You believe you can read my thoughts. I see that glowing bauble beneath your ear. Well, you conceited harpy, I have ways to guard against unwelcome intrusions.
The effort of maintaining a mental shield to defeat the Augmentor’s probing had given him a splitting headache. In fairness, that was almost a welcome distraction from the throbbing lump protruding from his arse, which had swollen to the size of an orange. All in all, he had seen better days.
Recent events in the city had done nothing to improve the Halfmage’s mood. The Tyrant of Dorminia had been absent for a week, leaving that damnable Supreme Augmentor to assume temporary command of the city while Grand Magistrate Timerus regained his strength. The golden-haired commander of Salazar’s elite enforcers had wasted little time in putting Eremul to work, employing him in the dual role of both adviser and errand boy. His latest task was to gather every book he could find containing information about the distant nation of Sumnia. At first he had been secretly pleased with the assignment, thinking he might get a few hours’ respite back at the depository. He had not counted on being shadowed at every turn by Goodlady Cyreena, whose company was about as welcome as a poker up the arse.
Still, much as he despised the malevolent bitch glaring at him from across the room, the true depths of his loathing were reserved solely for himself.
He had held Salazar’s very life in his hands. He could have liberated Dorminia and its people from the grip of its tyrannical, murderous lord and ushered in a new age of justice and prosperity for all. Oh, the city would have been seized by Thelassa in short order, he had no doubt, but life under the White Lady’s banner would surely be better than the random executions and systematic terrorization that were part of everyday life in this festering heap of shit.
He could have been a hero, or at the very least an unsung martyr. Instead he had chosen to save his own skin, as befitted the coward he undoubtedly was. He only hoped the Magelord of Thelassa never learned of his actions. In one fell swoop, he had ruined the White Lady’s plan for liberating the Grey City without the need for a bloody war.
Preparations for Dorminia’s defence were well under way. The Crimson Watch had already begun sweeping the poorer districts and conscripting young men into the makeshift army that would defend Dorminia from Thelassa’s hired mercenaries. Eremul doubted the forced enrolment of the city’s dregs would prove to be of much benefit. When given a choice between a known tyrant and a potential saviour, only a fool would fight tooth and nail for the former.
The Halfmage had seen enough of the White Lady’s agents up in the abandoned lighthouse to predict a swift end to the conflict — especially with half the city’s Augmentors forcibly retired and probably suicidal. Dorminia was slipping from Salazar’s grasp, and there was little the ruthless old bastard could do about it. Even a Magelord has limits, and Salazar had exhausted himself destroying Shadowport. And no one knew quite what the White Lady herself was capable of.
‘What do we have so far?’ he asked irritably. There was a small stack of books on a table next to Goodlady Cyreena. She glanced at the spines.
‘Before the Falclass="underline" A History of the Events Leading up to the Godswar. A Grand Tour of the Sun Lands. The Soaring Spires: An Examination of Thelassan Society. The Warrior Princes of Sumnia. What’s this one?’ She picked up a small tome covered in purple leather. ‘Staring into the Abyss: The Planar Convergence. What does this have to do with the war?’
‘It doesn’t,’ he snapped in response. ‘It’s something I’m studying in my spare time. That book shouldn’t be in the pile.’
The Augmentor flicked through the pages, her lips pursed in concentration. He had thought her pretty, he recalled — until it became clear she was a barely functioning sociopath. That had killed any latent desire he might have felt.
Not that my passions amount to anything worth a damn. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone except his right hand for longer than he cared to remember.
‘You believe this? All this nonsense about demons and bogeymen?’ The woman’s voice was scornful.
Eremul sighed in irritation. ‘My wizardly forebears stormed the heavens themselves, did they not? It follows that there is a dark counterpart to the celestial plane.’
‘Your time would be better spent researching how to protect our northern borders from the abominations that plague us. Those are real threats — not childish nonsense.’
He couldn’t resist giving the goodlady a scornful look. ‘I am led to understand it is your duty to combat these menaces when they threaten Dorminia. Perhaps it is difficult to find the time. After all, you are so very busy terrorizing the populace.’
Cyreena stared back at him. There was something vaguely familiar about that face, but at that moment all he could focus on was the seething hatred burning behind her eyes. ‘I do as I am commanded,’ she said. ‘Nothing more. As should you.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about my dedication,’ he spat back. ‘After all, did I not save Salazar’s very life? I ought to be posing now for a sculptor. I deserve a statue somewhere in the city, surely. Why, it would barely count as half a job. Ardling could surely negotiate a discount.’
The Augmentor’s voice softened. ‘You sound bitter. I would not blame you for hating our master.’
Her words surprised him. He narrowed his eyes. ‘This is what you do, isn’t it?’ he said accusingly. ‘You tempt the gullible into treacherous thoughts so you can arrest them for treason later on. You fucking succubus.’
She stared at him and said nothing.
‘You’re worse than the rest of them,’ he continued. He knew he should probably keep his mouth shut, but recent events and his subsequent treatment as some kind of skivvy for that perfect golden-haired bastard lording it up at the Obelisk had enraged him. ‘How many careless fools have you led to the noose with your tastefully exposed tits and serpent’s tongue? How many families have you destroyed? Do you take some kind of sick pleasure from this?’
Goodlady Cyreena sneered in response, a look of such utter contempt that Eremul was impressed in spite of himself. ‘That’s rich coming from you, Halfmage. You’ve been informing for his lordship for years. The only difference between us is that I do this willingly — not because I’m too much of a coward to choose otherwise. You’re like an abused dog that still tongues his master’s arse hoping for a pat on the head.’
The woman’s words cut him like a blade. She had struck him right where he was weakest. He felt the blood pounding in his head, closed his eyes and gripped the sides of his chair so hard his fingers hurt. You bitch. You ruthless, perceptive bitch.
His magic burgeoned inside him. He was a hair’s breadth from evoking and unleashing it at the Augmentor when he felt a prick on his hand. He looked down.
There was a tiny speck of blood on his palm. The woman had crossed over to him and stabbed him with her hairpin, which had been hidden underneath her hair. He had forgotten it was there. He felt himself go numb. When he tried to wriggle his fingers they refused to respond.
Goodlady Cyreena watched him like a hawk, her hairpin poised to stab him again. When she was certain he was fully paralysed, she relaxed and placed the pin back in her hair.
He tried to summon his magic again. It was useless. The enchantment that numbed his body also dampened his ability to channel his own magical reserves. He was as powerless as a newborn babe.
Wonderful. The day just gets better and better. He couldn’t even move his mouth to hurl an obscenity at the damned woman.
‘I want to show you something,’ the Augmentor said. She grabbed his chair and spun him around to face the door, then pushed him outside. A child was kicking a stone down the street. The boy looked up curiously as they emerged into the afternoon sun.