When in doubt, make it better than you think it needs to be. Royce had taught me that, and while it was sometimes a pain in the ass, it had always served me well. Of course I wasn’t sure this project was really usable. I had designed the cubes with the God-Stone in mind, as a possible method for using its enormous power, but then put them aside as impractical. The Iron-Heart Chamber had been a more reliable trap, and the World Road, a more productive use of the God-Stone’s power.
I still have access to the God-Stone if I wanted to use it, and a short detour here would make the same possible with the Iron Heart Chamber. I glanced down at one of my pouches, the one I never opened. Making an impulsive decision, I picked up the twenty-seven diamond cubes and placed them in a different pouch. I didn’t have a lot to lose anymore and the meaning of ‘risk’ was changed entirely when you were already dead.
Straightening up, I belted on my pouches. If I had a mirror I’d look hilarious. Buck naked and wearing nothing but a belt and some ratty boots. Naked wasn’t the problem though; I could cover that with an illusion. What I needed was something that would hide my nature from magesight, something that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
Walking across the room I opened a large footlocker that had lain undisturbed for a number of years. “Never thought I’d see a use for this,” I observed. Within the chest lay a suit of full plate armor, similar in design to the armor worn by the Knights of Stone—my armor. It was enchanted and sized to fit my frame.
I had created it to please Dorian, who insisted that, as a feudal lord I should have my own armor. He nagged until I had made it, mostly just to shut him up. After that he had never found an occasion that I really needed to wear it. At most formal events noblemen wore fine clothes and fabric which, while uncomfortable suited me far better.
As a wizard I had avoided the armor because it blocked the easy flow of aythar. Being encased in enchanted plate restricted the range of my magesight significantly and made even the simplest of magics difficult. It was roughly analogous to hiding inside a dark closet and looking through a keyhole. I had made a number of modifications to this suit to accommodate my abilities, the most notable being the ability to make my helm permeable to aythar when desired. That would allow my magesight to operate at a level close to normal, but it would also make my true nature visible to any nearby wizard. The gauntlets also had been created with built-in rune channels, and the matching sword that I wore with it was also made to channel power.
In most cases, my personal shields were far more effective for protection and they afforded me more freedom of movement, along with not restricting my abilities. When I did need something more substantial I had my enchanted shield stones. In almost every instance, the armor was more of a hindrance than a help—until today.
Wearing this, I should be able to avoid raising suspicion should I encounter one of the Prathions. Their skill with illusions and invisibility made them somewhat more perceptive when it came to detecting shiggreth. While it had taken me some effort to learn to spot the ‘empty places’, the voids, that a shiggreth created, Walter had noticed them immediately. His children had been no different. With this on, I’d simply appear to be one of the Knights of Stone. As long as I didn’t come into close contact, I should be able to pass unnoticed by them.
One remaining problem was that the armor was blazoned with the Cameron arms, declaring my identity to anyone who saw it. A small illusion would hide that however, so long as I didn’t get close enough to another wizard for it to be noticed.
Putting armor over naked skin was normally a big no-no, but thankfully, the arming gambeson was packed in the same chest. A large quilted garment, it was meant to be worn over a knight’s small clothes, to protect skin and body from the abrasions and pinches that full armor inevitably caused. It felt odd wearing it without trousers or an under-tunic, but I could remedy that once I got to my personal wardrobe.
Once I had the armor in place, a task that took close to half an hour, I spoke the command word that would make the helm transparent to magesight. Examining the area within and without the castle I noted at least three of the Knights of Stone in the vicinity. None of them had their helms on, so I was able to identify them easily, Sir William, Sir Thomas, and Sir Edward.
Sir William appeared to be heading through the gate and into Washbrook, so I chose him to impersonate. He had the additional advantage of being a known prankster, so any unusual behavior on my part could be chalked up to some unfathomable joke. I created two illusions, the first within my armor to make my face appear to be his. That would be needed only if someone asked me to remove the helm, something I’d have to refuse to do if either Walter or his children were in the vicinity.
The second illusion, which was much more awkward to create, was a disguise to change the external appearance of my armor. I disguised the Cameron arms and made them appear to be William’s. Such an illusion would have been easy normally, but making it while wearing enchanted plate was difficult. If you’ve ever tried to thread a needle while wearing heavy leather gloves, you’ll have an idea of how frustrating delicate magic is under those conditions.
Once I was finished, I added the sword belt and since I had been forced to remove the belt of pouches while armoring, I put it back around my waist. All told, I felt significantly less graceful and after I made my helm opaque to magesight, I also felt half blind. I could still sense things with my magesight, mostly through the various openings in the plate as well as the eye-slits, but it limited my range to distances of less than fifty feet or so.
“I feel like an idiot wearing this,” I complained to no one in particular.
I left the workshop the same way I had entered, using a crudely crafted spell to hold the damaged hinges in place. The armor made even simple things difficult. My best estimate was that the magic would last a few weeks at best before it failed, and the door fell open again. Then they’ll wonder who broke in and pillaged through my things.
From that point, I strode boldly across the courtyard, until I had reached the main door to the keep. The doorman, a fellow I recognized but couldn’t name, held it wide for me. I nodded toward him as I passed, but I wasn’t sure how well the gesture worked given my accoutrements.
Most of the people I met inside moved aside quickly when they saw me coming, hopefully out of deference. It was either that or they were worried my ridiculously bad fashion sense might infect them through sheer proximity. In my mind’s eye I looked like some absurd metal clad ape. I also noted many of them giving my head a second look, no doubt wondering about the helm. No one wears a full-face helm indoors, or outdoors either really. The Knights of Stone usually put them on only when required to do so.
I made for the stairs as quickly as I could. The fewer people who saw me, the smaller the chance that I might be uncovered. I failed to realize the flaw in my previous thinking until I got to the upper floor where the door to my home was located. Officially it was the door to our apartment, but in reality the portal enchantment on it led to a secluded home deep in the mountains.
The outer door in the hallway had two guards standing beside it, even though Penny and the children were in the capital. That door was normal enough. My goal was past that, the inner door leading from the foyer. It was the enchanted one. If the wrong person put their hand on it the doorway led into a perfectly normal apartment, a decoy. Only when I put my hand to it, or those I had specified, would it lead to our hidden home.
That was the problem.
Identity enchantments no longer recognized me as Mordecai Illeniel. I had learned that lesson twice now, and this door would be no different. Since this door led to a place that wasn’t actually here, there was no way for me to bypass it. I would have to physically travel to where my home was located, a journey of nearly a day if I was flying and practically impossible on foot. There was no teleportation circle in my hidden home. I had avoided putting one there to avoid the danger of someone being able to teleport there if they learned its key, so cons
equently I couldn’t make a circle to go there myself either.
Well shit.
I kept walking along the corridor, not pausing as I passed the two guards. They had stiffened when they saw my approach, and they visibly relaxed when I entered the stairwell at the other end of the corridor. Let them think I was merely checking up on them.
I went down one floor before leaving the stairs again. Sir Harold was headed up, and my magesight had barely given me enough warning to avoid him. He would surely have far too many difficult questions for me to risk meeting him.
The floor I was on now held guest rooms and some of the quarters for more senior staff, such as my chamberlain, Peter Tucker. It also held my mother, Miriam’s apartment. My senses confirmed her presence and I was torn by a sudden desire to see her, but I knew it was a bad idea. You can’t go home anymore, not even there.
Instead I headed for Peter’s room. He was close to my size and his room wasn’t far down the hall. Since Penny was in the capital I imagined that he had probably traveled with her. It would be unlikely that anyone would stumble upon me in his living quarters. My diminished magesight was still good enough to confirm that it was empty before I tried to enter. The door was locked but a small bit of magic would be enough to open it—or so I thought. Five attempts later and I was forced to remove my gauntlets, as well as make my helm permeable to aythar, before I could manage the delicate trick of getting the pins to align so the plug could turn.
Once inside I breathed a bit easier, though I still returned my helm to its more opaque state. While exposed I still hadn’t detected any of the Prathions, but one of them could show up at any time.
I wasted no time stealing a pair of trousers and an under-tunic. Peter had enough clothes that I hoped that he wouldn’t miss them. There might be trouble for the other staff if he thought they were stealing. I was tempted by a pair of shoes inside his wardrobe, but I knew those would be noticed for certain. My own boots were in a sad state. Walking across half of Lothion had done them a serious disservice.
Peter’s room also had a particular convenience I had sought in Albamarl, a writing desk. A few sheets of expensive paper were tucked away in a drawer and a tightly stoppered bottle of ink sat next to a metal nib pen. I was a bit surprised at the investment. Most people, well, most scriveners anyway, still used quills. Metal pens were relatively new and still quite expensive, few beyond the rich bothered to invest in them.
He always did put a lot of effort into his calligraphy, much like the rest of his job. For a man that had wanted to kill me when I first hired him, Peter had turned into one of the most reliable and trustworthy servants any nobleman could have. Funny how things had turned out, I noted.
Dipping pen in ink, I began a short letter:
Elise,
I am writing to you now from very unusual circumstances. You may or may not recognize this handwriting, but I am sure from the content you will soon realize my identity, so I won’t bother trying to hide it. I was your son’s closest friend, and you entrusted me with some of your most personal secrets a year and a half ago.
While I understand that you can no longer trust me, given my ‘condition’, I nevertheless have a favor to ask of you.
I recently encountered a woman, a stranger, plying the trade you once did when you met Gram. Through no fault of her own she was injured; assaulted might be a better word. The guilt for this crime is entirely my own, nor can I be certain that I will not do worse in the future. My only hope to repay her for the harm I have done is to recommend her to your care. Given your past you were the only one I could think of that might understand her plight well enough to empathize.
Her name is Myrtle and she has a daughter named Megan. I will enclose the address below so that you can find them. Thank you in advance for whatever aid you are able to provide them. They deserve whatever recompense you are willing to give them on my behalf.
I know you will have many questions as you read this but I do not have the time to anticipate them, nor do I think it would be profitable for me to answer them all. I am not the man I once was. My mind remains intact, but I can no longer trust myself entirely. Likewise, I would advise you not to either.
If you care for Penny’s sanity, please do not disclose this missive to her. It would only increase her anguish to discover that I have, in some part, survived my transformation. The important facts have not changed. I am essentially dead. I am dangerous to everyone I come in contact with and I cannot with any surety claim that I will not become worse in the future.
I intend to do my best to remedy this situation, and I know you will understand that there is only one way to do that.
~A former friend.
I didn’t bother putting my name on it, for some reason it didn’t seem right. As I had alluded in the letter, it was better if my death was considered final. No need to add the shame of the present to my name or my family.
Folding the paper I wrote her name on the outside, Lady Elise Thornbear. Before my untimely demise she had still been living in Lancaster. My next stop would be to slip it under her door there. I had thought to mail it when I was in Albamarl, but now I figured it would be faster to take a circle and deliver it myself. But first I have business down below, I thought.
Chapter 8
I made it to the ground floor and had passed the kitchens on my way to the entrance leading to the cellars, when I felt the arrival of a mage. Although my magesight was effectively limited wizards often give off flashes of aythar if they aren’t shielded. Walter had often told me that I gave him the impression of a walking bonfire whenever I completely released my shields.
A short burst of energy signaled the use of one of the teleportation circles, and the feel of it made me think of George. I sensed several more flashes before they disappeared abruptly, probably when he remembered to put his shield back in place. Sloppy George, you should know better than that. I had taught him, as well as his sister, to keep their shields up constantly, even when teleporting—perhaps especially then.
He had probably grown lax in my absence. While he had always been an able student, he had never impressed me with his diligence.
I managed to get to the cellar door and down the stairs before he entered the main hall itself. After that I relaxed and began moving at a normal pace. Our relative positions within the castle put us at an absolute distance of around forty yards from one another. Close enough that I was sure he would be conscious of my presence even without concentrating. The enchanted plate that the Knights of Stone wore was not exactly inconspicuous to magesight, it positively glowed.
As long as I was far enough away that he didn’t notice the illusion I had placed over the arms, I figured I would be alright. I continued onward and downward. It would probably seem suspicious if I stopped for no apparent reason. My paranoia reached new heights as I considered where George’s mental focus might be. If he was paying attention, he might wonder why one of the Knights of Stone was down in the cellars—and heading deeper. He might also wonder why I had my helmet on. Then again he might simply be engrossed in a conversation with someone and not looking suspiciously at everything going on around him.
Deep breaths, he might leave soon if you’re lucky. Good advice, except I didn’t need to breathe anymore. That had become a superficial activity. Quite often I only remembered to breathe these days when I tried to talk. It’s hard to speak without a lungful of air.
I reached the entrance to the Iron Heart Chamber, and by now the distance between us was great enough that I had no hope of knowing if George was still in the castle or whether he had gone somewhere else. I waited several minutes before finally taking the risk of making my helm permeable to magesight. Hopefully, if he was still in the vicinity he was far enough away that he might not notice a distinctly shiggreth-like empty place on top of a suit of armor.
Lady Luck smiled on me, and I found no trace of him within my range. ‘Bout damn time she should throw me a bit of kindness. I withheld any further com
plaints. She might turn on me again at any time.
I stared at the door in front of me. There were several options available to me at that point. I could take the key that would allow me to draw power directly from the Iron Heart Chamber without doing anything else, which was the safest option. I could take the key and draw some of the power from the containment now, a slightly riskier option since I might be discovered the longer I stayed there. Then there was my third option, the riskiest of all.
My time searching through the convoluted labyrinth of memories had yielded a number of important secrets. One of which might make all the difference now. I needed friends, or if not friends at least servants.
I opened the door.
Nothing happened.
“Well that was anti-climactic,” I said aloud as I entered. This time I had an audience.
Karenth the Just lay sprawled on his back in the center of the room, staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t bother to respond, and my magesight indicated that his strength was negligible. There was barely enough left for him to maintain a visible form.
“Get up,” I commanded.
His eyes focused on me then, “Or what? You’ve taken everything already.”
“Or I’ll do something dire,” I responded.
Karenth snorted, “I’m immortal. You can’t kill me. I don’t experience much in the way of pain. You’ve already done the worst, locking me in here.”
“I could unmake you,” I threatened.
“I gave up hope for that long before you were born,” he replied dryly. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I’m hoping to start a new fashion trend.”
The melancholy god laughed, “Then there’s no hope for your kind.”
I grimaced, “I think I liked you better when you were a megalomaniacal, wizard-hating, misanthrope.” Then I knelt beside him before lowering my head to floor level, so I could whisper four soft words in his ear. Long forgotten words, the keywords Moira Centyr had given to my ancestor, the day Karenth was created.