The vault drew Jachai like a lodestone. He was close now. Treasure beckoned him onward. Anticipation stirred his blood; he could practically taste the riches on his tongue, aching and honey-sweet.
Jachai pushed open the double doors at the end of the storehouse and strode into the service tunnel with his head held high. Once he made it to Tanngh, the next sanctuary city, then his troubles would all be behind him. He could see it now, trudging through the desert and arriving at the city gates, welcomed by a crowd of adoring fans who had heard of his coming.
Golden sand tickled his throat. He paused at the entrance of the gates, backlit by the sun, and struck a pose. Heroic and tempered by his journey through the wilderness, he barely recognized himself when he sneaked a peak in his alethial. He threw his arms wide, announcing his arrival. The masses surged forward, flocking to buy his charms.
His daydreaming almost killed him.
His cynicism saved him.
Only a powerful and abiding suspicion of the world tipped him off that the illusion was too perfect in sensory detail, yet too melodramatic to ever be his own thoughts.
Jachai recoiled from the waking dream, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Hands trembling, Jachai lifted his alethial in his off hand, preparing to fight for his life. He hoped the dim light would provide enough illumination to allow his mirror to do its sacred work: reflecting the creature’s psionic attack back on itself. He’d only seen it once, but he’d never forget watching the creature devour itself as it thrashed about, caught in the throes of its own magic.
The edges of the tantalizing vision fizzled as distant lantern light caught the mirror’s surface, burning away the illusion. The sand dissolved beneath his feet, and the stone gates went up in flames. Worst of all, the alluring smiles of the most beautiful women of Taangh melted into masks of horror—pitch black orbs of dripping tar replaced their eyes, and elongated teeth jutted out of jaws that opened up impossibly wide, gleaming and wicked sharp as they sought his throat.
The soft rasp of a Deceiver’s furious hiss made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He ripped free the double-wide belt wrapped around his tunic, wielding the metal buckle like a clumsy, oversized flail as the Deceiver screamed at him out of the dark confines of the tunnel, vengeful and ravenous.
He dodged in the same moment that he struck, avoiding razor claws by a hair’s breadth. His attack missed, but the vision withered, dying away now that he saw his enemy for what it was. Flitting toward him on leathery wings, the Deceiver looked like an ugly bat swelled into grotesque proportions, with streaks of putrid, mottled gray-white and dull gold standing out like pulsing veins along its charcoal black body.
Backpedaling to give himself space to swing his makeshift whip, Jachai swung again, but his attack went wide. He threw himself to the floor, rolling underneath the next swipe of the monster’s claws.
The Deceiver turned in mid-air, scuffling through the tunnel above him on claws that found purchase on nothing at all. It was no illusion; Deceivers ran across planes of existence invisible to the naked eye, according to the Mirror Guild. Its maw opened, and its plump little body puffed up with air, like an overripe melon about to detach from the vine, as it prepared an acidic breath attack.
Jachai lunged forward, swatting with his belt, and he snarled as the metal buckle collided with the Deceiver with a satisfying thunk. The bellows of combat stoked the forgefire of his rage, and he burned with the hot glow of righteous anger, channeling the liquid flames to empower his follow up strike.
Smacking around the little predator proved cathartic. They thrived on deception, but now that he’d broken free, he had the upper hand. He knocked it down the tunnel ahead of him like a ball from a children’s game, racing to keep pace. Once they burst free from the dim confines of the tunnel and into the Guild hall’s harsh lantern light, his alethial hummed to life on his wrist.
Faint etheric lines spiraled out, connecting to the hideous creature in front of him. The mirror lit up, illuminating the narrow space with blinding light—an impossible amount, pouring off the alethial in waves of coruscating fire now that he had light enough to activate its magic.
As the light activated, dissolving the Deceiver, the creature’s magic turned inward. Its body ripped apart right in front of Jachai, twisting and imploding under the immense pressure. Shrieks cut off abruptly as the mirror consumed it, drawing in the beast’s lifeforce and devouring it from existence in a purifying, scorching nova of mage fire.
Panting at his brush with death, Jachai nudged the ashes with his foot, confirming it was dead. He cracked his neck. Victory felt good. He snickered to himself, stealth all but forgotten, and held the alethial closer to the vestiges of the corpse. At his mental urging, the light greedily cleansed away every last shred of the monster until not even a speck of dust remained. Best not to leave any evidence that someone passed through this area, even if Jachai had the utmost confidence in his ability to escape.
Rich people tended to be either fat, slow, or both, in Jachai’s experience. That’s what made them such enticing targets. Well, that, and their bulging moneybags.
Onward to the vault, he told himself sternly, putting aside all other thoughts. The hallway into which he’d emerged was low and unornamented, and currently quiet, but the noise of the sudden, desperate fight might attract attention. His current distraction could get him caught. And the greatest thief in Esoptron did not get caught.
Jachai padded on silent feet, searching for the inner chambers. The Guild hall didn’t take chances by leaving the vault near the utility tunnel, but a few flimsy doors likely wouldn’t pose much of an obstacle. If the map he’d pieced together could be believed, then he wasn’t far off. Sure enough, after two left turns, he found an entryway. Locked, as expected.
Quiet as a lover’s whisper, Jachai knelt down beside the door and withdrew a package from his waistband, unrolling the cloth to reveal tools of the trade. Each pick and tension wrench was individually wrapped so that they wouldn’t clink or make undue noise. He pulled out a pick and wrench, jiggling them into place. Subtle vibrations and twists gave him a feel for the inner workings of the simple lock. He kept still other than the minute movement required to unlock the internal mechanism, listening for the faint—
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
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Jachai indulged in a soft, satisfied sigh. He’d grown to love that quiet sound. It was like the metallic voice of his own personal financial consultant, announcing that he had earned another dividend.
Lock number one: open. Two more mundane doors to go, and then Jachai would stand before the vault itself. He flexed his fingers, waggling them in the air in excitement. Too easy.
Inside the inner court of the Guild hall, every wall glittered with silver filigree. A mural at the end of the hallway even featured traces of gold, depicting a scene of Glimmer incinerating fae monsters. The casual luxury on display stood in stark contrast to the utilitarian tunnels and rough-hewn stone of the outer rooms used for storage, but that was to be expected. The Mirror Guild spared no expense.
A short sneak through the inner courts led Jachai past well-appointed apartments and spacious offices. Eerie silence met his passage; the lower floors were empty. They must all be observing the eclipse, watching for the clash of unnatural darkness and the searing, pale light of Glimmer.
The next door was no match for his skills, either. He ducked into the inner sanctum and checked his mental clock. Five minutes left until he needed to get out, trusting to the cover of darkness to hide his tracks. Unless the vault defeated his efforts, he was on the final stretch of his plan.
The decorative artwork in the innermost section of the Guild hall was a cut above the already impressive friezes in the previous layer, but that was hardly surprising. Mirror-making was a lofty position; they might as well be printing money.
Jachai grit his teeth in envy while he walked past the masterpieces on the walls. This was the life stolen from him when he got kicked out of the Mirror Guild school. Cormac would pay for his slight, that obsequious little worm.
He moved more cautiously now, keeping an ear open for students or crafters who might wander by at any moment. They all seemed to have scurried upstairs to watch, but he never trusted his schemes going to plan. If anyone came by now. Well. he hoped none of them had a sensory talent. Predicting the various affinities and giftings was an impossible task. Not everyone could harvest the world’s magic, but those who did never seemed to follow any rhyme or reason outside of the three schools of magic: time and space, body enhancement, and enchments.
Jachai, for instance, had a clock. Lachlan . . . could smell a little better than a human, but not as well as a dog. He never did find much use for the talent, but better to have etheric energy than nothing at all, so his friend didn’t complain too much.
Except when Jachai forgot to bathe.
Focus, he reprimanded himself, although his lips quirked up into a smile at the memory of his buddy’s whining. Since then, he’d taken to dousing himself before jobs with an alchemical solution that supposedly covered his scent. Leave nothing to chance.
No passersby accosted him after the final doorway, and thirty-two seconds later, Jachai stood in front of his goal.
As expected, the Guild master had gone to extraordinary lengths to seal the vault itself. Instead of the traditional, simple pin tumbler locks that fell prey to the dexterous application of his lock picking kit, the vault door boasted a hybrid system: both mechanical and magical. For anyone else, this lock would mark the end of the line.
Thankfully, Jachai had come prepared. A wolfish grin crept across his face. He reached into his inner breast pocket and produced his prize: the key he’d lifted from Keo when he had “accidentally” bumped into the man a few minutes earlier. His heart rate spiked. This was it. His ticket to freedom. His guarantee of a better life.
Glowing faintly with energy, the palm-sized construct warmed his hand. He placed the key into a shallow depression on the face of the door, turning it until it slotted into place, melting into the door like it was one piece with the enameled surface. With a brief pulse of his weak magical energy, Jachai activated the artifact key, disarming the alarms and traps that protected the Guild hall vault.
Silver lines radiated across the surface of the door, and in a flash it retracted. The rush of etheric power left him light-headed, but he shook off the dizziness and pressed forward.
He stepped inside the fabled vault and looked around, expecting piles of gold, or lamps encrusted with emeralds. Instead of an assortment of treasure and priceless artifacts, however, only a single pedestal jutted up from the limestone floor.
And on it, a scroll.
Jachai found himself in front of the pedestal before he’d even realized that he’d moved. Something inside him longed to touch the scroll. He fortified himself, reaching out and lifting the scroll reverently. His hands trembled slightly as he unrolled the paper and read the hidden technique with hungry eyes.
As he read, a dull red anger settled in his chest, like a coal on the verge of igniting into flame. He snapped the scroll shut when he finished reading the scant instructions, caught between elation and irritation. That’s it? The closely guarded secret was nothing more than thievery? He didn’t care one whit about stupid concepts like artistic integrity, but he clenched his jaw anyway.
If he were honest, the reason he hated this revelation was because it made him and the exalted Guild master Keo far, far too similar. Jachai liked it better when he was the only thief in town.
“Borrowing from the etheric properties of the Esoptron shrine and passing the work off as your own. Clever,” he grumbled under his breath, as much as the admission galled him. Keo was a snake twice over, it seemed. Then he shrugged, not much given to brooding. This just made his job easier when he reached Tanngh.
He tucked the sacred scroll into his inner pocket, fastening it with a brooch, and retraced his steps, running now that he had the treasure in hand. He dashed through the hallways, back into the service tunnel, and up the stairways to the storehouse.
Velvety darkness still reigned over Esoptron when Jachai emerged onto the streets. He had less than a minute left, according to his mental clock, but in reality he’d have a little more than that since he’d artificially moved up his timeline. Margins were important.
Still, he hated leaving anything to chance. Best to flee into the false night, trusting the age old enemy, darkness, to preserve him until Glimmer burned away the shadows. Visions of fortune dancing in his head, Jachai turned toward the city walls and ran through empty streets. No one else was crazy enough to be out before Glimmer burned away the threat of spawn.
Brilliant gold lit up the sky behind him moments before he reached the small breach in the walls that gave him access to the outside. He breathed easier, despite his confidence in his ability to lose pursuers in the twisted alleyways of the old town. Besides, it wasn’t humans he feared. One fight was enough for today. He had no interest in facing another Deceiver, let alone a Devourer, should one find its way this close to the sanctuary city.
Jachai slipped through the crumbling gap between two ancient stones, squeezing his narrow frame through to the other side. He’d practiced this several times in the past, but he’d never stayed on the outside for more than a heartbeat before scurrying back to safety.
Stunted trees and wind-scoured rocks met his gaze. Heat shimmers distorted the ground now that the eclipse had passed and Glimmer had begun, bathing the entire world in the harsh heat of the sun. Beyond the horizon, he’d find Tanngh, if he could survive the cunning monsters, the scoring heat, and the lack of food and water.
His heart shuddered. Despite his bravado, this was his first time entering the wastelands. He forced himself to put one foot after another, and strode into the wilds, following treacherous paths leading him down the side of the mesa. No turning back now. He could only pray his first time wasn’t also his last.