Gemworld (46 page)

He stooped down and peeled back the turned down cuff of his boot, revealing a row of glittering gems beneath, set in silver. He stroked the gems and replaced the cuff, then repeated the motions with the other boot. The boots practically hummed with energy as the last gem was stroked and the magic of the boots was activated.

Standing, Retzu ground the balls of his feet on the cobblestone to test the magic. The ground, normally firm and unforgiving, seemed to slide away easily at the pressure. Long accustomed to the effect, Retzu knew that it wasn’t the ground that was sliding away. It was him.

Satisfied, he leapt into the air, catching the alley wall with one foot and rebounding to the opposite wall, skipping weightlessly up the walls to the rooftop, clearing the eaves with barely an effort. He came down on his side and rolled to his knees, hand on his katana, ready to draw. He scanned the shadows of the rooftop, searching for a target. Finding none, he sprinted lightly across the roof to the far alley and jumped it, landing nimbly atop the neighboring building.

Retzu made his way towards the Archive, skipping cluttered alleys and skimming the wooden, tiled, and sun-baked clay rooftops of Bastion, his eyes searching the darkness as he ran. Reaching one rooftop in particular, he paused and cast a glance across the avenue to the set of buildings that he’d seen Keth and Reit push toward. He found the alley just in time to catch a glimpse of his brother ducking into the trap door.

Retzu cursed as he saw a man stumble into the alley, and his hand went reflexively to the stars that he had in a pouch on his belt. The stars were silent and efficient. He had no doubt that they would kill even from so far away, but it would attract attention that they really didn’t need at the moment. There would be plenty of dead in the morning for the emeralds to sort through, and dispose of, but a
shol
’
tuk
star would surely raise a few eyebrows. Thankfully, it never came to that. Before Retzu could act, the Festival-goer tripped on a box and fell flat on his face, lifeless.
Just a drunk
, he thought as he let his hand drop with a sigh. He waited a moment longer, then continued on his way, remaining on each rooftop only long enough to reach the next.

He worried about his brother, and Reit’s role in the plan. He’d argued that it was too dangerous, that they should send someone else, but Reit had been steadfast. It was Reit who had made contact with the Archivists, who convinced them that his Cause was just. It was Reit they knew, Reit they trusted.

“Thirty minutes older than me, and he thinks he knows everything,” the assassin grumbled, not for the first time. At least the goat-kissing
minta
’
hk
had agreed to take Keth with him. An adept mage and a budding
shol
’
tuk
adherent, the boy would be more than sufficient to protect Retzu’s twin—protect
el
’
Yatza
, he amended—from anything short of a troop of granite guards.

Angling to the southeast, he launched himself over one of the broader avenues. His magical boots held him suspended in the air just long enough to clear the street, then dropped him heavily on top of a bakery. His soft-shod feet slapped painfully on the clay roof, and he somersaulted into a ready squat. Glancing around first to make sure he was alone, he fell to his rump and threw off his boots, massaging his soles vigorously and praying for the pain to subside.

He looked over at the chimney. There was no smoke, which meant no fire. And that probably meant that the baker was out enjoying the festival. More power to him, Retzu thought. The impact had not really been that loud enough to be heard form the street, but he took no chances. Loathe to waste a second, he donned his boots again and reactivated the magic. He stood quickly and made for the next roof, doing his best to ignore his complaining feet.

It was full dark by the time he reached the house he wanted. It was a wooden house, with a clay shingled roof, about five blocks east of the Archives. Smoke billowed up from the chimney, evidence that the owner of the house had lived up to his end of the deal. Perfect.

Retzu jumped the final alleyway, careful not to dislodge any shingles. He scurried up the gentle slant to the roof’s apex, then glanced around once more. The streets were all but deserted here, abandoned in favor of the activity in the city parks or the wharves. So much the better. Satisfied that he’d gone unobserved, he straightened and reached into his belt pouch, producing a fist-sized linen bag.

“All this trouble, just to drop a sack of dirt down a dusty chimney,” he snorted, chuckling at the seeming irony. But he was far from stupid. He didn’t have a clue what the mixture in the bag was, or how it was supposed to cause a distraction—the Archivists had said nothing regarding the formula, except to offer an explicit warning to not experiment with it—but whatever it was, Reit’s escape hinged on it.

It galled him that he only knew his part of the plan. Sure, he saw the wisdom in having no one man but Reit himself know the entirety of the operation, but it irked him nonetheless. He liked to know why he was doing what he was doing, especially when the task seemed as asinine as this. But all the assassin really knew was that he was supposed to drop the bag down the flue and run. Fast. Whatever it was in the bag, it definitely wasn’t dirt.

Sighing, he tossed the bag up in the air and caught it, then hunkered down next to the chimney and waited, his eyes trained on the harbor.

***

Reit and Keth made their way slowly through the dark tunnel that had been burrowed from the alleyway to the cellars of the Archive. The way was long and cramped and apparently pitch-black with a low ceiling, so Reit was relieved to finally make out a dim light in the distance. None of that mattered much to Keth. He couldn’t see the light. Even if he’d had a water source readily at hand, he could not clear his primary sight. Reit had given him explicit instructions not to wield, for fear that the resulting aura would attract the wrong kind of attention. He couldn’t argue that point with him, but he didn’t have to like it.

Besides, he felt perfectly at home within the bowels of the earth. And thanks to his granite sight, he’d seen the end of the tunnel as soon as they’d entered. But he was too busy studying the materials in the walls to worry about when they’d reach the end. It was fascinating! The tunnel had to have been made magically. The cut was too perfect, the dimensions too precise to be otherwise. The walls were smooth to the point of being glassy. He could see no imperfections whatsoever in the tunnel wall... wait a minute. There
was
one break in the tunnel. He could see the jagged edges of some sort of spell showing through the walls. That must have been where the mages had dispelled a ward in order to continue down the passage. Interesting. But even more interesting were the patterns within the walls themselves. The minerals seemed to run together, merging, mutating, almost as if—

“Remember,” Reit admonished, breaking Keth’s line of thought. “No magic. It’s likely those few granites that stayed behind in the Spire would detect it. And with most of the others gone, they might get curious as to whom the odd granite signature coming from the city could belong to.”

Keth nodded shortly, as he had a hundred times before. How could he forget? They’d drilled him often enough that he could recite the warning in his sleep. He understood that Reit was just being cautious, but after so many similar warnings, Keth probably couldn’t have thought straight enough to wield right then if he had to.

But, oh, how he wanted to! The restraint absolutely galled him. Only fifteen weeks and a Festival had gone by—not even two months!—and already he’d gained a mastery over his gifts that he’d have never thought possible. He was acquiring new skills almost daily, and those he’d already picked up, he honed to katana-sharp perfection. So much effort. So much time. So much
power
! And he was forced to rein it in, just when it could be of the most use. How utterly pointless!

He could feel his temper boiling hotter and hotter, the more he thought about it. His head started to throb. He could feel his pulse hammering behind his eyes. Retzu had called his temper his “chief stumbling block on the road to true power,” and he could easily see why. He could barely see straight when he got mad. Even now, knowing full well what was happening to him, it was still difficult to focus, which just served to make him hotter.

He grit his teeth and breathed in a deep cleansing breath, running through his hilts as if by rote.
Focus on the goal
, he told himself in the space between hilts.
Shut all else out
. He let his breath out slowly, deliberately, and with it, the tension and disappointment.
This is the most logical course of action
, he reminded himself, his hilts repeating in the back of his mind.
Magic is power, but only when used with wisdom. You’re no good to the Cause—Reit, Retzu, Sal, nobody—in prison, or in the grave
. He thought these things purposefully, methodically. Soon, he began to believe them. His temper cooled, and his temples stopped pounding. Finally the last of the tension left him, and all that was left was resolve.

Keth saw an orange-yellow figure move into the doorway, peering blindly into the darkness toward him. “We got company,” the granite whispered.

“Who goes there?” called an elderly voice softly.

“
el
’
Yatza
,” Reit answered. “I’ve brought a friend, I hope you don’t mind.” The Archivist obviously did mind, for he backed away from the tunnel mouth, suddenly unsure of himself. “Protection,” Reit clarified. “Against unforeseen circumstances.”

The Archivist relaxed visibly, though not by much. He tensed again when the pair breasted the tunnel and came full into the cellar—and apparently, the torchlight.

“A
granite
!” the old man hissed, half in contempt, half in terror.

“Learned,” Reit pled anxiously. “Learned, this is Keth. He’s the granite that was found on the farm southwest of Scholar’s Ford.”

“The Ford?” the old man asked vaguely, as if consulting some inner voice. “Ah yes, the Ford! The one who struck down his recru—oh dear me, I’m so terribly sorry, my boy. Please forgive my thoughtlessness. I meant no offense. It’s just that I have such limited contact with outsiders, and when they
do
come to the Archives, they’re only interested in those things in my keeping, you see!” He chuckled pitifully in embarrassment.

Keth had dropped his eyes to the floor at the mention of his crime, but he looked up at the apology, accepting it meekly. He’d long since forgiven himself for the things he had done, but it still pained him to hear them mentioned. All of which was completely lost on the Archivist, who continued to sputter his remorse.

The old man was small and thin, but what muscles he had were dense. He wore only a linen wrap, wound about his torso to cover him like a robe. One end of the wrap hung loosely over his left shoulder. His head was bald and pockmarked with tiny cuts and scars, evidencing many years of having shaved his head. His nose had the sloping, rounded bridge that was the hallmark of the Ysrean race.

And he was bowing profusely.

“Alright, alright, I think he gets the point,” Reit finally said, straightening the old man. “We don’t have much time, remember?”

“Yes, of course. The scrolls. They are packed and ready. Err, you
do
have a plan for getting them out of the city, don’t you?”

“Well, hopefully, Keth and I can just sneak out in the chaos. But we do have an alternative plan in motion, just in case.”

Chaos? What did Reit have in mind?

“Excellent! Because if you had no alternative routes out of the city, the Learned brothers and I had compiled a list of escape routes, each logged and labeled in order of distance from—”

“We need to get started, Learned,” Reit prompted gently.

“Yes, quite right,” the old man said. “The packs are stacked in the northern library, just up the stairs and through the kitchen.” He turned, indicating a set of rickety steps that led up out of the cellar.

Keth, started forward, but Reit restrained him. The granite gave Reit a puzzled look.

“The guards,” Reit explained. “With the constabulary on holiday, the Earthen Rank are guarding the city. That means amethysts, who can see through all but the most dense materials.” He indicated the wall with a nod.

Curious, Keth inspected the walls. He noticed the minerals right off, the same as were in the walls of the tunnel. Only here, it was much more concentrated. And again, they ran together, creating simple alloys.

Alloys?

“Lead,” he stated in revelation. “The walls are laced with molten lead, which would make it proof against amethyst sight.”

“Yes,” the old man affirmed proudly. “It was Learned Yakov’s idea, actually. The soil here is rich with lead, so when some—umm, we’ll call them ‘valued friends’—constructed the tunnel for us, they extracted the mineral as they went. It slowed their progress dramatically, took them over a month to complete the passage. But when our ‘friends’ smelted the lead into the cellar walls, proofing them against unwelcome observers, we decided that the end result was well worth the delay.”