A Long, Cold Walk

“I was a fool,” Ashtin muttered bitterly as he followed Dr. Shreburn down the hallway. “I thought announcing my presence in the city so publicly would be the perfect cover, but it only made me a target.” He rubbed his right hand up and down his exposed left arm for warmth. It was cold in the tunnels, and he didn’t know any spells to grow a new sleeve on his robe. Both the cold and the pressure of his hand caused the brand-new flesh to tingle painfully, not that he minded. The pain was a good defense against hypnosis, and it stung less than the realization of his own foolishness.

“Ashtin,” Dr. Shreburn said hesitantly, “it’s possible that you were always meant to be a target. The council gave you this assignment because of what they called your ‘unique talents.’ I’ve never witnessed such rapid regeneration before.”

“That’s not the unique talent they have in mind.”

“Think about it. Do you have any espionage training? Are you confident you could have escaped notice if you tried to sneak into the city? The council even tried to get you to enter the settlement through normal procedures. They wanted there to be a record of your presence here.”

“I get it.” Ashtin did not at all like where this was going. “I’m more likely to survive such an attack than any other mage, and the council could observe where the attack came from.”

“It worked wonderfully. Your encounter with Pavel provided the intelligence that set us on this path.”

“And I didn’t even realize it was an attack.” Ashtin shook his head. “I thought Pavel had been ordered to commit indiscriminate violence. You’re right, I’m not suited for undercover work, but the council would never approve a plan like that.”

“Oh? But wouldn’t you sacrifice yourself for the council?”

“Without hesitation, but whether the council would sacrifice me is another matter, and I can’t see them doing it for such a nebulous plan. Besides, they’d tell me up front.”

“That’s an irrational assertion. The council does not hesitate to use whatever means they calculate to have the best odds of success, including lying to you. You’ve studied history. You’ve seen the evidence of that for yourself. When the council tells their stories, they are always the heroes. The mages are underlings at best, and you are just bait.”

“I know how the council operates better than you do. Yes, their ends justify the means, but they would gain nothing from lying to me. Don’t go vilifying the council just because you feel guilty for betraying their trust.”

“Ignorance of their plans would make you a more convincing actor, and our relative moral positions have no bearing on this argument, or don’t they teach you logic alongside history?”

“We shouldn’t be arguing at all.” Ashtin sighed, allowing his tension to leave him. “We have a mission to carry out, and we’ll fail unless we’re united in purpose.”

“True enough,” Dr. Shreburn agreed, forcing herself to relax as well.

The two of them continued on in silence for half a mile. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Dr. Shreburn had a point. It was likely that the council had used him as bait without letting him know ahead of time, but he didn’t want to believe that his mother wouldn’t have warned him. He had observed his mother arguing with other gynoids over his treatment on multiple occasions. She had always been more concerned with his welfare than the rest of the council.

Eventually, he broke the silence by asking, “What Basttias said about the council’s logo, is there any truth to it? Or is he…”

“It’s not impossible. When you were learning magic, you used magical circles, didn’t you? They work by causing your magical energy to scatter when it collides with itself. By positioning the collisions carefully, the scattered magical energy forms patterns that coalesce into spells. It’s possible the same principle is at work here, but the logo is much simpler than any magical circle I’ve seen.”

“It is true that the council has never rebranded though. Over millennia and a million worlds, there must be some reason to keep the logo unchanged.”

“True or not, we should assume that the madness has started to overtake him, at least until we complete our mission. Until then, we take no risks.”

“No risks.” He held out his right hand and grabbed his staff from the air. “I need to know how you cast spells using my staff.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I have no choice but to trust you, otherwise, our mission has already failed. Besides, you’ve had plenty of chances to kill me. If you intended to betray me, I can’t imagine why I would still be alive.”

“All I did was use the magical energy stored in the staff,” Dr. Shreburn said. “I commanded the staff to release some into the air, then I molded it with my anti-magical energy. I cut away the excess to cause it to form a proper lattice.”

“That would require incredible precision, and yet you pulled it off on your first try.”

“That’s why I was so eager to study your staff. I can do the chains, and I’m pretty sure I can manage a simple healing spell. With enough practice, maybe the shields, but I took a close look at your magical energy, and I’m surprised you can teleport. The way it’s shaped, the margin of error is frighteningly small.”

“I spent years on it. The council said it would be fine if I didn’t, but people expect historian mages to be powerful. Being able to teleport makes me appear more talented than I really am. What about turning it into a spear? How did you manage that?”

“Oh, that’s built into the staff. I just asked it.”

Ashtin held the staff in front of him and willed it to change into a spear. The wings folded up into a tip, and after taking a few moments to admire it, Ashtin allowed it to return to its natural form. His initial response to the staff had been one of fear and revulsion. After he had come to terms with it, he regarded it dispassionately, as a person might any other tool. Now, for the first time, he thought it was a little cool.

“I’ve delayed us long enough,” Ashtin realized aloud. “How much further?”

“The exit closest to the guild should be about a mile in this direction,” Dr. Shreburn indicated, “unless Wincent made any changes since I was last down here.”

He had, in fact, made a number of additions over the decade plus since Dr. Shreburn had last entered the tunnels. Ashtin and the doctor walked in silence much farther than expected. By her best estimations, they were nearly under the guild building. Surely Wincent hadn’t been foolhardy enough to create an exit into the mages' guild?

“Flay?” came a voice as they rounded a corner. “What are you doing here?” Wincent was standing in a nearby doorway.

“General,” Ashtin greeted Wincent before Dr. Shreburn could reply. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

“You’re too late. She nabbed me first. Allow me to introduce R. Ginevra.” He walked out into the hallway and Ginevra followed, keeping a pistol trained on Wincent.

“Lovely to see you again, councilor,” Ashtin said with a smile, “though I admit, I’m surprised to find you here.” He was even more surprised that he had not been able to hear her or the general approach. They had been waiting in that room. Waiting for him?

“As am I. Given your psychological profile, I would have expected you to have reported this place immediately upon discovering it. Or are you no longer a good boy who listens to his mother?”

“My assignment comes first, but I have already made arrangements to inform the council.”

“Given the gravity of the situation, your behavior is acceptable. Where are you headed now?”

“The guild. We’ve narrowed it down to three suspects.”

“It’s nearby,” Ginevra said. “The former general can lead you to the nearest exit.”

“Hold on,” said Ashtin, “I’ll check him for hypnosis first. Wouldn’t want him to lead us into a trap.”

“He’s not hypnotized,” Ginevra said. “I recently injured him. The pain would have snapped him out of any hypnosis.”

“Let me see the injury then.”

Wincent waved him off. “That’s not necessary.”

“I can heal you. Besides, I need to confirm it myself.”

“Don’t you trust me?” R. Ginevra asked.

“You’re the one who told me not to.” Ashtin raised his finger into the air, and golden chains shot from his fingertip at the gynoid, but he wasn’t quick enough. Faster than his eyes could track, she jerked her arm toward Dr. Shreburn. Shooting Ashtin was pointless—he would just regenerate—but if Dr. Shreburn went down, there would be no anti-magical interference to protect him from hypnosis, and she was the one target Ashtin couldn’t heal.

Before the chains could pin her arms to her side, she fired the pistol. The bullet, aimed directly at Dr. Shreburn’s heart, instead tore into her left bicep as she attempted to dive out of the way.

Time seemed to slow for Ashtin as he saw the bullet enter, and then exit, Dr. Shreburn’s arm. Her left arm. The chains pulled tight, preventing Ginevra from firing again, but Ashtin was no longer paying attention to them. His mind was completely occupied by traumatic flashbacks triggered by the sight of Dr. Shreburn’s wound.

Chains continued to spill out of his fingertips, depleting his magical energy as they searched for targets to ensnare. They snagged Wincent, and they tried, but failed, to grab Dr. Shreburn as well, the spell guiding them disintegrated upon contact with her anti-magical energy. The chains continued to come, however, and quickly buried Ginevra, Wincent, and Dr. Shreburn.