Shadows of Asphodel

by Karen Kincy

  Shaking with adrenaline, Ardis retreated.

  “Ardis!” Konstantin said, his face grim and pale.

  She flashed him a smile. “Here to help.”

  Konstantin limped forward a few steps, the floor shuddering under the automaton’s weight, then swung his arm and smacked the assassin she had just wounded. The man flew through the air and slammed on the bricks.

  Five more assassins to go.

  A flash of steel sliced the darkness—a throwing knife. Ardis dove to the bricks, tucked into a roll, and sprinted to hide behind a machine. The knife ricocheted off the iron above her head. She flattened herself to the floor. Her fingers grazed the arm of a dead assassin Konstantin had tossed aside like a broken doll.

  No. Not dead yet. The man moaned and opened his eyes.

  She should kill him. Now, before he alerted the others.

  Trembling with tension, she stared into the fallen man’s eyes. She could see his pain and his fear. This instant of sympathy shook her.

  Wendel stepped from the darkness. Amarant’s shadows still clung to his skin.

  The wounded man crawled on his stomach, struggling to drag himself upright. Wendel grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and drove his dagger into the back of his neck. He severed his spine and lingered only long enough to raise the dead.

  “Wendel,” Ardis whispered.

  He looked at her with emptiness in his eyes, then turned to another wounded man and slaughtered him. An instant later, the dead man climbed to his feet and waited for the necromancer’s command.

  Wendel grasped Ardis’s hand, and she let him help her stand.

  Metal clanged on metal. She peeked over the machine and saw an assassin hacking at the automaton’s undamaged knee.

  “Is that another scratch?” Konstantin said.

  Like he shouldn’t be worried about dying.

  Konstantin grabbed the assassin by his cloak and dangled him so that his feet kicked. Disgusted, he flung him away. Ardis tracked the man’s arc through the air. She didn’t see where he landed, but she heard a sickening crunch.

  Only four assassins still stood. If, of course, she didn’t count the undead ones.

  Ardis crept closer to the automaton, her heartbeat thudding in her throat, and wished that Wendel would let go of her hand. It made it so much harder for her to be strong. She could hear his undead minions shambling breathlessly behind them. God, she could feel his necromancy, skittering like icy fire over his fingers.

  “Let go of me,” she whispered.

  Wendel met her gaze. His eyes looked almost pleading, but she had no real way of knowing. He lifted his black dagger.

  “Not the shadows,” she said. “I need my sword.”

  His mouth hardened, and he dropped her hand abruptly. She held Chun Yi at a low angle, and the sword’s flames dimmed like it knew she needed stealth. An assassin lingered nearby, searching the darkness, and she crouched.

  Wendel sucked in his breath, then waved his minions onward.

  The undead men dragged their scimitars along the floor. Ardis winced at the screeching. The assassin’s arm jerked upward with the throwing knife, but he narrowed his eyes, holstered the knife, and unsheathed his scimitar. He held his blade at a high angle, ready to behead the dead men, and backed away.

  Ardis crept around the machine and circled the assassin. He never saw her coming.

  She aimed for his heart and stabbed him between the ribs. Chun Yi cleaved his flesh and sank to the hilt with stunning ease. The assassin died within a few heartbeats. Wendel raised him from the dead not a minute later.

  Ardis yanked out Chun Yi, the sword blazing even brighter.

  “Three more,” she whispered to Wendel.

  He nodded and commanded his tiny army of the dead with a wave. The undead ran almost as fast as the living, their muscles still not yet stiff, and marked the floor with bloody footprints. The assassins retreated into the center of the room. They stood back-to-back and held their scimitars in a low defensive guard.

  Ardis edged closer, keeping to the shadows, wary of the throwing knives.

  But the dead men threw themselves onto the blades without hesitation. Impaled to the hilt of a scimitar, a dead man clawed at an assassin. The assassin’s ally hacked at the dead man’s neck and swore when the blade stuck. The third assassin faced two undead at once, struggling to shove them back.

  Konstantin limped closer and loomed over the fight.

  Ardis tensed, ready to duck flying machinery, but the archmage balled his hands into fists. He reared back, then charged forward and punched the assassins. He knocked two out of three flying and clobbered an undead man on the way.

  Ardis flinched at the sound of bones cracking, then ran to finish off the last assassin.

  The man dropped his scimitar, the whites of his eyes bright, and held up his hands. He backed away from the undead men.

  “I surrender,” he said. “I surrender!”

  Ardis hesitated, then started to lower her sword.

  The assassin stiffened as the shadow of a blade sliced his throat. Darkness descended behind him—Wendel. The man went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, then straightened as the necromancer puppeted him.

  “He surrendered!” Konstantin stammered.

  Wendel didn’t even look at him. And Ardis, her stomach churning, looked the other way.

  Assassins lay scattered across the factory, silent or moaning, many with limbs at awkward angles. Wendel walked from assassin to assassin like an efficient reaper, slitting their throats and severing their spines.

  He killed them all, and she did nothing to stop him. Nothing to show mercy.

  But should she?

  “We have to go,” she said, “before the Grandmaster shows up.”

  Wendel stared at her with such concentrated fury that she retreated a step.

  “Ardis!” Konstantin fell in step beside her. “What’s wrong with Wendel?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We have to get him out of here.”

  Konstantin had to duck to fit through the doors. Ardis followed close behind him, counting on the automaton’s bulk as a shield. The flames of Chun Yi rippled, reflected, in the automaton’s steel. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Wendel lingering near one of the windows, staring intently into the darkness.

  “Wendel,” she said in a hushed voice. “Wendel!”

  He looked to her, then, and followed her into the light.

  Outside the factory, it was still and silent. Any number of assassins could be lurking. Ardis shared a grimace with Konstantin.

  “See anything?” she said.

  From the height of the automaton, he scanned their surroundings.

  “No,” he said.

  “There could be more.” She waved him forward. “Stay in the shadows.”

  Konstantin laughed nervously. “I feel very visible.”

  Ardis led the archmage and the necromancer away from the coffin factory and across the empty lot. Rain weighted down her hair and trickled down her clothes. She wished she were in the automaton. She would be drier, and safer. Again she glanced back to check on Wendel, and again she saw him lingering in the darkness.

  What was wrong with him? She backtracked to meet him.

  “Wendel,” she said.

  He opened his mouth, as if to speak, then winced. Blood dribbled down his chin. He wiped it on the back of his hand.

  “Can you keep walking?” she said. “It isn’t much longer.”

  He nodded, his eyes hollow.

  She had never seen him look so lifeless. Fear settled in her gut like a lump of ice. Had the Order done something irrevocable to him?

  “Is it—?” Her voice faltered. “Is it very painful?”

  Wendel’s mouth curled into crossbreed of a sneer and a smile. Maybe he thought it was an obvious question. Maybe he thought she was pitying him. But even bleeding and mute, he still had the fortitude to be a bastard.

  And that, at least, reminded her of t
he Wendel she knew.

  “Good,” she said, and she squared her shoulders. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  She lowered her voice. “Believe me, Wendel, I know you want to hunt down every last assassin in Vienna. But now is really not the time for revenge. Especially brutal soulless revenge that will get you killed.”

  He narrowed his eyes, then spat blood on the ground.

  “You owe me,” she said.

  He questioned her with his eyes.

  “You fulfilled the terms of your fealty,” she said, “but I saved your life again.”

  He worked his jaw back and forth. She knew he would be sarcastic if he only could. He dropped to one knee in parody of the time he swore fealty. He spread his arms, his eyes glittering, and challenged her with his stare.

  She held out her hand. The start of a headache panged in her temple.

  “Get up,” she said.

  Never looking away, he clasped her hand and let her help him to his feet. She didn’t flinch at the feel of his necromancy.

  “And get rid of those undead,” she said.

  Frowning, he tilted his head.

  “Do you have a vendetta against stealth?” she deadpanned.

  A smile shadowed the necromancer’s face. He snapped his fingers, and the dead men behind him fell to the dirt.

  She started walking, and hoped he had the sense to follow.

  Ahead, Konstantin reached the truck and climbed into the back. He lowered the automaton to its knees, tucked in its arms, then killed the engine. He jumped from the cockpit and bent over the automaton’s knee.

  “For heaven’s sake,” he muttered. “That scratch won’t buff out. And the pneumatics—”

  “Konstantin!” Ardis said.

  “Right.”

  Between her and Wendel, they had far more scars than the automaton. Not that the archmage seemed to notice. She sighed and helped Konstantin drag the tarp over the automaton. He climbed behind the wheel, and she hopped in beside him. Wendel slumped to her right, slammed the door, and stared through the windshield.

  “Cross your fingers,” Ardis said.

  Konstantin’s eyes flicked over to hers. “Why?”

  “That we won’t run into any more assassins.”

  Wendel gave her a sideways glance, and the look in his eyes said he didn’t believe in luck.

  “Konstantin?” she said. “How long was the Grandmaster meeting with Margareta?”

  The archmage frowned and twisted the key in the ignition. The truck coughed to life.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Then we shouldn’t return to the Hall of the Archmages,” she said. “Not tonight.”

  “I have a first aid kit and my temporal magic in the laboratory, so I should be able to patch up both of you.” Konstantin blew out his breath and muttered, “Though patching up the automaton won’t be so easy.”

  Temporal magic? Pain panged through the scars along her arms.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Do me a favor?” Konstantin said.

  “What?”

  “Pray that Margareta doesn’t go looking for the prototype.”

  Ardis laughed bleakly. “At least we didn’t leave any witnesses.”

  She glanced at Wendel. He had closed his eyes and rested his head against the window. No blood trickled from his mouth, but cold fear clenched her stomach. God, let him be all right, though he looked anything but.

  ~

  Night shrouded Vienna. In an alley behind the Academy of Technomancy, Konstantin gingerly maneuvered the automaton from the back of the truck and limped to the freight elevator. Ardis hit the call button and waited.

  Beside her, Wendel touched her arm.

  “What is it?” she said.

  Wendel looked deeply tired, but he managed half of a smile. The elevator arrived. He lowered his head and strode inside. When she followed at his heels, she saw the double-headed eagle tattooed on his neck. It would be impossible for his hair to hide it now, and she knew they had done this to shame him.

  Konstantin joined them in the elevator, and Ardis hit the button to the basement.

  “If anyone asks,” the archmage said, “we were out testing the automaton.”

  “We were,” she said. “Unofficially.”

  He coughed. “Nobody but student interns should be up this late. Midterms, you know. And if they value their grades, they won’t interfere.”

  Wendel smirked, and Ardis wondered what snide comment he wished he could say.

  The doors to the elevator clunked open, and they entered a dull concrete hallway. Konstantin waved them forward, the knuckles of the automaton accidentally scraping the ceiling, and he winced at the noise.

  Luckily, nobody seemed to notice, and they reached the laboratory without incident.

  It was dark inside, so Ardis switched on the lights. Bank after bank blinked on above. Konstantin hobbled to a flatbed trolley and hoisted himself onto it. Slowly, he lowered the automaton onto its back. After scooting from the cockpit, he swung his legs over the edge of the trolley and hopped down to the floor.

  Konstantin staggered on stiff legs, and Wendel caught his arm.

  “Thank you,” Konstantin said crisply, but he wouldn’t look into Wendel’s eyes. “Ardis? Help me hide the automaton.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Hide?”

  “Until I can fix it. Or explain why it needs to be fixed.”

  The archmage grabbed a tarp and unrolled it over the battered automaton. She took the opposite corner and helped him.

  “What happened to Wendel?” Konstantin whispered. “Do you think they…?”

  Ardis glanced into his eyes. She couldn’t even guess what they had done to Wendel. She had once a seen a criminal with his tongue cut out, but that had been much bloodier. And that hadn’t silenced him so completely.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Wendel leaned against the wall and raked his fingers through his ragged hair, as if he still didn’t believe how much shorter it was. Then he pressed his hand to his face and slid to the floor. He let out his breath with a hiss.

  Ardis felt a twinge of alarm. “Wendel?”

  He tried to speak, and failed again. She saw that it hurt him greatly to do so, though she still didn’t know why.

  “Wait,” she said.

  She found a pen and notepad and slid them across the floor to him. He started to write, his words wavering as his hand shook.

  Clever of you. Thank you.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” she said.

  Konstantin wheeled a chair from a table and nodded at Wendel.

  “Sit,” he said, “please.”

  Wendel climbed to his feet and sat on the chair. He tugged the notepad straight, then hesitated, the tip of his pen digging into the paper. Ardis saw him swallow hard. He caught her gaze, then motioned to his mouth.

  This is their curse. To punish me.

  “A curse?” she said. “What kind of curse? What do you…?”

  Wendel put down his pen. He clenched his hands, his shoulders rigid, then tilted back his head and opened his mouth. His tongue had been inked with black symbols she couldn’t read. They cut deep enough to bleed.

  Ardis found herself speechless for him, afraid that her voice would betray her.

  “God,” Konstantin said. “This is worse than I thought.”

  “What is it?” she said.

  Konstantin pressed his knuckles to his mouth and stepped back.

  “I would recognize those runes anywhere,” he mumbled. “It’s a curse. A silencing curse.”

  Wendel swallowed hard. Then he picked up the pen.

  Is there a countercurse?

  Konstantin nodded, then shook his head.

  “Curses aren’t my specialty, but I do know one thing. Only the technomancer who cursed you can remove the curse.”

  The light in Wendel’s eyes dimmed. He stared at the paper before writing.
<
br />   That man is dead.

  Wendel leaned forward, his head propped on his hand, and touched the pen to the paper. Ardis waited for him to write more, but he sketched line after line across the corner of the paper. His eyes looked distant, his face tight.

  Dread settled in Ardis’s stomach like an anchor.

  “Who did this to you?” Konstantin said.

  Wendel kept blackening the paper. Ardis placed her hand on his to stop him.

  “Wendel,” she said. “Was it Hieronymus?”

  He narrowed his eyes, then nodded.

  Ardis grimaced. “The technomancer at the coffin factory.”

  “There was a technomancer there?” Konstantin said.

  “Yes.” She rubbed the scars on her wrists. “Wendel killed him.”

  Wendel stood, swayed on his feet, and sat back on the chair. His face was deathly pale. Ardis gripped his arm to steady him.

  “Wendel?” she said, her heart pounding. “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head.

  Ardis looked to Konstantin. “Help me. Don’t let him fall.”

  Konstantin grabbed his other arm. Wendel shook his head, but didn’t fight the archmage. He blew out his breath slowly.

  “I don’t think he’s slept since the assassins found him,” Ardis said.

  Konstantin looked nearly as pale as Wendel. “He can’t stay here. But my apartment isn’t more than two blocks from the laboratory.”

  “Can you walk, Wendel?” Ardis said

  He nodded. They helped him to his feet. After a few paces, he no longer looked so frighteningly pale, and he shrugged off their hands. Konstantin still hovered nearby, glancing at him, until Wendel managed a glare.

  “We can take the freight elevator,” Konstantin said. “It’s the long way around, but…”

  Ardis nodded. She wasn’t sure Wendel had the strength left in him for the stairs. Predictably, Wendel grimaced at this acknowledgement of his weakness, but she didn’t give a damn about his pride at the moment.

  They ascended to the city above.

  “Snow,” Ardis said, and she tilted her head skyward.

  It fell like goose feathers from the clouds and hushed the nighttime sounds of the city. Shivering, she followed close behind Konstantin, making sure that Wendel never left her side. True to his word, the archmage walked for two blocks before he stopped outside of an apartment building on the corner of the street.