by Unknown
“I didn’t know I was a Perceptor during the tournament. Even though I could feel the spell that was cast on me, I wasn’t really concentrating on the spell at the time. I had my hands full fighting you,” Slate smiled. “Besides, if it was a Blood Mage that cast that spell, who knows how that changes things. If they can wipe somebody’s mind, they can probably mask what a spell feels like too.”
“I don’t believe the Blood Mage would think to mask what the spell felt like. If you truly are the first Perceptor since Cantor, then why would someone expect that you would feel the spell and be able to identify them?”
“Good point, but I think Sana, Ibson, Lucus, and Brannon are the only wizards that have cast enough spells on me that I could truly identify them.”
“Do you think it was Brannon?” Rainier asked.
Slate thought back to the times Brannon had cast spells on him. The spell during the tournament had felt similar, but Slate couldn’t say for certain. “The spell didn’t feel like Sana, Ibson, or Lucus…but that’s as much as I can tell.” That realization alleviated some of Slate’s earlier concerns about Lucus. Slate pushed them even further from his mind.
“So you can’t identify the Blood Mage, but these Perceptor abilities will somehow make my experiments work?” Lattimer refocused the conversation.
“I visited Primean many times in the Pain Tolerance Laboratory. Despite his sadistic side, he was always quite kind to me. He took his experiments seriously but healed me promptly afterward.”
“That’s one way of looking at someone who was trying to inflict as much pain as possible onto you…” Lucus frowned.
“I know, I know. It doesn’t really make sense, but I can’t imagine Primean losing control of an experiment the way he did that night. He never deviated from his protocols or got carried away.” Slate finally said what he had feared ever since that night. “I think when I pulled during the experiment, it prevented him from stopping. I think I pulled his spark right out of him and killed him.”
Silence permeated the room and the resident poet filled the void.
Pull me up
Push me down
Pull, pull, pull,
He fell down
“Slate…you don’t have the spark. Why do you think you can pull on it? We know as little about Perceptors as we do about Blood Mages, but I do know you. You didn’t kill Primean.” Rainier spoke with the same quiet confidence he had seen in the nomad when he’d first entered the arena during the tournament. It gave Slate some reassurance.
“Even if I didn’t kill Primean directly, I think I influenced the spell in some way. When I pulled, I retained the effects of the spell. I might be able to do it again. I just worry about whoever is casting the spell.”
“That would be me,” Lattimer said, “and I agree with Rainier. You couldn’t have forced Primean to continue. He got overzealous in the results and lost track of how much energy he had left. If you want to try the experiment, I’m willing to try it on you.” Lattimer stood up and prepared to leave. “If things are going to happen as quickly as Lucus believes, I better set up the experiment in the lab. I’ll have Tommy keep an eye out for you and sneak you into Primean’s old lab. If you decide to do it, just look for him.”
“Thank you, Lattimer,” Slate said as Lattimer departed.
“No matter what we are up against, you can’t volunteer for this experiment, Teacher.” Rainier pleaded his case. “My tribe values the pattern, and specifically the pattern of the body, above all things. You are not one of us, but I chose you as my teacher because of the way you fought in the tournament. Tribesmen fight within the pattern instead of relying on strict forms like King Darik’s men. You hit me because you saw the natural variation within the pattern and used it to predict my movements. It is the only way you could have won.”
“I won because I landed a lucky blow.”
“Do not be so simple, Slate Severance. You accomplished highly improbable things since becoming my teacher. When you have faltered, you didn’t rely on your instincts. This experiment Lattimer speaks of intentionally changes your own pattern. Amongst my tribe, you would be exiled for such a thing. As it stands, I will not claim you as my teacher if you participate in this experiment.”
Slate was dumbfounded. Ever since he had come to Ravinai, he had been mingling with wizards and experimented on with spells. Why was this so different? “You are a true friend, Rainier, but you weren’t there when the Furies attacked. I am not skilled enough to beat one if someone from Bellator is turned. That is what my instincts are telling me. I am going to Lattimer’s lab.”
“I do understand, but I can’t approve. My studies under you have come to an end, and I will need to return to the tribe.”
“You are leaving?”
“The tribal laws require my return…but they fail to specify the time span in which I rejoin.” He smiled and Slate again hoped he never had to barter with a tribesman. “I will face the Blood Mage with you and rid the land of this abomination.”
Lucus asked Slate, “So what now?”
“I need to go to Ispirtu. With Lattimer’s help, I might be able to surprise the Blood Mage. People know about the stonehand from the tournament and the blood staunching from the Bellator mission. No one knows about the glove you made for me and no one will know about the experiment with Lattimer. Hopefully that will be enough to give us the element of surprise.”
“You think Brannon is the Blood Mage, don’t you?” Rainier prodded.
“Brannon was overseeing the tournament. He was present when Ibson was hurt. He is the most powerful wizard in the kingdom and he has been hiding information. Before my exile from Ispirtu, Brannon told me that magic was decreasing in Malethya. If that is true, his entire way of life is nearing an end. He may do anything to prevent that…”
Lucus added his opinion. “Brannon and I both studied under Ibson, and for a long time we were friends. Ibson taught spells that were dependent upon strong links and thorough understanding. With my small spark, I gravitated toward Ibson’s teaching. Brannon, on the other hand, had less need for strong links. He left his studies for King Darik’s army and Ispirtu to teach his methods to others. I have been hoping that my former friend was not behind these attacks.” Sadness filtered into his last words.
Slate thought about Lucus’ words and how they may affect Lattimer, but it couldn’t be helped. He would do anything necessary to stop the Blood Mage, but he could at least soften the blow a bit by withholding any final judgments. “Hopefully there will still be time to gather more evidence. I don’t know if Brannon is the Blood Mage, but we’ll need to adapt once the Blood Mage surfaces. Until then, we must maintain contact and stay flexible. Prepare in any way you can, Lucus, and wait for my word. We are about to put an end to your investigation. Let’s make sure we get the right guy.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SIMPLIFYING THE EQUATION
Slate left the infirmary compound and walked through the side-streets toward Ispirtu; a figure dressed in black flipped from a rooftop and landed in front of him. Slate dropped into a defensive stance until his mind had time to process that the hard-to-see mask in front of him belonged to the Sicarius headmaster.
“Good morning, Headmaster.”
“Hardly. You are needed immediately. King Darik requested an emergency meeting of Ispirtu. If we hurry, you can still gather your things from your apartment. We will be taking the rooftops and I won’t slow down for you. Your training has ended. Now it’s time to prove it.” The headmaster jumped off the side of a building to reach an overhang and swung up to the rooftop. Slate was impressed, but quickly recovered his senses as he realized the urgency of his mission.
Slate scaled the building wall, but it took more than the single fluid motion the headmaster had just demonstrated. He reached the rooftop in time to see the Sicarius headmaster bounding onto a rooftop two buildings away. Slate sprinted ahead and watched the maneuvers of the headmaster to guide his path through the city. Even w
ith that help, he fell further behind. Luckily, he knew the destination and jumped onto his balcony. The balcony door hung open and Slate realized that the Sicarius headmaster had easily side-stepped his rudimentary security features. Damn, the headmaster was good.
“It seems you’ve been spending your time on the rooftops stargazing with that liability you call a girlfriend instead of training. Get your stuff and catch your breath. You sound like a dog panting.”
Biting his tongue had served him well on the Bellator mission with Villifor, but in reality he was too out-of-breath to say much of anything. Instead he went to his room and pulled out the grey outfit he had made for Rainier when they’d broken into the Regallo estate.
Finally, Slate pulled out his trunk and grabbed the Sicarius mask and the glove from Lucus. He wrapped the glove to hide it from the headmaster when he heard the headmaster behind him.
“This isn’t the royal ball…let’s go.” The alternating voice of the headmaster still gave Slate chills. “And bring that glove you’ve been hiding. I don’t have time to come back here later.” Slate was thankful for his Sicarius mask; it prevented the headmaster from seeing his mouth open in surprise.
“How did you know about my glove?”
“Don’t fool yourself, Slate. I broke into your apartment the first night you were in town. I’m glad you have a surprise or two up your sleeve. We’ll need them. I just didn’t want to be caught off-guard in case you decided to use them on me.”
Slate couldn’t argue with that. The headmaster had perfectly paranoid logic, as always. “I’m ready.”
“I hope so. King Darik might mobilize Sicarius and Bellator against Ispirtu. I can’t think of an enemy I’d want to face less than Brannon…if he is the Blood Mage.”
“I take it you’ve heard about the evidence found against Brannon on the Bellator mission then? And you also aren’t certain it was Brannon?”
“I promised I’d look into Villifor’s past and the famous war hero has some skeletons hidden. Before the final battle of the Civil War, Villifor provided key information to Darik about the revolutionary’s plan of attack. Darik and Brannon mounted the perfect defense, ending the war. Common knowledge is that Darik placed Villifor as an agent within the revolutionary troops and that Villifor acted at the command of Darik.”
“But you don’t believe this is true?”
“Even before Sicarius was formed, certain members of Darik’s army coordinated and controlled sensitive information. These records passed into Sicarius possession upon its formation, and I never found a single communication from Villifor. Either Villifor reported only to King Darik or he truly was a revolutionary and struck a deal with Darik while betraying his friends.” The disgust in the Sicarius headmaster’s voice was apparent even as it rose and fell throughout the story. Villifor’s advice concerning adaptability and survival suddenly took on new meaning to Slate. “So, no, I am not convinced Brannon is the person behind all of this. If Villifor betrayed his own cause in the Civil War, then I think he is entirely capable of siding with an all-powerful Blood Mage to wipe out the kingdom’s most powerful wizard. Now let’s go. Keep your eyes and ears open during the meeting. We need every clue we can get from here on out.”
The headmaster signaled that the conversation was ending and Slate asked, “What, no shock-stick?”
“Why would I need to use it? You know I trust you.” Slate heard the Sicarius headmaster laugh for the first time. He had become accustomed to the headmaster’s alternating speech, but the vacillating laugh disturbed him. This was the headmaster he placed his trust in? He couldn’t even place a name to the enigma.
The headmaster jumped to the rooftops and Slate gave chase at perilous speeds. They were meeting at Sicarius, but Slate didn’t know where Sicarius was located. If he fell behind, he might not get the chance to find out. The two figures raced across the rooftops in broad daylight, high above the citizens of Ravinai who were going about their everyday activities, oblivious to the living shadows flying overhead.
The arena came closer into view and Slate wondered if the Sicarius headmaster would be so brazen as to locate Sicarius in such close proximity to the Bellator and Ispirtu landmark. The Sicarius headmaster jumped from a low roof onto the grassy area outside the arena that had been situated with tents for the fighters during the tournament. No structures could hide the size of room that Sicarius had met in, Slate thought, and then a realization settled in. “You meet in the arena?”
“The arena was built to hide the Sicarius Guild. King Darik conscripted an architect to build the guild, but I persuaded the architect to add a few of my own modifications. The arena sits empty when the tournament is completed, making it perfect for clandestine meetings. The best way to hide is in plain sight. If you saw people walking into an underground tunnel, you’d wonder what was in the tunnel. That’s not a problem here.”
“What about the meeting room? Don’t people notice a large section of the arena is off limits?”
“This is Ravinai, where factions compete and secrets abound. I simply put the insignia of King Darik’s lions on a locked door to discourage unintentional exploration. A few strategically placed guardsmen discourage anyone who fails to take the hint.”
As with all magic tricks, the mystery and excitement vanished with the explanation, but the scheme’s simplicity impressed Slate. “Are we going in?”
“Not yet…” The Sicarius headmaster gestured to three cloaked figures walking toward them. “Act as my attendant and try not to say anything foolish in front of the king.” Darik was flanked by two cloaked figures, one who was enormous. The cloak couldn’t hide the bulk of Magnus or the battle axe slung across his back.
The Sicarius headmaster knelt before Darik, so Slate followed suit. The headmaster spoke, “We are honored to serve you, King Darik.”
“Rise, rise…I don’t have time for formalities.” Darik removed his hood and the two figures behind him did the same, revealing Villifor as the third companion.
“Would you enlighten me regarding the purpose of this meeting?” the Sicarius headmaster said. “And why you decided to bring our Bellator brethren to Sicarius?”
“A Bellator mission identified the source of the attacks on the northern villages. Villifor and Magnus, who discovered the evidence, will present it to my guardsmen.” The king’s intonation made it clear that the secrecy of Sicarius was bestowed at his discretion.
“Sicarius welcomes you and your invited guests, your majesty. I am excited to hear this new information and to learn how your Sicarius Guardsmen can act on your behalf.” The headmaster led the group into the arena and down an unmarked staircase into the Sicarius Guild. At the bottom of the stairs was a small door with faded lions painted on it. Solid hinges, a sturdy lock, and the appearance of disuse discouraged further exploration, but the eyes and ears of the lions were more pronounced than other visages of the King’s crest. The effect was minor, but to Slate, the meaning was crystal clear. Sicarius meetings began with the motto, “We are Sicarius. We are the eyes and ear of the Kingdom. We go where others fear and carry out our mission with speed, silence, and absolute finality. We do this so that the people of Malethya can carry out their lives without fear of people that plot in the night. We are Sicarius.” To a trained Sicarius Guardsmen, the sign was as clear as the orbs dancing around Brannon’s citadel announcing the location of Ispirtu.
The Sicarius headmaster said, “My Bellator brethren, would you please turn around? You are invited guests in Sicarius, but we want to make sure you only come to visit when you have an invitation.”
Villifor answered the Sicarius headmaster, “I prefer a squadron of Bellator Guardsmen for protection instead of relying on secrets and shadows in the recesses of the arena, but these are the methods applied by your kind.” Slate didn’t think it was wise to insult someone capable of sneaking up on you while you slept, but he never understood the politics of Ravinai. The games between the headmasters were still beyond him.
&n
bsp; Villifor and Magnus turned away, and the Sicarius headmaster opened the door, but without turning the lock. A nasty surprise surely awaited anyone who attempted to enter using conventional means. Instead, the headmaster pulled upwards on the door’s hinges, which activated a mechanism that slid the door into its frame. The hinges were the lock and the lock was a decoy. As the door disappeared into the frame a fake door from inside the room took its place to maintain the appearance of a conventional door. The whole ruse moved smoothly along a track in the stone floor, which was promptly covered with a rug bearing the symbol of Sicarius. The Sicarius headmaster had more tricks than Slate cared to count.
“Welcome to the shadows, Villifor.” The Sicarius headmaster held the fake door for his guests. Slate followed King Darik, Villifor, and Magnus into a small anteroom adorned with beautiful tapestries and shelves filled with riches. The Sicarius headmaster closed the fake door, leaving it essentially unlocked but maintaining the secret of the entrance.
“I like your style.” Villifor reached for a bejeweled shield that caught his eye. “Who did you steal this from?”
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” the Sicarius headmaster warned soon enough for the Bellator headmaster to snap his hand back. “It wasn’t stolen from anyone. We are not common burglars and thieves.”
“I have lent the Sicarius Guild these items from my personal treasury. The headmaster thought it would be a good security precaution to have some high valued items in the entryway. If any of these items were removed improperly, the thief would be in for a very unpleasant surprise.” King Darik’s explanation of the riches reminded Slate of his first encounter with the Sicarius headmaster when he had been shockingly introduced to the value of information. This room was the physical confirmation of that ideal. King Darik had willingly parted with items from his treasury to protect the information held within Sicarius.