‘He’s nothing to me,’ Alaron risked saying, patting the seat again, conscious of Koll’s eyes studying him. He hoped the mimicking was effective as he couldn’t risk mental contact.
Koll slurped noisily and replaced the glass. ‘He’s nothing at all,’ he agreed, ‘but
I’m
someone; the Acting-Governor’s Personal Aide. While those fools are off soldiering, I’m filling my purse here. I could fill your purse too,’ he added with a guffaw. ‘Both your purses!’ He
loomed over Alaron, who forced himself to keep his head down. He felt Koll reach out and grasp the corner of the hood. ‘Malevorn’s told me you were quite the little wettie.’ He snickered throatily.
Kore give me strength
…
Something thumped in the hall and Koll swivelled, pouting. ‘Damnit, I told them—’
Alaron slammed a bunched fist into Koll’s belly, his illusory disguise vanishing as he struck, but Koll didn’t notice; he’d doubled over in time to meet Alaron’s other fist, straight to the jaw. His head snapped back with a crack as he fell. Alaron leapt onto him, ready to strike again, while he sent a mental jab into his opponent’s brain. Koll’s eyes rolled back and he went limp.
Gotcha!
The door opened and Ramon slipped inside. ‘How’d you do, Al?’
‘Done.’
Damn, that felt good
.
Ramon grinned. ‘Well done. I got the guard, and the kitchen staff don’t know what’s going on. Anyone else we need to deal with?’
‘No, I think we’re clear,’ Alaron said as Cym pulled General Langstrit inside. She bent over Gron Koll. ‘This is him? Ugh; he looks the molester sort, doesn’t he? Now, let’s see …’ She closed her eyes and blue light seeped from her fingers into Koll’s temples. Then she leaned back, panting slightly. ‘He’ll be out for hours,’ she told them.
Alaron grinned at Ramon. ‘I nailed the bastard,’ he whispered. He mimicked a one-two combination.
‘I’m absolutely green with envy, amici.’
Cym smiled. ‘Sorry, but he’s not going to remember you thumping him, Alaron. He’ll think he’s spent the evening asleep after too much drink.’ She straightened. ‘Let’s go.’
They left Koll and crept silently to the main foyer, then up the stairs. A serving girl passed them on the servants’ level, oblivious to their presence. They reached the top level undetected.
Cym turned to the boys. ‘So, bedroom or study?’
Ramon pursed his lips. ‘My money’s still on the study.’ He peered down the shadowy halls. ‘First scan for wards: and don’t trigger
them. Slow and cautious, remember. Cym, that’s the study; Al, check the bedroom door.’
Alaron touched it gingerly; almost instantly the door was limned in pale light. ‘Warded,’ he whispered.
‘So is the study,’ Ramon reported.
Alaron met the Silacian’s eyes. Now that they were inside Vult’s quarters, the potential for disaster was unlimited.
And I still don’t think either study or bedroom is correct
…
He walked off down the hall.
‘Where are you going?’ Ramon whispered irritably.
Alaron pointed to the door he was making for: the room marked as spare on the plans. There were no wards on the door, so he slowly pushed it open.
His first thought was that it was a chapel, until he saw the medals and war honours. The wall was decorated with legion banners and captured standards. The plinth itself bore a life-size bust of Vult. The room was indeed a shrine: to Belonius Vult himself.
Cym slipped in behind him, her gnosis-lit eyes pale and translucent in the gloom. ‘Look at all these,’ she said, taking in the bust and the medals. ‘Vult must have the ego of a Sollan demi-god.’
Ramon peered in. ‘What are you both doing?’
‘Alaron wanted to look in here,’ Cym whispered to him.
‘Stay focused, damn it,’ Ramon fretted. ‘Bedroom or study?’
‘Hold on a second—’ Alaron’s mind began to race.
Let’s just say that the files are here. It’s not impossible – it’s not the obvious place, but it’s convenient to both bedroom and study … If I were him, I’d want my secret files at hand. I’d want them to just appear, but only to me. I’d use
…
He smiled.
I would use a Rune of Summoning
.
He walked over to the bust and examined it closely until he found the small mark etched into the base. He pointed it out to the others. ‘Look, a Rune of Summoning.’
‘Is it?’ Ramon peered at Alaron intently. ‘So?’
‘Remember how they work?’
Ramon scowled. ‘Of course: you touch the rune, think of the object
and call it to you. We did it at college. But not very well,’ he added pointedly.
Alaron pulled a face. ‘The caster is the only one who can use it. But you can override someone else’s summoning by planting your identity into the spell. We did it in class.’
Once
.
‘You think you can override a pure-blood mage’s spell?’ Ramon asked. ‘No chance. It’s probably warded, too.’
Alaron stared at the little mark.
It probably is warded
–
a touch-ward, one you can’t even see until you trigger it. That’s what I’d do
. ‘We knew we’d be breaking a warding or two sometime,’ he whispered. Before the others could react – and before he could think about it too much – he plunged a gnosis-lit hand onto the symbol while casting a Binding-Rune into it.
If it is here, then this will – oh shit!
The eyes on the bust opened and focused on him. A stab of gnosis drilled into his skull and latched on. He felt his body stiffen, his heart beginning to race.
He was dimly aware of Ramon and Cym reaching out to him, but all he could feel was flowers of pain blooming in his breast. His body went rigid as knives of acid pierced him through. A bubble of sound swelled up inside his throat as his chest constricted. His lungs began to fail, leaving him airless, his sight and sound going dim.
A dazzling burst of light exploded around him and he screamed silently, his back arching, his legs giving way. But it was not death; it was life. Something snapped inside his skull and he could hear again. Awareness followed. He was lying on the floor, clutching his face, moaning, with Ramon’s hand over his mouth. Cym was holding him, trying to confine his limbs – he must have gone into convulsions. But neither of them was looking at him; they were staring at Jarius Langstrit, whose hand was gripping the bust of Belonius Vult.
It had cracked all the way down the middle.
Ramon knelt over him. ‘Al, are you okay?’
Alaron clutched at his head. ‘I think so – what happened?’
‘It was a Mesmerism trap,’ Ramon replied. ‘I thought you were a goner, but then the general grabbed the bust and it broke.’
‘Hel, Alaron,’ Cym snarled, ‘that was unbelievably stupid, even by your standards.’ She peered at the bust. ‘Did it work?’
Alaron looked up at Langstrit, who was staring at the bust with a look of vague interest. ‘I dunno. Hey, maybe me being endangered moved the general to act?’
‘Obviously,’ answered Cym crossly.
‘Did you know that would happen?’ he asked her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘No – my idea was to have him touch any wardings we found and hope his instincts took over.’
‘Oh. Isn’t that rather heartless?’
She met his eye and shrugged slightly.
He swallowed. ‘Okay.’ He pulled himself to his feet and reached for the broken bust, but Cym pushed him to one side.
‘Wait, let me check it first. You look half-dead.’ She placed her hand on the rune-mark and closed her eyes. ‘Okay, interesting,’ she said after half a minute. ‘The ward is gone, but the Rune of Summoning is intact, and it’s got some kind of imprint on it. You did it, Alaron. Unbelievable.’
Alaron exhaled and tentatively placed a forefinger on the symbol, triggering the Rune of Summoning. ‘General Jarius Langstrit,’ he tried, and there was a hissing sound as one of the wooden wall panels peeled back and a scroll-case floated through the air towards him. The panel closed silently. Cym caught the scroll-case, beaming excitedly. She peered at the label and her grin widened. ‘You were right, Alaron: this is it, I’m sure—’ She thrust it into her belt and looked at Alaron. ‘You’re still an idiot, though. That could have killed you.’
Ramon, examining the wall panel, quickly drew his hand back. ‘It’s still warded. They’re poised to explode if anyone tries to break in. If we’d taken a crowbar to the walls, the files would have been immolated.’ He had a faintly admiring look on his face, as though rethinking his security arrangements at home.
‘Vult must be paranoid,’ Cym remarked. ‘Perhaps he’s secretly
Silacian.’ Suddenly she stiffened and her eyes widened, round as saucers. Alaron and Ramon felt it too: a sudden oppressive hammering, as if a thousand smiths were pummelling the air itself, trying to smash into the bubble of space they were in. In his mind’s eye, Alaron thought he could see the ghostly outline of an outraged face forming, pounding against his Rune of Hiding. All three threw renewed energy into their wardings, but the attack was worse than anything they had ever come across in training. Alaron felt his protections begin to slip as pain knifed through his skull, and then—
—the attack broke apart, gone between one breath and the next. Jarius Langstrit was standing like a statue with one hand raised defensively over them.
‘The general blocked it!’ Alaron whispered wonderingly. ‘That must have been Vult, trying to see who triggered his wards.’
‘Then we have to go,’ Cym hissed. ‘Vult’s next step will be to contact his underlings.’ She pulled the general towards the door. He came blankly, as if everything that had just occurred meant nothing, already forgotten.
Ramon hurried after her.
Alaron looked about the room. There could be another attack any second. But he couldn’t help himself. He touched the Rune-mark on the bust again. ‘Alaron Mercer,’ he said aloud. Another panel peeled back and another sealed scroll-case emerged. He snatched it out of the air, tucked it inside his cape and hurried after the others.
They made it out without incident, leaving the staff and guards mired in their gnosis-induced slumbers. The square was empty, as were the alleys they fled into.
They had done it. They beamed at each other exultantly.
Ramon took Alaron’s arm with a mischievous grin. ‘So, can I walk you home, my lovely? I quite like tall girls,’ he added with a grin.
‘If you don’t get me home in five minutes my mother will gut you,’ Alaron replied.
‘Why do they all say that?’ the little Silacian sighed.
The walk home seemed to take an eternity, but they made it unchallenged, and with no sign of the alarm being raised behind
them. Whoever Vult might have contacted locally to investigate the break-in was acting discreetly. It wasn’t until they got inside and locked the door behind them that they finally felt safe. They threw themselves into a group hug, pulling Langstrit into their huddle, whooping joyously.
Alaron felt someone pinch his behind and yelped, jerking out of the clinch. ‘Who did that!’ he demanded, while the others roared with laughter.
Ramon winked at him. ‘So, honey, can I help you out of that dress?’
Once they were all changed and settled into the armchairs of the lounge Cym opened the Langstrit scroll-case. Tesla was already abed, and Langstrit dozed in his favourite armchair.
‘So: let’s see what’s in the general’s file,’ Cym said, pulling out a handful of tightly wrapped pages headed with the seal of the Watch. ‘Look: “Arrest Report for Prisoner L” – this is it. And here it is, the contents of the chapel—’ She set the papers down, beaming excitedly. Alaron thought she’d never looked so beautiful.
Ramon poured drinks and they toasted their success. ‘Amici, much though I want to read it all tonight, I think we should get some sleep first.
But well done, us
. We got in, Alaron got to biff Koll, we got what we wanted and we got out undetected. Perfect.’
‘Well, not exactly undetected,’ Cym reminded them. ‘Vult knows he’s had a break-in.’
‘He’s in Antiopia,’ Ramon replied smugly. ‘He won’t be back here for weeks, and there’s nothing to tie us to the break-in. We are geniuses; step aside, Kaden Rats, there’s a new gang in town.’
They finished their drinks and went reluctantly to bed. Alaron didn’t mention the second scroll-case. In retrospect it was an utterly stupid thing to have done – but it was too late now. He waited until he could go to the privy alone so that he could examine the papers privately.
Inside were his thesis notes. He began to tremble with rage. Vult really had stolen them, or more likely, had got someone else to do it. Then his eyes fell on the only other item in the file, a one-page
letter folded up amidst the notes.
To: Lucien Gavius, Principal of Turm Zauberin, Norostein
From: Belonius Vult, Governor of Noros
.
You are instructed to fail the student Alaron Mercer. On what grounds is up to you, but I suggest misconduct. However, you are not to cast the normal Chain-rune upon him, nor monitor him for ongoing possession of a periapt. The Watch have also been so instructed. Refer any queries to me, or in my absence, to Captain Muhren
.
BV
He stared and stared, and then he wrapped his arms about his sides and began to tremble. Vult had secretly sanctioned his use of a periapt? Why? And if a Chain-rune was supposed to be cast upon a failed mage, why hadn’t one been cast on him?
Vult wanted me to still have access to the gnosis – why?
There could be only one reason why: Vult must have divined something about him after seeing his thesis.
So Vult wants me to search for the Scytale
…
He recalled the words about Vult in
Generals of the Glorious Rebellion
: ‘His mastery of Divination foresees all turns of the game.’
Sorcery strikes to the very heart of the most perplexing and unsolved mysteries – that of the after-life and the soul. Whilst the gnosis appears to prove the existence of some form of life after death, it does not prove – or even hint at – whether that after-life has a purpose, is a reward, or is in fact little more than a protracted fading-away, the tail-end of dying. The existence of God is neither proven nor disproven. Nevertheless, with Sorcery, one can commune with spirits and enlist their aid (Wizardry); speculate upon the future (Divination); communicate over distance (Clairvoyance); or manipulate the dead (Necromancy). Whether any of these uses should be legal is a matter for the moralists
.
O
RDO
C
OSTRUO
C
OLLEGIATE
, P
ONTUS