The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) Page 30

  Ambrose could not remember exactly what the device was called, so he called it his jerriscope. As impressive as his jerriscope was, however, the doorway that blocked their progress was a great deal more elaborate.

  “Passage is clear, but we have a problem,” he told Swinherd.

  Swinherd peered through the jerriscope, and whistled quietly.

  Before him, the width of the passage was blocked by a wall of glass. Set into the panes was a single door, with an exposed locking mechanism. As Swinherd broke from cover to better view the obstacle, he could see that the glass was as thick as his smallest finger.

  “Force the lock, you smash the glass,” Ambrose said. “Clever. I would guess the glass has been stressed so the whole lot will come down. Very noisy.”

  Swinherd snorted and reached for his belt, bringing up a small leather pack as he crouched down in front of the lock. He unrolled the pack on the floor, revealing a selection of finely crafted lockpicks, a collection that had cost him four months’ income.

  “But there is a flaw,” he whispered. “By setting the lock in glass, I can see half the mechanism. I’ll be through this in less than a minute.”

  Ambrose had already set his glass cutting cup to the door, just a few inches above the lock.

  “No,” he said. “You are looking at a false mechanism, designed to lure a thief away from the tumblers. You’ll think you have it, force the lock, and then break the glass. Look...”

  Frowning, Swinherd reconsidered the lock.

  “No, I don’t think...”

  With a slight crack, Ambrose withdrew the cup, then popped the circle of glass free. Reaching inside, he pulled the latch, and carefully swung the glass door inwards.

  “Swinherd, my friend, you may be adapting to the locksmith’s trade quickly, but you still have a lot to learn about being a thief.”

  BEFORE EXPLORING THE junction, Grayling flattened herself against the wall, using the back of her arm to wipe the sweat from her brow. Lucius had finally lost patience with the combination lock, and focussed fiery magics that had, eventually, melted the mechanisms, allowing him to pull the securing bars free, one by one. It had taken time, and Grayling thought the backdraft of heat would boil her alive. Her hair was sodden, sweat ran freely down her face, and her bodysuit was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

  For his part, Lucius seemed less affected by the heat, but the directed concentration of such powerful magic had left him breathless. Their prize was close, however, and the combination door seemed to be the last obstacle barring their way into de Lille’s inner sanctum.

  On the original architectural plans they had studied before launching this assault, the small complex of three rooms and their adjoining corridors had lit up like a beacon. All interior rooms, with no windows, they were perfectly situated to house valuables – all approaches could be trapped or sealed, unless you could tunnel through walls.

  Along the corridor, mounted on wall brackets at regular intervals, were strange orbs, glowing with a yellowish light. Lucius had never seen such artefacts before, but he had heard of them. Crafted by the wizards of the Three Towers in Andon, also known as the League of Prestidigitation and Prestige, the orbs were magical, needing a simple touch by their owner to dull or brighten them. That de Lille could afford to light his entire inner domain with them was further testament to his wealth.

  Grayling tapped his arm.

  “Two more guards,” she whispered, indicating one of the passageways leading from the junction. “The rest are clear.”

  “We have our target, then.”

  “You have more sleep powder?”

  He shook his head. “No. This one we’ll have to do the old-fashioned way.”

  “I’ll go first.”

  “On your word.”

  Slowly, Grayling drew her short sword from across her back, the scabbard lined with cloth so the weapon slid free without sound. Behind her, Lucius did the same, but also plucked a dagger from his belt. Grayling padded around the corner at speed, arrowing straight towards the mercenaries and the oaken door they guarded.

  Lucius’ dagger flew over her shoulder to sink into the throat of one man, causing him to gag while blood flowed between his fingers as he fought to stem the flow. His cry of alarm was little more than a low gurgle.

  His partner was taken fully by surprise as Grayling charged him, her canvassed feet making little noise as she quickly closed the distance. He managed to draw his sword and flail blindly, batting aside Grayling’s disembowelling thrust by luck more than skill. Grayling winced as the swords met and a metallic clang rang clear, impossibly loud in the tight, quiet passageway.

  Changing grip on her weapon, she forced the guard’s blade up, over their heads. Seeing the man begin to recover his wits, she jabbed a knee hard into his groin. Air exploded from his lungs, and her face was showered in the man’s spittle. He bent low, allowing Grayling to smash her forehead into his nose. She heard the crack over the guard’s moan of pain as he tried to draw breath. With one arm, Grayling pushed him back against the wall and rammed her sword into his stomach. He twitched as the weapon entered him, and Grayling clamped a hand over his mouth as she slowly laid him on the floor.

  She looked up at Lucius, who was casting anxious glances behind them.

  “Did that betray our entry?” she asked.

  “I can’t hear anything,” he said after a moment. “What about within?”

  Placing her ear to the door, Grayling concentrated, trying to pick up the slightest noise. There was nothing.

  She tried the door handle, and found it was locked.

  “You sure this is the right room?” she asked. “Wouldn’t put it beyond our man to use a decoy.”

  Lucius shook his head. “I thought about that. De Lille is paranoid, but everything we’ve seen here tonight suggests he likes his luxury. It’s the largest room in this area. I can’t see him at ease anywhere else.”

  Grayling shrugged. It sounded plausible. She inspected the lock, wondering if her own skills in lockpicking would suffice or whether they would have to wait for Swinherd. Hearing Lucius rummage through the guards’ mail coats, she glanced behind her.

  Finding nothing on the guard Grayling had silenced, Lucius crossed the passageway to check beneath the mail of the other man. Reaching under the guard’s chin, Lucius wrinkled his nose as his hand became coated in blood. He then grunted with satisfaction, withdrawing a cord looped around a key.

  “Too paranoid,” Lucius whispered. “Our merchant feared someone would somehow circumvent the guards altogether, thus he gave them a key so they could come and rescue him at his call. Just makes our job easier, though.”

  Lucius turned the key in the lock slowly until they heard a quiet click. Looking at Grayling to ensure she was ready, he entered the room beyond.

  Inside, the room was illuminated by the lighted orbs, but they had been set to a dim glow, barely casting their light across the soft rugs that littered the floor. The walls to his left and right were lined with overcrowded bookcases, and a single desk covered with stacked sheets and discarded quills stood in the centre of the room. On the far side, behind gossamer thin veils, was a wide bed. Lucius could just make out a motionless form lying beneath the sheets. De Lille.

  Waving Grayling in, Lucius padded to the desk, the thick rugs aiding his stealth. Carefully, he began to search for their prize. Grayling, meanwhile, started to work through the bookcases.

  Finding nothing of note in the desk, though raising his eyebrows more than once at the figures he glanced at the sheets denoting the value of some of de Lille’s recent transactions, Lucius crossed to the bookshelves to aid Grayling.

  After a few moments, he started to get nervous. Their entry into the mansion would not remain secret for much longer, as a patrolling guard would inevitably happen across the open window or blasted door, and Lord alone knew what Ambrose and Swinherd were getting up to. Added to that, de Lille could awake at any minute, and if they were caught in
his room, they would have to either retreat or kill him; neither of which was the desired objective this evening.

  A sniff from Grayling caught his attention and he looked around. The small thief had apparently abandoned her search of the bookcases out of frustration and had started lifting rugs. By the desk, right where Lucius had been standing, she pointed to the floor beneath a large bearskin. Set into the wood was a small metal safe.

  Nodding, Lucius prompted her to open it, and she quickly drew a pick from her pack, then began probing. A thought crept into Lucius’ mind, a feeling that something was not quite right, and he frowned as he tried to detect what was wrong.

  The location of the safe seemed right; hidden, yet easy to access while de Lille worked at his desk. The lock seemed fairly rudimentary but, like that of the door they had just entered, it seemed as though the merchant was confident that no one would get this far into his home.

  So what was it? He watched as Grayling flicked tumblers, one by one, working further into the mechanism. Giving up on his search, Lucius instead called the threads of magic to his aid, ready to shape and twist them to face whatever threat was to be unleashed.

  In his mind, he saw them, pulsing cords of magical energy, each a different hue, each containing a different potential that could be caught, separated and shaped to his whim, allowing him to conjure fire, give himself inhuman strength, suck the life from another living being, or any one of a multitude of actions.

  He noticed then that several threads had started to bend and twist of their own volition, and he frowned. The threads of magic always curled and twisted around one another, making the process of separating and using them difficult without practice and training, but here they appeared to be curving around something. He had seen that effect before, but only when in the presence of another mage, such as Adrianna. This did not look quite the same. It was more... subdued, somehow.

  Grayling felt the last tumbler click and, with a satisfied smile, placed her hand on the safe’s lever, ready to wrench it open.

  Lucius hissed, stopping her instantly. She looked at him quizzically.

  Waving her back, Lucius crouched down and studied the safe intently. He saw nothing unusual but, closing his eyes and focussing on the magical streams, he saw them split and curve far more acutely.

  Opening his eyes, he saw Grayling looking at him with concern.

  “Trapped,” he mouthed to her, causing her to frown in puzzlement. She shrugged, ready to accept his lead. After all, she was well aware that he could sense things she would never be able to see.

  Turning his attention back to the safe, he gently placed a palm flat on its surface and closed his eyes again. This time, the obstacle that forced the threads to split and curve was obvious. He saw a small nest of crackling magical energy resting in his mind’s eye, its presence forcing the threads to avoid it. He knew that nest represented the safe or, at least, the magics bound within it.

  Mentally grabbing a thread, he pulled it closer to the safe, and saw wisps of coloured gas, the raw essence of magic, begin to siphon off from the safe. After a few seconds, it was done. No more gases were drawn from the safe, and its nest of energy seemed diminished somehow.

  For a fraction of a second he relaxed his control of that single thread and energy immediately began to flow back to the safe. Grasping the thread with his mind again, he halted the flow.

  Briefly he wondered what to do next, then an idea occurred. Brow creasing with concentration, he tried to reach out to another thread that slipped and bent its way around the safe. He started breathing hard, and felt himself tiring; he had never before tried to utilise two threads at once.

  Slowly, wearily, he brought the second thread over to the safe, and felt his confidence grow a little as, once again, gaseous energy began to transfer from the safe to the thread. After a few seconds more, the ball of energy representing the safe was a little smaller still.

  Now he knew what to do, but he was dubious about his ability to control multiple threads at a time. Fervently, he hoped the next thread would prove sufficient to disarm whatever protective magic had been placed upon the safe.

  As threads were removed from the main flow of magic, the remainder seemed more chaotic in their path around the safe, as if they were becoming less stable, and it occurred to Lucius that he had no real idea of what he was doing. Was he creating a hole in magic itself as he bound more threads to his control? Or was the more violent twisting and curving of the threads a natural result of his low level of training and understanding? He now began to wish he had paid far more attention to Adrianna and Master Forbeck.

  The third thread bucked and twisted, and he had the bizarre image of a kicking and screaming child. Screwing his eyes tight with concentration, he forced the thread, inch by inch, toward the safe. It bucked and rolled under his touch, but he managed to move it close enough for the transfer of energy to resume. As the magical essences started to shift away from the safe, he breathed in relief as the energies around the safe shrank by a much greater margin.

  That was enough for the rampaging thread to wriggle out of his control. Like a writhing snake, it coiled back upon itself and, for the briefest instant, touched the safe. The safe exploded, blowing Lucius onto his back.

  He felt Grayling grab his shoulders and start to haul him up, but his vision was blocked by a thick mist that rolled with unnatural speed from the lighting globes, down the walls, to fill the room. When his hearing returned, he was aware that de Lille’s room was ringing to the sound of a large, thunderous bell.

  Still shaky on his feet, Lucius shook his head to clear the daze left by the blast, and saw Grayling reach down to the safe, twist it open, and grasp something inside. Grinning, she held a golden chain in front of him, a stone-encrusted, moon-shaped device suspended from its length – the torc.

  Nodding his thanks, Lucius gestured that they should leave. The doorway was barely visible through the roiling fog, but as he took a step towards it, he saw Grayling’s eyes widen in alarm. He dropped to the floor and rolled as a sword blade hissed through the air behind him. Hearing it thud into the floor, Lucius sprang to his feet, his own weapon in hand.

  The fog began to sting his eyes and Lucius blinked to clear his vision. De Lille stood before him. Two quick thrusts from the portly merchant drove Lucius back, and then spun him around as he desperately parried.

  He swung for de Lille’s head, but his blade was met by the merchant’s own before it could strike. Another thrust pierced Lucius’ guard and buried itself in the side of his hardened leather tunic. The blow was a glancing one, but he felt a rib give way and wetness start to spread along his side. Lucius began to realise that, for all his bulk and love of riches, de Lille was a most credible swordsman. This was not something he had factored into his plans.

  “Go!” Lucius shouted at Grayling.

  He saw her hesitate for a second, and then watched her slight form disappear into the fog. He nodded to himself; there was no sense in them both dying here when they were so close to completing the mission. He just hoped the small thief would be able to make her way past the mercenaries that were undoubtedly on their way.

  Opting not to play to de Lille’s strengths, Lucius backed up a couple of paces, reaching for the threads, but his enemy was quick, closing the distance immediately. De Lille thrust again, a blow aimed straight for the heart, though Lucius was more prepared this time.

  Catching the thrust he turned it aside and reached forward with his left hand. Lucius willed. From his palm, a bolt of flame shot forth. Incredulous, Lucius watched it split apart, discharging its energy harmlessly either side of de Lille.

  The merchant advanced, chopping and thrusting with easy, almost lazy blows. The fog was starting to dissipate, but that did not help Lucius in the least, as he was beginning to feel himself tire.

  Backing off another few paces, he thought hard. The merchant had to be wearing some charm. That made some sense, and if anyone could afford such defence, it was de Lil
le.

  The merchant pushed from his back foot and he lunged with the speed of a viper, delivering a thrust aimed at Lucius’ belly.

  Lucius twisted away. The blade gouged a line against his leather tunic, which held, though he would carry a bruise for a week. Unbalanced, Lucius crashed to the floor, sprawling on his back, his sword clattering away from his grasp. Upon him in an instant, de Lille levelled his sword at Lucius’ face.

  Weaponless, Lucius fell back to his magic. He could not disappear into the shadows with de Lille so fully aware of him, and he knew that a direct attack would be instantly nullified by whatever protection the merchant had bought. That just left flight and escape.

  Taking a deep breath, Lucius concentrated. It felt as those his veins were burning with the energy being channelled through them. He gestured towards one of the thick rugs lying in the centre of the room.

  De Lille saw the rug fly through the air towards him and reacted instantly. He whipped his sword around, but was engulfed by the rug.

  Lucius leapt to his feet and pounded out of the room, realising only as he came to the first junction that he had left his sword behind. He had little wish to confront de Lille again in order to retrieve it.

  Retracing his steps, he sprinted past the ruined combination door and on through twisting passageways to the corridor with the filcher’s floor, all the time hearing the shouts of mercenaries and the stomping of their steel-clad feet. The ice holding the floor of the corridor in place had melted some time ago, leaving a damp sheen, but now the alarm had been sounded there was little need for caution.

  With no more pretence at stealth, Lucius ran, feeling the boards shift beneath his weight with each step, every movement eliciting crack, thunder or crash. A mercenary stepped out ahead of him, clad in metal from head to foot. The guard held a spear, ready to gut the thief as he approached.