Casting Shadows (The Passing of the Techno-Mages #1)

by Jeanne Cavelos

  I wish you would use a shield, she wrote.

  I would if I could, really. I have a much better chance of dodging a threat, though, than shielding against one.

  Her face lingered on him in the darkness, and he had the sense that she felt his failure to use a shield somehow repudiated her use of one.

  I wish I had the skill you have, he added.

  She turned toward the window, and he did as well. Galen scanned the interior for mage energy.

  I don’t sense Tilar, Isabelle wrote. They had agreed that if he was there, they would turn back.

  Galen had brought his staff this time, and he took it in both hands. Vaguely warm, filled with potential, it felt like nothing so much as a sleeping snake. It was a snake he must learn to control, a snake that was part of him. Taking a calming breath, he visualized the equation to associate.

  It awoke, echoing his equation. Its energy slipped into him. Galen braced himself for the intense parallelism he had felt before, and the staff echoed his apprehension. His anxiety increased; the increased anxiety echoed back. The echoes reflected back and forth, faster and faster, swelling in intensity, driving Galen toward fear.

  He performed a mind-focusing exercise, pushing down the surge of energy and adrenaline. To his surprise, the staff’s energy calmed easily. Galen realized that it was not so much the energy of the staff that caused the instability but the sudden linking, the parallelism that created the sense of an additional echo. The implants were much more powerful than the staff. Living with their restless, energetic undercurrent had made dealing with the staff easier.

  The staff’s menu of options appeared in his mind’s eye. If the staff was like an additional arm, then the menu was like an array of tools available within reach of that arm. He held the end of the staff to the window, selected a narrow, low-energy beam. The staff echoed the command, and a narrow, yellow beam emerged. It cut quietly through the metaglass.

  As it did so, Galen realized he had a message. It was from Elric. He left it. Whatever the news, it could wait until they had finished their task.

  He conjured a flying platform inside the window, eased the glass onto it, and directed it gently to one side. Then he climbed in, and Isabelle followed. Galen activated his full array of sensors, alert for anything. The tech resonated with his concern. Carefully, he visualized the equation to record so any evidence they found could be passed to the Circle.

  The interior was even darker than the night outside, so he switched to the infrared band.

  I don’t sense anyone on this floor, Isabelle’s message read. Her full-body shield glowed a pale red against a darker red background.

  They were on the third floor. The Drakh, if previous activities were any indication, would be in the basement. They used flying platforms to skim the stairs silently down to the second floor.

  No one here, Isabelle wrote.

  They descended slowly to the first floor. Galen began to pick up some readings. Faint light, leaking up the staircase from the basement. With the power grid off, the light must use an alternate power source. A voice. Galen activated Osiyrin’s dictionary.

  They located the vent they wanted, near the ceiling in the central wall. By studying the probe recordings, they had found a corresponding vent in the basement, directly below this one. Galen leaned his staff against the wall, and they levitated themselves to reach the vent. Isabelle conjured a soundproof shield while they pried off the grid.

  She dissolved the soundproof shield, leaving her normal defensive one, and removed the amulet from her pocket. Faint voices echoed up the shaft. The amulet radiated a slight heat, appearing dull red in Galen’s mind’s eye. In the center was a great eye, surrounded by the curving flames of a corona. They had tied a cord to the back of it. Isabelle brought her fingers together and made a quick movement, associating with the piece of chrysalis inside the amulet.

  Her eyes flared wide, and Galen knew the contact had been made. It was a piece of her now, a piece that could be sent somewhere she could not go, a piece that could get within three feet of the Drakh without his knowing it.

  Galen lowered the amulet by the cord down through the vent, careful to keep it in the center of the shaft, where it would make no sound. A dim red light bled into the shaft from below. They had brought about twelve feet of cord. He was near the end when Isabelle held up her hand.

  Tilar. He’s there. He’s not wearing his chrysalis. Isabelle closed her eyes, concentrating. A muscle stood out on her neck. Brown too. And the Drakh. Her red eyes opened, and they stared silently at each other for a moment. They had resolved to leave if the situation looked too dangerous. Yet they were here, so close to accomplishing what they had been sent to accomplish. She raised her eyebrows and gave a short nod.

  He nodded back.

  She closed her eyes again. No interference. Wait. There it is.

  Galen gently rested his arm on the edge of the opening, his shallow breathing sounding loud through his sensors. The Shadow had let them go the first time. What would it do if it caught them again?

  “They attacked me.” Tilar’s voice traveled up the vent. “They aren’t going to join you. Why don’t you kill them?”

  The Drakh is receiving a transmission, Isabelle wrote. I’m picking it up. I’ll try to decode it.

  Isabelle’s fingers moved again, in a long, complex pattern. With a rush her breath tightened into a gasp, and the faint red glow of her full-body shield vanished. Her head jerked back. Her mouth stretched wide, so wide that her head began to quiver. And then, as if worms moved beneath her skin, the muscles on her neck writhed.

  As he reached out, her platform dissolved and she dropped to the ground with a thump. Her body was rigid, seized in a twisted paroxysm. Her chest heaved in a quick gasp, and her wide-open mouth undulated. From her sinuous lips, her voice emerged, rich, booming. She spoke in Drakh. The program translated automatically.

  Tell Tilar they will join with us or they will die.

  Galen dropped the cord and swooped down beside Isabelle. With fierce focus, he visualized the equation, extended his platform beneath her. He clamped his arms around her rigid shoulders, grabbed his staff, formed the equation of motion, raced for the front door. Her mouth moved against him, strange words driving out of her with the force of possession. The Shadow’s secret words to the Drakh.

  Who speaks? The magic workers are upstairs!

  Galen stopped the platform and grabbed for the door handle, while the pounding of footsteps sounded behind him. The menu for the staff remained in his mind’s eye. He selected a high-intensity shock wave, slammed the staff against the floor. A rumble roared through the building, and the walls began to shake. Galen heard someone fall on the stairs below. He ripped the door open, fled into the alley. Isabelle yelled a single Drakh word.

  Kill them.

  Dawn was breaking, and the dim light overloaded the infrared. He sped down the long alley, switching back to his regular vision. He hadn’t gotten more than a dozen yards when his sensors read multiple energy bursts behind him. Guns. They were shooting.

  He raced for the main street, furiously forming one equation of motion after the next to jig the platform up and down and throw off their aim. But the street was still several seconds away, and Tilar had somehow associated with his chrysalis, conjured a platform, and now several of them were on it, rushing in pursuit.

  The road to Galen’s right exploded, throwing his platform to the left, and Galen barely managed to straighten it before he and Isabelle fell off. The time it took to regain his balance allowed Tilar and the others to come close. Galen was using all his concentration to visualize the equations of motion and keep hold of Isabelle; he had nothing left to try to conjure a shield. He surged ahead, his back tensed, expecting to be hit.

  Then something swooped down over him, a great black-and-yellow shape coming fast and traveling in the opposite direction. Galen glanced back. It was Burell in her yellow armchair. Or rather, it was six Burells, all swooping down from
different directions, forming a line across the alley between Galen and Isabelle and their pursuers. The six Burells raised their right hands, conjuring fireballs.

  Go, Burell’s message read.

  Isabelle cried out in Drakh.

  The one on the left, the program translated.

  His sensors flashed with the burst of a plasma weapon behind him. He shot a look back, saw the Burell over his left shoulder lurch with the impact of the blast, her arms flying out like a rag doll’s. The other Burells winked out. The chair beneath Burell’s limp body vanished and she collapsed to the street. Her body jumped as they shot her again. And again.

  Then they raced after Galen and Isabelle.

  Galen reached the main street and swerved to the right, his body aflame with energy and panic and grief. He clutched desperately to control. The streets had become busy with people going to work. He shot above the pedestrians as they stopped and pointed.

  A fight in the open was too dangerous. But there was no time to hide; they were just seconds behind and at this short range, Tilar could track them. The black awning of the Strauss Hotel appeared on his right. Galen focused formed the equation of motion, and darted through the doorway. He prayed that Isabelle had been right and Cadmus Wilcox did have bravery lurking somewhere within his cowardly soul.

  Cadmus was standing behind the front desk, patrolling his lonely command. He jumped at the sight of Galen and Isabelle rushing toward him.

  “Some people are about to come through that door,” Galen said swooping over the counter and down behind it. He dissolved the platform, left Isabelle’s rigid form on the dingy carpet along with his staff. “Wait until they are all inside,” he said to Cadmus. “Then fire your gun. Fire it anywhere.”

  Cadmus stared at him as if he were speaking Drakh, his damp lower lip sticking out the bottom of that shaggy walrus moustache.

  Galen spotted Cadmus’ PPG under the counter, grabbed it and shoved it into his hand. He tried to imbue his words with power. “This is the moment Isabelle spoke of. The moment when you will save her and everyone here.”

  Galen crouched below the counter with Isabelle, closed his eyes, gathered his energy, and visualized the equation to conjure a soundproof shield over both of them. His sensors told him he had been successful, at least temporarily. It wouldn’t hold off high-energy weapons, but it was strong enough to block out sound waves. No sound from within would pass into the lobby; no sound from the lobby would penetrate within. He accessed the lobby probes to see and hear what was happening.

  Cadmus stood frozen behind the counter, his low brows giving his face that expression of perpetual fear. He swiped nervously at the lock of hair curling onto his forehead. The probe outside the front doorway showed that Tilar had dissolved his flying platform. He was breathing heavily with the effort of using his chrysalis, his face red. He, the Drakh, and Brown approached the doorway warily, on foot, their weapons at the ready. Galen had no time to search through frequencies for static, but he felt certain the Shadow would be with them.

  The Drakh and Brown entered, but Tilar held back, looking up at the hotel with suspicion. He was probably accessing the sensors in his chrysalis to search for anything unusual. Isabelle had told him that Burell had a long-standing relationship with the manager.

  Back in the lobby, Cadmus had begun to shake. “Can I help you?” he asked the Drakh and Brown.

  Isabelle’s voice boomed within the confined shield, echoing and reechoing. It was another message from the Shadow to the Drakh.

  They are hiding beside this Human.

  The Drakh was no longer within three feet of the amulet. He wasn’t even within three feet of Isabelle. Yet still the transmission held her.

  The Drakh approached the desk, his weapon aimed at Cadmus. His brown-and-black striated body was massive, and he walked with an odd stiffness, as if movement were not his natural condition. Cadmus glanced nervously toward the doorway. Tilar stood just outside the threshold, watching the others.

  Brown turned toward him. “Afraid of some real techno-mages?”

  Tilar straightened. “Only an idiot wouldn’t be,” he said, yet he stepped inside. Galen cut off the audio signal from the probes.

  The Drakh leaned over the counter. Finding his quarry, he pointed his weapon toward Galen and Isabelle.

  Galen forced his mind to focus only on the equation for the shield, to conjure nothing else.

  Cadmus’ shaggy moustache spread as the face beneath it grimaced. He raised the PPG to the Drakh’s head at point-blank range, closed his eyes, and fired.

  Being Cadmus, of course, he missed.

  Detecting the high-energy discharge, Burell’s probes instantly activated her spell of protection. Throughout the hotel, sonic generators blasted out sound waves so intense they vibrated the internal organs of patrons, stunning them, causing spasms, or liquefying their bowels.

  Tilar grabbed his stomach and doubled over. His lips spat out a curse. Then he collapsed. Brown followed a moment later. The Drakh jerked erect, twitching. He fired into the ceiling and chunks of plaster rained around him. His body spasming, he dropped to the floor.

  Cadmus’ head rolled back and he slid below the counter.

  The signal continued for thirty seconds. Then the spell was deactivated. Galen had no idea how long the effect would last. Burell had never said. He dissolved his shield. The lobby was quiet.

  Isabelle was rigid in his arms, her eyes and mouth wide, oblivious to anything but the Shadow signal. He laid her on the carpet and stood up from behind the counter. The Drakh was twitching. The others were still. Galen moved quickly, remembering how the Shadow had used the Drakh’s body before. He snatched the weapon from the Drakh’s twitching fingers, took the guns from Brown and Tilar as well. He put them all on the shelf where Cadmus had kept his PPG. To one side he saw the call button that linked to the port authority. He pressed it.

  Then Galen pulled up a stool and propped Cadmus’ unpleasant-smelling body on it, molded his hand around the PPG. Hopefully the others would have learned their lesson when they woke, and would flee.

  The Drakh grunted and drew his legs in, attempting to climb to his feet. Galen had no more time. He knelt beside Isabelle, wrapped his arm around her, and snatched up his staff. He visualized the equation, conjured a platform.

  As they rose up from behind the counter, Isabelle’s chest heaved, and the words seized her again, driving out of her. This time, they were in English. “YOU WILL JOIN WITH US. ALL OF YOU. OR YOU WILL DIE.”

  Galen clutched her tightly and formed the equation of motion. They raced from the hotel. He swerved to avoid hitting two pedestrians, then swooped up, over them, up to the level of the rooftops. The sun had risen over the horizon, illuminating everything in a harsh light.

  Isabelle’s body suddenly relaxed, slumping against him. He couldn’t see her face. The scarf she had made for him had come out of his robe and fallen across her. He tossed the end over his shoulder. Her face was slack, eyes closed. Yet her respiration, her heartbeat, were normal. The Shadow transmission had finally released her.

  Are you all right?he wrote.

  No answer.

  They had to leave the planet. He had to get her safely away. But they couldn’t leave Burell’s body. It was bad enough that Tilar had a chrysalis. Galen couldn’t let Tilar and the Shadows get their hands on a sample of the tech.

  He formulated the equation, dove down into the alley, landing beside Burell’s body. She lay on her back, her large robe blanketing thin, fragile limbs. Several great black burns had blossomed across her chest and leg where her robe had been burned into the skin. Her head was turned toward him, the side of her neck and ear burned black. Her uneven green eyes stared at him.

  He had not prepared sufficiently for their invasion of the Drakh’s building. He had not aborted the plan when he learned the Drakh was not alone. He had not controlled the situation. Burell had paid for that failure with her life.

  And Isabelle—she lay limp in
his arms.

  Galen realized he was inhaling in quick, shallow breaths. He was exhausted and surging with energy at the same time, his control unsteady. He forced himself to focus, carefully extended his platform below Burell. He put his arm across her and pulled her in close.

  Isabelle started at the touch of Burell’s body, pushed herself up. His relief at seeing her well was countered by the growing realization on her face. “What? No. No.”

  Galen remembered Elric walking out of the fire of the spaceship crash, the remains of his parents floating behind.

  Holding desperately to control, Galen visualized the equation of motion, shot them up into the pale green sky.

  Isabelle seized Burell. The tendons stood out on the back of her hand. Her head turned slightly back and forth as she mouthed the words. No. No. Her lips turned out, revealing clenched teeth. Her pain seemed horribly private, but he couldn’t look away.

  As she drew Burell to her, Isabelle discovered the burned ear. She cried out, then, hesitantly, brought her fingers to it.

  Galen headed toward the port, not sure what they should do next, but knowing his ability to focus was rapidly deteriorating. He remembered the message from Elric, opened it.

  The Circle commends you on your work and requests you return at once. Leave as quickly as possible. Bring Burell if you can. If not, let her stay. She will be safer without you than with you. Respond at once.

  Galen expelled a sharp breath. She would have been safer without them, that was certain. She would have been alive.

  Isabelle laid Burell’s body on the platform, and her hand slowly explored each wound.

  “Isabelle, I need your help.”

  She continued her inspection, unhearing.

  “Isabelle. I need your help.”

  She dragged a finger through one of the wounds, bringing it out covered in ash. She rubbed it between her index finger and thumb, getting a chemical analysis through her sensors. “What type of guns did they have?” she asked her voice light, dreamy.