Sorcerer's Shadow - Chapter 36: Spellfoe

* * * *

I had been a part of the Organization for nearly a year, and I was starting to gain a quiet confidence in my abilities. I had developed an aptitude for intimidation, a simple raised eyebrow or a smile would do the trick, and it was understood. Thorne and I had established a solid dynamic. If a target began to display aggression, I would hold my ground while Thorne took him down, usually with a surprise blow from behind. Then, I’d follow up with some minor harm and a mini-lecture on the virtues of nonviolence.

Life was moving along smoothly, until the news of a man named Horatio found in an alley behind a pub reached us. Occasionally, though costly, it is feasible to resurrect a dead body. But Horatio’s case was different. He had been stabbed in the back of the neck, cutting through his sCedar – a damage no mage can fix. He had around twenty imperials with him at his death, all untouched.

Rumor had it that Horatio worked for a man named Moros and had a reputation for assassinations. Moros was a man of significant influence, and Thorne had overheard whispers that another influential man, Nichols the Blade, had ordered Horatio’s death. This mattered to me since my boss was affiliated with Nichols – he supposedly shared a percentage of his earnings with him.

A week later, another man, Arvand, met the same fate as Horatio. Arvand was directly under Nichols, and I had crossed paths with him once, which made it all hit closer to home. People who frequented my boss’s place began to appear anxious, and my boss subtly hinted that it would be wise to avoid being alone. I couldn’t comprehend what anyone could gain from ending me, but I started staying home more. It wasn’t an issue, really. I wasn’t making a fortune that I felt compelled to splurge, and spending time with Opal, who was almost fully grown by then, training him was entertaining. For instance, I would say, “Opal, fetch the red ball from the bedroom,” and he’d return with it clutched in his claws. He had stopped calling me “Mama” by then, but had started addressing me as “boss,” most likely inspired by how I addressed my superior.

A few weeks later, my boss summoned me. I went to his office, and he instructed, “Close the door.” I complied. We were alone, and I began to feel a bit uneasy. He commanded, “Sit down, Viktor.”

I obeyed and responded, “Yes, boss?”

He moistened his lips. “Would you be interested in doing some work for me?” There was a slight emphasis on the word “work.”

A dryness seized my mouth. I had picked up enough slang over the past year to grasp his implication. I was taken aback, surprised, and all those feelings. I had never anticipated that I would be asked to do such a thing. But, rejecting the proposition didn’t cross my mind. I responded, “Sure.”

He seemed to breathe easier. “Alright. Here’s the target.” He handed me a sketch of an Imperion. “Recognize him?”

I shook my head.

He continued, “Okay. His name is Lynn. He’s an enforcer for… never mind. He’s tough, so don’t risk anything. He resides on Potter’s Market Street, near Invarys. He often frequents a place called Fedya’s. Familiar?”

“Yes.”

“He moonlights as a bouncer for a brothel three doors away, and he often does collections and bodyguard gigs, but he doesn’t have a set schedule. Is that enough info?”

I responded,

“I suppose so.”

“He rarely travels alone these days, so you may have to bide your time. That’s okay. Take your time and get it right, and ensure you remain unseen. Be careful. And I don’t want him to be reanimatable. Can you manage that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Would there be any alarms at his place?”

“What? No. Steer clear of his place.”

“Why?”

“You just don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He eyed me for a moment before responding, “He’s a Vorgan, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And you’re a Vorgan, correct?”

“Correct.”

“You just don’t do that.”

“Okay.”

“Also, don’t go near him while he’s at or near a temple, an altar, or places like that.”

“Understood.”

“He’s married. Don’t approach him when his wife is around.”

“Got it. Do I get to use both hands?”

“Don’t try to be clever.”

“I suppose I can’t do that either, huh?”

Opal, who had grown accustomed to lounging on my shoulder, growled at the sketch. I figured he was more perceptive than I had initially thought. My boss was taken aback by this but chose not to comment. He then handed me a purse. It felt heavy as I accepted it.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your fee. Twenty-five hundred imperials.”

When I found my voice again, I simply said, “Oh.”

* * * *

We set up a fire a fair distance from the river, where we prepared and consumed the remaining galethna meat. We ate slowly, lost in our own contemplations, with only the crackling fire breaking the silence. Opal seized the opportunity to dart out from my cloak, snatch a small piece, and retreat back to safety.

After we had eaten and tidied up, Drevolan suggested we take some more time to rest.

“Some claim it’s ill-fated to sleep within the Paths. Others believe it’s unfeasible. Still others have made no comments on the subject,” he remarked with a shrug. “I prefer not to gamble. I want to be as rejuvenated as possible before we proceed.”

Later, I watched as Drevolan skilfully crafted a harness to secure the staff to his back, freeing up his hands for climbing. I uncoiled my chain from around my left wrist and studied it. After giving it a few swings, it appeared to behave like any ordinary chain. This was either due to our location or because it had no other functions at the moment. I put it back, considered testing Drevolan’s theory by trying some magic, but then decided against it.

I noticed Drevolan observing me. He asked, “Have you named it?”

“The chain? No. Any suggestions?”

“What can it do?”

“When I’ve used it in the past, it functioned as a protective barrier against whatever the Sorcerer was hurling at me. How about SpellFoe? As it is a foe and hindrance to magicians?”

Drevolan simply shrugged without responding.