The other guard wrote the tag number on a slip of paper and handed it to Jace. “Funny.”
Jace started walking forward until a hand pressed against his chest.
“Hold on. We need to pat you down.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jace nodded, his hand slipping into a coat pocket. “Go ahead.” He held a silver piece between him and the guard, the other guard’s back turned toward him as he placed Jace’s dagger into a locker. “Just be careful of my leg. I injured it last night.”
The guard took the coin with a slight nod and began to pat Jace, starting at his shoulders and working his way down, the man’s hands sliding across his chest, back, and down his legs. If he noticed the knife hidden in his boot, he said nothing. The guard didn’t even bother to check Jace’s forearms, where his other two blades remained hidden.
“All right.” The guard moved aside. “You’re free to enter.”
Jace grinned. In a world filled with unexpected complications, bribes remained reliable and unchanging.
He passed through the double doors and entered the building. The interior was open at the middle, four stories of railed lofts overlooking the atrium-like interior. Walls broke each loft into five separate lounges, most of which were occupied. Windows at the front and rear of the building provided light, the sun streaming in from the east. The hum of many conversations echoed throughout the spacious building.
In the middle of the hall, six clerks sat behind a large, circular desk. Beyond it, people waited on benches along the walls. The building was the hub of trade for the southern wizardoms, a place of power where thousands in gold exchanged hands each week. The pursuit of such wealth had led to the downfall of Jerrell Landish, his failed gambit among the reasons he now went by Jace. The memory of his single loss still stung – a memory that resurfaced every time Jace visited the Bureau of Trading.
If only I had taken caution to verify the rumors. At the time, he had thought it a safe investment with the opportunity to triple his money in short order. If only I had never listened to that woman…
Jace banished the memory as he approached the desk. He tapped the counter impatiently, waiting for a clerk to record numbers into a ledger, the feather on his quill flicking furiously. The clerk was in his mid-twenties, a few years younger than Jace. Like his coworkers, he wore a black coat and beret to match. The man’s cheeks were pudgy, as were his hands.
After a moment, the clerk looked up at him and frowned in annoyance. “Yes?”
“I have business in room fifty-one.”
The clerk’s expression softened, his eyes flicking up toward the fifth level. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I already have a contract.”
“And the password?”
“Opportunity.”
The clerk nodded and reached for another book, looking it over for a moment. “He is currently with someone.”
“He will see me. This is important.”
With a sigh, he stood. “Follow me.”
The clerk circled around two seated coworkers and emerged from the opening between the front and rear desks. Jace followed him to the stairs. The clerk was overweight, his steps labored as he climbed. At the second level, Jace noted the people seated around the table in the nearest loft bay. A balding man with a thick, dark mustache and wearing a ruffled doublet leaned over the table, fiercely negotiating with a gaunt, older man whose expression appeared unfazed. Both were finely dressed – a common sight for those who conducted business here.
They continued up, passing the third and fourth floors, each filled with people brokering deals. When they reached the top level, the clerk had to lean against the wall to catch his breath. He then waved Jace along and waddled down the narrow corridor. Ahead, a trio of toughs stood outside a closed door, their fists clenched and faces grim as they watched Jace approach. The clerk knocked and waited, his eyes nervously flicking toward the guards.
A male voice came through the door. “What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” the clerk croaked. “A man with a business opportunity wishes to speak with you.”
All fell quiet as the clerk backed away from the door and cast a nervous glance toward Jace. The door opened, a woman exiting. She was tall and graceful, her blonde hair falling across bare shoulders, drawing all eyes to her dipping neckline and partially exposed assets. Her blue eyes locked on Jace in a silent challenge, brow arching.
I despise you, Jace thought as he glared back at the woman. You owe me fifty gold, and I wish I could extract it from your double-crossing hide.
“Jerrell,” the woman said in a dismissive tone.
“Haelynn,” Jace replied bitterly.
Without another word, she turned down the corridor and headed toward the stairs, her hips swaying overtly in her tight, black dress. The clerk’s gaze followed the woman, as if in a trance, until one of the guards followed her, blocking his view.
One of the remaining guards gestured toward the open door. “Go on in.”
Jace did just that, closing the door as the clerk turned to leave.
The room was dark, save for a single candle flickering in the far corner. In the center of the room, a hooded man sat alone on a sofa, facing the door. Among other assets, Jace had been blessed with keen eyesight and could see in the dark better than most. However, he had not yet been able to pin an identity to The Whispering Man. Attempts to trail the man on four different occasions had been a waste, all leading to different buildings occupied by different people. On none of those occasions did the man depart. The time Jace wasted on those fruitless pursuits was another source of frustration.
“Sit,” the man said in a hushed voice.
Jace sat on the chair across from him. A low table sat between them, cups and a carafe on top.
“Would you care for a drink?” the man asked as he filled his cup.
“No. You know how I feel about such offers.”
The man chuckled. “Yes. You must be careful about food and drink.”
“Poison is an occupational hazard.”
“For more occupations than you realize.”
“Perhaps.”
The man leaned back with cup in hand, his legs crossed. “I heard there was a disturbance in the Enchanters’ Tower last night. You are getting sloppy.”
Jace grimaced. “An alarm was triggered, but it wasn’t by me.”
“Did you retrieve the item?”
“The item was stolen, but not by me. There were…complications.”
Silence.
The knife hidden in Jace’s boot was inches from where his hand rested, two others hidden up his sleeves. He remained ready should it come to violence.
“Explain.” The man’s tone was as emotionless as granite.
“I had secured a position among the tower serving staff–”
“Their servants are all women.”
“Yes. I have some skill in portraying others.” Jace frowned at having to share details. “Including women.”
The man actually chuckled.
“Anyway, I decided to make my move last night, but when I reached the room where the item was stored, I found a girl already there, holding the item. When I tried to take it, she escaped in a method I was unable to follow.”
“I heard. Someone leapt from the window.” The man sounded impressed. “The building is two hundred and fifty feet tall. Walking away from such a fall requires something more than skill.”
“Yes. She had some sort of enchanted blades.”
The man’s tone became grave. “Regardless, failure is failure.”
“I can find this girl and retrieve the amulet.”
Silence. Jace waited, assuming the silence was meant to intimidate.
The man took a deep breath, exhaling. “I cannot abide another failure. If I allow you to leave this room, you had best complete the contract or there will be consequences.”
“Consider my track record. You know some of it, but there is more you do not know. You came
to me because I have proven able to do what others label impossible.” Jace leaned forward and stared hard at the man’s shadowed face. “I will succeed. Not only in retrieving the item, but in completing your ultimate goal.”
“How do you know my goal?”
“You are not the only man in Marquithe with connections.” Jace leaned back, relaxing as he sensed the man’s perception shifting. “With the amulet, I’d have the protection I need. It is past time Taladain became a memory.”
“Hush,” the man said as he leaned forward and set his cup down. “You know the danger if others discover this contract before it is executed.”
Jace smiled. “I do.”
The man lifted his hands before him, fingers tented. If Jace could see his eyes, he guessed they would be narrowed. “You intend to do this alone?”
“I prefer to work alone. Even if I need assistance, the objective and your involvement will remain secret.”
A long moment of quiet followed, but Jace was no longer worried. The man needed his help. Finding another to accept the contract would be difficult, particularly regarding the final objective.
“Very well. I will give you another chance. Just remember, the contract is to be completed soon after the next Ghealdor Darkening. That will leave the throne open for quite some time. In such a span, much can occur.”
“Fair enough.”
Sensing he was dismissed, Jace stood and turned toward the door, pausing to look over his shoulder. “If I succeed, I expect the reward to be worth the risk.”
“Oh, I assure you, success will render a greater reward than you suspect.”
“I want four times the original commission.”
After a beat, the man said, “Done.”
Jace opened the door and slipped out, already considering his next step.
Roddem Despaldi stood with his ear against the door, listening to the conversation in the neighboring room. Based on Despaldi’s research, the reputation Landish had established was well deserved.
I wonder if the man can pull it off.
The conversation ended, the sound of a door closing coming to him.
“Despaldi,” a man said from the other room.
Opening the door connecting the two rooms, Despaldi stepped through and studied the man who had called for him.
Thurvin Arnolle was a small man, his face covered in shadow as always while acting as The Whispering Man.
“You heard what Landish said. What do you think?” Thurvin asked.
Eyes narrowed, Despaldi stared at the door Landish had used moments earlier. “I think he is telling the truth. His story matches the recounting of witnesses both inside and outside of the tower. Besides, the gold he was to earn from completing the contract was enough to ensure he wouldn’t attempt to peddle the item elsewhere.”
“I agree.” Thurvin pushed his hood back, exposing his narrow face marked by a pointy nose and thin mustache. “Things have changed now that the enchanters no longer possess the amulet. Undoubtedly, the Enchanters Guild will cover up the theft. Olberon and the others would never admit to possessing an item such as the Eye of Obscurance. Not with the power it holds. The political ramifications have been altered, and we can now take a more direct approach.
“At the same time, I cannot rely on one man alone to recover the amulet and complete our objective, despite his reputation.”
Despaldi smirked, an expression that made most others uncomfortable. Tall, dark, and possessing an ugly scar across his cheek, he was well aware of the image he portrayed. In fact, he used it to his advantage. “You want me to track down the girl?”
“Yes. Kill her if you must. She is nothing to us,” Thurvin said. “More importantly, if you obtain the item, kill Landish. If he somehow obtains it and completes the mission, capture him and anyone else involved. Return with him and the amulet. We will allow our master to decide how we proceed.”
Thurvin grimaced before he continued. “I don’t trust Landish. The amulet is too dangerous to be allowed outside our control, especially since he has discovered what it can do.”
Invisible tentacles wrapped around Despaldi, tightening around his torso and lifting him off his feet. He glowered at the wizard before him, refusing to show fear. Thurvin was not a big man, nor was he a powerful wizard, but he possessed skills Malvorian valued and had achieved a position of power, despite his shortcomings. Despaldi despised the little man.
“Do not fail me, Despaldi,” Thurvin growled. “If the Eye of Obscurance falls into the wrong hands, the consequences will be dire.”
Grunting and struggling to breathe, Despaldi choked out, “Yes, Master Wizard.” Someday, you will feel the edge of my blade, you weasel.
When the coil of magic released, Despaldi landed on his feet. Recovering immediately and refusing to show weakness, he moved to the door.
“Take as much gold and as many men as you need,” Thurvin said. “This is the most important thing you will ever do. Success will open the door to a new age – an age when you and I will rise beyond your imagination.”
7
A Dark Horizon
The horse-drawn wagon hit a pothole in the road, bouncing Rhoa into the air. A grunt slipped out when she landed back on the wooden seat. Willem, who sat beside her, held the reins with ease while watching the two-horse team pull them along. Tall, boxy wagons, like the one Rhoa shared with Willem, Pippa, and Rhett, stretched in a long line ahead of their own, each painted in a garish color and radiant in the light of the rising sun. Trailing them were long, flat, oxen-drawn wagons loaded with canvas, scaffolding, stands, ropes, and long, thick poles used to pitch the performance tent.
Moving a menagerie from one city to the next was a massive undertaking, the tear-down taking a full day, the setup twice as long. It was among the reasons they moved no more than four times a year. Even then, it often took weeks to reach the next city, the journey excruciatingly slow.
The horses walked with ease, pushed by the wagon in a gradual descent. Ahead of them, the plains appeared like a giant plaid blanket, divided by farms with plots of crops here and there, interspersed with fields where yellowed grass grew wild. Dark and distant silhouettes of cattle, horses, goats, and other grazing livestock dotted the fields.
Rhoa twisted to look behind them, her gaze landing on the city spread across the hilltop. Marquithe was a massive landmark, topped by Lord Malvorian’s palace at the heart. Beyond the city, through a distant haze of morning mist, Rhoa could just make out the mountains marking the border between Farrowen and Pallanar.
She turned to look forward again and squinted in the sunlight, her focus settling on the head of the caravan.
Stanlin’s wagon, red with yellow trim, was the brightest of the lot. She recalled the effort it had taken to convince him to return to eastern Ghealdor, but he had yet to agree to visiting the great city of Fastella. Their last conversation on the subject, three days past, replayed in her head.
Rhoa had been standing outside her wagon, taking a moment to gaze over the moonlit countryside below the city. She had changed from her costume, washed, and wore a robe over her smallclothes. The show had ended a half-hour earlier. In her head, she still heard the applause, although the spectators had already returned to the city.
Stanlin had emerged from the ticket stand and clapped her on the shoulder, his big hand gripping it firmly. “Wonderful show, Rhoa. You had the crowd gasping more than once. The applause was deafening.”
Rhoa shrugged. She knew she was among the stars in the troupe, the latest routine crafted to feature her unique skills.
The man dropped his hand and stared her in the eye. “Although we will depart soon, you leave Marquithe as a legend.” He grinned. “The Black Sparrow will remain in their hearts and minds for some time to come.”
“I appreciate the praise, Stanlin. However, you know what I wish to hear.”
His face darkened. “Fastella.”
“It has been ten years,” Rhoa said. “Surely people have forgotten
by now.”
“The masses, yes.” Stanlin nodded while twisting the end of his dark mustache. “The wizards, unlikely. Taladain, never.” He shook his head. “To him, ten years passes the same way a season passes for others. He will never forget.”
“Even so, it won’t happen again. You’ve made sure of that.” Rhoa shifted tactics, working the man’s pride – a massive, inflated target. “Consider the new elements you have added to the troupe over the past decade. You must admit, the audience response, even among the wizards, has been glowing.”
Stanlin grinned again, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “True. As a result, we have remained outside Marquithe weeks longer than planned. Most shows remain sold out after a full season. It is what we showmen dream about. In fact, some have come to watch three or four times.”
“So you’ll do it?”
The man sighed. “I have spoken with Purdi. She agrees with you regarding a return to eastern Ghealdor. We will try our luck at Starmuth. Where we go next depends on our reception.”
He turned and walked toward his wagon, where his wife, Purdilayne waited. While he still had not agreed to her plan, a visit to Starmuth would place Rhoa much closer to Fastella, which was good enough for now.
The wagon struck another pothole, the violent lurch shaking everyone aboard and drawing Rhoa from her reverie. Willem appeared sullen, holding the reins numbly. He was often moody and disliked driving the wagon, yet he didn’t trust the other acrobats to handle the reins, save for short breaks. Rhett’s last attempt at driving a long stretch had led to a broken wagon wheel. Rhoa wondered if he had done it on purpose just to avoid the task for future journeys.
Bored of riding beside Willem, Rhoa turned and climbed onto the wagon’s roof, stepping over the furniture, chests, and canvas rolls tied to it. Pippa and Rhett sat on the rear seat, watching the city fade into the distance. When she reached the rear of the roof, she bent and gripped the metal railing. With the grace and strength gained from training over half her life, she lifted her feet high into the air and balanced. The wagon hit a bump, forcing her to shift her weight to avoid tipping. She wondered how it might appear from a distance – the sight of her in a handstand on the roof of a moving wagon. She also wondered when Pippa or Rhett would notice.
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