“If the odd Illusionist is born in Ur Dinyé, it is for one reason alone: Errigalese blood in the family tree. For all our infamous wars with our neighbor across the Kaycakh Mountains, Errigalese-Urd intermarriage remains the most common sort in the country. But the manifestation of that power can take multitudinous forms.
There’ll be the odd Illusionist magus, certo. Like me. We’re powerful enough to perform moderate illusions and complex wards. The two go hand-in-hand. Illusions temporarily alter physical appearance, and wards shield physical locations from unwanted entry.
Then, there are the True Illusionists. Capable of remaking themselves into anyone for aduration. There is only one use for that talent. Espionage. The Tetrarchy is careful with these magi, usually assigning them to government positions laden with coin so that they don’t turn traitor. It stops most True Illusionists. As for the rest, well, it’s impossible to figure out who they’ve altered themselves to be, let alone what they’ve done.”
—excerpt from a lecture given on Illusionists by former Magus Cato at the Academaie
“You’ve what?” Cassandane asked calmly within Favran Tower’s bronze and crimson atrium.
“Given up. Keep your seat, the Tetrarchy.” Noceo waved a hand to encompass everything. “I want none of it.”
The Head Tetrarch took a deep breath and turned to a wide-eyed Anek who nodded, then turned to a bewildered Harion who also nodded.
Sarai nodded in turn. “He isn’t lying.”
“Hundreds dead,” Cassandane said in that same too-even tone. “Thousands injured. And you want none of it.” She smiled.
“Shit.” Anek shuddered beside Sarai. “He’s better off walking into a public square without his guard. That’s the scariest smile I’ve seen in my life. I wouldn’t put defenestration past her.”
Noceo turned a dull red. “I was mistaken.”
“Were you?” Cassandane’s teeth gleamed. Sarai was suddenly heartily glad that she had never really had to face the Head Tetrarch as an enemy. “Was there a reason you couldn’ttalkto your brother before going on a murderous rampage?”
For all that he was the older of the two Kaders, Noceo decidedly looked like a woebegone child. He shrugged, splaying his hands uselessly. “I tried Coercing the Death-Summoner into letting me into his tower, but she kept recognizing me. I could only wipe her memory so many times.”
Kadra’s stern face suddenly took on the same murderous cast as Cassandane’s.
Unaware of the small war brewing in the atrium, Harion strode in briskly. “I hear we’re all going to take stimulants and fight a god.” He seized Noceo by the shoulder. “Where are they?”
Noceo blanched. “Weallare?”
Kadra cleared his throat, and Noceo immediately nodded. Head bowed, he spoke quietly into the atrium, a far cry from the cold-eyed snake who had ruined so many lives. Sarai cast a worried glance at Méherre, seated in a corner, eerily quiet.This’ll be bad.
Anek caught her eye and grimaced. “It feels wrong to ask her to work with him when she seems to despises him.” They scowled at the pallid man. “But this is one temporary alliance we need. Narrowing down our unknown god is taking too long. Power like Noceo’s will go a long way when battling them.”
“That makes him palatable, does it?” They both jumped at Méherre’s sudden question. Disappointment marred the other woman’s eyes.
“He isn’t receiving a pardon, Méherre. He knows he’ll face a reckoning after this, and I think he’ll welcome it.” Anek jerked a thumb to Noceo’s almost catatonic state.
Méherre’s smile was bitter. “You may be right. A reckoning approaches.” She raised her voice. “You. Where’s this mysterious source of your strength?”
“The Am Semni Institute.” Noceo’s melodious voice was a ragged whisper now. “Five months ago, Dalvia concocted it to help me. I’ll go find her. She’s been vanishing of late but—”
“Leave her alone.” Kadra’s tone brooked no disobedience. “We have a Bridger.”
“I’ve been there before,” Méherre said without emotion. “When do we leave?”
“As eager as I am to turn almighty, I don’t know if that’s the wisest choice at present.” Harion raised a hand for pause, flipping through a tome to present them with a paragraph in the ancient tongue. “The more who fall to a Summoned god’s curse, the more they tighten their control over that realm. At thresholds of a quarter of the area’s population under the god’s spell, the god will come and swallow the rest,” he translated aloud. “With over seven thousand dead and nearly twelve thousand madness-struck, we’re too close to our god making an appearance to risk going north, no matter how temporarily. Wouldn’t be a surprise if one showed up now.Andit’s a moondark night. Both moons in their new moon phase. We’ll be stumbling.”
Sarai had a horrifying vision of an enormous claw descending upon Edessa to pluck it from the map of Ur Dinyé and shuddered.
Cassandane looked equally staggered. “Do we have any names?” she turned to Anek. “Any idea of who this god could be?”
“If our god is a Naaduir, then Dorcone, Wretched Ruler of Rot, Hwiliath, Wretched Master of Manipulation, and Faragathe, WretchedSeer of Sleep are suspects. Faragathe, especially, has been associated with nightmares for a millennium.” Anek checked them off their fingers. “The few paragraphs that I found spoke to them being rather,” they winced, “unpleasant.”
“We’ll have to divide ourselves then.” Cassandane hovered a hand between her eyes, portioning the room in two. “Méherre, Anek, Sarai, Kadra, andyou.” She glowered at Noceo. “Go to the Institute. I’ll stay here with Harion, and round up Cato and Telmar. The god aside, our Summoner will also be powerful. It wouldn’t hurt to dose every magus in the Academaie with your stimulant.”
A flurry of activity ensued. Withdrawn, Noceo watched everyone bustle around him. Sarai pitied him all the more when he shuffled after them out of Favran Tower and onto the road that led to the Tower Gates. Mingled with that pity was anger. She couldn’t separate the two, unable to reconcile why he’d forced her to her knees despite knowing how bitter it was to crawl. Perhaps hopelessness twisted a person into a feral thing determined to burn the world for a sliver of joy. Vengeance against a world that had let them hurt.
