Stealing Sorcery (23 page)

If he’s going to try to kill me, now would probably be the time to do it.

The sorceress sat facing the doorway, glancing from side to side periodically, and keeping her hand near the hilt of her saber. She resisted the urge to search the room while Hartigan was absent – it would be somewhat rude if he wasn’t intending to murder her.

The older man returned a few minutes later with a thick stack of parchment, setting it down on the table a moment later. “You’ll have to forgive me, I just grabbed a whole section. I haven’t had a chance to parse through it and find the night you spoke of yet. If you wouldn’t mind...”

“I’ll take half the stack,” she offered with only a slight grimace, taking his cue.

Parsing through the notes was dull work. They were exhaustive, just as he had claimed, but not in any obvious order. Usually, two or three adjacent pages corresponded to the same date, but papers didn’t always sit next to the ones from the next date. By the time she found the night of the attack, she suspected that he organized the papers based on the components used in the potions, presumably so he could keep track of any unusual results or his current stocks of each.

“I found something,” she noted, slipping out a few pieces from the pile. There were, in fact, notes that seemed to cover the entire evening of Kalsiris’ death – but with at least two notable gaps of a few hours.

“It looks like you were not working on any potions for about three hours here,” she noted.

“Hardly enough time to travel to Velthryn, wouldn’t you say?” The older man set down his stack of papers, shrugging. “I was probably having dinner.”

“It could be enough time if you teleported,” Lydia pointed out.

“Ah, was teleportation involved in the crime?” Hartigan scratched at his chin.

Still prying for more information.
“It might have been. I assume your wife would vouch for your presence, but frankly, that doesn’t amount to much, either.”

“Well, it’s dreadfully hard to prove a negative, as I’m sure you know. What would you need to rule out my involvement?”

What, indeed?
It was an excellent question. She hadn’t been directly involved in a murder investigation before – her research on Donovan was probably the most similar situation, although she had also traced smaller crimes back to specific sorcerers in the past. She had a spell for identifying which specific dominions a sorcerer had access to, and that was typically quite useful, especially for finding obscure dominions.

She had considered using the same methodology for this case, but most of the spells she could cast on Hartigan wouldn’t provide any sort of certainty, since he was famous for utilizing enchanted items and potions. Even if he wasn’t personally capable of casting travel or poison sorcery, he could have an item – or even an apprentice, since apparently he had those – capable of casting the spell.

“It would be difficult to prove your innocence definitively without evidence you were here at the time of the crime. At the moment, I’m more interested in finding evidence that could potentially indicate that you are the killer – and, in the absence of that, I can move on to look into other culprits.”

“Very well.” Hartigan clapped his hands together. “I will give you full access to the tower for your investigation. I’ll be interested to see your process, in fact.”

That latter sentence added an unstated restriction, and one that could be potentially frustrating – he would be watching her progress. Granted, it was fairly reasonable for him to make sure she was escorted while she was rifling through his possessions…especially since, embarrassingly enough, he already knew that she had “confiscated” Donovan’s ring. He also appeared to have protective wards, and his presence might be necessary to deactivate them.

All in all, it wasn’t ideal, but she couldn’t see a way to avoid letting him follow her around while she investigated the tower.

It was going to be a long day.

Second Lieutenant Banks was standing outside the briefing room when Taelien arrived.

“You’re almost late.” She leaned forward slightly as she spoke, lending an extra edge to her monotone voice.

Taelien paused in his step and saluted. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

He had taken an extra few minutes to prepare his equipment, but he was relatively certain he had arrived at least ten minutes before he had been instructed to. He knew that arriving earlier might have given him more of a chance to gather information about the test, but he felt that being better supplied would be even more important. His message had implied that he was about to be sent on a mission immediately, so he had packed for potentially leaving the city. That meant food supplies, water, and miscellaneous camping equipment. Fortunately, he had most of those supplies readily available in his storage chest – he simply needed to organize them and throw them into a backpack.

The lieutenant crisply returned his salute, allowing Taelien to lower his own hand.

“Since time is short, I will be brief. You will be participating in another simulation. Is that the reproduction sword we gave you?” She pointed at the Sae’kes, which was sitting on his right hip. He had the red-bladed sword sheathed on his left side.

“No, ma’am. I wasn’t told this would be another simulation—”

“You should be more prepared next time. I do see you have another weapon – you’ll have to use that if you engage in any combat. The real Sae’kes is simply too dangerous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lieutenant Banks slowly approached him, looking him up and down. “Tuck your shirt into your pants properly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Taelien adjusted his uniform. He had checked it relatively carefully before coming here – uniform inspections had been a daily affair when he trained with the Thornguard, and he had expected similar from the paladins. Thus far, they had generally proven to be much more lax, and this was no exception. If his uniform had been misaligned during Thornguard training, he would have been running laps at a minimum and possibly assigned to some kind of disciplinary responsibility. This was, of course, almost unavoidable – an instructor could always find something wrong if they wanted to.

Lieutenant Banks seemed to want that kind of discipline, but she either lacked the rank or the will to enforce it to the same standards that the Thornguard had. Perhaps the paladins who had been promoted from squire status had been subjected to more rigorous training – or maybe the Koranir branch was simply more traditional than others. Taelien didn’t have the necessary context to say.

“Better. I’m going to place a protective ward on you. Once that’s been done, you can enter the room and begin the test.”

She’s not going to ask if I have any questions?

Should I be asking questions?

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied out of habit more than any sort of conscious decision.

Lieutenant Banks laid a hand on Taelien’s arm. “Dominion of Protection, form a layer of armor around Applicant Salaris.”

He felt a slight tingle as a translucent field manifested around his body. He knew from experience that the armor spell would dampen the impact of attacks, much like real armor, rather than stopping attacks entirely like Lydia’s shield spells. The advantage of the armor spell was that it didn’t buckle as easily from impacts, potentially making it more efficient for a longer term fight.

So, either I could be involved in some heavy combat here, or they just want me to feel it if I actually get hit by someone. Interesting.

Banks stepped back to the door and knocked three times.

“Hey, stop right there!” The voice was unmistakable – just as unmistakable as the ring of steel that followed immediately thereafter. Velas was inside and engaged in battle.

“You may begin,” Banks said, but Taelien was already moving. The red-bladed sword was already in his right hand as he put his left on the door’s handle.

As he swung the door open, Taelien saw Velas falling backward. She was too far for him to reach her before she hit the floor, her sword flying from her grip. Her attacker turned to glance at him for an instant as the door opened, a paladin’s long sword in his hand. He or she was wearing a mask, but Taelien wasn’t concerned about that.

Chain.

One of the first things Taelien had tested on the red-bladed sword was his own metal sorcery. Since it appeared to absorb some amount of other forms of sorcery, he wasn’t sure if attempting to reshape it would be possible.

It turned out to be easier. Rather than having to hammer a steel plate into a different shape, it was like bending metal that was still hot from the forge. The red metal was easily malleable, which meant that tricks that normally took significant effort – like this one – required little more than a casual flick of a thought.

He swung the sword even as the blade reshaped itself, thinning and lengthening, the edges rounding into links. The would-be assassin raised his weapon to block, but that just gave Taelien another vector to manipulate. The chain’s momentum carried it just once around the target’s body, but that was enough to make it briefly intersect with itself, and that was all he needed.

Stick
, Taelien commanded, pushing his will into the spots where the chain met itself and his opponent’s blade. The metal merged together, forming a lasso of steel, and he pulled hard.

The assassin planted his feet, bracing both hands on the hilt of his sword to resist the strain of the pull. Velas, still on the floor, sighed and swept the assassin’s right leg.

The assassin slipped, Taelien pulled, and the white-masked figure came soaring toward him.

Taelien grinned and punched the incoming assassin in the face. A blue barrier flickered into place – and visibly cracked as Taelien’s fist smashed into it. The mask beneath it cracked in a similar pattern.

The assassin staggered, falling backward from the punch, but recovered quickly. Abandoning the sword hilt, he ducked out from the loop of the sword-chain and drew a knife from within his cloak, turning to rush back toward Velas.

Salaris wasn’t having any of that. He jumped on top of the assassin, slamming him into the floor. An errant elbow glanced across the barrier in front of his chin, but the impact would have been negligible even without the barrier spell.

“You’re going to want to surrender now,” Taelien noted, trying to find and secure the assassin’s weapon. The masked figure seemed freakishly agile, however, and somehow managed to duck out of his cloak and flip over, swinging his knife at Salaris’ throat. Taelien raised his left arm and blocked the cut, drawing a flicker from the barrier in response, and then punched the assassin in the face again. The force of the blow slammed the masked figure’s head into the floor, and he went momentarily still, dagger slipping through his fingers.

“You okay, Velas?” Taelien yelled louder than was strictly necessary, still looking at the assassin.

“I’m, um, just feeling a little lightheaded. I think I’m just going to lie here for a minute.”

Lightheaded? That’s not a good sign.

Taelien shifted his position on his downed opponent, reaching out with his left hand to smack the hilt of the dagger, sending it several feet out of the way. With that threat eliminated, he pulled his sword-chain closer and began to loop it back over his downed enemy.

“Hang in there, Velas. Be with you in a moment.”

A single loop clearly hadn’t been sufficient.
Extend.
Taelien lengthened the chain, wrapping it underneath the assassin’s elbows and between his legs. Finally, he bunched a section together over the assassin’s chest.
Fuse.
The target was thoroughly wrapped now, somewhat reminding him of how he had been imprisoned in his first encounter with Lydia – although his captors had chained him in a much more mundane fashion.

It occurred to him that spreading the chain so thin could make it malleable enough to break if the assassin was sufficiently strong, but he had tested the limits of a chain of similar dimensions before and it had proved fairly resilient. He probably could have broken it himself – even without metal sorcery – but he had always been unusually adept at breaking things.

“Hey, assassin. You awake?”

The target groaned, indicating at least some degree of consciousness.

“Uh, Taelien, not to alarm you, but my head is getting kind of swimmy.”

Taelien stood up, still holding the handle of his sword as a method of controlling his chained enemy. He walked closer to Velas, dragging the assassin along the floor, carefully avoiding putting the man anywhere near where the Velas or the assassin had dropped their weapons.

Now that he was closer, Taelien could easily see that Velas had a long gash across her right arm. That explained why she had dropped her sword, but he doubted that it was why she was feeling so lightheaded – it was a long cut, but not particularly deep, and she didn’t seem to be the type to faint at the sight of her own blood.

“How’s your arm feel?” He knelt down beside her, glancing back at the assassin, who was just barely beginning to try to free himself from the chains.

“Cold. I feel very cold, Sal.”

“Okay, stay with me. You’ve always been better with this medical stuff, and I might need you to talk me through helping you.”

Velas frowned. “I’m not sure…I can…” Her eyes fluttered, and she took a deep breath.

Taelien slapped her, triggering flickering barrier sparks. Her eyes widened with shock, and she shuddered slightly. “What was that for?”

“You were losing consciousness. Don’t do that.”

“I was just closing my eyes for—”

“No. I need you focused. I think you’re poisoned. I’m bad at poisons. You’re not.”

“I’m so tired, Sal. I don’t think I can…”

Taelien grit his teeth. “Just don’t fall asleep. I’m going to get help.”

“That sounds nice.”

Taelien turned back to the assassin, who seemed to have recovered sufficiently to start wriggling his way out of the chains. The swordmsan snarled and yanked on the sword’s handle, pulling the assassin close enough for Taelien to kick him in the ribs.

“So, you poisoned my friend. I’m not very pleased about that. This would be a good time for you to start talking.”

“Death to the followers of the false gods. Death to any who oppose the Preserver!”

Taelien raised an eyebrow.
Really? My villain in this scenario is some kind of cultist of Vae’lien?

Or, maybe not a cultist. Black cloak, scary mask, poison – is he supposed to be a Blackstone?

Taelien knelt down and grabbed the assassin by the shoulders, flipping him over. The cloak had been left behind on the floor nearby, leaving the assassin wearing a simple black tunic and pants. Taelien grabbed the collar of the shirt and pulled it down, revealing a tattoo of a black sphere surrounded by three markings – the Rethri symbols for thorn, iron, and loyalty.

Well, at least they got the marks right, even if you’d never see someone of this kind of rank in the field.

“A Blackstone Harbinger, eh? Awful sloppy for someone of your stature – I would have expected better.”

“Shut up.” The assassin squirmed, but Taelien put a knee on his chest.

“Anyway, if you’re a Blackstone, you’re carrying the antidote for your own poisons. Standard procedure. Just tell me where it is and I’ll make sure we’re lenient during the trial.”

The assassin made a scoffing noise. “You think I care about your perverted justice? There is only one true arbiter of justice, and his name is Jac—”

“Yes, yes, Jacinth, everyone fears the Blackstone Assassin. Okay, stay there a second.”

Taelien shoved the assassin hard into the floor, standing back up. He walked to where the assassin had dropped his weapon, dragging the assassin along the floor as he did, and picked up the fallen weapon with his left hand.

There was blood on the blade – presumably Velas’ blood. The fight had presumably only gone on for moments before he arrived, so Taelien doubted the assassin had hit her with any other weapons. That meant this one was, in all likelihood, the poisoned one.

There was only a faint hint of a green sheen on the edge – most of it was obscured by the blood. Like many of the most effective poisons, only a tiny amount of this poison was likely necessary for the effect.

Taelien sat down on the assassin’s back, and with the utmost care, ran the poisoned sword across the Blackstone’s leg.

“Okay, then. Just a leg wound for now. Even if the poison is really bad – which it probably is – your antidote can probably cover a leg wound.”

“I’m – you couldn’t have – a paladin wouldn’t –”

“You know, I’m not actually a paladin just yet. And I’m really not feeling all that paladin-like at the moment, truth be told. More like one of the Thornguard, who, you know, trained me for several years. Believe me, this only scratches the surface on interrogation techniques. If my friend stops breathing, you’re in for quite an education.”

“The pouch on my belt, on the left side. There should be enough for both of us,” the assassin hissed. “You should know that you did not break me. This is a practical measure – the initiate was not my true target.”