I took up a position with a good view of the door, leaning against a badly plastered, un-melted wall, in the deeper shadow of an overhang. Patience is no more common among mages than it is anyone else. I was irritated, tired, sleep-deprived and nervous. As the minutes stretched out and grew into an hour and beyond, I focused on the bond between myself and the blood doll, and foolishly let my mundane senses, and my attention, wander. If I had been alert, I might have noticed the slight, strange scent of burnt sugar and bile that had slowly built up in the still, cold air.
“‘Above you!” I heard Moc Mien cry, and without thinking hurled myself towards the building where I’d set my trap. The rift spawn threw itself down from the wall above me, crashing down with a screech on the space I had just vacated. I didn’t bother looking back. Either I would be fast enough, or I wouldn’t. I did get my knife in my hand, though.
I ran for the door, holding nothing back. I could hear its talons scrabbling along the paving stones behind me, and from the sound of it, it was definitely gaining. I gave a mental command for the blood doll to open the door, which it might or might not be capable of actually doing without me there inside with it. I did not want to have to stop and open the door. The rift spawn would almost certainly close the distance between us in the time it took.
I was coming up quickly on the door. It wasn’t opening. The thing behind me let out a hoot that rolled into a growl, and then I heard an explosion of breath from it as it lunged. I threw myself flat on the street, earning a few scrapes and bruises. The rift spawn sailed over me.
The door opened. I got an instant’s look at my blood doll, just before the rift spawn crashed into it, hurling it back into the interior of the room. Then I had the joy of experiencing the rift spawn disemboweling it and biting into its face. My only consolation was that the monster also got to feel it.
That was why I had paid Moc Mien a hundred times the value of his extremely unremarkable knife. With the blood that had been present on the blade, I had made it a part of the blood doll as well, and subject to the same debilitating, painful consequence.
The blood doll felt nothing, and had no trouble following my command to hold on to the rift spawn until it had perished. Gritting my teeth against the agony of second-hand death wounds, I climbed to my feet and leaned against the door frame, watching what was happening inside as best I could in the deep gloom of the room. When my magic returned, I would have to act quickly.
The rift spawn was in pain, and maddened by it. It kept trying to hurl itself away from the blood doll where it lay bleeding on the floor. For its part, the doll held on with a perfect tenacity, which seemed to infuriate the beast. It would then savage the doll for hindering it, which of course meant it inflicted more pain upon itself, which it would then react to by trying to escape….
Half a dozen times the cycle repeated itself before the blood doll finally expired with a sigh, and I was able to draw power from my well again. I immediately activated the weave of commands I’d laid on the nets, pouring power into them at a reckless pace.
The nets came alive, wrapping themselves around the screeching rift spawn and then contracting, whispering their enjoinders to be calm, to be passive, and to cease struggling. With every movement of the monster they twisted themselves tighter around it, fibers creaking as they swiftly immobilized it. I had to bolster the strength of the nets twice in a handful of seconds, or else they would have burst in the struggle. I was perilously close to draining my well. If that happened, I would fall unconscious. Which meant that I would be dead.
Finally the creature could do no more than shift slightly and mewl and grunt through its bound muzzle. What I could see of its hide kept shifting from blue-black to muddy gray in an effort to blend into its surroundings, as it must have done when sneaking up on me.
Drawing so much power so quickly had left me physically unsteady. The world was starting to tilt. I hardened the spells on the nets, staggered back into the street and sat down heavily. My heart was racing, and I was perilously close to vomiting. I forced myself to take long, slow breaths of the cold night air. Getting the beast’s stench out of my nostrils seemed to help somewhat.
“You’re still alive,” Moc Mien observed as he walked up the street towards me.
“More or less,” I managed to reply.
“That thing can turn invisible. I didn’t see any sign of it until it just appeared, ready to jump on your head.”
“Not invisible, just a color changer. From a distance, it’s as good as, though.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. What now?”
“Now we need to transport the creature back to the street the News is on.”
“It’s called Squareshank.”
“My lifelong quest for knowledge has been completed. What do I do with myself now?”
“Your sarcasm, it cuts. Are you going to magic that thing there, or what?”
“I’m going to drag it, and you’re going to help.”
He took a long look at me, then peered into the building and gave an appraising look at the rift-spawn.
“Yeah, well, I think a cart would be more efficient, don’t you? Should have told me before. I’ll be back.”
I waved a hand vaguely, and concentrated on managing a fresh wave of nausea. Overall I was not displeased, though. The rift spawn was finally caught, and more easily than I’d feared.
But my struggle with the creature had only just begun.
Fifteen
The journey back to Squareshank Street took approximately forever, and pushing a cartful of rift spawn up the steep slopes that passed for streets in the Girdle was as pleasant as one might imagine, but the rest of the night was uneventful. Moc Mien and I took turns pushing the hand cart and steadying it, and with various colorful curses on his part and mine, we eventually fetched up at the Telemarch’s back door.
For its part, the creature hadn’t made a sound after we left Halfmoon Street.
“Best you go no further,” I told Moc Mien. “The Telemarch left a rather dangerous sentry inside that’s still active, and I don’t think I’ve recovered sufficiently to keep it from attacking you.” Which was a lie. I just didn’t want Moc Mien to have unsupervised access to the Citadel. That he knew where a secret entry was located made me uncomfortable enough. He might have been Amra’s oldest friend, but he’d still been prepared to duel her to the death. Likeable or not, he wasn’t getting a key to my house, the more so because he was both clever and competent.
“I suppose that concludes our business arrangement, except for the matter of transport that we discussed,” I said.
“Recon so.”
“There is one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I find myself in need of a diamond. It doesn’t have to be big, but it must be as flawless as possible.” Now that I’d actually secured the rift spawn, my mind had begun to consider what I would need in hells.
“I’ll find you something suitable. For a price, of course.”
“Of course.”
To my surprise he stuck out his hand. I shook it. “If you find yourself in the market for another knife, I’ve got one almost as lucky. And mage?”
“Yes?”
“Vosto’s own luck to you. Hope you really can bring her back.” And with that he walked down the dark street, without a glance back.
#
The construct wanted to attack the rift spawn, which came as no surprise. I stilled it while I shifted the creature and the handcart down into the cellar, but otherwise left its desire unaltered. If the rift spawn somehow escaped captivity and tried to escape in this direction, it would find itself opposed at the very least.
But it would not escape the confinement I had planned for it.
I trundled the beast and the cart down the corridor to the central staircase that ran down the spine of the mount, and as exhausted as I was, my heart was considerably lighter than it had been at any time since I’d first entered the Citadel. Capturing the creature was onl
y the first step in a series of suicidal steps, but after days of obstruction and delay, I had finally managed to take the first step.
My next step was considerably simpler. I believed the rift spawn would have a connection to the source of its creation—the rift. In fact I was virtually certain of it. But I needed to make sure.
At the staircase, I tipped the beast out, and pushed it down the stairs. It rolled down to the landing below, still not making a sound, and I followed it. I shoved it into position, pushed it down the next flight, and in such fashion eventually arrived at the chamber that had once allowed access to the rift.
As soon as the thing bounced into the chamber, it went berserk, which caught me off guard. It shrieked and writhed, furiously assaulting its bonds. The nets began to weaken and tear, and I quickly poured more power into them.
“Well, then. I suppose you do have a connection to that which birthed you,” I said, pleased that the first, crucial part of my plan had born fruit. I was surprised when the creature responded.
Kill… you. Eat you.
“You already tried that. You failed. And suddenly you’ve gotten smart.” This creature had shown only animal intelligence. Now it spoke, and mentally at that?
Before… no need. Now, need.
“To speak?”
Intelligence.
Born from chaos, from possibility. Perhaps I should not have been surprised that it could morph and evolve. But I found the idea extremely disturbing. What were its limits? Did it indeed have limits? How long might it take to evolve an intelligence that equaled or surpassed mine?
Let me go. Or I will kill you and eat you and shit you out.
I walked over to it, squatted down, and regarded the visible few of its faceted eyes. I had to break this thing to my will, or it would be no use to me. If I couldn’t break it, and quickly, I’d have to kill it and try to take from it what I needed; and I did not have sufficient confidence that the extraction would be successful. The Art requires confidence virtually indistinguishable from egomania, or delusion.
“None of those things are going to happen,” I told it.
It howled and struggled. I let it, for a time.
“Be silent,” I said, and it ignored me. So I summoned up a wave of force and pressed down on the thing, harder, harder, until it had no breath with which to howl.
“You will do as I say, when I say,” I told it.
Kill you tear you eat your eye—
I flicked my fingers, and sent phantom pain down the nerves of its monstrous face. Especially its eyes. It shrieked. And writhed. And shrieked. I let it go on for a long time. When I finally dispelled the pain, it lay still, except for panting.
“You will not threaten me again. You will do as I say, when I say, or I will remove your limbs so you can never escape, and your teeth so that you pose no danger.”
You… are monster.
“And now we finally begin to understand one another.”
#
I left the creature bound in the rift chamber. I strengthened the nets once again, and I found, activated and augmented many of the wards the Telemarch had installed in the room.
I could never trust the thing, which I decided to call Halfmoon after the street it had hunted on. It was a man-eater. It was chaos-spawned. It was dangerous. Make it afraid of me, yes. Completely break it to my will?
Never.
It would always look for a way to break free. It would not rest until it found a way to destroy that which had turned it from hunter to hunted, monster to victim. But until it believed it saw such an opportunity, it would bide its time.
And that was good enough for now.
The satisfaction I’d felt upon trapping it had been suffocated by the cruelty I’d been forced to use on the thing. I felt very, very tired, inexplicably dejected, and more than a little soiled as I slowly climbed the stairs up to the Citadel.
Ah, well. It wasn’t the first time I’d done something I found repulsive. I am not overburdened with morals, but I have at least a general grasp of right and wrong, and torture is something that refuses to be pinned down on the light side of the slate however you try to justify it.
Halfmoon had to be forced to help me rescue Amra. Halfmoon was a man-eating monster who would happily bite off my face and lick my brains out through my nasal cavities. That didn’t justify torture, because it wasn’t about the rift spawn, ultimately—it was about me. What I was prepared to do. How far I was prepared to go to get what I wanted.
And of course I was prepared to go as far as I had to, however vile that made me.
I’d been here before. Different situation, different consequences, same self-reprehension. Those who do not shrink from dark deeds should at least be clear-eyed and honest, with themselves if no one else.
There was nothing wrong with the eye that remained to me.
#
Marle was snoozing in a cane-backed chair in the kitchen when I walked through the hearth. Though I made little noise, he woke almost instantly.
“Magus,” he acknowledged, rubbing at a sleep-bleared eye with his stump.
“Marle,” I replied. What keeps you up?”
“You were right about the When woman. She’s set troops all ‘round the tower. We thought it best you know as soon as you returned.”
“Have they tried anything aggressive?”
“No. They seem content just to stand around with their thumbs up their arses.”
“Then I’m content to let them. Get some real sleep, master Marle. That chair looks likely to produce nightmares.”
He nodded and I left him, passing the others in their beds on my way up to the inner sanctum.
Gods, but Keel could snore. I was surprised one of the others hadn’t yet smothered him in his sleep.
As I lay myself down in my bed for once, I felt at least some of the tension of the last few days slough off. I wasn’t concerned about Lady When’s move. Unless she had a mage on her payroll, she might as well be shouting at clouds for all the harm she could do me or mine. And now that I’d secured Halfmoon, Gammond was much less of a worry as well. In a few days at most, I’d either have the creature sufficiently broken to leave the Citadel with it, or I’d be forced to try and take from it what I needed. Assuming I succeeded, I could leave Bellarius behind, thank all the useless gods. Or I could just leave, and try to break Halfmoon during the voyage. The more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed. I was beginning to hate Bellarius as much as Amra had always claimed to.
For the first time since I had arrived in the City of the Mount, I drifted into sleep without a single twitch, startlement, or horrific nightmare waiting for me right on the other side of those misty gates. It was a good, solid, dreamless sleep.
So of course the next day everything went straight to hells.
Sixteen
I’ve never had much talent for or interest in illusion. It takes a certain kind of mind to spin convincing lies using the Art, and a level of subtlety and precision that I found maddeningly tedious. Oh, I could throw up a decent enough seeming, something that would stand a moderate amount of visual, and even tactile scrutiny if I had to. I could project a noise, or cover a stench. Most mages can. But I’ve never pretended to be any sort of master when it came to illusory magic.
Gammond was a master.
A mage is damnably difficult to hold against his will. He will break chains and bend bars, rip doors from hinges, turn stone walls to dust. He will burn guards to cinders, and melt their arms and armor to shining puddles.
But not if you blind him, and deafen him, and take away his ability to tell up from down.
I woke because I was suddenly falling, spinning, with a rushing roar of air pounding at my ears. I opened my eye, and saw nothing but a riot of kaleidoscopic colors. I called forth my magesight, and it appeared as if I was falling endlessly into a vortex of power.
“Good morning, magus,” came Gammond’s voice from everywhere and nowhere, cutting through the howling wind.
/>
“How did you breach the wards?” I asked, forcing my voice to a level of calmness I did not feel. I scrabbled at the magic that bound me, but could find no purchase, no lose thread to pull. It wasn’t a weave, it was a fog. The level of subtlety she was capable of employing was frankly frightening.
“We found your mouse hole on Squareshank. I’m surprised you didn’t bother to disguise yourself that first night. It’s not as if there are many tall, one-eyed men who speak with a foreign accent wandering around the Girdle. At least, not ones who are obviously not sell-swords.”
So the nosy neighbor had indeed been an informant. All my subsequent precautions had been a case of too little, too late.
“I hope the construct didn’t give you too much trouble.” By which I meant I hoped it had mauled her and hers badly. I still had access to my well. But unless I could kill her, it didn’t really matter. I couldn’t negate her clever trap. And to kill her, I needed to be able to locate her. Which was why her magic placed her voice everywhere and nowhere.
“The golem? Bit of a nasty shock, but we took care of it in time. Your bindings were much more formidable a barrier, I’ll give you that.”
“You overcame my bindings and the construct without alerting me?”
“If it makes you feel better, I probably couldn’t have managed it if you’d been awake.”
I could lash out randomly, and hope to get lucky. I could destroy everything in the room with me. I could probably bring down big chunks the Citadel, if I really gave it all I had. But there was no guarantee she was in the same room, or even the same floor as I was. I wouldn’t have been, in her place.
“What do you want, Gammond?”
“When’s going to attack today. Soon, actually. No more probes, no more skirmishes along the barricades. She’s got the numbers, and her numbers have the training, and she means to break us.”
The Thief Who Wasn't There Page 11