"There must be very few practitioners."
Kumbat swallowed, visibly. "There are only three in all the empire."
"And I'll wager you're the best of the lot, else Matokin wouldn't keep you so close at hand. Modesty be damned, Mage Kumbat, am I correct? Are you the best?"
The wizard was starting to look quite pale, contrasting sharply with the color of his robe.
"I... I am the most skilled at this particular form of magic." He did not say it proudly. In fact, he sounded rather regretful at the moment.
Dardas smiled. "I have come to understand that Far Movement magic—another specialized and taxing skill, but one more commonplace than yours—is somewhat dangerous to practice. Not long ago, I had a plan to use those portals as an offensive weapon. It was a rather ingenious application of the magic, but sadly my plan was... vetoed."
Kumbat retreated a step toward the flap of the pavilion. If he tried to flee he would have a short journey. Dardas had given orders to his guards to admit, but not to allow the mage to leave.
"As far as Matokin knows," Dardas said, "you're here tending to Raven. He'll no doubt expect you back in Felk after a plausible amount of time. I will see to it that the proper orders are issued to have you transported there by my Far Movement wizards. Only"—Dardas smiled wider—"you won't be arriving at the other end. Eventually, it will be concluded that you were unfortunately lost in transit. As I said, Far Movement magic is evidently a somewhat dangerous practice."
Now Kumbat did turn to flee, but he didn't even make it to the flap. Raven rose from behind the trunk where she had been concealing herself, and seized the mage. Kumbat recoiled, fear bright in his eyes.
Raven said, "By the authority of Military Security, I hereby place you under arrest, Mage Kumbat. You will be detained here in this camp until such time as it is deemed fit to release you, or until further punitive measures will be taken against you."
Dardas resisted the urge to applaud. Even so, it was a magnificent performance on Raven's part. Here she was, arresting the very man who had brought her back to life. The irony tickled him.
But this wasn't an occasion for levity. He had already made the arrangements with the proper Far Speak and Far Movement wizards under his command to falsify Kumbat's return trip to Felk. Essentially, they would effect a blank delivery through the portals and later claim that they had transported Kumbat. Dardas had handpicked the two wizards, ones that Raven herself had reported as being especially loyal to him.
"But, but, but—" Kumbat sputtered. "What am I charged with?"
Dardas gestured to Raven.
She said, coldly, "Treason."
Then she led Kumbat away to specially prepared quarters. Kumbat was no Far Movement mage. He wouldn't be able to just conjure up a portal and step through and escape.
Alone in the pavilion now, Dardas yawned. The episode had been rather draining and this body had to rest sometime. He lay down on his bed, vaguely disappointed that Raven wasn't joining him. In a short while, Matokin would contact him, demanding to know what had happened to Kumbat. Dardas would express bafflement and then later on regret for the apparent tragedy that had occurred.
Matokin might or might not believe the ruse. Almost certainly, however, he would send someone to investigate. Maybe Abraxis, chief of the Internal Security Corps. The few times Dardas had met Abraxis, he had been struck by the canniness and wiliness of the man.
It would be interesting to see what would happen when the chief of Internal Security met the chief of Military Security, especially since it would be on Raven's ground.
Now Dardas did allow himself a chuckle. He was enjoying himself. As complex and perilous as things had become he was still participating in life. Two and a half centuries after his own death, and he was living his new life to its fullest! It was worth savoring every moment of it.
He was still Dardas the Invincible.
Soon, he would add the city-state of Ompellus Prime to his roster of conquests. After that, Grat would fall. This army would work farther and farther south, swallowing its enemies. But before it reached the southward extremity of the Isthmus, a worthy foe would surely rise to challenge him.
It had to happen. His instincts told him so. Wars were not fought like this, without any notable resistance. The laws of existence wouldn't allow it.
Dardas only hoped he wasn't mistaking his instincts for desperate, irrational hope.
Yes, Dardas the Invincible. He laughed a bit harder. With Kumbat as his captive, and with the mage's rejuvenating powers at his beck and call, invincible was precisely what he was.
BRYCK (3)
"He was an innocent," Bryck said, cutting through the contesting voices.
He did not speak loudly, but this group still showed him deference. They quieted. They turned. They listened for what he had to say.
"They grabbed up some poor wretch," he continued. "And they declared him guilty of the crime. And they took him into the plaza and hacked his head off."
"But I heard him," Gelshiri said in that insistent adolescent tone. "I heard him say he was a part of the Broken Circle."
Tyber, leaning against the wall nearby where Bryck was sitting, shrugged. "The soldiers must've coerced him into saying it."
"How would they do that?" Ondak countered. "How do you compel someone condemned to death to do anything? What's left to threaten him with?"
"A less comfortable death," Tyber offered.
A valid point, Bryck noted silently.
"So..." one of the new recruits to the Circle said, somewhat timidly, "he wasn't, uh, one of us?"
"Definitely not," said Tyber.
"So he died," said the same recruit, a sinewy middle-yeared female named Scaullit, "for a crime, uh, that—"
"That he didn't commit," Tyber impatiently finished for her.
She lowered her eyes. "I was going to say, for a crime that... that Minst and I committed."
They were all gathered in the most spacious of the Circle's rooms, the full complement, including the four fresh faces, two of whom—Scaullit and Minst—had painted the sigil on the wall of the Registry during the night's darkest watches. Bryck hadn't entirely expected the brazen scheme to succeed, but the two eager new members of the Broken Circle had carried it off fearlessly, scaling their way stealthily up onto the Registry's roof, lowering themselves on ropes with buckets of paint in hand. They had been gloriously successful. The giant sigil was a thing of beauty.
They all fell into an uncomfortable silence. The plan had indeed succeeded. And some poor innocent had indeed paid the price.
Bryck could sense the others waiting for him to speak. It was a slow pressure, and he had gradually become aware that it was always present. This group relied on him. That amounted to more than the courtesy and respect they showed him; it meant he had to be the foundation for them, the voice of wisdom and reason. He was their leader.
"The innocent died," Bryck said. "But would anyone here rather it was one of you?"
"I'd rather it hadn't happened at all," Scaullit said softly. "Whoever he was, he was a fellow Callahan."
Bryck looked directly at her. "Then you wish you hadn't painted the sigil? That's what led to all the rest, after all. The activities of this Broken Circle will contribute to the miseries of the people of this city. We strike against the Felk, and they, unable to find any of us, make reprisals against ordinary citizens who have nothing to do with any of our operations. And yet, they are the very people we are fighting for. Didn't you realize all that, Scaullit? Hadn't any of you new people thought this through before you agreed to join us?" He looked around at the others. "Take the time. Right now. Think about it. Understand what it means to go against the Felk. Not just to yourselves, but to everyone else it will affect."