Stealing Sorcery (30 page)

The next round of drinks arrived. Velas stared at her mug, narrowing her eyes.

The enemy. I will defeat the enemy.

Her hand slapped against the side of the mug, missing the handle.

Alden laughed loudly, grabbing the mug. “I will drink this one and give you a chance to recover, yes? Would not want you to be done so soon.”

“Psh, th’as mine. Give it back,” Velas motioned.

Alden shook his head, handing her the cup. Velas frowned as she lifted it to her mouth. Taking the big man up on his offer might have been a good strategy, but she wasn’t going to take charity from someone who thought she couldn’t hold her liquor just because she was a woman.

She’d already beaten Eridus, anyway.

As her eyes shut again, she felt the liquid seeping into her more thoroughly. The greater quantity of alcohol seeping into her bloodstream made it easier to envision, bright green against the standard red composition of her blood.

Fuck, may as well try it.

She pressed a right hand against the wooden underside of the table.

Expulse.

She watched the green swirl and shift within her body, rushing to her right hand – where it remained. She shuddered momentarily as something like an electrical shock flickered in her mind.

Okay, think I did a bad thing.

The jolt of pain passed quickly, but the green aura in her hand failed to escape as she had envisioned.
Guess I can’t pass liquid out of my skin that easily. Who knew?

If I vomited, I could probably get it out that way – but that would probably lose me the contest. Running to the privy is out of the question, too. I need another way to get liquid out of my body.

She rubbed her hand along the underside of the table, subtly finding an exposed nail. She contemplated that for a moment.

Fuck that, this contest isn’t worth tetanus.

Instead, she lifted her cup with her right hand, subtly unsheathing her sword just a fraction with her left. As she drank, she brushed her left thumb across the edge near the hilt, and then let the sword slide back into place.

Sharp blades leave painless wounds, they say. Bunch of bullshit.

Velas pressed the shallow wound against her pant leg, setting down her drink. She grinned as she closed her eyes.

Expulse.

The verdant aura flowed through her body, and she twisted it toward her hand – and into her injured thumb. The blood flowing from the wound had nowhere near the volume of the alcohol, but she wasn’t trying to expel the entire drink – just the poison that was clouding her mind and body. Drop by drop, the toxin dripped away.

Her eyes fluttered back open, her mind beginning to clear. “Okay, boys. Next drink.”

***

Hours later, Alden was finally defeated, lying asleep on the table. Sterling still looked invincible, untouched.

“That was quite an impressive recovery you made.” Sterling leaned his elbows on the table, staring across at Velas. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to compete with Alden in raw fortitude.”

“I love to surprise people. So, it’s your ring, yeah?”

Sterling raised his left hand to his chest, an expression of mock shock on his face. “This simple family heirloom? Whatever do you mean, Lady Jaldin?”

“It’s just Velas, or Dame Jaldin if you really have to.” She shook her head, which was starting to ache from the next set of accumulated alcohol. Even with her efforts to pool and bleed away the toxin, she had failed to rid her body of it entirely – and the wound had clotted and ceased to bleed long ago. “And anyway, it’s a clever trick. I don’t blame you or anything. A lot subtler than Eridus and his stirring.”

“A little subtler, but a lot more effective, it would seem. Or perhaps I was just built from sterner stuff to start with.”

Velas grinned. “I suspect so.”

“Well, if you know my secret, I suppose we can call this game to an end?” He gazed toward the horizon. “The dawnfire is setting, and it will soon be time to meet with our companions.”

“Take off the ring and share a few more drinks with me first. Then we’ll talk about a winner.”

Sterling lowered his gaze, giving her a wolfish grin. “We have a deal.”

***

Velas trudged toward the parade ground, rubbing her throbbing head as she walked. Three pins remained on her tunic – Aendaryn, Lysandri, and Eratar.

Sterling walked cheerfully a few yards away, spinning every few steps to display the six pins on his shirt to the other approaching candidates.

It had been a close thing in the end, but Velas wasn’t willing to cut herself again to remain competitive. The injury itself wouldn’t have bothered her much, but she doubted she could have concealed using the method a second time. She had solidly stomped Alden and Eridus – and that was more than good enough.

More importantly, now she had valuable information on one more member of her platoon and two more competitors – not a bad result for an afternoon.

Landen was looking downcast when she caught sight of him, sitting on a rocky outcropping not far from the parade field where they had agreed to meet. He didn’t seem to notice her approaching. His fingers toyed with the single pin on his tunic.

As she approached, Velas reached up to her own set of three.

Two is the minimum to pass. It won’t be a good score for either of us, but we’ll both make it.

Taelien came into view a moment later, sitting down next to Landen, offering an outstretched hand with three pins sitting in it.

Velas blinked, pausing in her step and lowering her hand.

Taelien had the faintest hint of a smile on his face as Landen took one of the pins, staring at it with an expression of disbelief.

Taelien’s arms quivered slightly as he pushed the remaining two pins at Landen. His shirt was soaked through with sweat.

It also had seven pins attached to his right breast – one for each of the seven gods.

How…?

The metal sorcerer broke into a series of wracking coughs – and that was enough an answer.

He…he made more pins.

He spent the entire day fabricating more sigils.

Velas broke into a laugh, drawing the attention of both of the sitting men, and rushed forward to embrace them both in a powerful hug.

***

Before the officers took their places on the parade grounds, Velas watched as Taelien walked to each of the candidates as they arrived and offered them a single pin of his creation. They were nearly indistinguishable from the official ones used in the tournament.

Velas, in spite of already having enough to pass, accepted one of Taelien’s pins of Aendaryn and wore it proudly.

Resh, Taelien. That was a good play.

She noted as he paused at the dejected few who had lost their only pin during the day and offered them a second one from his own supply. She realized that he must have made more pins than the total pool that they had started with - easily enough that he could have outfitted his entire platoon with a full set if he had wanted to.

But he didn’t only help his own platoon. Aside from favoring Landen with that first few, he didn’t even seem to show the rest of them any sort of preference.

And when he was done, Velas saw many of the other candidates looking at Taelien with something she had seen before – once, in what seemed like a different life now.

Loyalty.

And, for the first time in nearly a year, she stood in line with companions at her side and felt the warmth of pride.

Though Rialla’s garb left little more than her eyes exposed, she still felt the chill of the nightfrost in the air. She remembered the joy of her childhood-self blowing softly into the air on nights like this one, seeing the ice forming from her breath.

She absently waved a hand in the air, icy knives manifesting in front of each of her fingers, and then vanishing as quickly as they appeared.

There would be no joy in the cold of this night.

She circled her target’s home – a single story building on the western edge of the Market District. The house was a simple wooden structure with one door on the southern end and windows on the eastern and western sides. From the dimensions, she judged there to be about three separate rooms – a sign of simplicity, but not poverty.

The home lacked any exterior decoration. A logging axe sat beside a timber pile not far from the door, and she noted a resemblance between the wood in the pile and the beams of the house itself.

A light source provided dim illumination in the western wing of the home. She knew her destination.

Shadows: Surround.

The shadows cast from the nightfrost’s light upon the home bent and swirled around her, pressing against her clothing and exposed skin. So long as she remained within the darkness, only the keenest of eyes would detect her presence. The technique lacked the effectiveness of Jonan’s talents during the day, but it would suffice for her current purpose.

Though she had initially considered entering through the window nearest the light source, coming close enough to see through the glass would give her target a moment to see her within the contrast. It was a needless risk.

She approached the front door, closing her eyes.

Travel: Flicker.

She stepped through the door as if it did not exist, reopening her eyes.

At first, the entry room appeared to contain little of interest, save a pair of kitchen knives that could potentially serve as weapons. At a second glance, she caught sight of a small shelf near where she had entered, housing multiple pairs of shoes and boots – some of which were clearly sized for children.

Rialla tightened her jaw and flexed her fingers in the air.

The hint of illumination came from beyond a door on the left side of the room. She approached, turning the handle softly, but she had no sorcery to suppress the creak when the misaligned wood scrapped against the floor.

A stone wall of a man sat at a work desk, the ink on his hands illuminated by the light of a single candle. His grey beard was cut military short and matched the tone of his little remaining hair. He turned as the door creaked, looked straight at her, and raised a finger in a hushing gesture. Then, with a second motion, he pointed to a nearby bed – and the two children, looking to be no older than six, sleeping within.

Rialla nodded, stepping away from the door.

The bearded man stood, wiping his hands on his pants, and followed her into the entry. He closed the door behind them, leaving the pair in darkness.

“Never could quite set that door right,” he spoke softly, walking past her to sit in one of the crude wooden chairs near a kitchen table. Rialla’s eyes went to one of the knives, now only inches from his grasp, but she did not act save to turn toward him.

He put his elbows on the table, turning his head toward her. “So, what’re you? Thorn? Blackstone?”

She shook her head. “Shiver. Attendant to Symphony.”

He let out a low rumble of a laugh. “One of the lady of thieves’ own, eh? Don’t know what I did to garner such austere attention. You are aware I’m retired?”

Rialla gave him a curt nod. “Ostensibly.”

“Well, you won’t find much to pilfer here, I’m afraid. Your matron might be disappointed. But if you’re feeling as chill as your name, I can light the fire and make us some tea.”

“I won’t be staying long.”

“No,” he tilted his head downward, a warning in his expression. “You won’t be.”

She felt an itch at the back of her head – it said to strike now, while he was relatively unprepared.

She did not.

“You once trained a man named Cassius Morn. What do you know of his current whereabouts?”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “I might not be able to chop wood with my memory these days, but I don’t remember training any ‘Cassius Morn’. He go by another name?”

Rialla folded her arms. She had been concerned about this possibility. “Very possible. Short, around five foot four, possibly even shorter when you knew him. Would have been around fifteen when you trained him. Brown hair and eyes. He was in Thornguard training at the time and went to you for personal sword training.”

“How many years ago would this have been?”

“Somewhere between six and ten.”

The older man never took his eyes off her, but he furrowed his brow in thought. “I didn’t train many Thornguard… but I do believe I know who you mean.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

The older man folded his arms, each nearly as thick as one of Rialla’s thighs. “You’re going to need to give me a reason why I should tell you.”

Aayara probably would have told her to point at the nearby room where the children were sleeping.

Jonan would have likely tried to convince the man that cooperating with her would somehow be mutually beneficial.

Rialla nodded once. “He has been killing people.”

The large man exhaled a deep breath. “You have my sympathies for your friends. Afraid I don’t know much that could be of use to you, however. I have not seen your ‘Cassius’ in many years.”

His words did not sound like a lie. She considered using her eyes to force the truth from him, but a veteran might understand the tactic, and she did not wish to play her hand so soon.

“You said he did not go by Cassius. What name did he use?”

“Morgan Stern,” the older man answered immediately. “Claimed he was from some famous house back in Selyr.”

“I may be able to use that. Do you know of anyone else who might have any idea where he is?”

“Would have told you to go to the Thornguard, but I take it that avenue would have been exhausted long before you came to me… but wait. Morgan did have a friend who came to watch him train on occasion.” He scratched at his beard. “Don’t think I ever caught his name. Something…horse. Stallion, maybe? Could have been one of your famous guild names, I suppose.”

She nodded in agreement with his logic. “Can you describe him?”

“Gods, I barely saw him. Taller, I think? It’s been ages. I think that’s the best I can give you.”

“It has been sufficient. I thank you for your time, Master Herod.”

“Good.” He stood from his chair, meeting her gaze directly. “I do hope you find your killer, Miss Shiver. But if you ever come here again, even the lady of thieves will never find what is left of you.”

Rialla bowed slightly at the waist. “You have been perfectly clear. In that case, I will adjourn.”

Shiver retreated, never turning her gaze away from the man, closing her eyes for only an instant as she reached the door.

Travel: Flicker.

She stepped backward, carrying herself out of the building, and withdrew into the night.

***

When Rialla slunk back into the Theas manor, she found Jonan conspicuously missing from the bed chamber that had been set aside for them. Uninterested in conversation with the patrolling guards, she concealed herself while she wandered the halls to find him. It was a disturbingly simple affair, leading her to the conclusion that other intruders could do the same without difficulty.

“Stop moving.” The familiar voice was accompanied by a burst of flame that disrupted the wreath of shadows that enshrouded her.

How did he—

“I mean now. No sudden movements.”

She frowned and raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s just me.”

She heard Jonan sigh behind her. “Gods, Ri – Vorianna, you can’t just walk around concealed like that. You’ll alarm people who detect you – like myself, for example.”

“I was looking for you.” Rialla spun around, folding her arms. There was no sign of Jonan behind her – not even a shadow. “Oh, you’re going to lecture me while you’re invisible? Hypocrisy, thy name is Kestrian.”

Jonan appeared, rubbing the side of his head, looking haggard. “They
know
I wander around here invisible, Vorianna. That’s part of our security plan. They are
not
aware that you are a shadow sorceress, and even I couldn’t distinguish who you were in that state. You can take that as a compliment to your abilities, but please use them with a bit more discretion.”

She folded her arms. “I didn’t want to deal with people.”

“Fine.” He waved a hand at her. She saw him shimmer for a moment and understood that he had just made the pair of them invisible – the visual effect was unnecessary, it was simply a courtesy on his part. “Now you don’t have to. Follow me.”

Rialla nodded gratefully. Social contact with strangers was the last thing she needed right now.

Jonan led the way to an unfamiliar room on the second floor of the manor, turned a key in the lock, and opened the door.

The walls within were lined with a familiar set of mirrors. Others were standing in a hexagonal shape near the middle of the room – with one missing face, presumably so someone could walk inside and look at them. Each showed a different image, and at a glance, she guessed there were at least fifteen mirrors in total within the room.

Jonan gestured for her to follow as he stepped in, closing and locking the door after she followed him inside.

He waved his hand, shimmering again, indicating an end to their invisibility. “My new staging area.”

She whistled softly. “You had the mirrors transported here?”

“Not all of them – just the new ones and a few others. I’ve spent most of the day figuring out what Aayara meant by improved – and I just discovered one of the things she was referring to.” He jerked a thumb at a mirror on the right side of the chamber.

The image within was a figure stalking the halls of House Theas, enshrouded in shadows. Rather than nearly invisible within the mundane darkness, however, a bright green outline surrounded the figure. “Ah, that’s how you found me. So, these new mirrors detect and display sorcerous auras?”

Kestrian nodded and sat on the floor. There were no chairs in the room, no tables – any furniture within must have been removed to accommodate the mirrors. “Some specific dominions, at least. Apparently shadow is one of them. They do the same for sight sorcery, so you could have caught me through the same method.”

She sat down across from him and folded her arms. “Wouldn’t help much if I can’t activate them.”

“Aayara seems to have intended for these mirrors to be somewhat more accessible than mine. Sight sorcery is no longer necessary. There are glyphs on the frames with specific functions – all you have to do is touch them.”

Rialla raised an eyebrow. “That sounds very useful.”

“Makes me feel somewhat obsolete, but yes. Now that I’ve figured out how these work, it’s my intent to share that information with the guards and keep one of them in here at all times. As you saw, the mirrors are excellent for catching intruders.”

“But what are these mirrors looking at? I didn’t see any matching mirror in the hallway.”

“Most of these,” he pointed to the mirrors behind him, “correspond to a specific mirror in a bed chamber. For the hallways, I had to be somewhat more creative. Initially, I asked Baroness Nedelya if I could build mirrors into the masonry above the halls. She was quite insistent that would be disruptive to the ‘ambiance’ of the manor, whatever that means.”

He paused for a moment, pointing downward. “So, we pulled up some of the floor boards in the upper floor, and put the mirrors underneath the boards, facing downward. Then, I dominion bonded the surfaces below the mirrors to be invisible to sight sorcery. Thus, all the hallways on the first floor – and some of the ones on the second floor – are being watched by mirrors concealed above them.”

Rialla whistled appreciatively. “Not a bad idea. Seems like you’re a bit short on mirror coverage, though.”

He nodded. “It isn’t perfect – we didn’t have enough mirrors to cover the grounds, and I wanted to keep a few of them back at ‘home’. I prioritized having the new ones moved, since they’re more reliable for this sort of situation. The ones I made were primarily for long-term observation, not identifying immediate threats.”

“You should tell me about all the functions of the new mirrors, but first, we should discuss our assignment.”

“I suppose this room is probably secure enough. What did you find?”

She glanced from side-to-side self-consciously at his statement, feeling a new pang of nervousness. “Nothing of great significance. His old teacher has not seen him in years – but he did use another identity at some point. Morgan Stern. He also apparently had an ally that went by ‘Stallion’ or another horse-derived name.”

“Stallion? An ‘ess’, maybe?”