Vol 5, Chapter 21

The worst awakening I'd ever had.

In general, I had no objection to being woken by a girl straddling me… but not when she pressed a dagger to my throat.

I didn't waste a second trying to get a good look at my guest, especially since she wore a hood. That could wait. First, I tried to dull the dagger scraping my neck.

No effect. My eyes flicked down—the blade was black and glassy. Not a trace of metal. Damn.

"Obsidian? You came prepared," I said slowly, buying time.

"Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't go to such trouble for you alone. Leftovers from a job. The Second broke, unfortunately." She emphasized the word with mocking tone and pushed back her hood with her free hand.

Though mages were often more striking than ordinary folk, this girl was merely pretty and could easily disappear in a crowd if she wished. She wore no makeup, no perfume—only a faint scent of cinnamon… and the stronger, unmistakable scent of blood.

I was certain we'd met before. She had just looked much more harmless back then.

"I suppose the note was your doing?" I asked, sliding my hand slowly toward the pistol under my pillow. Very slowly, so she wouldn't notice.

"Correct." She reached into her neckline and pulled out the note. "I'll be taking this with me, if you don't mind. I'd rather not leave unnecessary traces."

She put it back and sighed with anticipation.

Perfect. So she hadn't just broken into my room—she'd rummaged through my clothes while I slept. My danger sense had never failed me so badly.

"The Third didn't insist on your elimination. Another outcome will do. You should've sailed away—you'd have avoided a lot of trouble."

"Well, since you didn't slit my throat in my sleep, I still have a chance to avoid that trouble, right?" I smiled, moving my fingers ever closer to the grip.

"Yes and no. I'll give you a chance."

"Why such generosity? Gratitude for the inquisitor incident?"

"Gratitude, yes. But not for that. That was the Game… never mind. Will you play with me? For your life?" She traced the dagger along my neck.

"Do I have a choice?" My fingers crept on. Give me ten more seconds and we'd play a different game entirely.

"Of course, that's the point! Game or death. Your choice?"

"There is no choice. What are we playing?" My hand searched, but found nothing. Damn it, where was my gun? He was supposed to be here!

Shadows in the room stretched, wrapping around my arms and legs, pinning me to the bed, yanking off the blanket.I might have dispelled them… but I couldn't dispel the shard of obsidian in my throat. The witch seemed to sense it—pressing the blade harder.

I glanced up at my hands. Shadowy cuffs bound my wrists tight. Even if I dispelled them, reaching the gun would be harder now. I wiggled my fingers—good, at least they weren't numb. I could still shoot… if I had something to shoot with. My head turned; both pistols lay on the table beside my coat. Perfect—she'd stolen the one from under my pillow. Damn. What now?

"Reminds me of what I did to someone not long ago," I remarked, spread-eagled on the bed. "I don't think I'm going to like your game."

"Oh, you'll like it," she whispered—and I noticed she was wearing less clothing, especially below the waist.

"Simple rules. Whoever finishes first loses," she purred, shifting atop me.

"Well then… why not." I agreed—there was no other way forward but to play along.

If I could just catch her hand, I could twist her arm. But to do that, I needed the dagger away from my throat, even for a second.

She couldn't keep it there forever… could she?

*************************************************************

"Maybe… you could… put the dagger away?" I asked.

"Mmm… no. You haven't… won yet."

"You're… cheating. That's… unfair."

"Cheating… is part… of the game," she murmured. "Samael… allows… trickery."

"Tell me… more!" I demanded, pressing harder.

"No… our… dea-eel… ah… isn't… about… that…" She covered her mouth with her free hand, holding herself back.

Another unpleasant surprise: I had underestimated the shadow bonds. During our "game" I tried to weaken them quietly, but got nowhere. They seemed to be feeding on something—possibly me.

I had only one shot. Either it would work, or not. I still believed that a strong enough attempt to dispel them would succeed… but if it didn't? One chance. And this witch had already surprised me once. Would she again? Too big a risk.

My mind ran through options. Looked for patterns.

Ha.

It was simple—she'd told me herself. Would it work? It had to.

I waited for the moment.

"Mmm…" She rolled her eyes, the dagger trembling, nicking my skin.

A couple of millimeters—better than nothing.

"You lose," I said, and drained every last drop of mana from the magic lamp on the nightstand.

A final flicker of dying magic.

Pitch darkness.

Nothing held my wrists now. Shadows couldn't exist without light. I lunged for her hand.

A burning cut on my neck. Deep? No idea. Didn't care. I knocked the dagger away.

We crashed to the floor.

She tried to resist, but couldn't cast in darkness. Our bodies were slick with sweat and my blood. It ran from my wounded neck, making everything slippery. The smell made my head spin… from that or blood loss?

Wet sounds. She struggled harder… or I was weakening.

I realized—I couldn't interrogate her. I'd have to kill her to survive.

She slipped from my grip. Pain exploded in my neck—she'd bitten me! Bitch!

"Two can play at that game," I thought, and bit her in return. Cold skin grated against my teeth. 
She squealed and let go. A moment. I couldn't see her, but I knew she was near.

I slammed my head forward. My forehead met her face. Crunch.

At the same instant, a sharp elbow hit my gut, knocking the wind out of me.

A fist—missed!

The door opened. Dim light spilled into the room. In it I saw her blood-covered face. Her teeth—elongated.

She hissed, and I could feel her losing physical form. Shadows were still weak. I tried to block her, to drain her magic.

But a fireball burst in the room, blinding my darkness-trained eyes.

A moment later, I was clutching empty air.

The brighter the flame, damn it…

Asha burst into the room, flushed and wearing a nightgown.

“Randal! What the hell happened here?” She froze for a second at the sight of the blood, then ran to me. “Let me see… Abyss… Hold still!”

Pain seared my neck again, this time quite literally, as my blood hissed under the heat of her fiery touch.

“There’ll be a scar…” she said apologetically.

“Don’t care… Thanks,” I replied, leaning against the bed. My head was spinning. A pool of blood spread across the floor.

“Wait here…” She rushed to the table, grabbed a sandwich and a vial of potion.

She handed me the vial and stuffed the sandwich into her own mouth.

An appetite in this bloody stench? Almost enviable.

I downed the liquid, icy cold running down my throat.

The dizziness stopped.

Once she finished eating and waited for me to recover, Asha repeated her question.

“So what happened? Everything seemed fine. Did you grab her ass or something?”

“What? Wait, how do you even—”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” she interrupted, far too indignantly to be telling the truth.

“…"

“Well, maybe just a little…” she admitted after a pause.

“She was planning to kill me from the start,” I said with a frown.

“Then she had interesting methods. Maybe you should… you know… be more selective and sleep with people who won’t try to stab you?”

“For example?”

She answered with aggressive silence, standing and brushing sandwich crumbs from her nightgown.

“You know what, not now.” I raised my hands in a peace gesture and got to my feet.

“That was really hurtful, you know,” she sighed. “Next time I won’t save you.”

“Sorry. But this isn’t the time,” I said, hastily dressing and checking my pockets. Oddly, the guest had taken the note but left the scroll.

“Yeah, sure, like I believe that,” Asha said, pulling her nightgown tight to show off her figure.
I ignored it.

“Do you know if the prince has come back?”

“If I hadn’t been standing outside your door for the last half hour, I might think you were playing for the other team. Seriously, you look at me and ask about the prince?” she huffed.

“Not this again. Aren’t you bothered by all this blood?”

“Not really. If you’d stood out there as long as I did, you wouldn’t be either.”

“Enough. Where’s the prince?”

“He hasn’t come back. He ran off to Nala for the night,” she sighed.

“Where exactly did they go?”

“What’s with the interrogation? How should I know?”

“Listen carefully.” I grabbed her shoulders, making her yelp. “There’s a ship in the port. It’s called the Espluar. Its captain is Flint. You get dressed, go to Ashley’s workshop, get them, and head straight to the ship. If I’m not there in time—leave without me. Got it?”

“What are you—”

I shook her.

“Listen. This is important. The prince may already be dead.”

“What the—”

“I’m going to look for him. You—prepare the ship to sail.”

“No, wait, I’m coming with you.”

I shook her again.

“That’s an order. Be ready to depart.”

“What if they won’t go? They were hesitant…”

“Make them. They mustn’t fall into the Commonwealth’s hands. Especially Ashley.”

“And if you don’t make it to the ship?”

“I told you—leave without me. If I’m not there at dawn, sail without me. Got it?” I gave the exact time just in case.

“But—”

“No arguing.”

“Damn. Couldn’t you find a better way to run away than a damn ship? You owe me, you hear? At least twice… no, four times!”

Instead of answering, I kissed her — that ought to quiet her down.

“I still won’t forgive you for the ship,” she muttered shyly.

“Six times, then,” I said with a tired smirk.

“Just be back for departure,” she said with a sad smile. “I can’t stand sailing alone. I’ll burn the ship, I swear.”

I nodded and kept dressing. One pistol was damaged—someone had pried a piece of pyrite from the lock. And by “someone,” I meant the guest. She must have been curious about the weapon; at least she hadn’t stolen it. Probably didn’t understand what it was. She couldn’t have done it silently… which meant she’d been making a racket while I slept through it. A bad sign. I swapped in a spare piece and tucked the pistol into my boot.

Waving goodbye, I went down the stairs. I should warn the ambassador about my suspicions, but that would take too long.

At this hour, he was probably asleep. But where was his room? What if he didn’t even sleep in the manor? Damn.

I barged into the first room I saw. A nobleman from our delegation was snoring atop a naked maid. Bad luck for him.

I yanked him off the bed and dropped him to the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped, his voice defiant even half-asleep.

I kicked the maid out and shoved a ring in his face.

“Recognize this? State business, understand? Find the ambassador. Give him my message personally: the prince is in danger. Possibly already dead. Nala is working with the killer and wants him dead, or—” I hesitated, thinking of the maid, “—or she’s not who she claims to be. Got it? Repeat it!”

Stammering, he repeated it.

Threatening him with royal retribution, I left the manor.

I didn’t know exactly where to find the prince, but since Nala always dragged him to the gardens… maybe this time too?

*************************************************

“I can’t let you in, sir. The greenhouses are closed at night.”

“But you let Nala in with the prince, didn’t you? Don’t deny it.”

The duty adept paled. Yes, he’d definitely seen them.

“Where exactly did they go? Speak!” I drew my blade and pointed it at the garden guard. He recoiled, pressing against the latticed door leading inside.

“I don’t know, no one tells me! They just went in, that’s all!”

“Has anyone left the garden?” I pressed, jabbing the blade.

“No! At least, not through my entrance.”

Good. That meant there was still a small chance the prince was alive.

“Alright.” I lowered my sword with renewed determination. “Now open the door.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry. They’ll kill me if I let an outsider in.”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

I struck the duty adept on the head with the flat of my blade, knocking him out. Let him lie there and think about his behavior. I sheathed my sword and examined the barrier.

Sparks danced along the steel gate blocking my way, its enchantment solid. But not a problem, or so I thought.

Grabbing it with both hands, I began draining the magic, funneling it straight into the Abyss. Ten seconds, twenty, a minute.

The gate resisted, the power flowing endlessly. Damn it, what did they enchant it with? Was there an entire array of cores feeding it?

Instead of changing tactics, I pushed harder. To hell with it, I didn’t have time to find another way.

After another two or three minutes, the array gave out, drained dry. Somewhere deep in the Abyss, Astarot stirred, awakened by the massive surge of energy.

The lights went out. Now there was only the steel gate: thick bars, as wide as several fingers, rising far into the air and forming a massive dome over the garden, like a giant birdcage.

It would have been an impressive barrier for any mage trying to force their way through; it would take time. But not for me.

I simply pushed the bars aside and stepped into the garden. Looking over the countless trees and plants—enough cover to hide not just two people but an entire regiment—I began to grasp the scale of the problem. Where the hell was I supposed to find them in here?

Wait. Cinnamon. There should be something here that smells like cinnamon.

I drew in the night air. A wild mix of hundreds of reagents hit me, and somewhere in it I thought I caught a hint of cinnamon.

Like a bloodhound, I wandered the garden in circles, following the scent.

Towering trees gave way to neat rows of cultivated herbs, shrubs with fruit, hanging vines… Cinnamon grew stronger. The scent intensified, until it was joined by another—blood.

I didn’t notice it right away, focused on the alchemical trail. But once I did, I knew instantly this wasn’t just from a nicked finger.

It was far too strong.

A few steps off the path, into the bushes.

The moon, breaking through the clouds, lit a body lying face-down.

A fine robe and a spreading pool of blood, reflecting the moonlight.

Of course, no one else was around.

“Damn… exactly what I feared.” I approached the body and turned it over.

Two strikes: one to the heart, one to the head. A shard of obsidian jutted from the temple. Nearby, I found the broken hilt of a dagger—exactly like the one that had nearly slit my throat. Reflexively, I touched the healing wound on my neck. Brr.

I closed Stefan’s staring eyes. Not the best man I’d met, but far from the worst. I’d known worse. A pity, in a way.

But there was no time for pity.

We’d been played. Both the state and me personally. One of the highest-ranking figures in the country, murdered during a friendly visit, possibly by a significant figure from another nation.

Would this mean war? Would the king slam the table, declare we’d all die but take revenge? Doubtful. Even if the king wanted bold, reckless action, it would be collective suicide. We simply couldn’t go to war with the Commonwealth, not in the same league.

But it couldn’t just be swallowed either… Nor could we openly drift toward the Theocracy, or the mages might see it as a threat and launch a preemptive strike if we clearly took sides.

Which meant maintaining friendly relations for national security. And that meant swallowing it. The result? Internal collapse. The nobility would revolt if the murder went unanswered. Was that what the Third Prince intended when he hired the shadow mage?

There was another way, the perfect way for everyone. All they needed was a scapegoat… most likely me. And then, voilà, it became an internal matter for the Kingdom, with the Commonwealth not involved. They’d pay compensation, apologize for the lapse in security. And that's all.
Why wouldn’t the Kingdom publicly take the blame if Nala’s involvement was going to stay hidden? It would stay hidden, since literally no one had anything to gain from the truth coming out.

The Third would punish the killer (me) through the crown, because the king would have to do it to stabilize the situation… But what kind of stability was that? Removing yet another, even if weak, pillar like my family, which still supported the already shaky throne?

That would make it collapse, burying the remaining loyalists. Slower, but inevitable, like a noose tightening around the neck. The Third would benefit no matter what, which was why he hadn’t insisted on my death. My killing would, in some way, vindicate my grandfather, but my execution as the prince’s murderer…

Thinking it through, it seemed clear to me that the night guest had really wanted to help. Leaving on the ship would have been the perfect way out for me, and the worst for the prince. Though in that case, the ambassador would have been named the killer, and the blow would fall on the Klaus family, loyal to the king.

No-lose scenario. No wonder he’d given her free rein.

However, the question remained: was Nala working with the killer, or was she the killer herself?

I had arguments for both sides. For: the fact the killer could change her appearance. I was one hundred percent sure it was she who came to me disguised as a maid. Plus, Nala’s strange appearance in a locked house…

Against: she had passed the chimerologist lab inspection, and overall, replacing an archmage entirely was too much even for the Third Prince. And if she had been replaced, where was the original? Perhaps she was in league with the Third Prince… but if so, why replace her at all?

My head was spinning. Fine, forget it. I wasn’t going to search for her or take revenge.

These thoughts ran through my head as I strode quickly toward the garden’s exit. If the killer was right about anything, it was that I should get out. In my absence, the scapegoat would likely be the ambassador. Poor Nerd, a decent man, but I had already told him what I knew. If he had any brains, he’d reach the same conclusions… though he would have even less time to get away. Damn, maybe I should go back to the manor and take him with me? But then we’d both be branded fugitive murderers… Arggh.

My irritated growl mixed with the vicious growl of a dog from the nearby bushes. Branches rustled, and something that had once been a dog stepped onto the path. Swollen muscles, black lines of isolite implanted directly into its body.

A chimera.

Multiple operations had turned the poor animal into a mage-hunting beast immune to magic.

“Rrrr!” it growled again.

“Good doggy!” I assured it, bending to draw my pistol from my boot.

I didn’t know where the mages got their raw stock for modification, but this had clearly not been a mutt. A mutt would have had the sense to run when someone bent down toward the ground.

Bang!

One clean shot tore apart its unprotected skull. So much for magic immunity—they could have at least strapped a helmet on it.

As the body hit the ground, more of its companions rushed in from all sides. Bang, bang, bang!

No time to aim for the head, I emptied both pistols into the bodies of the approaching beasts. Several collapsed, tumbling over weakened legs; one whimpered and lunged at me. At the last moment, I drew my sword and skewered the airborne hound. The blade drove deep, and I jerked back from the snapping jaws near my ear, but the impact tore the sword from my hands.

Pain flared in my wrist as another dog bit down from behind, clamping its jaws around my arm.

I transformed my pistol into a dagger and drove it into its neck. The dog choked but bit down harder, crunching bone.

“Argh…” The dagger split apart and grew inside it like a tree’s roots. Flowing steel severed tendons, and the dog went still, but I had spent too much time on it.

A blow from heavy paws and a broad head knocked me flat.

It snarled, drooling in my face, but didn’t go for my throat. Its job wasn’t to kill, but to hold me until reinforcements arrived.

I groped around on the ground. The sword was far away, its hilt sticking from a dog’s belly. My hand found the still-hot barrel of my other pistol. I sharpened it.

The growl above me turned into a yelp. A chunk of steel in the belly could ruin anyone’s mood.

Shielding myself with my injured arm from its fangs, I kept stabbing with my good hand, trying to reach the heart. Useless. The mages had done their work well, protecting it with bony growths—like a second ribcage.

My fingers sank into its entrails. Its guts tangled under my hand.

Its drool mixed with my blood on my face. The dog tore at my arm with relish, and I was pretty sure it had bitten off a piece of flesh.

Driving the sharpened pistol in to the hilt, I reshaped it inside. A steel spike pushed through its body, pierced an artery, and impaled the heart. The dog finally went limp.

I shoved the carcass off me.

“Hope you didn’t have rabies,” I muttered grimly, binding my arm. Blood still flowed; I wasn’t sure about the bone, but the wounds were deep.

Grabbing my sword, I moved quickly toward the exit. I couldn’t handle another pack like that.

The exit was close now. I could already see the gap I had made in the gate… and several new figures beside it.

And more to the sides…

I stopped and glanced back. Robes flickered in the moonlight. Hard to tell how many in the shadows, but too many.

A moment later, darkness lifted. An artificial sun rose over the garden, shining as brightly as midday. Its light alone made my head throb.

One figure approached, holding a staff topped with a magical crystal.

A magister in the flesh.

“I’m once again forced to invite you for a talk, Condor… but this time, your status won’t save you.”