Stealing Sorcery (15 page)

Taelien glanced around the room. “Has this chamber been thoroughly checked for any sort of divination?”

Laurent nodded. “Yes, we’ve already taken that precaution. What’s your plan?”

“Send them another messenger. I want to challenge their leader to a duel.”

***

After several minutes of waiting, a “scout” reported that Taelien’s challenge had been accepted. The officers had been skeptical about the duel idea, but the other elements of his plan had convinced them to make the attempt.

If he failed, the bombardment of the city would begin at nightfall, just as the officers had initially planned. Taelien had taken the last few minutes to suggest some rearrangements of the troops, but he suspected that the minute details wouldn’t matter. He was gambling nearly everything on this infiltration plan.

I wish I knew if Prince Adellan’s death had already occurred at this point in history. If he’s already dead, this whole strategy might be a waste. A potential hit to enemy morale, certainly, but not enough to turn the tide.

Maybe this whole scenario was intended for me to recognize an impossible fight and withdraw…but I’d rather turn an impossible fight into a possible one.

The “scout” escorted Taelien into the next room a few minutes later. The new chamber was largely unadorned, with several people standing around and talking in hushed tones. The immersion of the scenario was temporarily broken, as Taelien saw several people sitting at a table in paladin garb – a few of them marked with officer signets – toward the back of the room.

The judges,
Taelien guessed.
Am I already done?

“Wait here,” the man dressed as a scout said. “We’ll need to prepare the next part of your scenario.”

I suppose not, then.

Taelien waited near the door for a few minutes, leaning back against the wall, before Lieutenant Trace emerged from a door on the opposite side of the room.

“A duel, huh?” Trace offered Taelien a smirk. “We haven’t had anyone try that in years.”

Probably because it’s suicide
, Taelien considered grimly.
And because there’s no chance the Esharen will deliver on the terms, even if they lose.

“The duel isn’t really the key part,” Taelien offered, feeling a bit defensive about his plan.

“Oh, I know. I actually rather like your idea. I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out.”

Plays out? Are they actually going to have me duel something…? They can’t possibly have any Esharen costumes around here, can they?

“Uh, thanks,” Taelien offered, suddenly self-conscious.

Another man emerged from the next room, nodded at Trace once, and then stepped back inside.

“Looks like they’re almost ready.” Trace grinned. “Huh. You look nervous. You sounded much more confident in the first part of the scenario.”

Could he hear me? I didn’t see him in there at all.

Is that a picture frame on the table with the judges? Maybe it works like one of Jonan’s mirrors. With sound, apparently.

“I’m perfectly confident about my part,” Taelien said, although it was a little less truthful than usual. Just fighting an actual Esharen might have been easier, although he tried not to think about what happened the last time he had encountered one. Even being observed during combat was nothing new. Testing his knowledge of history – and tactics – was infinitely more intimidating. He felt like the lives of thousands of soldiers were in his hands, even if they weren’t real.

“Right.” Trace gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Okay, you’re going to need to know a few things for this next part.” The paladin lieutenant straightened up, taking a more formal tone. “The next part of the scenario will take place in Orlyn. You can safely assume that the other plans you set in motion are in progress, and that time will be passing while you head to the city for your duel.”

So, they probably won’t actually be sending actors to play the infiltrators I asked for. That probably will make the logistics easier.

“As for the duel,” Trace continued, “We have arranged for a simulated duel opponent for you. You may feel free to attack the target as if it is a real Esharen. The same is true for any other enemies that attack you in the next stage of the scenario. Before you head into the next room, you’ll be given a protective barrier to prevent you from suffering any serious bodily harm. If you get hit, though, you’re still going to feel it, and there’s a chance of actual injuries. If we feel that you’ve suffered enough damage that you would actually be incapacitated, the scenario will be paused and advance as if that occurred.”

The swordsman nodded. “Will I arrive within the city before nightfall?”

“It will be two hours before nightfall when you arrive.”

Taelien tensed his jaw. That wasn’t a lot of time for his plans to work – but it could offer benefits, too. If the bombardment started while he was still inside, that could offer a valuable distraction – but it could also force the Esharen to move or even execute the prince. Assuming he was even alive at the outset of the scenario.

The paladin candidate tapped the sword on his belt. “If you’re going to have me engage in combat with anyone, I really shouldn’t be using this. It could cause significant, actual collateral damage, even if you’re using barriers. I tend to cut right through most protective spells.”

“Oh.” Trace’s eyes widened, as if he was noticing the Sae’kes for the first time. “Oh, yes, um, of course. I’ll need to confer with some people.”

Lieutenant Trace moved over to the area that Taelien had identified as the judge’s table, exchanging whispered words with a few of the men and women sitting there.

Six judges,
Taelien noted.
I would have expected seven.

Trace returned after a couple minutes, looking strangely nervous. The judges had looked away from the portrait, and now they were all looking in Taelien’s direction. “I know this is an odd request, but would you mind drawing the sword for a moment?”

They probably want to see if I can actually use it,
he realized. “Not a problem. You might want to step back.”

Trace nodded hastily, taking several steps away. The swordsman placed his hand on the Sae’kes’ grip, closing his eyes in concentration. The gesture was unnecessary, but he knew it lent a look of seriousness to the idea of drawing the weapon, which the paladins always seemed to consider to be a religious matter.

Release,
he commanded the scabbard, sensing it through the metal that connected the sword to the sheath’s metal lining. The lining separated from the sword, allowing Taelien to cleanly draw the sword from the scabbard. The simple metal sorcery trick he used to lock the blade in place had lent an air of mysticism to the weapon, and it doubled as an excellent precaution to prevent anyone else from using the sword.

As the sword exited the sheath, the first five runes on the blade flared to life.
Five,
he considered.
That’s better than usual. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was pleased by the occasion.

Lighting each of the runes took years of practice. Each of the lit runes continuously drew away some of his strength in order to focus the destructive waves that surrounded the blade. Igniting each had proven more difficult than the last, and he had only succeeded at lighting the fifth – signifying Eratar, the god of travel – during the confrontation with Edon in Orlyn. It was fitting, then, that he was displaying the same level of control when going to a simulated version of the city.

When he opened his eyes, he noted that Trace’s were closed.

And several of the people in the room were kneeling.

Right. Sacred weapon.
He held the sword awkwardly for a moment, and then brought it over his heart in a traditional paladin salute. Those paladins that still had their eyes open returned the salute immediately.

He lowered the sword, and the paladins rose.

That was a little eerie.

Trace reopened his eyes, smiled, and turned around. “Wait right there!”

The swordsman frowned as a creeping numbness began to make its way across his fingers. I’m not sure they realize how much this thing takes out of me, especially with five of the runes lit. I can’t imagine how bad it’s going to feel when I’ve mastered six or all seven of them.

His body had gradually acclimated to using the sword each time he managed to activate one of the runes, but the first time he ignited a new one was always worse than the last. He had barely remained conscious the first time he had activated that fifth rune, but he knew that was at least in part because of the injuries and fatigue he had already accumulated.

The paladin lieutenant rushed into the next room, returning a few agonizing minutes later with a man in the blue and silver robes of a priest of Sytira. He looked to be about Taelien’s age, but he was almost painfully thin, and had a streak of gray in his otherwise well-trimmed blonde hair.

“Hold that aloft, would you?” The skinny man asked. “And keep it still.”

Taelien frowned, acquiescing to the request.

“Dominion of Knowledge, evaluate the intensity of this effect.” The follower of Sytira reached forward to touch the glowing aura around Taelien’s sword, and the swordsman instinctively recoiled, drawing the weapon away. The priest’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re going to burn your fingers off if you touch that.”

“I very much doubt that. I’m well-protected by a sorcerous shield.”

Didn’t Lydia tell them anything about her own measurements? I suppose not – she’s been pretty secretive about the details of her findings, even to me. I’m going to have to bother her more about that after this is over.

“Last time I used this, I cut a couple pieces out of an artifact. I’m sure your shield is very potent, but –”

The thin priest shook his head. “Fine, fine. I can do it through an implement.” The shorter man reached into a pouch, retrieving a small metallic rod. “Now, don’t interrupt me this time.”

Taelien resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was pretty certain he knew how this was going to end.

“Dominion of Knowledge, I invoke you to extend my senses into this wand.”

Taelien raised an eyebrow appreciatively. He hadn’t heard that spell before – but it sounded useful. He already was capable of extending his detection of metal through metallic objects he was holding, but this sounded like a much more general version of that. Unfortunately, he had proven useless at attempting to cast knowledge sorcery, but maybe Lydia could make some use of the spell if she didn’t already know it.

Realizing he was still holding the sword away from the priest, he carefully extended it again for examination.

“Thank you. Dominion of Knowledge, evaluate the intensity of this effect.”

The priest extended the wand into the sword’s aura – and, as Taelien had anticipated, a flash of blue sparks erupted on contact. When the skinny man instinctively withdrew the metallic rod, the once-rounded end of the rod had been shorn off into a flat edge. There was no sign of the missing metal – it had been cleanly disintegrated.

“By all the gods,” the priest mumbled. “The…I don’t even understand what that was.”

Taelien nodded sagely. “Can I sheath this now?”

The knowledge sorcerer nodded absently, still staring at the wand.

“Get anything useful?”

The priest of Sytira bit his lip. “The spell measures the intensity of other spell effects in standardized units, which we call domini, after the word dominion. A typical offensive spell effect has an intensity of between thirty and eighty domini. An expert sorcerer or a specialist in a particular dominion might manage two to three times that. People claim to have measured Hartigan’s fire spells at over six hundred domini.”

“I take it the aura measured higher than you expected?”

“Er, well, I didn’t see a number at all. More like a string of incomprehensible letters. I have to assume that the measuring spell didn’t function properly, since the rod suffered catastrophic damage when it came into contact with the aura...”

Taelien chuckled. “No, letters instead of numbers sounds about right to me.”

The priest frowned. “I, um, don’t really know what to say to that. We can’t …Well, hrm. I’ll have to bring you a prop to serve as a functional replacement for the scenario, but it won’t be anywhere near as potent as your sword, ah, probably is?”

“That’s probably for the best. Thank you.”

The priest nodded absently and retreated from the room.

“That was amazing,” Trace offered. “It really is the real thing, isn’t it? Who else besides the Tae’os Pantheon could forge something so great?”

“Right,” Taelien patted the hilt of the sword, feeling uncertain.
It’s powerful, certainly, but I don’t think that necessarily says anything about who made it. Or, perhaps more importantly, about why it was forged in the first place. Their legends say this was a sword forged for an alliance between gods – but all it does is destroy. There’s a secret there, and I don’t have even a hint on where to begin to unravel it.

The priest returned a few minutes later, gingerly carrying what appeared to be an exact duplicate of his sword, scabbard and all.