.
“That's Grand Runic Erasmus to you,” he retorted. “Or have you forgotten your place here?” The Councilman raised his palms into the air, backing up a step.
“My apologies,” he stated, his face paling even further. “I'm just trying to tell you how we feel,” he added. Erasmus laughed bitterly.
“Oh yes, I know how you feel,” he shot back. “I also know that the first time your Grand Weaver was threatened by an assassin in his bedroom, he didn't act like a coward, begging for surrender!”
“That assassin died,” the Councilman countered. Erasmus shook his head.
“You and I both know it wouldn't have mattered,” he replied angrily. “You're nothing but cowards!” he spat. The Councilman's expression hardened.
“Don't accuse us of lacking patriotism,” he warned, his voice suddenly cold. “None of us has run off in the middle of the night. We're considering options here.”
“Consider a different one,” Erasmus shot back.
“Gentlemen!” a voice boomed, reverberating off of the walls. Everyone in the room started, then turned to face the front door. A tall man dressed in black silk pajamas entered the room, his short white hair mildly askew. His eyes were covered with double-eyepatches, his lips turned in a fierce frown.
“Kalibar!” Ariana blurted out, leaping off of the couch and sprinting toward the Grand Weaver. She jumped into his arms, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Kalibar!” she cried again, burying her face into his chest. “I thought...” she stopped then, choking up. She felt Kalibar wrap his arms about her, giving her a gentle squeeze.
“I'm fine,” he replied, pushing her back gently. “I'm afraid there's been a murder,” he added gravely.
“Who?” Ariana asked. She felt a little guilty knowing that, whoever it was, she would still feel glad that her adopted father was all right. Kalibar grimaced.
“Jax,” he answered, then sighed. “He was late for a morning meeting, so one of the Councilmen went to find him. He was still in his bed,” he added solemnly.
“You won't believe what Councilman Hewes was just suggesting to me,” Erasmus interrupted, pointing one finger at the younger Councilman in white. Kalibar reached out, lowering Erasmus's hand with his own.
“I can guess,” he replied calmly. He turned to face Hewes. “There will be a great deal of fear and sadness today,” he stated, “...and our initial reactions will not be our best. We must all give ourselves time to calm down, so we can plan the future rationally.”
Erasmus glared at Hewes, then turned away from the Councilman. “His first reaction says a lot about him,” he growled. Kalibar shook his head.
“I wasn't talking about him,” he chided gently. Erasmus blinked, then lowered his gaze to the floor. Kalibar sighed, putting a hand on Erasmus's shoulder. “I've seen war heroes that did the right thing the first time, and those that hesitated first,” he added. “Both deserved the title.”
“All right, all right,” Erasmus muttered. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Surrender is an option of last resort,” Kalibar answered, “...but we cannot leave it off of the table. Nor can we consider it until our doom is otherwise sure. We must investigate Jax's murder, determine who was involved. As tragic as his death is, I have reason to believe that our own deaths will not follow. But I, for one, am willing to give my life for my country,” he added firmly, his eyepatches locking on Councilman Hewes. The younger Runic lowered his own gaze, unable to face Kalibar's disapproval. Everyone knew that Kalibar had risked his life for the Empire – many times over – as a Battle-Weaver.
“As you say, Grand Weaver,” he murmured. Kalibar nodded briskly.
“Councilman, I want an emergency meeting of the Council, in the War Room, in ten minutes. We must elect a new Elder Councilman, and deal with the former's death.”
“Yes your Excellency,” Hewes replied, turning about and striding out of the front door. A few of the guards followed behind him. Erasmus watched him go, then turned to Kalibar.
“I still think...” he began, but Kalibar cut him off.
“Cowards by instinct,” he interjected, “...can yet be made into brave men. That,” he added, “...is the purpose of leadership.”
There was a knock on the front door, and Kalibar turned about, seeing a man in a simple gray shirt and pants standing outside of the door, carrying a large envelope in his arms. He recognized the uniform, if not the man; it was of the Medical Examiner's office. One of the elite guards glanced at Kalibar, who nodded. The guard opened the door, letting the man in.
“Your Excellencies,” the man stated, bowing deeply. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he was breathing heavily. Erasmus frowned.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The pathology report on the man who tried to assassinate you, Grand Weaver,” he answered, nodding at Kalibar. He offered Kalibar the large envelope, and Ariana watched as Kalibar opened it, pulling out a sheath of papers. Then he paused, handing the papers to Erasmus.
“Sometimes I still forget,” the Grand Weaver muttered, pointing to his eyepatches. Erasmus smirked, then glanced down at the papers. He scanned through the first page, then his eyes widened, his face turning very pale.
“Dear god,” he whispered, staring off into space. Then his eyes focused on Kalibar, and he shook his head mutely.
“What is it?” Kalibar asked. Erasmus glanced at the papers again, then put them back into the envelope, re-sealing it.
“We're in deep trouble,” Erasmus replied.
* * *
The eleven remaining members of the Council sat around the circular table in the War Room, with Kalibar and Erasmus in their customary positions. Where Jax had presided for over three decades, only an empty chair remained. Erasmus had debriefed the Council on Jax's murder, right down to the grisly details, his voice
breaking more than once as he did so. Erasmus had been as close as any man could get to the aloof Jax, having had him as a mentor so many years ago.
“So this assassin,” Goran stated grimly, “...was able to unlock Jax's master-level door lock, built by Jax himself...perhaps the most skilled Runic in the Empire?” Councilman Goran asked. “And then deactivated all of his wards, and all of his personal defensive runics...in a single night?”
“That's correct, Kalibar confirmed. “The elite guard does daily checks of all wards and locks, and they were intact when Jax went to bed last night.” Councilman Ibicus, sitting beside Goran, shook his head.
“Well, if that's the case, what's to stop this assassin from coming into any one of our bedrooms, and killing us while we sleep?” he asked. Several other Councilman nodded in agreement.
“We're all sitting ducks,” Goran agreed. He turned to Kalibar then. “And we all know now that Kyle's ring won't protect us either.” he added coldly.
“We don't know much about Jax's assassin,” Erasmus admitted, showing remarkable restraint in not taking Goran's bait. “But we have learned more about Kalibar's.”
“Do tell,” Councilman Ibicus prompted. The man was hardly a fan of Erasmus, despite them both being Elitists, because he believed that the Grand Runic had allowed Kalibar to overshadow him in their first term. Ibicus was of the opinion that Kalibar's overt popularity over Erasmus had caused hundreds of potential Runic students to go into Weaving instead.
“We received the official medical examiner's report on the first assassin's autopsy right before this meeting,” Erasmus continued. He paused for a moment, glancing at Kalibar, then turning back to face the Council. “It was most revealing,” he added grimly.
“Paraphrase, if you will,” Ibicus replied.
“The assassin had been killed by decapitation, as well all know,” Erasmus stated. “Other than that, there were no other findings...except for one.”