A shiver ran down Roy’s spine despite the warm night as his eyes landed on the gun holstered at the guard’s side. He instinctively reached for his magic to cast a shield; maybe security wasn’t as lax as he’d thought.
Even knowing he could block the weapon, seeing one in person made him nervous. There was a reason people rarely bothered with guns in Ardveld, but he wasn’t keen on testing it. At least he was out of sight. For now.
He shifted atop the wall, long legs numb from his perch amongst the sweet-smelling leaves of the overhanging tree. It had been a simple enough climb. Original stonework formed this part of the perimeter and the loose mortar fell away at his touch, adding to the deep indents created by time and weather to make easy footholds for his soft shoes.
From here, he had a full view of the house and grounds. There were no cameras yet; his scouting two days before had confirmed that, but the old place was definitely wired up. Electric light streamed from a set of windows on the second floor, but as he watched they shut off, leaving only the glow of lamps by the staff entrance where the guard stood. Moonlight illuminated the rest, revealing the disfiguring silhouette of scaffolding rising at the property’s rear.
Roy wrinkled his nose in disgust. He wondered how the original inhabitants would feel about the building’s new occupant, though they didn’t deserve the consideration. Whatever great magic family had lived here held as much responsibility for the takeover as its current owner. Arrogant bastards.
A rumble to his left heralded the approaching car before he saw it. Bright headlights lit up the high gate leading to the estate’s front courtyard, and Roy watched as a man leant out to tap a password into the keypad embedded in the red-brick entranceway. With a hum, the gates swung open, and the car continued through. New enough; the plates marked the white vehicle as barely a year old, but not something Felix Marek would be seen in. This was a staff member.
The shift change would be his best opportunity. Drawing a little more magic, Roy focussed on forming the illusion that would darken his clothes and red hair. Nothing special, but it had been over a decade since he’d last had to cast one, and it definitely showed. Manipulating light well enough to replicate reality was beyond his skill, but the smudged effect his spell gave him would at least provide some camouflage.
Gravel crunched as the man from the car crossed in front of his hiding place. Roy slipped down from the wall and followed, keeping sufficient distance to hide both his footsteps and the magic radiating from him. A strong enough mage might sense him, anyway, if they were paying attention, but that kind of power would make them easily detectable by other magic users themselves. With any luck, it meant the man was weak, if he was even a mage at all, and the waste energy from Roy’s crude illusion would go unnoticed.
The guard at the staff entrance raised a hand in greeting, as the new arrival approached. Now that he was close enough, Roy recognised the symbol on their black uniform; the sunburst logo of Sunstone Enterprises.
That answered why he couldn’t sense their presence. Sunstone belonged to Aiden Heliodor; completely now that Felix Marek had sold his share and retired to Ardveld, but apparently Marek had brought his security with him. Even after twenty-three years, the few mages born in Vailberg wouldn’t be relegated to guard duty.
The two guards exchanged greetings, their conversation carrying easily across the calm air of the courtyard. From his position in the shadows, Roy analysed the staff door behind them. It had what looked like another electric locking system, which blinked with a green light as the first guard swiped a card and pulled it open.
Magic ready, Roy launched his shield spell towards the entrance. Shaped by his will, it wrapped itself invisibly along the narrow edge where the door would lock. As expected, neither of the guards gave any indication of sensing the spell, and Roy retreated against the wall of the house where he was hidden, focussing his mind on maintaining both the shield and his illusion.
After some time, two sets of footsteps passed his hiding place; one presumably to patrol, and the other heading home to their bed. If either had looked closer, they would have seen that the lock’s light remained green. The door swung open at the push of Roy’s gloved hand, clicking shut behind him as he released the shielding spell.
A chemical smell of fresh paint dominated the little kitchen he stepped into. Small, but fully equipped with sink, stove and kettle; the cupboards shone a glossy white that contrasted sharply with the scuffed bare stone of the floor. Refurbishments were incomplete and whatever flooring was originally there must have been ripped out.
A closed door at the back blocked off the main body of the house. This one was unlocked, and after a pause to listen for footsteps, Roy passed through.
It was warmer inside, and would have been cosy had it not been the height of summer. Instead, the plush carpet had trapped the day’s heat, making the air close and heavy. Roy dismissed his illusion, the disguise no longer worth the focus it took to maintain, and drew a deep breath.
The stale air didn’t help the sense of confinement, and he unzipped his brown jacket, flapping it open in an attempt to dry the thin layer of sweat forming on his skin. He had entered what looked like a ground floor foyer, composed of a small seating area occupying the vacant space below a spiral staircase that led to the top floor.
Here at least, the house retained some of the elegant, Ardveldian style that would have once defined the property.
Dark green walls were embossed in a wide angular design, extending up to a high ceiling swirled with intricately carved patterns.
Not that Felix Marek wasn’t trying to impose his mark. Inside, it was clear to Roy that the scaffolding he’d seen was part of an extensive modification. Dust sheets covered the floor where a large fireplace had been installed, comprising an elaborate mantelpiece over the deep hearth. There would have been no need for fire in the original construction; not when the staff could use their magic to charge the passive spells for heat and cooling.
What had happened to them when the family that owned this place fled?
The familiar heat of rage burned through him, not eased by how simple this break-in was proving to be. He’d come for answers, but all was quiet, security lax. Marek might have something to hide, but if this was his set-up, then any evidence was likely back in Vailberg. In any case, he was here now.
Tall windows lit the stairs with an eerie glow, and Roy headed up. As he turned the corner, the disapproving eyes of a portrait peered down at him from the wall. Whoever painted it must have been in a forgiving mood; Felix Marek’s wispy hair looked almost dignified in this depiction, and you could almost believe his width was still the muscle of his youth. He gave the painting the finger as he passed. Unfortunately for Marek’s apparent ego, television told a different story.
Honestly, Roy wasn’t even sure where he was going. He’d let instinct carry him up the stairs, knowing the building works on the ground floor likely meant nothing of interest would be stored there. The top corridor smelled of fresh paint, like the guards’ room below, but he was relieved to see that this floor had carpet to muffle his footsteps.
Still watching for movement, Roy reached out with his magic sense. There was no answering presence of another mage and, though it didn’t guarantee the upstairs rooms were unoccupied, it fuelled his confidence enough to move on.
The lights he’d seen from outside had been to the left of the house, so Roy went right, running a hand along the bump where wooden panelling met newly papered wall. He couldn’t help a smile as he did so; the satisfying sensation of being in a place he didn’t belong, echoing the buzz that had driven him to a multitude of less-than-legal activities in his teens.
Magic flaring against his fingertips brought him to a sudden stop. At first glance, the wall here looked no different from the rest of the corridor. But with his attention drawn, Roy spotted the narrow gap that ran from floor to ceiling. It was a magic locked door; flush with the wall and concealed, with no obvious entry point other than a thin, metallic strip along the gap in the panelling.
He licked his lips as he saw the metal, trained eyes instantly spotting the simple alarm that had been embedded in the wood. It would sound an alert if anyone opened the door, but he had come prepared. Roy reached into the inner pocket of his coat and grasped what he was searching for; a thin rectangular magnet. Alarms like this were common, especially on internal doors that required little security, but the wires inside were easily tricked. Held near the metal connector, a magnet would temporarily disable it. The magic lock, however, should provide a bit more fun.
Magnet ready, he turned his attention to the passive spell that was keeping the door shut.
The moment he extended his power to read the spell, he recognised it. Roy froze, blood beating through his ears as he ran over and over the familiar pattern, his shock tinged with pain and grief.
He’d not encountered a lock like this since he was eight years old. Not since his mother had crafted simple replicas for him to solve; basic imitations of the spells that secured the palace where she’d worked. This was a palace lock.
Fear had swept the country in the days and months following the takeover and, for a brief moment, Roy felt it again. Ardveld’s most powerful mages, slaughtered by some unknown means. The royal family and their Champions… All the apprentices and staff who’d been at the palace that day.
There shouldn’t be anyone left alive who could craft something like this. Certainly not in the home of someone like Felix Marek.
Roy realised he was shaking and forced himself to focus. He pulled off a glove with his teeth and rested his hand against the rough wallpaper over the door, reading the spell more easily without the physical barrier. As he did, he noticed that it wasn’t much more advanced than the practice locks he’d cracked as a child.
Passive spells sustained themselves via a continuous flow of magic imprinted on a physical object. They looped via a framework created from the casters will, beginning at the start of their intent through to the completed instruction and over again. Further intentions could be layered over the top; in the case of a locking spell, this usually meant adding a pass signature and additional bindings to a door that would each need to be unravelled for the spell to break.
Any spell could theoretically be broken with enough force, but by feeling the weak point in the loop, the point at which the caster’s intent began, only a slight nudge of magic was required to unhook the connection and disperse the structure that lay there.
What made the palace locks different from any other Roy had encountered was the introduction of false loops. It took exceptional focus to set up false intent within a passive spell; a lie, to both caster and reader. The false loop lay over the true instruction, obscuring the weak connection point from view.
This lock had three.
With a fevered curiosity about the caster, Roy closed his eyes and worked his way through the spell, unhooking each true loop in turn until, with a whoosh of energy, it dispersed into nothing.
He allowed himself a smug smile, then pocketed his glove, pressed his magnet against the alarm, and pushed the door open.
The room was smaller and darker than he expected, lit only by the moonlit corridor behind him. If there was ever a window, it had been bricked up, leaving the air stale. Roy didn’t risk the light switch. Instead, he generated a small magelight that reflected off the glass cabinets lining the walls as he shuffled further inside.
His mage sense immediately picked up the radiating energy of half a dozen spells; small trinkets, faint from behind the glass. Roy directed his magelight towards the nearest cabinet and looked over the contents. A tea set, some metal cylinders, a pair of glasses. Only some had their passive spells still present, though it wasn’t like Marek would be able to tell.
Hair pricked on the back of Roy’s neck and he jerked around. For a moment, he’d thought someone was in the room with him, but everything remained still. As he scanned the walls, his eyes picked up a faint glow from a cabinet on the opposite side. He moved closer, letting the door to the room swing softly shut; the unsettled feeling growing as he approached.
When he was near enough to peer through the glass, Roy was surprised to find the cabinet empty except for three slim wooden rods, about half the length of his forearm. A handle was carved into the end of each one, reminding Roy of the wands used in the old fairytales. Two were dull and charred, as though they’d been taken from the edge of a fire, but the last one glowed; a sickly light emanating from what looked like small marks etched into the surface.
Roy opened the cabinet, feeling out with his magic to read the intent of the passive spell that must be there and realised what was wrong. There was no spell. The magic given off was undirected. Faceless.
Whatever marks were carved on the wand were too difficult to see in this light. He went to pick it up, but as his hand tightened around the smooth wood, a jolt of energy coursed through his body. Roy reeled against the cabinet, stomach lurching as his own magic reacted with the intrusive power that surged through him. In a second it was gone and he was left swallowing the bile that had risen at the back of his throat.
Too hot. He couldn’t breathe. Roy’s vision spun like he’d just finished a Friday night at the bar, and he staggered to the door, yanking it open to reach the freedom of the corridor. Breathing heavily, he leant against the bannister until his mind cleared enough to realise that the ringing in his ears was coming from outside his own head.
“Shit.”
He’d completely forgotten about the electric alarm.
Footsteps from the floor below told him that it had definitely alerted the guards to his presence. He backed away from the stairs, wondering briefly if he should try to force his way down and out the way he came in. The thought was quickly dismissed as he locked eyes with the man rushing up towards him, gun in hand.
Roy turned and bolted. An angry shout followed, but his mind was already focussed on casting the shield that would cover his back. The corridor ended in a wall, but there were more rooms to his left and he slammed through the first door that opened.
Inside was a mirror of the building works downstairs. Dust sheets littered the floor in front of the new hearth, and on either side were windows, through which he could see the bars of the scaffolding beyond.
Without time to think, Roy leapt towards the nearest window, fumbling with the latch. It clicked open just as the first bullet ricocheted off his shield, and he experienced the accompanying wave of exhaustion as he tried to maintain it. Ears still ringing from the gunshot, he threw himself out onto the scaffolding, descending in a half climb, half fall to the garden below.
A second bullet graze his shield, and it took all his focus to prevent it from shattering. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold it if another shot struck; whatever that wand had done to him, he was running low on magic, and exhaustion wasn’t helping his willpower. So much for guns not working on mages.
Electric lights blazed on in the house behind him, flooding the patio and illuminating a short wall that Roy had been about to stumble over. Instead, he jumped down, dropping onto the grass below. The landing expelled the air from his lungs, but he didn’t wait to catch his breath, sprinting further into the gardens until he was lost in the darkness.
The wall at the end of the garden was as easily scalable as the one he’d used to enter. Roy didn’t stop running until the dirt-covered country path from the house became a streetlamp-lined pavement.
Lungs still burning from the sprint, he fumbled off his jacket and turned it inside out to display its lighter lining. It wasn’t much, but it might throw off anyone looking for him. As he did so, he saw the point of the wand poking out from a pocket. He barely remembered putting it there, though thinking back, he must have still been gripping it when he left the hidden room.
Hesitantly, he brushed a finger against the smooth wood, bracing for a shock of magic, but this time it didn’t come. Roy pulled it out as he replaced his jacket and noticed that, though there was still a glow from the symbols, it was now so faint he could have missed it.
The sepia light of the streetlamps was enough for him to see the markings clearly. Each was carved into the wood; shapes made of fine lines ending in circles that seemed only vaguely familiar until he saw the last. It was formed of a horizontal line, with two others that fanned up from each end and one striking down through the centre. Small circles marked the joins with a large circle crowning each point, and Roy’s hand quivered as he recognised it.
It was the mark of the Ardveldian Royal Family.