The Elements of Sorcery (11 page)

The rain continued unabated as I nursed the dirty stein of ale at one of the tables near the hearth. The city outside looked drab and miserable; only the soaring arches of the Old Towne in the distance reminded me that Selvaria happened to be the third-largest city in Valisia, and not some dismal village in the middle of nowhere. Thunder echoed occasionally in the distance, but the Three Claw was warm and mostly dry. A few hours after my arrival, my clothes were finally starting to feel something less than entirely soaked, and the cloying scent of burning hickory had turned into a pleasant background sensation.

No one else entered or left the dingy tavern; the downpour kept sane people off the streets, the insane surely knew to avoid this tavern-keeper and his huge battle-axe, and those who'd already found shelter were smart enough not to brave the wind and rain, no matter how badly they might want a drink.

The barman said that Mendoz would be returning 'soon'… but how soon would that be? Did that mean hours, days, or weeks? He hadn't been particularly forthcoming past our initial conversation. I stared blankly at the blazing hearth, my mouth curved into a frown of concentration.

My mind still reeled at the image of myself that I'd caught in the dirty stein. In fact, it had flatly refused to process what I'd seen, choosing instead to focus on something much easier to palate: ranking my contacts and acquaintances on the scale of
who-was-most-likely-to-want-me-dead.

At the top of that short list was Trulia of the Thorn, the nasty old sorceress I'd fallen in with shortly after my arrival in Selvaria. I'd been desperate, alone and half-dead, and at the time her price for peace hadn't seemed all that steep.

She controlled a large underground faction of sorcerers with an emphasis on the darkest of black magics. In fact, she claimed a line of descent straight from Yzgar the Black, whose
Verse of Undoing
I had put to good use in my recent past. A shudder ran down my spine as memories of the tiny village of Warsil flickered in my brain, and I shoved them away with no small amount of effort.
Back to the task at hand
, I directed my brain firmly. The fact that I had been serving Trulia faithfully made little matter; she'd been known to dispose of a tool at the first sign of them becoming less than useful. Sometimes even before.

When I'd accepted her deal—my safety for my freedom—she'd slapped the silver control bracelet on my wrist, a sign of her "favor." Ever since then, I'd served as a sort of dedicated researcher, loyal house pet and sometime-assassin for her interests. I'd learned quickly that you just didn't say "no" to Trulia when she gave an order. The price in pain was just too steep.

Taking a close second place was the Grand Conte Magrad the Fourteenth of the House of Brauch, the reigning member of Valisia's pallid and bloated aristocracy here in Selvaria. Trulia had assigned me some work spying on House Brauch a few months back, and I'd been playing both sides against the middle for my own profit ever since. Brazen, sure, but I'd been certain that the whole thing was going rather well. Someone clearly felt a bit differently.

If the Conte had sent the assassin, then I knew who'd palmed the coin to the sleazy bastard wielding the knife: Magrad's younger brother, Alvar Brauch. The younger Brauch had been working me over for months, hinting at some kind of grand project that would guarantee order in Selvaria and snuff out Trulia's sympathizers once and for all, but I'd never gotten more than a hint at what he was planning. In the process of trying to uncover it, of course, I'd quite neatly bridged the gap between reluctant ally and turncoat, but that was just the way of things in Selvaria. Both Brauch and Trulia knew of my deception to each of them, but they each had the good grace not to
say
anything.

Last but most certainly not least, a dangerous warrior-zealot with a crystal sword had particular reason to dislike me. The Arbiter known as D'Arden Tal had come knocking on the door of my lab seven months past in a city far away, and I'd pulled a fast one on him and disappeared with the heartblade—the very one which I'd just used to save my own life—before he knew what had transpired.

The Arbiters… an ancient secret order of warrior-monks, ones who mostly kept to themselves while they quietly dealt with the worst offspring of corrupted manna. The same power that I used to fuel my own sorcery could be twisted, perverted into something much worse, something far more dangerous to life and limb. The Arbiters and their crystal swords were the only ones who could handle it when it got very bad. Fortunately—or not, for those who were truly in need—they didn't come around much anymore, and tended to keep to their Tower far to the east.

The ugly bartender had mistaken me for one of them, thanks to the odd side effect provided by the use of the stolen heartblade. My brain stopped at the prospect of analyzing exactly what that might mean, and forced itself back onto the path of running down my list of enemies.

After all else, in descending order, were the various sorcerers and minor powers on both sides that I'd managed to piss off through my work for either House Brauch or Trulia, throughout the time I'd spent sabotaging both sides.

My list of friends paled in comparison to that of my foes. There was Mendoz, who I still hoped I might catch a glimpse of before time forced me to flee the slums. Vellierz was another of Trulia's indentured servants, and he and I had become friends, after a fashion. As far as I knew he'd discovered nothing of my two-timing deception, and as long as it wasn't Trulia who'd tried to kill me, he might be willing to lend a hand.

Hell, even if Trulia had sent the knife, Vellierz might still help me. There was no love lost between him and the old witch, anyway. If there was a way I could help him get out of his servitude…

I'd tried everything to break the hold of the silver band that Trulia had slapped around my wrist to keep me in line, but the only thing which had finally done it was death, or something so near to it as to be indistinguishable, as it turned out. I rather doubted that Vellierz would be too happy with my driving the Arbiters' heartblade into his chest, much less the unfortunate side effects that came after.

When I looked up, the rain had slackened outside. My clothes were drier than I'd remembered… just how long had I been staring at the fire?

I turned away from the hearth, and came face-to-face with a scarred visage. Straggles of dun-brown hair framed it on both sides, and the grin that split across it was missing several teeth. There was a dark patch of leather across the left eye, and the gilded hilt of a huge bastard sword protruded over the right shoulder. It was no ordinary sword, either. The pommel was an outstretched dragon's claw, and I knew that within the sheath the blade was as wide across as my flattened hand and serrated near the hilt on one side of the double-edged blade; the sword of the northern barbarians, a
ketzelvar
.

"Mendoz!" I exclaimed.

"Hey there, Eddy," the monster hunter drawled, his dialect the lowest of Low Valisian. "Need me to pull your arse out of the snow a second time? It's gonna cost ya."

"That's a nice bit of sorcery you've got going on your eyes there, Eddy," Mendoz remarked languidly, as he sucked down the very expensive brew I'd bought him with the imaginary coin provided by the bar tab.
Blood money
, I thought, as the image of being dismembered by a bunch of thugs over a few measly unpaid coins made hysteria threaten to choke at my throat. "Most people just pick up sticks when they want to play Arbiter. Do you do it often?"

"Only once in a great while," I muttered, still trying to ignore my sudden change in appearance. I needed to devise a lingering enchantment that would cover up that damnable glow. Mendoz didn't know the tale of Warsil, so he wasn't aware of the accuracy of my statement. Just before I'd met the monster hunter, I'd taken a detour into a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, willfully impersonated an Arbiter, and barely escaped with my life, no thanks to a two-bit vengeance spirit. Just thinking about it made me shudder, and I pushed the cloud of memories away. "I'm glad you decided to show up."

"Contract took me out into the wilds this time," he answered. "Time was, a Conte looking to establish a new farming village could count on an Arbiter coming through and volunteering to watch out for monsters. These days, they have to pay men like me exorbitant amounts of cash to do the same thing."

"The
Conte
hired you?" I goggled. "I thought his militia would handle something like that."

"Thought the same thing myself," he grinned, downing the dregs of the filthy mug. "Turns out, the whole damn lot of them are too yellow to go anywhere unless there's at least a wooden wall already set up."

"Did you get anything good?" I asked.

He ran his fingers along a necklace made of bones that hung around his neck. "A few fel dog teeth, a harpy's talon, but that's it. Nothing really interesting. I keep hoping for another shrike, but they're few and far between these days."

Mendoz claimed to have killed three shrikes. I had never come into contact with one, but given what I'd read, I highly doubted that claim. The shrike was death incarnate, the perfect hunter, driven insane over countless generations by drinking water befouled by corrupted manna. Still, the man's bravado demanded a certain amount of respect, and I gave him a deferent sound of agreement.

"So," he said, pushing the mug out of the way and crossing his legs at the ankles. "What kind of trouble are you in this time, Eddy?"

"Someone tried to kill me," I said in a hushed voice. "Almost succeeded, too."

He looked me up and down. "You seem all right."

"I said they
almost
succeeded," I growled, unwilling to go into the details on just why I looked all right. "I need to find out why."

"You already owe me a favor for pulling your arse out of the snow six months ago," he said. "Do you really want to bring your tab to two?"

After my unfortunate flight from Warsil, I'd gotten lost and stranded in the snow around the highland village. In fact, I'd gotten so lost that I'd been unable to find the road again, and my building exhaustion had kept me from maintaining the enchantments that kept me warm without letting them go sour. By the end, I'd huddled in a badly-made shelter, using my power to keep a tiny campfire flickering just enough to prevent me from freezing entirely. Mendoz and his gang of monster hunters happened upon me and brought me down to the lowlands of Valisia, where the very long winter provided mostly rain, instead of ice and snow.

"Right now, I'm pretty sure that no one knows I'm alive," I said quietly. "I'm going to need help if I want to keep it that way."

"What if I'm the one who tried to kill you?" he asked with a grin.

"I assume if you were, we wouldn't be sitting here having this pleasant conversation."

Something was bothering me, but I couldn't quite figure it out. There was a strange sort of prickling sensation in my fingertips, as though I'd been lying on my arm for too long. My eyes flicked up from the mercenary to the window. The storm outside had lightened enough that I could once again easily see through it.

He laughed. "So be it," the big man said with a lazy grin. "That's two favors you'll owe me when I'm done, and you can be sure you'll be repaying them, sorcerer."

My brow furrowed as I tried to resolve the image through the muddy panes, but it was impossible to mistake. It suddenly snapped into focus; eyes beneath a hood, lurking around the corner of the low-slung building across the street, the edge of a cloak hanging just above the mud.

I stood up so fast that the chair knocked over behind me, landing on the floor with a loud clap. Cloth swirled, and the figure disappeared. Mendoz looked up at me, startled by the sudden movement.

"Hey, where you going?" he asked, but I'd already charged past him, heading for the door.

I yanked open the door of the Three Claw Tavern and glared into the misty streets. Around the corner of the bar to my left, a dark cloak vanished around the corner.

"Come back here!" I shouted, plunging into the muddy streets. The first step nearly robbed me of one of my boots, but I managed to yank it free without losing my footwear. From there, I leapt from stone to stone, trying to pinpoint the drier spots of the street that might be less likely to drag me down into the mire.

I rounded the corner only a few seconds later, and saw the cloaked form rushing down the street away from me. A spy. Whose spy, I couldn't be sure. Interrogation was going to be necessary. Surely Mendoz had a good hand at getting people to talk when they didn't want to—hell, just one look at his face made me want to spill my guts.

"Stop!" I yelled again, uselessly. I couldn't catch him from here. Unless…

I flung out my hand toward the figure just as Mendoz came up beside me, shouting words in an eldritch tongue to create a binding. A thin rope of white light leapt from my fingertips, spinning out like spider's silk across the divide between me and the spy. The luminescent cord wrapped itself around the cloaked figure's middle and brought him up short, dropping him unceremoniously into the mud with a loud squishing sound. Wet brown dirt sprayed in every direction around him.

Mendoz clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, nice—"

The white cord burst into brilliant cobalt flames. The cloaked figure let out a high-pitched shriek, which quickly died to a long-suffering wail, and then went silent.

My binding spell vanished, burnt to nothing by the cleansing manna fire. I stared at the smoldering remains ahead of me in utter shock.

"Why'd you do that?" the big monster hunter asked.

The words
I didn't mean to
died on my tongue. I licked my lips, my brain frozen in panic. "I couldn't take the chance of him getting away," I lied.

Mendoz grunted; apparently that explanation was enough for him.

I wished it could have been enough for me.

"I need to talk to Vellierz," I said, as we dumped the scorched body of the spy behind a building. The one advantage to being in the slums was the almost total lack of militia patrolling the streets. The fact that I'd inadvertently murdered a man barely registered on my moral compass, given everything else crowding my thoughts. It was not the first time I'd taken a life, and it did occur distantly to me that it seemed to get easier each time.

He'd probably been trying to kill me anyway, or at least report back to those who had. Self-defense. "Problem is, I can't go anywhere near my lab without risking being seen."

"I'll go find him for you," Mendoz offered.

I regarded him skeptically. "Are you sure? He might be scared off."

"I'll drag him down here by the scruff of his neck if need be." The monster hunter crossed his bulky arms over his chest and grinned. "I can be very persuasive."

"I'm going to owe you a very large favor when we're done, aren't I?"

He just kept grinning.

"Fine," I said at last.

"In the meantime, we can't have you just standing out here in the mud," Mendoz said. "We're going to have to find you some shelter."

Many things define 'shelter'. The abandoned hovel which we finally decided on fit only one of those criteria, and even then, only loosely. It had a roof… sort of.

"You won't have to stay here long," the big man said, still wearing that mocking grin of his. On the scarred face, it was really quite intimidating. "Give me a good description of this Vellierz fellow, and I'll have him back here in a couple of hours."

"He'll be hard to miss," I said, holding my hand to about my own shoulder height. "He's about this tall, brown hair, balding. Big nose, too, and he'll be wearing one of Trulia's gods-damned silver bracelets on his right wrist. He'll likely be hanging around our lab in the Wharf."

"Got it. Short, ugly fellow with a silver cuff by the docks. Don't get yourself killed."

"I'll do my best," I drawled, ducking into the hovel.

As Mendoz traipsed off, something occurred to me. The monster hunter had no way to tell that the sudden change in my appearance had nothing to do with any sorcery that I'd worked, but Vellierz would be able to tell instantly. I was going to have to design a masking spell that would conceal my brilliant new irises, and give me an excuse for maintaining such a façade at the same time.

The hovel had nothing in common with my lab. I'd begun carrying parchment with me after getting stranded in Warsil with nothing and being forced to write out my enchantment on the walls of a thatch-roof hut with a piece of charcoal, but the pages had been ruined by the rain. The pen that I kept in my pocket was soaked, so badly waterlogged that it spat only pale, useless drops of ink. Gritting my teeth in distaste, I knelt down on the wet dirt floor and began sketching arcane symbols with my finger.

It seemed that my power had become somewhat unpredictable. That messy business with the spy in the alley had been entirely unforeseeable. Fortunately, devising an enchantment is very different from evoking a binding spell.

Sorcery really only has two modes: deliberate, tinkering research and apocalyptic bloodbath. The difference is in the making. To make a bloodbath, all one has to do is open the prepared mental channels to the raw manna and force it into a shape with raw willpower. It's quick, it's dirty, and it's incredibly dangerous. More than one poor sap has died instantly on a botched evocation, thanks to raw manna flooding their unprotected psyche.

An enchantment, on the other hand, is entirely different. It's carefully laid out ahead of time, with every contingency anticipated and planned for. Unwanted power is never called upon. Think of it this way: an evocation is like picking up a tree and hitting someone with it. It's big, it's crude, but it gets the job done, sometimes with a fair amount of collateral damage. An enchantment, on the other hand, is like designing the perfect weapon to achieve only the precise aim that you desire.

It took some time, but I devised a continuous enchantment—which I could release and renew with a non-verbal cue—that both masked the sudden change in my eye color and replicated an illusory version of Trulia's control bracelet on my left wrist. That would allow me to operate as though I were still her agent, if it became necessary. I also added an outline for a disguise enchantment, buried it three layers deep, and failed to complete the loop. A cursory examination would reveal that I was keeping something about myself disguised, which I could pass off as something to keep my enemies off my trail, but in actuality it did absolutely nothing. Weaving all of these together masked my… condition, kept me undercover as one of Trulia's operatives, and gave me an excuse to feed Vellierz. All in all, solid work.

Just moments after I had completed my task, I heard footsteps outside. I hurriedly wiped out the symbols on the ground by moving the mud, began to wipe my hands off on my robes, stopped, then shrugged and did it anyway before stepping out into the gray afternoon mist.

"It took you long enough—" I started, but the words died on my lips as I looked up.

A man stood before me, two inches taller than I, with olive skin and brilliant green eyes. He wore an immaculate maroon and forest-green outfit, decorated with silver and golden bangles and piping accents. Flanking him on either side were heavily-muscled, armor-bound brutes who were probably about Mendoz' size and strength, but appeared to be approximately half as intelligent.

"Hello, Edar," the man in the center said with a smirk.

I sighed. "Hello, Alvar."