by Unknown
Slate didn’t want to think of the methods they would use for questioning and felt sorry for the servant, but the only way to keep the guardsmen from performing a detailed search of Brannon’s office was to give them what they were looking for. The Guardsmen searched for an intruder and upon finding the servant, discontinued his search. It was a basic tenet of Sicarius. People were blinded by what they sought.
Alone in the heavily guarded office of the Ispirtu headmaster, Slate prepared his escape route by tying a length of rope to the heavy desk and coiling it by the window. His time was limited before the guardsmen discovered the servant’s innocence, so Slate searched the bookcases lining the walls feverishly. He recognized several books from his Ispirtu studies as classic literature on magic, but none of the titles referenced Blood Magic. Of course, Blood Mages were named after the atrocities they committed, so it was unlikely that a title describing their practice would include such a name. With a quick look failing to reveal any obvious books, Slate looked more closely at the titles, with the clock ticking slowly in his head.
A History of Wizards sounded promising, but after skimming through several sections and using precious time, Slate couldn’t find anything. He found Cantor listed in the back of the book, but when he turned to the section, the pages were missing. Frustrated, Slate silently put the book back on the shelf and looked for the next relevant title. A Compendium of Spells looked to be a very useful book for an actual wizard, but it was of little use to Slate. All the spells listed a qualitative amount of spark required and a recommended object, animal, or motion to use as a link. From the little Slate knew of Blood Magic, a link wouldn’t be required.
Slate returned the Compendium to the shelf and slowly looked around the office. If Brannon did have such rare and forbidden texts in his possession, he would probably keep them hidden. There weren’t many places to hide objects, with the exception of an ornate box stuffed innocuously into the corner. It was smaller than a trunk but definitely large enough to fit a few books inside. Slate’s internal clock was winding down. If there wasn’t evidence in this trunk he’d have to leave empty-handed. Slate gently removed a statue of a golden raven adorning the lid
Slate, expecting the box to be sealed, was surprised when the lid rose gently on its hinges. Before Slate could see what was inside, a security orb flew out of the box. It took a quick lap around the office before looking at Slate’s shocked, upturned head. Slate sprinted for the window at the same instant the security orb activated and released a high-pitched alarm. Slate threw open the office window as a guardsman came barreling inside Brannon’s office. They made eye contact for one brief moment before Slate hurled himself out the window, holding onto the rope.
The rope went taut and Slate’s hands slid the remaining length of the rope, burning as he plummeted. He dropped the final few feet into some bushes in a tremendous crash.
Through the perilous dive, the security orb tracked his movements, releasing a loud siren to alert the guardsmen and floating several feet above his head. The guardsmen in Brannon’s office started to repel down from the window above and figures were emerging from the guardhouse. He got up and sprinted toward the side of the house, hoping he could clear the fence before getting caught by the guardsmen. Slate pumped his legs until they hurt more than his burning hands.
Slate rounded the corner of the estate and saw the rope that Rainier left for him. It was halfway down the fence and Slate thought he’d make it until the guardsman patrolling the rear of the estate sprinted around the opposite corner of the house, alerted by the security orb. Slate pushed his legs even harder, trying to gain the advantage on the advancing guardsman.
Slate reached the rope with a three-stride lead on the guardsman, gripped the rope with his burning hands, planted his feet against the fence, and swung backwards with all his might. The guardsman had committed to tackling Slate off the rope and his momentum brought him between Slate and the fence. Slate delivered a two-footed kick to the back of the guardsman as he swung back down, crumpling him against the fence.
He then used the limp guardsman’s body to reach higher up the fence, fearing to look at the approaching footsteps. Slate climbed hand-over-hand and started to pull himself over when the force of a tackling guardsman ripped him from the fence. Within seconds he was piled upon, beaten, and dragged away by guardsmen who had experienced a very frustrating evening. All their frustration was released in the form of capturing and securing Slate. The mission had failed.
Slate awaited his fate silently within the guardhouse despite the advanced questioning techniques of the guardsmen. He had been a regular at Primean’s Pain Tolerance Laboratory, and these guardsmen, despite their skill, didn’t have nearly as many tools at their disposal as Primean. Besides, he knew the real questions would start once Brannon arrived. He might as well save his breath for then.
Slate looked up when the punches stopped to see Lattimer at the door. He had been expecting Brannon. “Slate Severance…I should have known it was you. You’ve been a thorn in my family’s side ever since you publicly mocked the Regallo name at the tournament. We’ve taken the high road until now, but you crossed a line by breaking into our home.” Lattimer spit in his face. “You deserve whatever punishment my father has in store for you. You’ll receive no pity from me.” Lattimer stood him up from his chair by grabbing the front of his robes in his fist. He punched Slate as hard as he could in the stomach, doubling him over. Then Lattimer leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Clutch your stomach…there’s a note in my fist.” Slate groaned, causing laughter amongst the guardsmen, and reached for his stomach. Lattimer relaxed his fist and Slate grabbed the note. When Lattimer pushed him back into the chair, Slate snuck the note into his pocket. Lattimer turned back around and addressed the guardsmen, who nodded approvingly toward him. “Do what you want with him. I have nothing left to say to this fractal-forsaken refuse. Just make sure he’s in good enough shape to see my father.”
The guardsmen laid into him with renewed vigor, but Brannon arrived quickly. He questioned a guardsman with fire in his eyes. “What happened here?”
Dutifully, the guardsman gave a succinct report of the night’s events to Brannon. “There was a disturbance during Mrs. Regallo’s dinner party. The Sicarius headmaster appeared but escaped us.” Slate had thought Rainier escaped, and hearing the news relieved him. “We checked the premises, and a burglar was found in your office. Upon questioning, we learned the burglar was actually a servant at the estate who claimed not to have any memory of the night’s events between working in the stable and being discovered in your office. We were still questioning the servant when one of your hidden security orbs was triggered. We caught this one trying to jump the fence into the neighboring estate.”
During the story, Brannon’s jaw started to clench, and even more concerning, his scepter had a faint glow to it. “Thank you, guardsman. Now, if I could ask all of you to leave me with the intruder. Please go attend to my wife in the estate.” The guardhouse emptied and Brannon stared silently at Slate until they were out of earshot. As he waited, the faint glow increased to a soft light emanating from the scepter.
Brannon’s silence ended abruptly. “You sat in my office this afternoon and listened as I confided in you, while scheming to break into my home this evening? I was just beginning to trust you and then you pull this Sicarius crap on me!” The volume of Brannon’s voice increased with the light from his scepter. “I don’t even care what you were looking for…I never want to see your traitorous face again. You are stripped of all honor associated with your name and are expelled from Ispirtu.”
Slate didn’t have time to comprehend the news. The fire in Brannon’s eyes peaked and the scepter’s light swirled angrily. “This world is changing, Slate. When big changes start to happen, sometimes it’s best to simplify the situation.” A wicked smile crept onto the lips of Brannon. He held open his hand and a ball of air swirled like a storm. More and more air forced itself into the swirlin
g mass held in front of Brannon as he talked. It reminded Slate of the explosive orb that Magnus used to blow up the mine in Pillar. “You are an unknown in a world with too many unknowns. I can’t have you causing problems for me because I have too many others to deal with…goodbye, Slate.”
The ball swirling in Brannon’s hand was released and Slate shut his eyes. He felt the pressure wave of expanding gasses hit him, toppling his chair. A deafening explosion soon followed, although Slate couldn’t pinpoint the origin. The noise was all around him.
Slate, lying flat on the ground against the back of his chair opened his eyes to see the sky above him. He didn’t know whether to be more surprised at the sight of the night sky, where the ceiling of the guardhouse should have been, or the fact that he was still alive and capable of opening his eyes at all. Brannon stepped into view, looking down upon Slate. “Since you are no longer associated with Ispirtu, I see no reason for us to meet again. If I see you at Ispirtu, or catch you playing your Sicarius games at my estate, I won’t be as careful casting my spell. Take a look around you and think hard about the consequences of your little games here tonight.”
Brannon disappeared into the night and Slate waited for the ringing in his ears to stop before he got up and looked around. The guardhouse was demolished from the explosion, but the blast was definitely directed away from Slate. The stone walls on either side of him were pulverized to rubble and the ceiling had been lifted and scattered across the front lawn. There were only two sections of the wall remaining, the one behind Brannon was left entirely intact and the one behind Slate was leaning precariously.
Slate stumbled through the broken guardhouse and into the street. He had gotten a block away from the estate, when Rainier sprinted to him.
“Slate! Are you ok? What did you do to the guardhouse?” Rainier blurted out a string of questions before realizing that Slate wasn’t in the state of mind to answer them at the moment. Rainier ducked his head under Slate’s arm and steered his dazed friend back to the apartment. Slate slowly returned to his senses and Rainier ran out of patience. “Tell me what happened.” Slate, not anxious to describe his encounter with Brannon, started his tale in Brannon’s office. “I woke the servant up in time to be discovered by the guardsmen searching the premises. After finding him with valuables in his pocket, they stopped searching the room. I was free to peruse the books for several minutes.”
“Did you find evidence linking Brannon to Blood Magic?” Rainier pushed the story forward.
“If he is, he didn’t keep any manuscripts on his bookshelf. All the books I found with references to Cantor had the relevant pages removed. I spotted a trunk that appeared to be about the right size to hide a few books in and I went to check its contents. A security orb popped out to announce my presence. I almost made it over the fence, but I got grabbed by the guardsmen before I could clear it…”
“And what about the explosion…I don’t recall packing exploding orbs.”
“Brannon came from Ispirtu and needed an outlet for his anger. He destroyed the guardhouse but restrained himself enough to only expel me from the Ispirtu Guild…I thought I was a dead man.”
“You were expelled from Ispirtu?”
The direness of the situation began to sink in for Slate, and he didn’t reiterate his failure. Having failed to find evidence and being expelled from Ispirtu left him no means to further investigate his most promising lead. Disgust with being caught at the Regallo estate leaked into his conversation. “At least I won’t have to wear this fractal-forsaken Regallo robe ever again…”
Slate took the robe off and absently threw it into the corner. In the process, the note from Lattimer fell out and caught Rainier’s attention. “What’s that?”
Slate looked back and saw the note on the ground. “Oh, I forgot about that. Lattimer punched me in the stomach and slipped me that note before his father arrived.”
Rainier picked it up and read it aloud.
Dear Trusted Friend,
When I heard the commotion in the estate tonight regarding the Sicarius headmaster, I instantly recalled telling you about my father’s personal library and had no doubt that you were the cause behind the disturbance. I hope you escape tonight, although I have my doubts. In the event of your capture, I am penning this letter and deliver the note in a closed fist to your stomach. You deserve it for not trusting me.
I could throw the guardsmen off your trail, but that would only serve to implicate both of us. I don’t know what my father will do to you as punishment, but I can say I don’t want any part of it. At least this way there will be one person left with access to my father’ personal library.
How do I know you didn’t find it? …Because you broke into my father’s estate without asking me where it was. You are undoubtedly searching his office or some other trivial location that a common burglar would expect. Do you think my father is the type of man to leave objects of that nature in easy to find places? Someone smarter than you would have trusted me enough to ask where my father’s personal library was located. Someone smarter than you would have asked for my help to give your ill-fated mission a slight chance of success. Someone smarter than you would have known the trick that my father used to conceal an entire room.
Do you remember the Championship bout in the arena? The dueling courtyard appeared invisible when in fact it was fully supported. Orbs attached to either side of the surface created the appearance of invisibility. The entire time you were sneaking through the estate, my father’s personal library floated above the great room, accessible from the catwalk past the guardsman posted at my father’s office. I had even started asking for books from the hidden library as early as this evening, since my trusted friend was interested in the information.
Oh! There’s the sound of a security orb, so I’m sure you’ve been found. I know the locations of several hidden security orbs, if you would have asked me. I’ll start making my way to the guardhouse now. At least I’ll get a chance to punch you in the stomach. If you survive your encounter with my father, I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon in Ravinai square.
Fractal’s fortune,
Lattimer B. Regallo
Rainier quietly refolded the letter and handed it to Slate, whose disgust at being caught turned into disgust in his actions for the evening. Lattimer was right. The whole mess could have been avoided if he had just trusted Lattimer enough to help him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Rainier, meet Lattimer tomorrow and convince him I’m sorry. I should be back from my Bellator mission tomorrow evening. Can you coordinate a meeting at the infirmary with everyone the morning after…including Lattimer? He’s our only eyes on Brannon now.”
“I’ll do what I can, Teacher. In the meanwhile, why don’t you rest? From the beating those guardsmen gave you, you’re going to need all the recovery time you can get.”
“I wish Sana were here to heal me.”
“I’m sure you wish Sana were here…but if she were, she’d be leaving you more fatigued than you are now. Get some sleep.” Rainier returned the Sicarius mask and left Slate to collapse on the lounge pillows in exhaustion, thankful that Rainier hadn’t gotten caught.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A FURIOUS BATTLE
A grim determination to redeem the previous day’s failures forced his swollen musles into action as he packed his travel sack for the day’s Bellator mission. This was not Sicarius business, so the choice to leave the mask was an easy one. He brought the glove from Lucus, however, to hide under his Bellator armor, and dashed from his apartment.
On his way to the Bellator complex, the hairs on his head moved and a throwing knife embedded in a wooden beam of a merchant’s storefront, missing him by inches. Slate jerked away from the sound a split second later, but it would have been way too late to avoid the first knife thrown. He stalled his instinctive roll when he saw the hilt bore a catalpa tree with a note pinned to the wood beam. The method of the note’s delivery hinted that the contents
would not be pleasant.
Dearest Slate,
My sources alerted me oft an imposter dressed in my likeness during a failed attempt to infiltrate the Regallo estate. Due to the location of the robbery, I naturally assumed you to be the culprit. Upon further examination of the estate this morning, the rubble formerly known as a guardhouse evidenced your capture and overall failure.
I hope the information obtained from Brannon is worth the trouble your stunt has caused me. Word will undoubtedly reach King Darik, who is already suspicious of Sicarius, as you observed at our last guild meeting. I do not take kindly to people who cause me trouble. I find enough of it on my own.
The Bellator mission is ready to begin, or I would talk to you right now. As it is, this is an excellent opportunity for you to prove your worth to me and to Sicarius. When you return, we can trade information regarding Villifor for information of greater value that will partially compensate me for the trouble you caused last night.
Slate glanced around the rooftops, but the headmaster was already gone. Everyone was getting desperate for some answers, and he wanted to remain in the Sicarius headmaster’s good graces. Considering he made an enemy of Brannon, he hoped the Bellator mission would be as fruitful as the Sicarius headmaster suggested.