"Who are you?" asked Damon, almost tauntingly.
"I come from Kjeldor in search of the great Master Wane," said the assassin. She seemed a little confused. Her hands closed into fists and opened again nervously, as if the internal struggle continued, but she played her part.
"I am a former student of Master Wane," said Damon. "I welcome you to his home." He held out his arms to embrace her, and she returned the embrace in kind. "You are what you see," he said.
"But where is Master Wane?" persisted the impostor, uneasy in the embrace. "I have an ancient artifact which we Kjeldorans need his guidance on." She began to pull away.
"I am what I will," continued Damon. He plunged the knife into the small of her back. The woman started, then backed away in shock. She turned and collapsed, bleeding, the knife sticking from her back. Her eyes were wide with surprise. Damon stooped over her, yanked the knife free, and planted it in her throat. Her reflection remained in the mirror. Damon turned toward it, his back to the corpse.
"Begone," he said, and the reflection was gone.
Annarais's image remained. "Thank you, dear Annarais," he said, and he dismissed her reflection, as well.
In the mirror, he saw the golem, a creature with no mind, still locked in futile combat with the imp, a creature with no body. He was considering what to do with them when something grabbed his ankles and yanked him to the unforgiving floor.
It was the assassin. Blood no longer ran from the gash where Damon's knife stuck in her throat, and her dark eyes were now lit by some eerie force. The black gem in her vest glowed like a cold heart. Her hands, strong as vises, pulled Damon onto his back and under the weight of the living corpse. They clamped onto his neck. His face bulged and he couldn't breathe. He clawed at the assassin's face, but she seemed impervious to pain.
"Your little trick has killed me," said the assassin, in a hollow, ragged voice. The effort of speech made blood dribble past the knife in her neck. "But I am a devotee of the night. Death makes me stronger." She dropped her weight on Damon's belly, and the last of the air in his lungs squeezed out his throat. "You tricked my mind, but my mind has now been sacrificed to the night. You'll have no more luck with your trickery. That's all your kind of magic is-trickery."
Damon's frantic struggles were useless beneath the weight of the powerful, skilled, relentless assassin. He closed his eyes to gather what was left of his concentration. He remembered Master Wane saying, "The mind that is moved is not the true mind."
Damon opened his eyes and cast his gaze at the imp that held the golem in its endless cycle of attacks. He willed the imp to move toward him and the assassin.
Staring down into Damon's face, the assassin continued, "You wizards of the sea and sky think you understand magic, but your magic is soft and harmless, insubstantial as the images you create."
The golem followed the image of the imp, striking and striking with the massive, spike-covered ball at the end of its left arm. Now Damon willed the image to cover the assassin.
"When you are dead," said the assassin, "we shall make a zombie of you, so that you can serve in my lords-"
In a blur, the golem brought its mighty weapon and smashed the assassin's head to one side, cutting off her taunting speech. The impact knocked the corpse off Damon, and as he gasped for breath he willed the imp over the assassin again. The golem, finally striking flesh instead of phantom, smashed the flailing corpse beyond recognition. A blow shattered the black stone on the assassin's chest, and she stopped moving for good.
For a long while Damon rested on his hands and knees regaining his breath, trying to comprehend all that had happened to him. Finally he rose, strode across the training room, and opened the door to Master Wane's chamber, the door that only wizards could open. Behind it he found not stairs but an empty shaft. He levitated into Master Wane's chambers. There he found nothing but a round room, bare walls, bare floors, and five open doorways leading to the balcony that circled the top of the tower. He walked onto the balcony and looked out over the sound.
Damon saw the deep orange sky and the black clouds. At his will, the sky shifted from orange, through red, to purple, and then to blue with white clouds. He chose to see the sky as a nice, clear shade of blue.
There, on the balcony, he awaited his colleague's return. Bound in Shallows Kevin T. Stein
The casino was loud, but clean. Lamps burned expensive oil in the open windows. I glanced over the top of low, double doors. The people inside wore bright clothes of silk and brocade, their hair braided and combed as they moved about with the same expression: vague enjoyment, phantom pleasure. They lost their money to Dumoss-Master Dumoss. They should count themselves lucky.
The sun labored to reach the city through thick clouds. The previous night's dustfall had left everything gray. Since the end of the great war, the Brothers' War, everyone who slept without shelter spent the day beating, brushing clothes to remove the dust. These poor walked past, cursing the brothers, cursing the war that changed everything, even their luck.
I was clean. Last night, I slept in my flat.
My side of the street was choked with shuffling people. Bent over, they didn't look to the casino or its patrons. They only looked at each other-general hatred and distrust inflamed by the great war. I knew they wanted to lash out at something, that they were chewing over their luck. Right now their luck was bad. But when it changed, they would be the ones wearing bright silks, they who braided their hair. They'd raise themselves up by stepping on the lives of those around them. Their anticipation, their lust tightened the air, mouths almost dripping like the muzzles of hungry dogs.
They were all wrong. If they wanted to leave the street, they shouldn't step on each other, but those at the casino. I had dedicated my life to this simple idea. I could have told them, but I chose to keep my own council. I didn't do charity work.
There were a thousand reasons I hated standing in that alley. It smelled old and musty and quickly covered me in a film of dust. I had watched the casino so many times from that alley I would have known if a stone were missing.
There were other things to hate. Annise's shift hadn't ended yet. She was still bringing drinks to well-dressed, wealthy patrons. I hated waiting for her, afraid she'd find someone at the casino and leave me. It was only a matter of time.
There was so much tension everywhere, in me. I needed a release, needed to be calm. I slowly closed my eyes and opened myself to the Flow to clean my spirit. I took a deep breath and the Flow filled me, pale and blue, water seen in the distance. I raised myself above my body, imagined flying like a bird to escape the street and dirt and hateful beggars. Hovering above the city, I could tell where the Flow was strongest this year, this month, could see where the wealth resided. The more luck, the more wealth. My spirit drifted.
The hate would not be dismissed. I opened my eyes to the casino. Nothing had changed, not even my mood. Men in rich, blue cloth moved through the casino crowd, the pit bosses. Frowning, I leaned against the alley wall with folded arms. Still tense, I maintained control.
In the window I saw a sudden flash of red hair, the color of the sun setting in the polluted, dusty sky. Annise. She turned, smiling down at someone. So beautiful. Caring for her, about her, was like a dare against fate, the ultimate gamble. No one had ever cared for someone as I cared for Annise. People were too afraid to give of themselves. I'd not yet told her what was in my heart. She'd never told me what I hoped was in hers.
Through the open window I saw her pause, listening, intent. She threw back her head and laughed. I could hear her above the crowd noise, standing in that wretched alley across the street. She gently caressed an upturned face. And still I maintained control.
Stepping into view was Dumoss. Master Dumoss of the casino was heavyset, had thinning black hair and wore red brocade chased with gold at the cuff and collar. Only the managers wore gold. A face built from high cheekbones gave him a youthful appearance, though he had not seen youth in scores of years. Around his neck he wore a pendant. Without effort I could see its place, its focus in the Flow. It had power.
Dumoss snaked an arm around Annise's waist, and she still smiled. He leaned over, whispered into her ear, handed her something. Pulling back with surprise, she inspected the pendant on its chain. She'd lost her smile. He'd made her an offer-I could imagine for what. Dumoss waited for an answer. Annise let the pendant drop, pushed at him, playful, laughing. He reached for her in vain when she moved away.
My control was broken. I dove into the Flow to fill myself and drown. The magic was thin and impure. I stepped from the alley, muscling through thick, dusty lines of poor people to the next gambling game. A vendor selling meat-stuffed bread stopped before me with a little smoking cart.
I gestured acceptance and played a gambler's game on him, a game endured by only the most brave, those with the greatest hunger. It was difficult to find the root of his spirit, the basin of his life's magic, but not impossible. There and then I stopped his heart.
His brown eyes went wide. I instantly let go, but felt no guilt. He would have done the same to me. The man fell over his cart, gasping with great pain. I pushed him aside, out of my way. Fists clenched in rage, I pressed on to where Dumoss pursued Annise.
From my left came the noises of horn and armor. Both sides of the street-rich and poor-scattered, pressing themselves against walls, entering doorways and alleys.
Soldiers rounded the corner and paraded up the street. They didn't look at me, at anyone. My gambler's magic would not harm them anyway. Their hearts could not be frozen. They were strong and protected, returning from the Brothers' War. I knew what they thought, had heard their dim views of this city and its people. The feeling was mutual. To us they were nothing more than unwanted lives, refuse with mouths.
The soldiers were a river I could not cross. Dust swirled in their wake, forcing me back, blocking even my view of the casino, which, strangely, tempered my anger. Annise would be home soon enough.
I left the street, its disparity and its river of men, thinking of her. How long would it be before she gave in to Dumoss? I pulled Flow through me, for calm, for power, trying to set my questions aside. The immediate answer was simple: if Annise came home wearing the pendant, I would know her betrayal, inevitable betrayal, would be complete.
I vowed right then to defeat Dumoss for her. A man could be down only so long before his luck changed.
We lived in the bones of a thing long dead. Our room was long and wide, a landing of exposed slats broken with age supporting four walls made from thin plaster by inexpert hands. Small rocks and dirt rained down irregularly from the ceiling, made worse by the cat upstairs, whose nocturnal pacing kept me awake at night. A few oil lamps burned yellow. The wall facing the street had a window without glass, broken out during riots and storms. When the luck flowed our way, a wind unsoured by the city blew straight in.
I sat on my cot, a flat field-cushion gambled from a soldier, and tried not to think of Annise's bed nearby. Instead, I focused on my precious five cages. How many more did Dumoss have? Five times five? Fifty? My hatred for him was a palpable thing, so that even my animals- salamander, poison toad, spider, rat, and my prize, my beautiful mantis, delicate and green-grew restless. Dumoss used a mantis, his favorite sport. He could fight in the aviaries, but birds were more flash than sport, no real money. They were too hard to use, too much effort.
I didn't always like to play. The best gamblers could feel their magic fade, could taste the bad luck. The smart ones knew when it was time to back away. Everyone backed away sometimes, except Dumoss. He never said no to a fight. That wasn't quite true. He never said no to a fight of his class.
The mantis turned toward me, waved its razored arms, pivoted its head. It knew it was my favorite. The others were in their cages like soldiers. Their spirits were simple and pure, easy to control. The best gamblers knew their animals were the means to greater wealth, a better life. The animal arenas saw the greatest flow of money. Games of Bloodletting, games of Freeze like I played on the street vendor, were simple, quick, but required real nerves. The money from them was thin compared to the arenas where the winners played.
I stretched my arm toward the mantis. Eyes half-closed I drew myself into the Flow and rose above the falling dirt and darkness. My spirit followed a sense of motion and was carried a great distance, almost forever. Time was lost. Slowly the stream stopped rushing straight away. It bent, first in a curve and then in a circle. I had it. I had control.
The ghost mantis stood in my open hand, spirit drawn from its mortality. I could see through it, a mirage, perfectly still. Its corporeal form was still rigid in its cage and would remain that way until dead or the spirit was returned. My connection to this ghost was achieved with careful skill and hours of training.
I focused my thoughts on the essence standing in my palm. It raised its two arms in praise. I focused again. It lowered them. I was in control.
This was the weapon I would use to defeat Dumoss: a mantis. The mantis arenas were the best favored in the city. The knowledge of my secret weapon felt like a hidden dagger, ready for a final, fatal blow. The Flow I had taken filled places in my thoughts like rainwater gathered in pools. Each pool wrought a feeling, a comfortable pressure. I released one of the pools.
Washed, the mantis-spirit glided away from my palm, up my arm, attacking the air in practice like a toy. I watched as its back legs dragged and its body slumped forward a fraction too far. My face felt weighted down with disappointment. I wriggled my fingers and its head jerked up, and the body turned to attack. I brooded over my control, fine for the salamander and toad, but not enough for this difficult creature.