Wizardoms- Eye of Obscurance Page 4

  Standing upright, she raised the amulet high, the indirect moonlight revealing silvery lines and symbols engraved around the star.

  “I did it,” she whispered in excitement.

  “Who are you?”

  Rhoa spun to find a woman’s silhouette in the doorway, yet the voice had definitely been masculine. Seeing the woman but hearing a man, she decided there must be two of them. Rather than try to fight, she chose flight.

  She pulled the necklace over her head, the cord barely fitting over her mask. Turning toward the moonlight, she darted between the two cabinets. The woman hurried to follow along the outside aisle. Rhoa turned to meet the woman and faked an attack. When the woman raised a silver tray to block it, Rhoa fell to the floor with a scissor kick that took the woman’s leg out. Her opponent hit the floor, hard.

  “Argh!” a man’s voice cried out.

  It’s a man dressed as a woman.

  Rhoa scrambled to her feet and put all her weight against the cabinet beside her. It tipped back, then she pulled. The cabinet fell forward. The man on the floor quickly rolled away, the cabinet missing him as it crashed to the tiles. Glass shattered, exposing the rock shield.

  A loud, ear-piercing whistle burst from the ceiling. Rhoa looked toward the sound and saw steam filling the room.

  It’s an alarm, she realized.

  Her opponent stood, the destroyed cabinet between the two of them.

  “Dammit, girl. I need that amulet,” the man said over the whistle.

  “Never.”

  With a grunt, Rhoa hoisted the rock shield. It was heavy. She feinted, pretending to throw it. As the man took a step back in response, Rhoa turned and ran.

  She darted across the room, dodging between the cabinets and chests, a dark window in her sights. Using her momentum and all her strength, she threw the shield. It blasted through the glass in a spray of shards and wooden strips, some falling into the room, most raining outside the tower. Rhoa was forced to shy away from the glass and cover her face. When it settled, she saw her pursuer a few strides away, shaking his head.

  “We are hundreds of feet up. That way only leads to death. Why not just give me the amulet, then we can both walk away from this alive?”

  Rhoa drew both fulgur blades, gripping the hilts and grinning. “Sorry, but my plans include this necklace,” she shouted over the shrill alarm.

  She climbed onto the windowsill and turned to face the room. Wind howled through the window, the force at this height causing her to sway.

  “Don’t. Please,” the man pleaded, his hand extended toward her.

  “Farewell.”

  Rhoa stepped back and plummeted, the sense of weightlessness both frightening and invigorating as the ground sped toward her.

  5

  Slipping Away

  The high-pitched, ear-piercing alarm forced Jace to shout as he eased forward. “We are hundreds of feet up. That way only leads to death. Why not just give me the amulet, then we can both walk away from this alive?”

  The girl drew two knives from the sheaths on her thighs and shouted back, “Sorry, but my plans include this necklace.”

  She climbed onto the window and faced the room.

  Jace extended his hand toward her and took a step forward, fearful she might fall. “Don’t. Please.” The harsh wind coming through the window made him squint against it.

  She raised the blades in front of her. Jace noticed their odd design, the hilt bent from the blade, the blade itself rounded, like a pick.

  “Farewell.” The girl stepped back and dropped out of sight.

  “No!” Jace shouted as he dove forward, too late.

  He leaned out and saw her a quarter of the way down. The girl had stuck her blades into the stone in a trail of blue sparks, etching two lines down the side of the tall tower. The rate of her fall visibly slowed as the blades dragged across the stone. Less than a story above the street, her fall stopped altogether. She then pulled her blades free and landed, unharmed. Her shadowy form ran to a carriage parked on the hillside street and disappeared inside. As the carriage pulled away, Jace turned from the window.

  The alarm still whistled, the room filling with steam. He ran to the door and hurried down the stairs while he considered his latest problem.

  The men in the tower were also the oldest and had more than ten stories to climb. The guards, who were the most fit, had five more stories to ascend but would likely reach the top around the same time as the master enchanters. In his head, he imagined how far each group had already progressed.

  Around and around, Jace ran downward. When he reached the last storage room door, he heard yelling and rushing footsteps below. He slipped inside the dark room and hid behind the door, listening.

  The wave of master enchanters passed first, an angry, shouting Olberon trailing. The old man paused outside the door, gasping for breath before continuing upward. Moments later, the clanking of armor marked the guards’ passing. Jace waited in the dark for another minute as the footsteps faded.

  He slipped out the door, scurried down the stairs, rushed through the workshop, and entered the other stairwell. After passing the master enchanters’ apartment levels and their common level, he reached the apprentice level, where a cluster of young men had gathered.

  “What happened?” one asked.

  Jace put one hand to his chest and his other forearm against his forehead in dramatic fashion. “Intruders! They have infiltrated the tower,” he said in his female voice.

  The young men, whose ages ranged from their late teens to late twenties, looked at each other, then bolted up the stairs.

  Taking a deep breath to slow his heart, Jace suddenly realized he had forgotten the serving platter on the top floor. It would be found, and they would pursue him, eager for answers.

  He sighed inwardly. It doesn’t matter. My time here is over anyway. In some ways, I will miss Janice. He then recalled the nasty old men. I now know how a barmaid feels. Another thought occurred to him, drawing a smile. At least I no longer need to shave twice a day.

  All his careful planning and meticulous research had been ruined by a small girl. If she had come one night later, he would possess the amulet and would have disappeared.

  How am I going to explain this to The Whispering Man?

  Jace hoped he wouldn’t take it too hard. Rumors in the city included thieves found dead after failed contracts. When he met with him, Jace needed to present a solution.

  The only way to recover is to find the girl and claim the prize.

  While continuing down the stairs, he tried to recall everything he could about her. She was small, barely five feet, her build slight but muscular. It had been dim, but he still had the feeling her skin was darker than most, possibly making her Kyranni or even Hassakani. The way she had stood on the windowsill showed a lack of fear. Beyond all else, her blades stood out as unique – blades able to cut stone. Those same blades must have destroyed the locks. Weapons of power were uncommon, as were tools of such a nature.

  If Jace could track down the blades, he would find the girl.

  He needed that amulet.

  Still gasping after the long climb to the tower’s uppermost level, Grand Master Olberon bent down and picked up the silver platter. He held it in his hands and stared at the scowling face in the rippled reflection.

  “Janice,” he muttered to himself as he dropped the platter with a clang and surveyed the room.

  Steam still filled the air, but had started dissipating from the cool breeze coming though the broken window. Upon reaching the top, one of the other masters had disabled the alarm. It was a good thing, too. The cistern on the roof only held so much water. It would be a shame to waste it.

  “Grand Master! Look!”

  He turned toward the voice coming from the center of the room. Master Fingle stood amidst a circle of cabinets, waving Olberon over. Lifting his robes, Olberon stepped over the fallen cabinet. Broken glass crunched under his feet. A tower guard moved aside to
allow him past as he slipped between the cabinets to join Fingle. What he saw next struck fear in his very soul.

  Fingle stood beside a pedestal covered by a glass dome. A dark opening occupied the space where the enchanted object normally rested.

  Olberon gasped. “This is bad.” He shook his head. “We must find her.”

  “Her?” Fingle asked.

  “Janice. I found the woman’s serving tray beside the fallen cabinet.”

  Fingle frowned at the empty glass dome. “How did she know where to find it? How did she know not to touch the glass?”

  Olberon shook his head. “I don’t know, Fingle.”

  Turning from the pedestal, Olberon walked to the outer ring and circled the room, toward the gathering of tower residents. The crowd parted for the tower master, some out of respect, others out of fear, despite Olberon’s diminutive stature. A breeze came through the broken window, stirring his wispy, gray hair and ruffling his beard.

  Dorn, the captain of the tower guard, leaned out the window, looking down. Olberon stood beside the man and peered out.

  The height made him queasy, the world distorting momentarily.

  Dorn pointed down. “Look. See the cuts in the wall?”

  Olberon peered where the man pointed but saw only shadow. “My eyes are not what they once were.” He turned back to the room. “Does anyone have a lunar lens?”

  “Yes, Grand Master.” Rickard, a tower apprentice, emerged from the crowd and held out a wooden tube with glass on each end.

  “Thank you, Rickard,” Olberon said, accepting the device before turning back to the window.

  Holding the tube to his eye, he gazed through it. The world bloomed to pale blue light. He leaned forward and peered down, ignoring the churning in his stomach. Beginning twenty feet below, two gouges, roughly two feet apart, tracked down the side of the tower.

  What could cut stone in such a manner? He considered possible enchantments, then it came to him.

  “Fulgur blades,” he mumbled.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Dorn said.

  Olberon lowered the lunar lens and turned from the window. “She had fulgur blades.” The man frowned, muttering, “But how does she use them? One touch will cause immense pain.”

  Fingle looked at him. “Should we search the tower?”

  He sighed. “Yes, but I suspect she is long gone.”

  Olberon walked through the crowd and toward the door, standing halfway open. The interior side faced him, revealing the silvery scrawl of the death enchantment. The lock was torched. The woman had somehow destroyed it with her fulgur blades and entered the room without triggering the enchantment. Otherwise, they would have found a corpse.

  Exiting the room, Olberon passed the two guards waiting there, then a line of curious apprentice enchanters who had fallen quiet upon seeing the tower master. He continued his descent alone, thinking.

  Janice had known about the amulet and its location. She had ignored the other items in the room. Some valuable, others planted there as decoys. The only other item missing was the stone shield – a failed enchantment. Whoever this woman was, if she really were a woman, she needed to be found.

  The Eye of Obscurance in the wrong hands… Olberon shivered at the thought. Worse, he needed to retrieve it before word of its existence reached Lord Malvorian. If the man discovered the purpose for the amulet... Olberon trembled.

  6

  Opportunity

  Morning sunlight shone upon the city of Marquithe, the tall, Maker-built structures casting long shadows across the streets. As a great city, the population numbered in the tens of thousands and ranged from homeless beggars to the wealthy, ruling class of wizards.

  Jace walked the streets he had grown to love, feeding off the pulse of the city. His years in Marquithe had further inflated his notoriety from impressive to legendary. He knew luck had played a large part in his success but would never admit it to anyone else. Luck occurs when one forges opportunity into success, he would say. In truth, he didn’t know what it meant. He just liked the way it sounded.

  He entered a city square. A mile away, the Enchanters’ Tower loomed over the surrounding wizard mansions. With the sight came a wave of consternation. All that preparation for nothing. Watching the girl steal his prize, well… It stung him to the core. Luck didn’t bless me this time. A rare occurrence indeed.

  Turning from the tower, he gazed at the moon hovering in the sky to the northeast. Unlike the sun – which rose and set every day, its path shifting north in the winter, south in the summer – the moon’s location remained constant. One could always tell where they were based on the moon.

  Shouting drew his attention, a soldier calling out to passersby. He and another were dressed in midnight blue capes and silver-plated armor. Their left breastplates were embossed with a circle pierced by a bolt of lightning.

  “Join the Thundercorps!” one soldier shouted. “Fight for your wizardom! Become a hero!”

  Two teens approached the soldiers. Jace shook his head. I’d sooner slop stables than become a soldier.

  The Thundercorps had been recruiting heavily the past year, leaving Jace to assume things had grown worse in the Fractured Lands. He wondered if the other wizardoms were sending more men there, as well. The thought lingered in his head as he crossed the square toward his destination.

  Most people would consider Marquithe Bureau of Trading an impressive building. It stood five stories tall and spanned the length of an entire street. Outside of the great cities and a few other ancient structures, it would be perceived as a building of great import. Here, it was above average.

  Jace strolled up to the door, two guards blocking his path.

  “No weapons allowed,” one said in a gruff voice.

  With a shrug, Jace handed over the dagger on his hip, his favorite blade. “Don’t go playing with it,” he said as the man tagged it. “It’s sharp, and you’re likely to lose something if you aren’t careful.”

  The other guard wrote the tag number on a slip of paper and handed it to Jace. “Funny.”

  Jace started walking forward until a hand pressed against his chest.

  “Hold on. We need to pat you down.”

  With a roll of his eyes, Jace nodded, his hand slipping into a coat pocket. “Go ahead.” He held a silver piece between him and the guard, the other guard’s back turned toward him as he placed Jace’s dagger into a locker. “Just be careful of my leg. I injured it last night.”

  The guard took the coin with a slight nod and began to pat Jace, starting at his shoulders and working his way down, the man’s hands sliding across his chest, back, and down his legs. If he noticed the knife hidden in his boot, he said nothing. The guard didn’t even bother to check Jace’s forearms, where his other two blades remained hidden.

  “All right.” The guard moved aside. “You’re free to enter.”

  Jace grinned. In a world filled with unexpected complications, bribes remained reliable and unchanging.

  He passed through the double doors and entered the building. The interior was open at the middle, four stories of railed lofts overlooking the atrium-like interior. Walls broke each loft into five separate lounges, most of which were occupied. Windows at the front and rear of the building provided light, the sun streaming in from the east. The hum of many conversations echoed throughout the spacious building.

  In the middle of the hall, six clerks sat behind a large, circular desk. Beyond it, people waited on benches along the walls. The building was the hub of trade for the southern wizardoms, a place of power where thousands in gold exchanged hands each week. The pursuit of such wealth had led to the downfall of Jerrell Landish, his failed gambit among the reasons he now went by Jace. The memory of his single loss still stung – a memory that resurfaced every time Jace visited the Bureau of Trading.

  If only I had taken caution to verify the rumors. At the time, he had thought it a safe investment with the opportunity to triple his money in short order. If only I had
never listened to that woman…

  Jace banished the memory as he approached the desk. He tapped the counter impatiently, waiting for a clerk to record numbers into a ledger, the feather on his quill flicking furiously. The clerk was in his mid-twenties, a few years younger than Jace. Like his coworkers, he wore a black coat and beret to match. The man’s cheeks were pudgy, as were his hands.

  After a moment, the clerk looked up at him and frowned in annoyance. “Yes?”

  “I have business in room fifty-one.”

  The clerk’s expression softened, his eyes flicking up toward the fifth level. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I already have a contract.”

  “And the password?”

  “Opportunity.”

  The clerk nodded and reached for another book, looking it over for a moment. “He is currently with someone.”

  “He will see me. This is important.”

  With a sigh, he stood. “Follow me.”

  The clerk circled around two seated coworkers and emerged from the opening between the front and rear desks. Jace followed him to the stairs. The clerk was overweight, his steps labored as he climbed. At the second level, Jace noted the people seated around the table in the nearest loft bay. A balding man with a thick, dark mustache and wearing a ruffled doublet leaned over the table, fiercely negotiating with a gaunt, older man whose expression appeared unfazed. Both were finely dressed – a common sight for those who conducted business here.

  They continued up, passing the third and fourth floors, each filled with people brokering deals. When they reached the top level, the clerk had to lean against the wall to catch his breath. He then waved Jace along and waddled down the narrow corridor. Ahead, a trio of toughs stood outside a closed door, their fists clenched and faces grim as they watched Jace approach. The clerk knocked and waited, his eyes nervously flicking toward the guards.