Agents of Artifice: A Planeswalker Novel (31 page)

There were no signs, no hints of how one might find one’s way around. Here, in the cold mechanical heart of the Infinite Consortium, those who belonged knew where they were going—and those who did not had far greater worries than becoming lost.

Baltrice knew where she was going. This hall, that staircase, this catwalk above a seemingly bottomless pit of machinery, that elevator that shuddered slightly as it moved not merely up but sideways, rotating as it went … And there she was, staring down a long hallway at a deceptively mundane door.

Standing before it was a figure clad entirely in armor of brass plates, covered with ornate etchings and fluting. Even Baltrice, arguably the master’s closest associate, had never learned if this were some humanoid garbed in plate, a mystic construct in vaguely human form, or—just possibly—a simple decorative sculpture. She knew only that it stood outside Tezzeret’s door, day and night, leaning slightly on an impossibly broad-bladed sword that no normal man could have lifted, let alone wielded.

The door slid open at her approach, rising into the ceiling with a series of clicks and clanks, and she stood at last within Tezzeret’s inner sanctum.

The room was perfectly circular, its center occupied by a metallic ring-shaped desk. Its surface sprouted a vast array of glass rods and imbedded stones, all pulsing with mana, all controlling who-knew-what. A thick metal pylon rose from the hollow at the heart of the metal ring. This, she knew, was the support for Tezzeret’s chair. She looked up, past four separate levels of additional controls and pipes and iron frames, to the chair’s uppermost height. There, she could just make out a dark form seated in the ugly contraption, inhaling the mana-infused steam that flowed from the highest tubes. Even from here, she could see his entire body shudder in ecstasy at the touch of the vapors—all except the etherium hand clenched on the arm of the chair, which somehow remained still even as the shoulder and torso above it quivered like an angry serpent.

Patiently, though patience was not normally among her virtues, Baltrice waited. Eventually the flow of steam subsided, a single hiss fading from the symphony of sounds that permeated the chamber. A second, louder susurrus swiftly took its place, as the pylon began to rotate, the chair to descend—and in mere moments, Tezzeret sat before her, ensconced in his mechanical throne, a god who had deigned to descend from his clockwork heaven. His hair lay plastered to his forehead and cheeks by the lingering condensation.

“Welcome back,” he told her, slicking back his hair with his left hand. “I believe the Infinity Globes are almost perfected. Just a few more tweaks, and I should never again have to worry about being trapped like Bolas’s barbarians almost …” He stopped cold at her expression. “You bring bad news.” It was not a question.

Baltrice nodded once. “Of Jace Beleren.”

Tezzeret frowned. “Did Beleren fail at his assigned task?”

Trying hard to keep all traces of gloating out of her voice, Baltrice said, “It’s a bit worse than that, boss.”

Tezzeret sat, utterly still; even his breathing seemed to have ceased. And then Baltrice heard the sound of rending metal, saw one of the desk’s levers snap off in the grip of the artificer’s etherium hand.

“What,” Tezzeret whispered softly, “has he done to me now?”

It had been a nice break from the ongoing dispute, but a break was all it was.

“… know it’s a good amount of gold,” Kallist was saying as they left the flat behind them the following afternoon. “I just don’t think we should rely on it.”

Jace shrugged. “Maybe not,” he said, only somewhat paying attention. “But,” he added, looking meaningfully at the streets and buildings around them, “what we have should go an awfully long way.”

“Emphasis,” Kallist said, glaring at the squat, unimpressive buildings and thinking back to his luxurious quarters in the complex, “on the
awfully.”

They moved through the crowds, struggling to fit into a community where they clearly did not. The volume was jarring, but no worse than Dravhoc’s marketplace; Jace easily tuned it out. But he found the middle-class styles garish and the drab garb of the poorer folk depressing. It wasn’t that he particularly felt superior to them (he told himself); it was just that he didn’t belong.

They had no destination in mind, only a faint desire to get to know this place that might be their home for a good long while. So when Jace, growing ever more disdainful of his surroundings and ever more irritated at Kallist’s talk of work, saw what looked to be a tavern and restaurant across the street, he made a beeline
for it without so much as a word, or even taking the time to read the sign above the door. Startled, Kallist followed.

The din of the crowd faded away, replaced by—well, by a different din of a different crowd. The floorboards were painted a hideous yellow-brown, jarring until Jace realized it managed to camouflage most of the dirt customers might track inside. It boasted a bar, like any good tavern, but this one was a perfect circle in the center of the room, rather than built along one wall. A spiral staircase ran up and down from within, presumably allowing access to a wine cellar below and who-knew-what above. The common room was filled with small booths, formed by freestanding
C
-shaped walls cradling small tables. A hideously inefficient use of space, perhaps, but it certainly inspired a feeling of privacy. A raised stage that currently lacked any sort of performer rose along one wall, and a door beside it constantly flapped open as servers emerged with dishes from the kitchen.

Jace decided he liked the place and grabbed one of the empty tables. He and Kallist listened attentively as a barmaid recited the day’s options, ordered, and then studied each other.

“Look,” Kallist began, “I’m not saying you’d need to work in a place like this or anything, but—”

“Oh, for the love of … Kallist, give it a rest!”

“I don’t think so, Jace. It may be
your
gold, but it’s
our
lives, damn it! This isn’t only about you. We need—”

“What we need, Kallist,” Jace said seriously, “is to make a few more urgent decisions.”

Kallist opened his mouth, closed it as the barmaid brought their drinks, and then began again. “Such as?”

“Such as who we are.”

“I don’t—Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Kallist frowned. “Well, I’ve never been on the run from anyone like this before. Are pseudonyms necessary?”

Jace pondered, taking a large sip of wine. “I’ve used them a lot,” he said, working it through his mind as he spoke. “In fact, I’ve already got a name set up here, with my various accounts. Darrim.”

Kallist blinked. “Weren’t you Berrim back in Dravhoc?”

“Yeah. I find it easier to remember them all if they’re not too dissimilar.”

He continued to deliberate; Kallist continued to let him.

“Yeah,” Jace said finally. “It’s a good idea, at that. It’s probably unnecessary—I don’t think anyone from the Consortium is likely to happen to pass through, and happen to overhear someone speaking our names. And anyone who knows enough to be actively looking for us here in Lurias is someone who’s not going to be fooled by fake names anyway. But still—”

“You,” said a voice from just beyond the booth’s wall, “would be Jace Beleren and Kallist Rhoka, right?”

For a split second, the two of them gawped at each other, and all Jace could think to say was, “See?”

Both turned, prepared to lunge from the booth. Kallist’s hand had dropped to the hilt of his broadsword, Jace’s lips were already moving in the first stages of a spell.

“Oh, stop it. If I wanted to fight, I’d have set your booth on fire from behind.” The woman who stepped into sight was taller than average, slender, with midnight-black hair and eyes deeper than the Blind Eternities. She wore a burgundy vest and a pearl-hued gown, and her hands were ever so slightly raised, perhaps to show that they were empty.

“How the hell do you know who—” Jace began, only to snap his lips shut as Kallist rose, shoulders clearly tensed to draw his blade.

“I know you,” he snapped at her. She raised an eyebrow.

“That makes one of us,” Jace muttered irritably.

“I’m sorry.” The woman turned, seemingly unconcerned with the jumpy swordsman at her side. “My name is Liliana.”

“Jace,” Jace said reflexively. Then, a bit embarrassed, “But, uh, you already knew that.”

“That would be Liliana Vess, Jace,” Kallist hissed at him.

The young mage’s jaw clenched.

Liliana rolled her eyes, flopped down in the booth next to him, and polished off the wine remaining in his goblet.

Jace looked at Kallist, who seemed as much at a loss as he was.

“How did you find us so quickly?” Kallist demanded.

“It wasn’t hard. There are only so many tables in here, so I just checked each one.”

“Don’t play games! I—”

“You,” Liliana interrupted, “are assuming, because I’ve done a few odd jobs for the Consortium here and there, that I must be working for them now and looking for you.”

“It’d be a remarkable coincidence if you weren’t,” Jace told her.

“It might be,” she admitted, “if you hadn’t come to Lurias.”

“Huh?” Jace and Kallist asked at once.

Liliana sighed and waved over one of the barmaids. “I’m going to need more wine. I’m here for the same reason you are, Jace Beleren. Because it’s as far as I could reasonably get from the Consortium without abandoning Ravnica entirely.”

“You’re hiding?”

Liliana looked at Kallist. “He’s a quick one, isn’t he?”

Jace scowled. “Then how did you know we weren’t here after you?”

The newcomer threw her head back and laughed, a musical sound that somehow put Jace at ease even though he knew he was being mocked. “I still have my sources, Jace. I think everyone who works for, freelances for, or has even heard of the Infinite Consortium knows that Tezzeret’s offering a sack of gold the size of a kraken for your head. Hell, I could probably get back in good with them by turning you over.

“Not,” she added at the sudden glint in their eyes, “that I’d do that.” Appearing slightly nervous for the first time, she downed a generous gulp of wine.

“I don’t buy it, Jace,” Kallist said, oblivious that his hovering around the booth with a hand on his hilt was beginning to draw stares. “It’s far too convenient. Ravnica’s a big world, and this isn’t exactly the only district to hide in.”

Liliana leaned in close to Jace. “It’s true, I could have chosen other neighborhoods, some more comfortable. But have you tasted the mana here? There are other districts built on marshland, but frankly they’re even uglier than this one.”

Jace nodded slowly. Just as he’d sought out the fresh-waters of the coastline, she could easily be here for the swamps beneath the rest of Lurias. But still … “It’s not that small a district,” he protested. “It still seems pretty unlikely.”

“It is,” she admitted. “Look, I didn’t come to Lurias looking for you; I was already here. But I did seek you out when I learned you were here, too. Oh!” she added, as the pair of them went pale, “don’t worry. The dead told me; they sensed your power. But there’s not another necromancer in the Consortium with the power to command ghosts that strong. Not on Ravnica, anyway. You’re safe.”

“Until you turn us over,” Kallist hissed.

Liliana sighed. “I sought you out because we have a common problem, and I thought we’d be safer watching each others’ backs. That’s all.”

“If you know me,” Jace said carefully, deliberately, “then you know there’s an easy way to prove what you say.”

“Jace …” Kallist began, but an upraised hand silenced him.

Liliana blanched but nodded. “I’ve no interest in fighting you. Too much attention. It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“All right. Do it.”

A moment of intense concentration, and Jace was inside the mind of Liliana Vess. For a moment, he felt the urge to turn away from the intensity. This was a powerful mind, one of the most potent he’d been in since Alhammarret’s own, and a confusing one. A love of life but a fascination with death, contentment mixed with ambition; a passion easily ignited, for good or ill.

Stranger still, though, was what lay beyond—the foundation of Liliana’s mind. It had … No words existed to match precisely—a texture? A flavor? A contour? Something about the feel of her mind was different, unlike any Jace had touched before.

But then, Jace had never delved so deeply into the mind of another planeswalker. And whatever the case, Jace sensed no deception in Liliana’s mind—not about the topic at hand, at any rate—nor any hostility toward him or Kallist. He considered delving further, to learn why she was hiding from the Consortium or to unearth some secret that he might use if necessary, but he refrained. He feared she might sense if he took too long in her mind, and the last thing they needed was another enemy.

Slowly, Jace opened his eyes. Liliana blinked once, then shook her head.

“Was it good for you?” she asked with a grin. Then, as Jace fumbled for an answer, she rose. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. It’ll be nice to talk to someone about something other than fishing and how far the swamp’s expanded this year. I’m quite certain I’ll be seeing you both around.”