by Paul Sobol
There was a driver’s licence in the wallet, slightly warped from exposure to heat, but it would suffice as the picture was still good. With eyes closed, Silver concentrated on the picture. He wove a small amount of power around it and then sent it forth. Invisible tendrils spread out in a bizarre spider web pattern, getting larger as it quested further away. For several minutes, Silver stood at the centre of this expanding network of magical energy, expecting to find Alex any moment.
One of the tendrils stopped questing as it located the target. Silver collapsed the magical web except for the single thread that would take him to Alex. Cloaked again in invisibility he took to the air. The scrying spell had taken a while to find the target, but that was only because Silver had been looking in an expanding circle. Now he had a direct line to Alex’s exact location, and in a few moments was circling a multistorey building on the outskirts of Moscow.
The thread ended here.
The building was protected with very powerful spells, but Silver expected this. He also had some inkling as to who owned this property, and if he was right, it boded ill for Alex. Getting past the shields wasn’t the only problem, he suspected there would also be booby-traps. Nasty ones.
Hovering over the building, Silver used his magical senses to detect any weaknesses in the protective fields. The first layers were designed to stop heavy magical attacks. This was consistent for a group of magicians who expected unwelcome company without warning. The inner layers were for mundane weapons, providing protection against guns and explosives – this building would be able to withstand a nuclear detonation. Paranoid didn’t even begin to describe these magicians, but then again, Silver’s own headquarters were similarly protected, so who was he to judge?
Teleporting inside the shields was probably a bad idea, but Silver had an ace up his sleeve. He was going to fall through them. From one of his coat pockets he removed a small black crystal about the size and shape of a die. Timing would be critical now, because once through the barriers he would have to stop falling before hitting the roof. From this height he would likely break both legs.
Crystal in hand, Silver ended the flying spell and invisibility cloak. For a moment he was suspended in mid-air. Then gravity took over and he began to fall. Activating the crystal with a small amount of power, Silver was surrounded by a black sphere, and passing through the protective barriers below there was a flash of purple energy. The anti-magical sphere winked out of existence once Silver was safely through. He tried drawing in some mana but something was wrong – the barriers prevented him from reaching an outside source.
With no option remaining, he used a small amount of his own personal power to slow his rapid descent, and thankfully, with less than two feet to spare, he stopped. Landing gently on the roof, Silver considered how to gain entry. He considered the air-conditioning duct, or rappelling down the side of the building and going through a window, but he chose door number three – the fire escape door. Hopefully they wouldn’t have thought to lock it.
Making his way to the single door leading from the roof, Silver suddenly felt a magic shield appear around him. They had detected his presence somehow, and quickly he attempted to counter the shield before it trapped him. The building’s defences were far too powerful, and Silver had no choice but to attempt to teleport away.
Disappearing in a flash of energy he hit the shield and rematerialized where he had previously stood. The impact left Silver reeling, and in the brief moment it took him to refocus he sensed another magical attack, but this time directed at his power. In a desperate attempt, Silver flung what little energy he possessed at the barrier, hoping it might be enough to break through, but as the magic dissipated he had to admit defeat.
Powerless, Silver patiently waited for someone to come for him.
The door to the roof opened and a familiar magician stepped out into the morning light. He regarded Silver with wry amusement, and without the need for words threw him a set of manacles. They were heavy cast-iron, linked together by a short length of chain, and Silver knew even before putting them on they were designed to neutralise magic. “You understand why this is necessary,” said the newcomer with a heavy Russian accent. “Were our positions reversed, I’m sure you would have treated me no differently.”
“Smoke,” said Silver, “always a pleasure to meet an old acquaintance. A shame it had to be under such circumstances. Why don’t you surrender and hand the young magician over? I’ll even let you live.”
The mage called Smoke motioned with his hand and Silver began to float towards him. Turning around, Smoke disappeared down the flight of stairs with Silver unwillingly floating along behind. Turning down several short corridors and through various doors they soon entered a reception area. The young woman behind the desk nodded at Smoke and went back to typing on her computer.
Smoke, with a reluctant Silver in tow, passed through large mahogany panelled doors into a spacious office. Along two walls were floor to ceiling windows affording an excellent view of the surrounding areas, while heavy tinting on the outside gave the occupants complete privacy. The room looked like any CEO’s, but Silver knew who worked here, and if given the choice, would rather be anywhere else.
Seated behind the desk was an elderly man Silver knew all too well. He was the local representative of the Brotherhood of Shadows – a world-wide organisation comprised mostly of dark magicians who specialised in trafficking stolen and illegal goods. It was also rumoured they were behind various assassinations and plots to infiltrate government agencies, mostly in an attempt to gain control over the human population without resorting to using their power. Dark magicians, by their very nature, earned a death sentence if captured. So they lived underground, avoiding attention, and only occasionally daring to venture out in the world to wreak havoc.
The fact the Brotherhood lived openly and amongst the humans was unexpectedly contrary to years of tradition. They must have adopted this modus operandi to fool other magicians, thought Silver. It was certainly an ingenious, albeit dangerous way to exist. He didn’t like giving credit to the Brotherhood, but he couldn’t deny how effective this method of operating was. If only he were able to get free, he could expose the Brotherhood and likely shut down a large portion of their network.
Surveying the room, Silver saw two large men standing guard just inside the door, neither of them magicians. A faint shimmer in the corner of the room revealed the presence of a third person, cloaked in an invisibility spell, and a poor one at that. In a chair secured with magical bonds was Alex, who appeared to be unconscious. Around his wrists a similar pair of metallic clasps that radiated an aura of magic which, Silver deduced, was also negating the young magician’s power.
At least they hadn’t started with torture.
The thought put some perspective on his own situation, and Silver knew that sooner rather than later things were going to get worse for the two of them. In his hasty attempt to save Alex he had neglected to take into consideration his own safety, and now all he could hope for was perhaps a quick death. Unlikely, Silver thought grimly to himself, they would most likely reanimate the corpses and use us as mindless slaves. Even death had its drawbacks.
Positioned by the doorway, Smoke unceremoniously pushed Silver towards an empty chair facing the large desk. Taking the hint he sat down, and nonchalantly regarded the man seated opposite him. By mortal standards he appeared to be in his late sixties. His face was slightly cadaverous, with loose skin under bloodshot eyes and a large drooping nose. He was also mostly bald.
Immaculate business suit and attire lent him a no-nonsense air, designed to let everyone know exactly who was in charge. Silver had heard stories, all of them unpleasant, regarding the man before him, and despite the aged appearance, should not be underestimated. It was rumoured he had been born in Russia some several hundred years ago and privately schooled in the dark arts.
Ascending the Brotherhood’s hierarchy, with an uncompromising blood-thirsty manner had many of his
adversaries voluntarily step aside, hoping to avoid unnecessary confrontation.
Now comfortably established as the Brotherhood’s supreme overlord, Boris, nicknamed the Hammer and Sickle, regarded the magician brought before him. “My personal astrologer said I would have good luck today. Who knew it would start out like this? Fate certainly has a sense of humour, don’t you agree Chevalier?” he said in a deep grating voice, “It is a pleasant surprise to have you in my presence, I can only hope circumstances will work out differently than our last meeting.”
“How is the leg, Boris?” replied Silver nonchalantly. “Last I heard it had to be removed.” There was an almost imperceptible twitch with his left eye, and having noticed it, Silver silently revelled in his host’s apparent discomfort.
“Indeed. It was well beyond even my ability to regenerate, but that is of little concern right now. Your reputation was once legendary; the mere whisper of your name would send my minions fleeing.”
“Speaking of reputations, Boris,” began Silver, “I do believe you are still in the top ten of the most wanted magicians. The Order would love nothing more than to see you pay for your crimes. Which reminds me, they’ll be here shortly. If you leave now you may just get away.”
“A most compelling bluff, but I know you are alone and that you came for this one.” Hammer motioned towards Alex in the other chair. “So much power. I will enjoy making him my newest apprentice.”
“Boris, you have no idea what you’ve got.”
“And you do?” Hammer gave a nod to the two hired thugs by the door. Grabbing Alex’s unconscious body they dragged him from the chair and through a side door. Smoke came up behind Silver, probably with the expectation of getting a chance to man-handle the helpless magician, but Silver stood up quickly, denying Smoke the small petty victory. Before he was led through the door Boris motioned for them to stop. “Chevalier, I wanted to personally break you, but unfortunately I have far too much business to attend to. I will, however, leave you in their most capable hands.”
Following the two thugs who had taken Alex, Smoke guided his prisoner past several closed office doors towards an elevator, and while they waited for it to arrive, Silver took the opportunity to go over the options. None of them looked promising. The two hired thugs were large men, not fat, just solidly built, like football line-backers. Over their shoulders hung military-grade MP5s, complete with suppressors, which meant they could empty an entire clip, making no more noise than a fart. Silver also noted concealed handguns as well as combat knives. They were certainly dressed for the party, he thought.
The invisible magician also followed the small group, evident by the shimmering in the air as he or she moved. It was definitely sloppy work, and Silver had to wonder why bother at all with the poor illusion. Maybe the magician thought he or she was being clever. So for the time being Silver pretended he hadn’t noticed the extra company, maybe it would give him the element of surprise later on.
The only one left was Smoke. The dark mage had a hawkish visage, giving him the appearance of being able to see in all directions. He didn’t wear fancy business suits like the others, or even attempted at being civilized for that matter. He was street trash and a junkie - a perfect candidate for the Brotherhood who filled its lower ranks with his kind. "Expendable" was the word that came to Silver.
He had first crossed paths with Smoke ten years ago when the Order closed down an illegal importing operation in Bangkok. Financed by the Brotherhood of Shadows they had taken it personally when a hundred million dollars of merchandise was confiscated. Needless to say they wanted retribution.
The Brotherhood had facilitated the shipping and distribution of national treasures plundered from Asia – mostly artefacts of cultural significance. The Order had been lucky enough to identify one of the couriers and trace a route through the network to who was responsible for the smuggling operation. Silver had been assigned to identify and capture the highest ranking member – a magician known only as ‘Hammer’. Intelligence had managed to extract this vital piece of information from the courier, and Silver had been present during the interrogation. The information had seemed credible, but it turned out to be a trap.
The false information had sent Silver on a wild goose chase throughout Europe, and in the meantime given Smoke an opportunity to escape, but not after destroying the Order’s headquarters. Several magicians had been killed in the destruction, and Silver took each death personally. Driven with single-mindedness, he tracked down the infamous Hammer, and with the help of the surviving Order members they had fought an epic battle that only ended up with more losses. Before fleeing underground the Hammer was wounded, which subsequently cost him a leg, and Silver vowed to one day avenge his fallen comrades.
He prayed this would be that day.
Riding the elevator down, Silver couldn’t help but test the magical bonds that held him. If he could find a weakness and break out he might be able to help Alex escape, before they began the conversion process. To truly convince someone to join the Dark it was necessary to destroy everything positive and good they valued. Morals, principles, ethics, everything had to be annihilated, to be replaced with suffering, wickedness and malevolence.
Conversion was designed to turn the most righteous person into the darkest villain, remorseless and forever twisted. Accompanying the mental punishment was physical torture, and those magicians not already predisposed to the dark arts were often broken this way to serve as compliant minions. But for every successful conversion there were just as many failures, which meant a death sentence, resulting in reanimation of the corpse.
There was no doubt in Silver’s mind the Brotherhood relied heavily on Necromancers to do this unholy work. Perverting nature to such a degree was unconscionable, which is why necromancy carried an instant death penalty if caught practiced. Bringing someone back from the brink of death was different. Necromancy was only concerned with the flesh, not the spirit, and whenever a corpse was re-animated it was often mindless, making it easier to control.
Smoke was not oblivious to what his captive was doing, and knowing it to be futile he merely smirked. The magical bonds preventing Silver from using his power would never break. They were made from the ferrous metal of a fallen star, and then forged in the fires of the deepest volcano, before being enchanted using the most evil of rituals – human sacrifice. The blood of an innocent had bathed the hot metal until it cooled enough to be handled by a necromancer, who infused the shackles with dark energies.
The elevator came to a stop with a small jolt. The doors opened to reveal a long, dimly lit passageway, and judging from the damp smell Silver guessed they were several levels underground. At the end of the bare concrete corridor was a large reinforced metal door – its surface devoid of handle or locking mechanism. A single dirty globe illuminated the area before the door, and just above, in the top corner, Silver noticed the camera. A faint metallic click came from somewhere inside, and ponderously the door opened to admit the small group.
Upon entering the room, Silver first noticed the strong caustic smell of chemicals, and glancing around he saw a cupboard haphazardly piled with various phials and beakers. Most of the bottles were identifiable by labels yellowed with age, but the top shelf held several dusty glass jars containing human body parts. Eyes, tongues, hearts, even genitals.
The room was quite large, and unlike the outer corridor well- lit with fluorescent tubes. Along one side of the room stood a long table holding various surgical instruments and, Silver could only surmise, items of torture. Long serrated blades lay next to razor-sharp scalpels. Bundles of forceps were sitting in sterilizing solution, ready to be used at a moment’s notice to clamp severed veins or arteries. Wouldn’t want us bleeding to death too soon, thought Silver.
There were other instruments designed to cause maximum amount of pain, and Silver sensed some of them were magical in nature by the faint glow they emitted. The rest, while mundane in origin, would be just as effective.
> The middle of the room was dominated by half a dozen long stainless steel medical examination tables, but only one was being used at the moment. Those who had just entered the room became acutely aware of what lay on that cold metal slab, but only Smoke remained emotionless and gave no indication of being disturbed.
Hovering over the dissected corpse was a man dressed in dark blue surgical scrubs. Scalpel in one hand and in the other what looked like a pair of heavy-duty surgical shears – the kind used to cut easily through bone and cartilage. These, and a good portion of the man’s scrubs, were covered in blood. It was obvious he had been working a long time on the corpse, as most of the chest cavity was open and missing the major organs. Despite being carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, the person on the metal table was still alive.
Silver felt absolute terror seize control. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. The person, he was sure it was a male, or had been, tilted his head in their direction. The pain was evident in his sky-blue eyes, and wordlessly mouthed something. Silver guessed it was along the lines of “help me”, or more likely, “kill me.” Without a tongue the man only managed gurgles, and blood bubbles filled his mouth. Hopefully the end was near.
As though reading Silver’s thoughts, the man dressed in scrubs turned to address the newcomers. “Ah, gentlemen, please excuse the mess, I am nearly finished here.” Turning to the man on the table he bent down to say a few quiet words, and satisfied with whatever unseen results, put down the medical instruments. Approaching the small group, the man walked with a distinct limp as though having limited control over his right leg. Silver had the distinct feeling he knew this man, and he quickly racked his brain for the answer.
The man in scrubs beat him to it though.
“Welcome,” he said with an accent. Not quite Russian, perhaps closer to Hungarian. “I am Doctor Istvan Horvath, and you are my much anticipated guests. I have been instructed to examine the unconscious one first.