Agents of Artifice: A Planeswalker Novel (10 page)

At the sound of a dull thump, possibly that of a body hitting the floor, Kallist finally shook off his amazement. Striding toward the room from which he had heard that familiar sound, he covered perhaps half the distance when the door was thrown open from within.

For the first time in half a year, Kallist stood face to face with Jace Beleren, the man who had once been his best friend.

They could have been brothers, and in fact had passed as such on one or two occasions during their service with the Infinite Consortium. Less than two inches separated them in height, less than twenty pounds in weight. Perhaps Jace was more clean shaven, Kallist’s hair half a shade lighter; not identical, certainly, but very much alike.

Jace, clad in a heavy blue cloak he’d thrown over his bedclothes when first attacked, froze in the doorway, his own eyes as wide as the saucers that had spilled from atop the table.

“You!” Never before had Kallist heard so mundane a word loaded so heavily with bile. “It wasn’t enough to steal her from me? Now you want me dead, too?”

Kallist, a small part of whom had briefly been glad to see his old friend, found himself scowling with rekindled rage. “Damn it, Jace, you know better than that! We came to warn you! Not,” he added, with a quick glance at the trio of fallen bodies visible
through the bedroom doorway, “that you seem to have needed it.”

“After all this time, I’m supposed to believe that?” Jace demanded.

“Yes.” Kallist squeezed the hilt of his sword until he felt the leather wrappings start to fold. “Now, if you—”

He couldn’t breathe; couldn’t talk; couldn’t think. Kallist froze as though struck by a basilisk’s gaze. He felt a fist around his mind, keeping him from moving, from reacting, holding him firmly in place while Jace took the extra few moments he needed. Kallist felt the faintest touch, the legs of skittering spiders across the surface of his dreams.

Kallist gasped in shock and found himself slumped to the floor.

“Damn it, Jace!” Kallist couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill or to cry, and settled for an enraged shout. “You swore never to read—”

“We both of us made promises back then, didn’t we?” Jace snapped in turn. But the lines of his face had softened. As though forcing himself through rising water, he stepped slowly across the room and extended a hand to help Kallist off the floor.

“I’m sorry.” The words were little more than a mutter, and Jace’s mouth twisted as though they’d turned sour on his tongue. But still, he said it. “And I believe you,” he added, as Kallist hauled himself to his feet on Jace’s arm. “But I had to be sure.”

“Fine. Whatever. So what happened here?” Jace shrugged and stepped away, as though even proximity to the man who’d betrayed his trust was painful. “Some men came through my door and window, and tried to kill me.”

“And?”

“I didn’t let them.”

“Was one of them Semner?”

Jace’s jaw clenched. “Semner’s here?”

“These are his people.” Kallist frowned. “If he’s not here, there’s another attack coming.”

“The Consortium send him?”

“I’d imagine so, but I can’t be sure. You know Semner’s reputation. He’d hire himself out to a warthog if the money was right. We need to get out of here, find someplace a little more secure to figure out our next step.”

“And Liliana?” Jace asked softly.

Kallist cried out, cursing himself for ten kinds of idiot. She’d been only a few steps behind him when they left the alleyway. But so distracted had he been by his encounter with Jace, he’d not taken a moment to wonder why she hadn’t followed him through the door.

Perfectly on cue, a sudden scream, terrified and clearly feminine, echoed through the stairway.

Months of anger and recrimination vanished. Kallist and Jace stood side by side, the one raising his sword in expert grip, the other focusing his will to deceive the sight or burn the mind of any who would bar his path. Neither could imagine what might draw such a reaction from Liliana, but whatever it was, Kallist intended to visit it thrice over on Semner’s beaten corpse.

Kallist reached the open doorway first—and simply folded, falling back into the main room of the apartment, sword tumbling from his fingers. He hadn’t seen what hit him, but whatever it was struck hard. His jaw ached, his head pounded, and he could scarcely even see, let alone consider rising to his feet. He spotted a small streak of blood staining the carpet and realized it was his own.

Footsteps behind him, but he could not turn. He saw two pairs of worn and dirty boots, doubtless belonging to more of Semner’s thugs, but he couldn’t even raise his head. Across the room, he saw Jace retreat several steps, ready to cast any of a score of devastating spells. From the hall beyond the doorway, he heard Liliana’s voice cry out his name and then begin to intone another
of her dark chants. He gave thanks that she still lived, but still he could not turn.

The pounding in his head grew heavier; the blood rushed in his ears, the lights of the room blinked and flickered. Everything was unfocused, spastic, moving in slow-motion fits and starts.

Semner’s men stepped forward, naked blades extended, closing in on Jace.

The first man fell, screaming until his throat bled at the nightmares the mage’s spell seared into his conscious mind.

The second was within reach before Jace lashed out. From his outstretched hand, a sky-blue eel wiggled and writhed its way through the air to wrap about the torso and neck of his attacker. Serrated fins sliced into flesh while the beast’s jagged maw clamped hard upon the bandit’s face, shredding skin and bone, blood and ocular fluids, into a slippery stew that flowed smoothly down its winding throat.

For just a moment, as his vision continued to fade in and out, Kallist dared to hope it might be over.

Jace’s eyes grew wide at the sight of some fresh danger in the hall beyond Kallist’s fallen form. Kallist saw the mage’s mouth moving; saw, as well, a new hesitation, even fear, in his face. Jace took a step back, retreating from whatever was approaching.

The shutters over the window behind him exploded inward at the impact of Semner’s boots. Dropping from the roof, the gorillalike mercenary wasn’t slowed by the thin planks. He slammed hard into Jace’s back, drawing a pained gasp even as the mage fell sprawling.

Kallist struggled to crawl forward, fingers digging into the carpet, but he couldn’t make himself move. He heard feet on the floor beside him, recognized Liliana’s ankles and her sharp intake of breath.

Jace rolled, coming back to his feet as Semner’s dagger cleared its sheath. The first slash barely
penetrated Jace’s robe. Only the very tip of the blade connected, etching a line of blood across his chest; he gasped and went pale, but his stance never faltered.

Yet in the chaos, Jace allowed the pain of the wound to distract him. Catching Jace off-guard, Semner spun, hauling back his arm as though preparing for another strike, while a second dagger dropped into his left hand from his sleeve. It came up in a short, brutal thrust that his victim never saw coming. Flesh and bone parted, and beneath the merciless edge, a man’s heart burst.

For what seemed an infinite instant, silence reigned. Then the room burst with a blinding flash, a blue so blazing it was nearly white. It hovered in the air between the fallen Kallist and the dying Jace, and despite its intensity, it cast no shadow from either.

Kallist screamed; no mere cry of grief or rage, but a terrible, primal yell that drew stunned looks from Semner and Liliana both. Long after his voice should have given out, or his lungs exhausted themselves of breath, he screamed.

He no longer saw the chamber at all. Images, feelings, notions, and dreams that were not his own flooded his mind until it came nigh to bursting, until he could see nothing at all of the world around him. Like an animal driven by pure instinct, he rose from the floor and fled through the gaping doorway, all prior weaknesses and wounds forgotten in a torrent of madness.

How he kept his balance on the unsteady stairs, how many corners he turned, how many passersby he shoved from his path to leave cursing in the streets behind him, he could never have recounted. He ran until the sounds of Favarial subsided, until the walls of another alleyway pinned him from taking one more step.

Still the memories swirled in his head, but finally they began to order themselves, to settle into their proper places, and he could see, and feel, and think—and remember.

Jace Beleren, who had long ago stolen the mind of a man he called friend, who had lived for half a year as Kallist Rhoka, fell to his knees in the refuse of the alley and wept.

F
or the span of several deep breaths, the enmity between them seemed forgotten as Semner and Liliana both stared through the open doorway, long after the running fellow was well beyond seeing or hearing. And then Semner raised an eyebrow as the necromancer turned to face him, a black blaze of flickering shadows dancing behind her eyes.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he told her, idly flipping the bloody dagger between his fingers. “Not a lot you can do for him now. And me, contract’s done. Got no reason to kill you unless you make me.” As before, his gaze slid like glistening slugs across her body. “And it’d be such a waste.”

Liliana merely glared back at him, any revulsion she felt subsumed by a growing eruption of fury.

Despite himself, Semner began to grow nervous. “I suppose,” he continued with a bit less confidence, “I probably ought to cut you down for what you did to my boys. But fact is,” and he paused here, long enough to glance around, to be certain that all his men were either dead or at least unconscious, “it just means fewer ways I have to split my fee. I—”

“You idiot!” Liliana finally exploded, jabbing her finger at the thug and murderer as though lecturing a
child. “You utter halfwit! What in all the worlds is wrong with you?”

“I—um, what?”

“‘She can go, but kill him’?” Liliana parroted back his order from days ago. “What were you thinking?”

“Um, what?” Semner said again, apparently believing it a point worth repeating.

“You were expressly ordered to let both of us live!” She took a single step toward him, and Semner found himself recoiling. “You could have ruined everything!”

“Look, bitch, I know Rhoka’s rep! The man’s an assassin! I wasn’t about to leave him alive to come after …” Slowly, comprehension dawned across his brutish face as his brain finally caught up to his ears, panting and wheezing from the unaccustomed exertion.

“How the burning, steaming hell do you know what my instructions were?”

Liliana could only roll her eyes heavenward, as though beseeching the patience of a higher power. “Wow, you really
are
that stupid.”

“Listen here, Vess …”

“No, I mean it. It would take two of you to be any dumber.”

Any reluctance Semner had to killing her outside the bounds of his contract was evaporating like morning dew. “You’ve just got a smart comment for everything, don’t you? If I walk over there and shove this dagger through your skull, you think you’ll have a clever answer for that?”

“In this scenario, I’d pretty much be dead, wouldn’t I? So unless there’s a necromancer hiding in your pocket, that’s a really stupid question.”

And that, finally, was that. Semner ceased spinning the dagger, allowing it to come to rest pointing directly at Liliana’s face. “What I said about killing you being a waste? Nah. I’m going to cut the best parts off of you and take them with me. You think you can summon something up before I start cutting?”

“Now why would I need to summon anything,” she asked with a sudden, vicious grin, “when I’ve got so many friends right here?”

Behind him, the dead bodies of both his victim and one of his own men had dragged themselves forward on bloodless hands. Brittle fingernails snapped against the weight of the corpses; twin trails of blood, already dried and blackened by the touch of Liliana’s animating magic, matted and stiffened the shag of what had recently been a clean carpet.

And as Semner finally got wise enough to realize that he should probably be afraid, each of the corpses reached out a hand and clamped a deathless clutch on his calves.

Beneath the implacable strength of the risen dead, cloth and skin parted. Semner screamed, a high-pitched shriek of agony such as he had never known. So tightly did those fingers squeeze, so hard did they press, flesh peeled back from bone, muscle tore from clinging ligaments. For the dead, who feel no pain, it mattered little; to Semner, it mattered a great deal.

His body convulsed, he screamed until his lungs burned for breath. Within the meat of his legs, bony fingers clenched around the muscles of his calves and yanked them away.

The room shook as Semner toppled to the floor. Even had the fall not knocked the breath from his lungs, his scream would still have faded. Already too much blood had pumped from the gaping holes in his legs; his skin had paled, his vision begun to fade.

Mercifully, perhaps more mercifully than Semner deserved, he lost consciousness before the dead men hauled their way along his body and began to tear away pieces far more vital than his calves.