Sorcerer's Shadow

The teleportation back to my office was just as unpleasant as the rest. By the time I arrived, it was early evening and the Torben game in the space between the faux storefront and my actual office was in full swing. Piers had departed, so I had assumed the office was vacant until I spotted Thorne occupying Piers' desk. Opal fluttered onto my shoulder, affectionately rubbing his head against my ear.

"You holding up, chief?"

"Kinda ..."

"What's bothering you?"

"It's a bit complicated, Opal. Ever thought about becoming a burglar?"

"How did it go, Viktor?" Thorne Chimed In

"Well, the silver lining is that I'm still in one piece."

"And?"

"And Alyssra Volade is as real as they come."

He locked his gaze on me, but remained silent.

"What happened, boss?"

"I'll explain, Opal. Just be patient."

"Thorne," I said, "Things are about to get messy." I paused, mulling over my next words. "Okay, make yourself comfortable; I'll fill you in."

* * * *

I wish I could recall the moment I ceased fearing Imperions and began to resist, but it eludes me. It was definitely before my father's death, which occurred when I was just fourteen. His health had been deteriorating for a while, so his passing was not a shock, and it honestly didn't distress me much. He had contracted a strange illness and rejected my grandfather's offer to use magic to cure him, as he aspired to be more like an Imperion. He had even purchased a title in the Vorgan, hadn't he?

What nonsense.

Nevertheless, I can't accurately pinpoint when my fear of Imperions was overtaken by disdain, but I do recall an incident when I was about twelve or thirteen. I was wandering around with a Malel hidden in my trousers. A Malel? It's a rigid stick or metal rod wrapped in leather. The leather prevents it from slicing; it's intended for occasions when you want to cause pain, not leave visible wounds. I could have wielded a rapier effectively, but my grandfather insisted I should not carry one. He argued that brandishing it could escalate a confrontation, turning a scuffle into a battle to the death. He firmly believed that life, even that of an animal, should never be taken unless absolutely necessary.

Regardless, I recall on this particular day, I purposefully strolled through territories where the notorious Cetan House members loitered. Sure enough, they began to taunt me and, yes, I thrashed them. They were simply unprepared for a Terran to fight back, and a heavy stick can turn the tide of a battle.

But that wasn't my first altercation, so I'm unsure. Does it really matter, though?

* * * *

I reclined in my chair and announced, "Thorne, I have another research task for you."

He looked towards the heavens in exasperation. "Fantastic. What is it this time?"

"There's a wizard by the name of Anatole, from the Lurivox House."

"Can't say I've heard of him."

"Then it's high time you did. I need a detailed sketch of his fortress, complete with a floor plan, and an educated guess as to his workspace."

"A floor plan? Of a Lurivox wizard's stronghold? How am I supposed to acquire that?"

"You never reveal your strategies, Thorne; how should I know?"

"Viktor, why is it that whenever your greed takes over, I have to put my neck on the line?"

"Because, in this scenario, you earn a ten percent cut."

"Of what?"

"Loads and loads."

"Wow, that sounds more substantial than 'quite a lot,' doesn't it?"

"Don't jest."

"Who, me? Fine, when do you need it? And if you say 'yesterday,' I'll—"

"Yesterday."

"—need to get a move on. What's the spending cap?"

"None."

"I had a feeling you'd say that. I'll check back in with you."

* * * *

I don't recall when I took an Imperion's life for the first time. When I engaged them in battle, I never really kept track of where and how hard I struck, and I distinctly remember leaving one or two of them sprawled on the ground when the dust had settled. Reflecting on the times I'd slammed my Malel onto their skulls; it would be a surprise if none of them had perished. But I never really knew for certain.

Occasionally, this troubles me. There's something chilling about not knowing whether you've taken a life or not. I think back on those skirmishes, many of which I remember vividly, and wonder where those individuals are now, if they're anywhere at all. But I don't dwell on it too much. What's done is done.

The first time I knew for sure that I had claimed a life, I was thirteen.

* * * *

The story of how Thorne managed to procure the information I requested is quite intriguing, but I'll let him narrate it. He keeps some odd company. In the two days it took, I closed a deal on a gaming venture I had been eyeing, persuaded someone who owed my friend a debt to pay it back in the spirit of chivalry, and declined a profitable offer that required three weeks and a Norsanti dagger.

I detest Norsanti weaponry.

When Thorne returned with the blueprints, we spent an entire day scrutinizing them and brainstorming fruitlessly. We were simply incapable of devising a clever plan. We postponed our discussion for a day and attempted again, with the same outcome. Eventually, Thorne declared, "Listen, boss, the notion of breaking into an Lurivox's fortress is ludicrous. Naturally, any strategy to do so will also be ludicrous."

I responded, "Ummm, yeah."

"So just close your eyes and select one."

"Right," I agreed.

And that's essentially what I did.

We dedicated a few hours to refining our plan until it seemed the least ludicrous. When Thorne departed to arrange some details, I took a moment to reminisce about Alyssra Volade. I visualized her face, attempted to recall her voice, and projected my thoughts. Alyssra Volade? Where are you, Alyssra? Hello? This is Viktor...

Surprisingly, the connection was made quite swiftly.

She inquired, "Who's there?"

"Viktor Dravos."

"Ah. What do you need?"

"I've devised a plan to infiltrate the place. We need to coordinate with you and Drevolan about the timing, backup, and other details."

"Very well," she conceded.

The discussion lasted about an hour, but by the end, I was no more assured than before the conversation. But that's how things go. Instructions were dispatched, plans were set in motion, and I revisited my will. Such is the stuff of life.