Chapter 8: Fallibility
“You have found them?”
The voice that spoke was weak, drained by the amount of blood they had let out of their veins over the past few days, but even so, it carried a distinct note of authority.
“Yes, I have only their general area, but every moment we can hold the spell brings me closer to locating them.”
The replying voice was that of a man, in his early middle years, perhaps just exiting his prime. He was tall, with a long unkempt mop of black hair, eyes the colour of old wood, and a well-muscled body that was displayed by his shirtless state. Deep scars were carved into his bare arms and chest and stood out against his pale skin, silent testimonies to some past horror that he had been forced to endure. He stood before the robed figure, uncaring of the cold of the stone room in which they stood.
“How long do you think it will be before you can narrow it down?”
“Only a handful of days. In less than a week we shall have their location and will be able to take action. Be assured, no further effort upon your part is needed, the power and blood that you have already given me are more than enough to sustain the spell to its end.”
The robed figure nodded from where they sat, slumped in a wicker chair that was the room’s only furniture. As before the robes obscured all their features, leaving no hint as to their appearance, age, or even their gender. Even their voice gave nothing away, distorted as it was by both cloth and magic.
On hearing the man’s words the robed figure nodded, thankful that progress had been made in the advance of their patron’s agenda. Powerful though they might be by mortal standards they were still well aware of how tiny they were in comparison to the being that had enabled their rise to power. Disappointing such a being could only lead to ruin, given how capricious they could be.
Well, at least with this latest development they would hopefully be satisfied. After the trail of Yahweh’s agent had been lost, much pressure had been placed upon the two of them to find it once more, but that was only to be expected. The demigod that the heavenly agent had found was meant to be one of the most powerful in the world, at least potentially. Such potential power could be either an obstacle or an asset, so the demigod needed to be recruited, controlled or eliminated.
That thought brought the slumped figure out of their musings. The demigod would need to be acquired, though hopefully, it would be with their cooperation. Still, there was a chance that force would be required if the demigod proved to be . . . difficult. Force would require forces, and forces needed to be built, recruited and amassed. This was in no way unexpected though, and the robe wearer had already made preparations in regard to such a need. In fact . . .
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“Then there shall be no need for my aid tomorrow?”
The question seemed to startle the man, and he took a few moments to reply.
“No, there should be no such need.”
“Splendid, then that means I can conclude some business that I have been unable to attend to the last few days.”
The scarred man looked up at the seated figure, caught by surprise by the sheer excitement in their voice. The robe-clad magic user almost always refrained from any sort of overt emotional display. However, on this occasion, something had slipped past that iron control.
“What do you need to do?”
“A delivery was made for me in the local town a few days ago. Occupied as we have been I was unable to attend to it, but now that I am no longer needed I can make arrangements for collection.”
“Why not have it delivered?”
“Given its nature, it would be impossible to deliver by normal means, it’s just too heavy.”
“What?” The scarred man sounded genuinely confused. “Just how much does this acquisition of yours weigh?”
“Oh, somewhere between fifteen and twenty tonnes.”
Silence took the room as the dark-haired man simply stared at his fellow magic user.
“What could you possibly have found that’s that heavy?”
“As you know, before the Black Sun I had used much of my wealth to acquire artefacts with a reputation for power,” The self-satisfaction in the robed figure's voice was clear for any to hear. “After the return of the Legends some treasures and artefacts regained the power they lost after magic ebbed from the world. A small number of such artefacts were in my possession, and it was those trinkets that originally attracted our patron’s attention.
“Since governments everywhere have been doing all that they can to seize anything that has any power, just as the emerging demigods and Legacies have been, gaining new assets for myself has been difficult. However, a month ago a contact of mine informed me that a major find had been made in the Middle East, one that they were willing to hide and have sent to me . . . if the price was right.”
The robed figure paused, then laboriously got out of the chair and stood up.
“I am wealthy, but the amount of money I paid for this artefact would have been enough to buy this castle in its entirety, twice over. However, I am quite certain it will be worth it, especially in the mission that is to come.”
The concealed magic user didn’t say anything else; they simply moved to the door and left the room. For a moment the scarred man watched the door as it slowly swung closed, then he turned back to his work. The work that occupied the centre of the very large stone-floored room. Were someone to study it in any close detail they would have noted that the floor was not composed of tiles or blocks mortared together. Instead, it appeared to be all made from a single massive slab of stone. There were no cracks, no joinings, no connections, nothing but smooth stone across the entire floor.
Upon that stone surface was a large diagram. It would have been hard to make it out against the dark colour of the stone under normal circumstances, given that it was written out in the red-brown of drying blood. The design was a strange mixture of geometric patterns and ancient runes. At the centre of the large mandala of dried blood was a silver bowl filled with mercury. Strangely its surface was not still even though it rested upon the stone floor. Instead, the liquid metal rippled and churned, as though something within it was thrashing about and disturbing it.
The scarred man knew that bowl well. After all, he had spent the last few hours staring into it, trying to force the visions that rippled across the mirrored surface of the quicksilver to make some sort of sense. As of yet, his efforts had not yielded the results he sought, but every passing moment fed more magic into the spell he had crafted and brought the images into greater clarity.
At this point, it was just a matter of time.