Moon's Artifice (37 page)

Most likely a recent replacement that’s been aged to blend in.

He placed a black metal disc the size and thickness of a child’s palm on each thick hinge bracket. On the back of the discs was inscribed an incantation in the language of a forgotten race, ornate words that spiralled inward to a tiny crystal shard at the centre. Enchei pressed his thumbs against each shard before walking away, leaving them attached to the door.

Enchei counted silently as he took a lap of a neighbouring tenement block to allow the discs time to work. It was one of many skills the mage-priests of his homeland had planted into his mind, bypassing the learning process to burn it directly into his memory. The seconds slipped past, entirely absent from his attention, which was occupied with watching for threats but keeping perfect time.

Worried for years about that, I did,
he thought as he completed his circuit.
Whether they’d taken out some of me to make space for it all. Was years before I learned how much useless space was in my head, how much they could put in there without me even noticing. Doubt Irato would appreciate that little nugget of wisdom, though.

As he returned to within view of the alley door, the desultory rain turned into a sudden, intense burst that scattered what few residents were in sight. Enchei scowled up at the sky as heavy drips worked their way down his neck. He found himself a darkened corner that would be mostly hidden from the building Lord Shield’s ghost-map had shown him and began to run through his plan of action in his mind. The seconds slipped past at the back of his mind, unnoticed as he waited for his charms on the door to have their effect.

He had no idea what state Narin was in now, but had to assume he was talking and giving them everything he knew. That meant the inn was likely compromised, his identity too, perhaps.

And once more, I’m left with just the clothes on my back.

Enchei sighed and reached into the bag he’d brought with him, slipping his hands into the mesh gauntlets that were part of his armour. Once they were in place he felt the metal grow faintly warmer and the mesh tighten briefly against his skin before settling on a comfortable fit around his hands. It had been years since he’d worn these, his hands already sufficiently deadly for almost any circumstance.

No time for careful reconnaissance. I’m just going to have to march in that back door and hope there are no surprises I can’t deal with.

The countdown in his head came to an end and Enchei stepped out of his temporary hiding place, heading back towards the alley door he was planning on using. It was the most likely exit, given he doubted anyone going into that abandoned shop-front would leave the same way.
Other tunnels were also a possibility, but he didn’t have the time to search for them and once he was away from potential witnesses he had other tricks he could employ.

He slung his bag over one shoulder and quickly moved to the alley door, walking lightly with his senses open to anything that might indicate he’d been seen. The city was quiet enough ; no unnatural calls or warnings overlaying the muted voices of children, no scuffle of feet or steel on stone.

At the door he surveyed his handiwork and gave a nod of satisfaction. There was no outward sign of damage to the thick, rusting hinges as Enchei pocketed each disc, but with a metal-clad finger he scraped a furrow of brittle metal shards from the topmost hinge.

From the bag he withdrew what looked like a baton of the same black metal, with a handle that took up half its length and a blunt, rounded tip. One last check behind him and he slammed the butt of the baton into the lower hinge. Under the impact the metal crumbled, falling like soil at his feet.

Enchei tensed, but he heard no alarm – mundane or arcane – as the door lurched a shade. It was a solid construction, thick wood bound in studded bands of iron, but like any other door, without hinges its strength meant little. Stepping back from the recessed doorway, Enchei moved almost halfway around the corner before he smashed the baton into the second hinge. He pulled his arm back after him as quickly as he could, but no flash of fire erupted from behind the lurching door, nor any other form of trap that he could detect.

Almost disappointed in his opponents, Enchei moved back around to grab the creaking door as it sagged back. Held up only by the lock and frame around it, he punched forward into the wood with the stubby points of his gauntlets. Once he had a firm grip he levered the door open enough to slip around it, the grind and groan of the iron lock the only sound.

Inside it was dark, only the outline of an empty double-height room visible in his white mage-sight. He pulled the door behind him and secured it as best he could with a length of wire. That done he dropped his bag on the ground and pulled the last item from it, an all-enclosing helmet with a curved, featureless face-plate. He slipped it on and felt it mould tight around his skull, setting his senses tingling. He looked around again and this time saw more than an empty room. There were ghostly trails stretched at random across it, an invisible residue of magic hanging in the air – a web spread throughout most of the room to warn of anyone breaking in.

Enchei nodded appreciatively. He’d chosen correctly after all ; unless by some terrible coincidence he’d stumbled upon an Astaren stronghold.

And not even I’m
that
unlucky,
he thought as he stepped forward, baton ready in his hand. He paused.
Probably. Almost certainly.

There was a path through the webs, oblique but clear. No doubt that was how the goshe left the building. Whether or not they could actually see the webs, they knew the path through so the warding would always remain active.

Someone’s not sharing,
he guessed as he walked silently forward, then stepped to the side and moved in an arc towards the far side of the room.
Now ain’t that a familiar story ? Unless their elite are too damn stupid to be trusted to lock up behind them, whoever set this is making a point that they’ve kept some knowledge from their servants. Paranoia and jealousy ; they’ll be the death of the strongest man.

Once he was through the web of wardings, Enchei found himself at a narrow corridor leading to a smaller ante-chamber. Halfway down it he stopped, some sixth sense bringing him up short. The floor was paved with square tiles, many broken and tilted after years of use. The pattern they traced in his dark sight was chaotic and scuffed by a hundred boots – all except for the one section at his feet. He peered closer and discerned the edges of a single slab separate from the rest.

Carefully he picked his way over the slab, feeling a small prickle of pleasure as he got past the deadfall trap. But for his unnaturally sharp vision, he’d never have noticed the difference in dirt on the slab. He couldn’t see what lay underneath, but even with his Astaren armour he didn’t want to be falling onto steel spikes or the like.

One arcane defence, one simple one. Doesn’t mean there aren’t others, but all but the most paranoid mind would consider that sufficient for anywhere people have to walk on a regular basis.

At the end of the corridor he tightened his grip on his baton and edged around the corner, watching for guards and further traps. The room was also double-height, a rickety-looking iron balustrade running around the top, but otherwise empty. Bare of any furnishings, it also lacked a door and for a moment Enchei was puzzled as he walked cautiously into the centre of the room. Then the scuff-marks again came to his assistance as, on the right hand side of the door, he saw boot-prints on the wall at chest height. Looking closer he realised the rail was different there – newer and securely bolted down. With a few steps run-up he pushed himself up the wall and caught the rail with his right hand, quietly pulling himself onto the walkway.

There was an open doorway near that and at last he heard some signs of life. There were voices just a few yards ahead, lines of light around a door. Enchei crept forwards, readying his baton as he reached the door. He listened for a moment. Two voices ; too muted for him to hear properly, but he guessed they were Dragons from the depth and rhythm of their accents.

Crouching, he put his fingers to the gap at the bottom of the door, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together while running an arcane script through his mind. The friction of metal on metal produced a faint sound too high-pitched for any normal human to hear but, as Enchei silently chanted, a shape of the room beyond the door appeared in his mind. The image was crude, a shadowy sense rather than any clear picture, but enough to tell him the rough size and the location of the goshe within.

He rose and waited a moment longer. The voices had faltered while he was sounding out the room, but then they continued – clearly unsure if they had heard anything at all. Enchei didn’t wait for them to compare notes. He burst through the door and charged for the nearer of the two goshe. With the image of the room in his mind he didn’t stop to take in his surroundings, just let his body drive forward with the baton leading the way. The nearer man was facing his way so Enchei levelled the baton and squeezed the handle.

A stream of distorted air seemed to erupt from the end and struck the man full in the face. His head snapped back as though he’d been punched and Enchei turned the baton towards the other man, who was rising from his seat and reaching for a knife. The weapon knocked him backwards into the wall, knife forgotten as his hands went instinctively up to cover his face. Neither collapsed insensate though.

Damn, they’ve got defences in their minds.

Enchei whipped the baton back across the face of the first goshe. The solid rod connected with his throat and Enchei felt bones snap under the impact. A second blow took the goshe on the side of the head and he was falling like a dead weight even as the second finally staggered forward a few steps.

Enchei levelled his left hand at the other goshe and the whisper of a half-dozen darts burst from the hump of armour on his arm. They caught the man full in the face, tearing through his dark skin in a spray of blood. In the next moment he was falling too, limp as only a dead man could be, and Enchei was alone in the room.

He looked down at the baton and shrugged.
So much for not killing everyone I meet.

The room was seven yards across, two racks of three beds occupying the far wall with a stove, table and chairs in the centre of the room. An open cupboard on his right housed the goshe’s equipment and weapons – all mundane in construction, Enchei saw with relief as he cast his eye over the bags and sheaths there. Irato’s possessions had been exactly the same – clearly, if the goshe possessed anything more powerful it wasn’t part of their usual kit. Which gave him an advantage.

The only object of interest in the room was a faintly glowing crystal ball. Wisps of light floated listlessly inside it. It wasn’t clear what it was for, but Enchei had to assume it was a way to alert the guards to any tripping of the wardings. He left it alone and headed for the only other door, again crouching to sound out what was behind before opening it.

There was a steep flight of stone-walled stairs, a solid and secure path down into the belly of the building. It was pitch black, but he could tell it led not far underground so, shutting the door behind him, he crept down and found himself in a basement room with two open exits. The left-hand was a tunnel of some sort. He could see an uneven curved roof that appeared to be some sort of ancient sewer leading towards the entrance Lord Shield had shown him. The other was steps down to a deeper level, far below ground and more recently dug than the sewer.

The air smelled of cold mud and water, a cloying scent of recent excavations as well as old, crumbling brick. Above that was the acrid stink of urine, and blood too, perhaps. Enchei had seen enough dungeons to recognise the aroma and headed for the steps, but before he reached them a white figure loomed like a vengeful spectre.

The man was quick and big, covering the ground fast enough that Enchei didn’t react in time and felt a boot slam into his chest with the force of a hammer. The aging fighter was thrown against the wall behind him, while the pale giant whipped a pair of long-knives from their sheaths and jumped forward.

‘Uttir !’ he barked as he stabbed down.

Enchei darted to one side and smashed his baton down on the nearest blade. The impact jerked it from its owner’s grip but, as it fell, bursts of lightning leapt from the giant’s mailed fists. Sparks exploded over the baton and Enchei felt his arm jolt and go rigid for a moment. Both men flinched from the burst of light, but Enchei reacted fastest. He punched at the giant’s arm and felt the armour burst under the impact, following it up with a swipe of his protesting arm across the man’s face.

Somehow the giant jerked back out of the way and slashed with his remaining knife, but Enchei turned into the blow. He met the giant’s arm with his own and grabbed the man’s wrist. Bending the elbow back on itself, bones snapped horribly under the pressure. In the next moment Enchei slammed the handle of the baton down onto the giant’s nose with all the strength he could muster. The blow shattered his face, blood bursting down pale skin as he dropped.

A second goshe appeared up the stairs, moving fast but this time not quick enough to prevent Enchei levelling his left hand. A spray of tiny steel darts studded the goshe’s cheek and throat, some punching right through into the brick behind. The man gave a startled gasp and ponderously began to tip backwards, beads of blood appearing at his wounds before he crashed down.

Nearby, the giant’s legs were twitching feebly, telling Enchei he was dying too. He stepped over the body and headed down the steps to the dungeon below. He kept his arm outstretched as he went now, ready to fill the narrow corridor with a storm of darts. Three doors led off to the left, spaced evenly down the brick-lined corridor. The first contained a naked, blood-streaked man he guessed to be Narin, but didn’t stop to check until he’d confirmed the next two rooms were empty.