by Rowe, Andrew
“What would cause that?” Taelien asked.
“They must have bonded the walls inside the room, too,” Lydia explained. “And with a type of dominion bond expressly designed for preventing spells like yours,” she said to Jonan. “You’re right, that is suspicious.”
Jonan nodded. “I was hoping you could cut through the lock,” he said to Taelien.
“What makes you think I could do something like that?” Taelien asked.
“Well, with the sacred sword -,” Jonan began, gesturing at the sword on Taelien’s hip. “Huh. What’d you do with it?”
Did Jonan somehow not notice what the sword looked like this last night? It’s looked like this since before we met him. Which means...
“What makes you think he’s carrying the Sae’kes?” Lydia asked, folding her arms.
“He probably saw me when they first brought me in,” Taelien offered. Jonan nodded in agreement. “There was a pretty big crowd that came to watch when they escorted me over.”
Or he can see through the scabbard, Taelien considered. If he can see the runes on the blade, altering the hilt design is almost irrelevant.
Lydia clenched her jaw, looking dissatisfied by the answer, but she didn’t say anything.
“I have no experience at hiding in an urban environment,” Taelien admitted. “But if you explain your plan and it sounds plausible, I will do what I can to help you.”
And hope this isn’t all just some kind of cover to steal something valuable out of a heavily protected room.
Lydia stood up suddenly, a hard expression her face. “Very well, then. With that decision made, I need to report back to the palace and make some excuses.”
“Shall we meet back here in the evening, then?” Jonan asked.
“No promises,” Lydia said. “I need to protect my identity, first and foremost. If I can slip out tonight, I will. If not, it may be another day or more before we can converse again.”
Jonan nodded. “Very well. Good luck,” he said.
Lydia looked slightly rankled, but she nodded curtly to him, and then turned to Taelien. “Don’t get caught. I don’t think I can protect you a second time.”
Taelien nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll be careful.”
This is going to be a mess, Taelien realized. He stood with Jonan across the street from their target building, a solid looking two-story structure of grey stone. A broad sign proclaimed it to be “Talior and Castle Depository”. The building was located in a residential area – not exactly where Taelien expected anyone to hold a group of Rethri prisoners. He was not, however, an expert on the subject.
He was beginning to doubt that Jonan was an expert, too.
The dawnfire still shined brightly overhead, which seemed to be precisely the wrong time to infiltrate a building, and Jonan hadn’t given Taelien any hints about their plan yet. He assumed it involved trying the same invisibility spell that Jonan had been using to follow him earlier – but Lydia had been able to counter that, and another sorcerer with similar skills could do the same.
Here and there, a few civilians walked by, heading into one or two story houses of hardwood and stone. Further down the street, a small group of children playing some kind of game involving sticks and a ball. The image put a smile on Taelien’s face, faintly reminding him of home. I wonder how Fal is holding up without me?
Most of the homes they passed were painted a light brown, giving the area a woodland tone that only enhanced his homesickness. In the few moments that they stood near their destination Taelien didn’t see anyone enter or exit it, but that was hardly surprising. It was the only business on a street that was mostly residential.
“Remember, you’re James Haven, and I’m Travis Case,” Jonan pointed out.
“I’ve got it, Travis,” Taelien assured him.
“This way,” Jonan said, leading Taelien past the building. Taelien followed, glancing from side to side. We really should have talked this out in more detail before leaving the house. We can’t talk here – too many civilians around.
A few blocks beyond the building they reached a street lined with shops, some encompassing full structures of their own, others simply booths on the sides of the road. Jonan led them to the only closed door on the street and rapped twice on it. Taelien looked up at the sign above the door, which read, “The Golden Needle”. Hrm. A tailor.
A few moments later, the door opened. A balding man, his beard showing more gray than brown, stood in the doorway. The man tilted his head tilted to the side inquisitively when he saw Jonan, a hint of irritation showing in his eyes. “Ugh, what is it now?”
“Just a moment of your time, good sir,” Jonan pleaded. “Can we come in?”
The older man sighed. “Fine, fine, just make it quick.” He stepped out of the way, giving Taelien only the briefest sidelong glance as the pair stepped inside.
The gray-bearded man slammed the door shut, folding his arms. “You nearly ruined me last time, you reshing con. Give me three reasons not to call the guards on you right now.”
Taelien frowned and took a step back toward the door, but Jonan just rolled his eyes and reached into a pouch at his side. He withdrew three silver royals – the largest denomination of silver coinage used in areas near Velthryn. With a deep breath, Jonan dropped the coins in the older man’s waiting hand.
The balding man scowled. “That’ll hardly pay for the damage you caused last time, but I’m listening.”
“Nothing scandalous this time, I promise you. I just need two passable tail coats, for my friend here and myself,” he said, indicating Taelien with a gesture. “Just for a few hours. And a place to change and leave our things,” he hastily added.
The older man sighed, shaking his head. “That sounds reasonable enough. But you sounded perfectly reasonable last time, too.”
“We won’t be any trouble, I assure you,” Jonan implored him.
He lies as easily as he breathes, Taelien considered, drawing his hand into a fist. Not for the first time, Taelien considered turning back. Rescuing a group of Rethri sounded like a noble goal – and if it was true, he’d be glad to help – but an itching in his mind told him that it was terribly improbable that Jonan was telling him the whole truth.
Unfortunately, Lydia – his only other contact in the city – wasn’t much better. She had already proven to be at least similarly adept at deception.
“You say that every time, Travis. Feh,” the older man said.
“I’ll put in a good word with the wife for you. I’ll tell her to give you a discount,” Jonan offered.
Wife? Taelien wondered, quirking a brow at Jonan. Jonan didn’t even acknowledge him.
The older man scratched his chin. “How much of a discount?”
Jonan shrugged. “That’s up to her. I’ll still pay you for the rentals, of course.”
“Fine, fine. Just don’t tell me what you’re doing with the suits. And if there’s blood, clean it off before you get them back to me. I don’t want to see it,” the older man insisted.
“Of course, Elor. No need to worry about that,” Jonan insisted.
A few more coins changed hands, and a mystified Taelien found himself dressed in a dapper black coat suit a few short minutes later. There were no shoes to match it available, but the ones he had borrowed from Jonan looked passable with it.
The sleeves of the coat and the pant legs were both a little bit too short, but not enough to be particularly noticeable. He briefly considered asking the tailor to make some adjustments, but a glance at Elor’s expression told him that it was an unwise idea to press the man further.
Taelien’s sword still sat at his left hip – he had insisted on keeping it with him – but he left his other borrowed garb with the tailor. He glanced in his changing room’s mirror and appraised himself to look like a professional – if only a professional bodyguard, or perhaps a military advisor.
Jonan emerged from his own changing room a few minutes later, looking about five years olde
r and about two social classes higher. His hair had been pulled back into a long tail cinched with a tiny silver harp, the symbol of the queen regent. He wore silver-framed glasses with thinner lenses and a gray coat with steel buttons that looked tailored to fit him. Maybe it was tailored to fit him – the owner clearly has a history with ‘Travis’ here.
With their new clothes in place, Jonan drew Taelien into his changing room and closed the door.
“And now the plan,” Jonan said.
Taelien raised an eyebrow, adjusting one of the cuffs on his coat. “You could have told me more about this before we left.”
Jonan grinned. “Nonsense. You weren’t committed when we left. Now you are.”
Taelien shifted his stance uneasily. He’s probably right. It’s amazing how such a small measure of effort can make me feel like it’s too late to turn back from something.
“Not until I agree to what you propose,” Taelien said, for his own benefit as much as Jonan’s.
“It’s actually quite simple. I have a storage unit in the depository. I’m going to ask to visit it. The box is located underground, only a few doors away from the locked room. You are going to go investigate while I fiddle with the contents of the box.”
Taelien leaned back against the wall of the changing room. “Don’t they have guards?”
“Ah, certainly, but the guards will see you in the room with me, not where you truly are,” Jonan explained.
“And if I find the Rethri?” Taelien asked.
“We don’t try to rescue them right now. We don’t have to. Just get inside that door and see what you can find. We can discuss it afterward,” Jonan instructed him.
“You want me to cut through a door and then leave without the contents, with the expectation of coming back later?” Taelien inquired, quirking a brow.
“I, er, can cover the damage up with an illusion. As long as you make clean cuts. Don’t take the whole door off if you can avoid it. You just need to cut the lock,” he said, sounding a bit nervous.
What aren’t you telling me? Planning to leave me behind? Or do you know someone on the inside of the storage facility to cover for us?
Taelien shook his head.
“Let’s get this over with.”
“Welcome to Talior and Castle. How may we be of service?” a tall woman asked from behind a counter.
“Yes, hello, I’m Travis Case. I have a box below, I’d like to go dig through it to try to find something,” Jonan said, withdrawing a key and displaying it to the woman.
“Very good, wait here, I’ll fetch someone to escort you,” the woman said.
Their escort arrived a few moments later – a pair of big men in grey suits, not dissimilar from the one Jonan was wearing. They had batons on their hips.
“You’ll have to leave that up here,” one of the guards said, indicating Taelien’s sword.
Taelien nodded silently, reaching to unbuckle his belt. How did I think I could get into the equivalent of a bank vault while wearing a sword?
Jonan grabbed the belt and sword away from Taelien casually and put a hand on the scabbard as if to remove it from the belt. As Taelien watched, Jonan shifted his hand down the belt in a dragging motion, but the scabbard remained in place. “Can we just leave it here?” Jonan asked, walking over to a doorway.
“Sure,” the guard said. “Just can’t take it downstairs.”
Jonan nodded, making a gesture as if he was leaning something up against the wall, and then handed the belt – sword and all – back to Taelien. “Thank you,” Jonan said to the guard.
The guard nodded as Taelien belted his weapon back on, seeming oblivious to the sword’s presence. Fascinating. The guards must see the sword as being in that corner. The illusion probably isn’t solid – that’s why Jonan didn’t want to hand it directly to the guards. How is he making illusions that they see, but I can’t? Did he cast something on me earlier to exclude me from the effects?
Taelien considered Jonan’s capabilities with growing suspicion. The Kesite was apparently trained in the Liadran style of sorcery, which involved gestures or directly touching the target, rather than using words. It was the same style that Taelien had learned, but Taelien could only affect things he was in contact with – either directly or through an object he was touching. Jonan’s ability to wordlessly cast spells that impacted vision – or perhaps even thoughts – demonstrated a drastically higher degree of proficiency.
I can never trust my eyes around Jonan, Taelien realized. And he hasn’t told me he can influence other senses.
The other guard inserted a key into the door and turned it open, revealing a small room with a pair of stairways, leading up and down. The guards headed to the stairway going downward, and Jonan and Taelien followed.
“Do you know the number of your box, or do you need me to check?” the other guard asked.
“It’s number forty-four,” Jonan replied.
The guards led them past three small rooms on each side before stopping at the fourth door on the left side. One of the guards turned the key and opened the door, gesturing politely for the pair to step inside.
Jonan nudged Taelien and waved a hand almost casually down the hall. The gesture was conspicuous since Taelien knew to look for it, but the guards didn’t seem to notice. Jonan stepped into the room, and one of the guards went in with him. The other guard closed and locked the door from the outside, leaving Taelien standing in the hall.
The remaining guard was looking right in his direction, but seemed to have no idea he was there.
Taelien lifted a hand. He could see himself clearly, and glancing back, he could still see his own shadow as well. Would the guard notice his shadow? He didn’t know if the illusion masking his presence would cover the shadow or not – shadow sorcery was a different type of spell casting, but that didn’t mean an image couldn’t conceal a shadow.
Tentatively, Taelien took a step forward. The guard didn’t react – in fact, he looked sort of bored. He leaned against the wall next to the door, shaking his head. After a minute or so passed of Taelien inching forward, the guard took out a book and sat down.
Taelien resisted the urge to sigh with relief, stepping forward slightly after once the guard had settled into place. How long ago did Jonan purchase this storage unit? How long has he been planning this mission? Taelien wondered, glancing back at the guard every few moments. How did he get this far by himself last time he was here?
Taelien slowed himself after passing three more doors, realizing he wasn’t sure which one Jonan wanted him to investigate. Thus far, they all looked identical, save the numbers atop. Each door, he realized, must have led to another hall that contained several storage units. Was the warded area in this hall, or one of the ones beyond the doors?
Fortunately, a few steps later he found his answer – the wall on his right was bare, missing a door to match the left side. As he continued walking, he passed two more doors on his left before finally reaching one on the right – a broad door of steel, at least twice as wide as the wooden doors elsewhere in the hall.
Well, that’s conspicuous.
Taelien tentatively reached out a hand to touch the metal. He thought he felt a slight tingling sensation, but he dismissed it as being his imagination. His thoughts surged into the metal, picturing the door as if it was an extension of his body. He found three redundant locks, as well as pins to anchor the door directly into the stone walls of the building. It was, Taelien considered, probably a very effective defense against most threats.
Metal sorcery made that defense a triviality.
Taelien glanced to back toward the guard, finding the man to be still reading. A glance to his other side showed no signs of any other guards.
He thought he heard movement to his right, so he swung a hand out at the open air, but it didn’t catch anything. Gritting his teeth, he put his hand back on the door and concentrated.
Open, he told the door. Rather than causing the door to swing outward, he s
imply opened a Taelien-sized section in the center of it and stepped through. The hole remained open behind him. While dominion sorcery spells typically produced temporary effects, Taelien’s core sorcery manipulated metal permanently unless he chose to deliberately reverse it.
Inside the room, he saw intricate runes written on the inside of the door – as well as the walls – in a language he did not understand.
The left side of the room had two tables sat end-to-end against each other, lined with metallic objects. Weapons, he thought at first, but a moment later he recognized the shapes with greater specificity. No, torture implements, he realized, taking in the wicked curves of tiny blades and the elegantly arrayed lines of needles. Glass bottles containing colorful fluids sat beside the tools, but there were no labels to espouse their functions.
More importantly, however, he also saw a figure sitting in the center of a web of runic markings about twenty feet away. The runes flickered with purple light, causing reflections to play across the sitting figure’s thick obsidian-like scales. Even in a sitting position, the figure’s head was nearly level with Taelien’s. A thick spinal ridge of similar material to the scales marked the creature as male. Taelien could see that the figure’s eyes were closed, but that it drew slow breaths into its lungs.
The figure within the weave of sigils was not a Rethri, like Taelien had been searching for. He was an Esharen, the fabled race native to the Xixian Empire, a race Taelien’s history lessons told him were centuries dead.
Gods, Taelien cursed in his mind. His hand instinctively drifted to the sword at his side, but he forced the hand back away when he realized what he was doing. He would not kill a helpless opponent, even if that was almost certainly what the Esharen would do to him.
Years of his schooling flooded his mind. The Xixian Empire had once spanned most of Mythralis, using humans and Rethri as slaves. He had been told that the Rethri had rebelled, overthrowing their Xixian masters, and freeing their human brethren as well. Of course, since Taelien was raised in a Rethri city, he knew their account would be somewhat biased.