47. Who Is The Mastermind?

“Elder Wyrmkin pride themselves in their close relationship to their dragon ancestors. The purer their bloodline, the more draconic their magic. It defines the theme of their magic or grants them metamagic. A frost dragon’s descendant will specialize in frostfire. Toxic dragons will spawn descendants who specialize in venom magic.”

The words appeared in the journal’s pages as he called the text forth from ‘A Study Of Draconic Descendents.’

After the delve, desperate to figure out what had happened to Penelope, Lukas visited the research center, citing that he needed to pick something up for her. The library’s restricted section was also on the basement level, a dozen feet or so from the research laboratory. He had a stalker clone break in with the journal and copy several advanced texts, focusing on Wyrmkin, their variants, and especially their magic. 

Silverspine’s quests were too valuable to give up currently, and Lukas planned on taking full advantage of them until Spellweaver advanced enough to break free of her control. He was sure more of her interests would involve keeping things out of the Wyrmkin’s reach or foiling their plans. Lukas firmly believed that knowing one’s enemy was vital for victory and, more importantly, survival. 

“I’m purging her systems,” Esther explained. “It’s in her blood and magic channels. Overexposure. Oversaturation. She probably beat the shaman in raw power but took too long to put her down.”

“Penny was holding back,” Bass grumbled, pacing back and forth in his housecat form, his wings barely bigger than a chicken’s. “She’d either freeze the tunnel shut or bring it all down if she cut loose. Her magic is destructive, to say the least. Hit big. Hit hard. Even Penny’s precision spells are far too potent.” He looked at Lukas. “This happened because she didn’t want me or you getting trapped or buried.

“This is why I never liked you. You’re a liar. If you were true colleagues and told us the truth, maybe most of this wouldn’t have happened.”

“The keyword is maybe,” Lukas said. “I might’ve not spelled things out for you, but I led you to the answer. Would you and Penelope have believed a nobody like me without evidence? Does my word have that much value?”

The familiar didn’t answer. He just glared at Lukas before walking away.

“Penelope is going to be fine, and he knows it,” Esther said after Bass left the room. “He’s mostly pissed off that this happened at all. But it's not completely your fault.”

“So there won’t be any lasting consequences for Penny, right?”

Esther shook her head. “I can’t, of course, give any guarantees, but it's extremely unlikely. Things would be different if she were human, dragon blood makes her different. She’s more resilient when it comes to these kinds of things. Ordinary toxic flames might’ve had a worse effect, but since these are born from a draconic ancestry, not so much. It also feels as if she cast a version of the Purifying Flames spells on herself to burn out the enemy's magic.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Lukas sighed, flumping against his favorite pillar in the clinic. “Thank you for doing this.”

“My services aren’t free. I expect to be compensated.” Esther paused, turning around and studying Lukas. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell her? How much of the truth?”

“I don’t know yet,” Lukas answered honestly. “There is no hiding the real soul ability now. She might as well know about the soulbinding.”

Esther checked Penelope’s breathing and pulse. Then, she peeked out through the door Bass had taken. She closed it and ran her fingers over a set of runes by the door. “I’d be careful about discussing the origin. There is no telling who the conclave favors and hates. They claim they’re independent and out to preserve our way of life, but many suspect that they serve a greater master or purpose.”

“And when they go to great extents to maintain their veil of secrecy, one can’t be sure about their agenda.”

“Precisely.”

“The Cold Fire Sorceror has a good reputation,” Esther said. “She has done nothing but help people and protect them from Wyrmkin and draconic plots, and stopped several blights. Even though you’re mostly responsible for this one, it's going to add to her accolades. Agent of the conclave saves Iskander from an Elder Wyrmkin plot.”

“It's not over. We still need to uncover who helped them up here.”

“And you suspect the Grey Rats and Stefan Santana are involved?”

“Along with someone high up,” Lukas answered. “Possibly someone with powerful magic. Penelope failed to recognize the cursed seals on their minions. She wasn’t sure about its origins. They disappeared too quickly, and it's not part of her expertise.”

“From what you told me, you’re either dealing with a powerful wizard or a witch. For your sake, I hope it's not the latter. I’m afraid you might be correct.” Esther paused for a moment, checking Penelope’s pulse again. “Good. The fever is down.” She replaced the wet towel on the sorcerer’s forehead. “The Grey Rats run the secret docks. They’re at the heart of the slave trade, and the city guard has to be complicit.”

“Which makes me want to think someone politically connected, either connected to their command or the city council is involved,” Lukas added. “A slaver ring can’t function otherwise, right? And it's the perfect cover for sneaking in enemy forces.”

Esther nodded. “The question is whether this is a plot against Iskander with the fall of the city as the objective or it’s all about greed and money.”

“That’s for Penelope to figure out.”

“How are you going to manage the death of Lukas?” Esther asked. “Are you going to tell Kat? The arcane smithy?”

“I don’t know yet.  She and Elvis had a nice, clean break. Does she need the additional heartbreak? As for the smithy, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already replaced him. The bastards don’t give a shit about their staff, treating them mostly as tools to get orders done and limiting knowledge to keep them on the hook.”

“It’s a shame that the time for you to leave is almost here. I was just starting to like you.” She sighed. “You feel more powerful. Did you ascend a pillar?”

Lukas nodded. “And got my first conjunction ability.” He manifested Shade’s Mantle and created a shadow sphere no bigger than an eyeball. The formerly liquid shell hardened, taking on the texture of burnt, unpolished steel. He tossed it at the nearby wall, and it struck with a dull, hollow thunk. “That’s the most I can manage without a headache, but it's a start.”

“It certainly is. That conjunction ability just saved you months, if not years, of work.” 

“Is Penelope going to be out for long?” Lukas asked.

“Probably for a day or two,” Esther answered. “Her system is purged of all toxins, but her body needs to heal and rest. I’ve dealt with worst patients.” She held up a glass vial containing a wisp of violent green flame. “Why don’t you run along? I need some alone time to study this and ensure there wasn’t anything I missed. If anything changes or happens, I’ll have Bass track you down. I’m sure he can track your scent.”

“What about the prisoner?” His eyes wandered to the stall where the Elder Wyrmkin lay still hog-tied. He had woken up and thrashed for a bit, but Esther knocked him out with a spell.

Lukas returned to the inn. He hadn’t left behind much value. There were a few books, pieces of clothing, a few mundane weapons, and pieces of armor. The landlady asked when Penelope would be back, seeming concerned but more likely for the handsome rent and tips than the sorcerer. Lukas explained the situation and promised to keep her in the loop. Once in the privacy of his quarters, he locked the door and summoned four stalker clones. 

“The secret docks,” he said, pointing at El-One. “Hide up top behind the shop if you can. We need to track movements, look out for familiar figures, or whatever happens. News of the Elder Wyrmkin will be out. Involved parties are going to panic or rush to cover up.”

“Got it, boss,” the clone replied.

“Distillery.” Lukas pointed at El-Two before moving on to El-Three. “Research Center and El-Four, I want you to track down our friendly neighborhood Guard Captain. If you spot anything concerning or worth reporting, just save us all the time and dispel yourself.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we worked in pairs?” El-Four asked. “One continues tracking while the other reports?”

“It’s a good idea, but I don’t have enough of you for that,” Lukas replied. “Maybe we can try that once we have genuine leads and aren’t just working off suspicion.”

“Got it, El-Prime.” El-Two threw up a mock salute. The others didn’t copy him. “What are you going to do?”

“Sleep.”

_____________________________________

El-One hesitated on the way to the docks. His path took him uncomfortably close to Kat’s smithy. They had strict instructions to avoid her. El-Prime hadn’t decided whether Lukas was dead or not. The clone lingered on a nearby roof for a moment, watching the glow from the window.

The clone didn’t have it in him to go against the prime’s direct instruction. If not, he would’ve visited or, at least, peeked in on her. He missed her. All of them did, El-Prime included. The fool refused to admit it, but their short tryst had temporarily filled a hole left by the loss of Minarv. Now, the emptiness had returned. It felt as if a massive stone slab sat at the clone’s chest, and whatever was within the cavity holding it up had disappeared.

He moved on. It was hard, but El-One moved on. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. There was a job that needed doing. All eyes were on Bass, Penelope, and the Elder Wyrmkin when they exited the undercity. It was unlikely anyone recognized Lukas; however, it was known that he was currently employed by the Cold Fire Sorcerer. 

If El-Prime’s theory proved correct, the perpetrators would probably swiftly turn against him. The Grey Rat job was now also a source of doubt and concern. Not fulfilling his half of the bargain would attract the wrath of a criminal empire, and he lacked the strength or means to defeat or avoid them indefinitely. Clones could serve as distractions, but they were far from a permanent solution.

We could fake our deaths. It won’t be the first or last time we’ve done that. It won’t be easy to pull off without collateral damage, though.

El-One paused at the shop where they’d almost been robbed. It was closed. He peeked through the window and found renovation efforts. There was no one inside, but a good deal of the interior looked new. Burn marks still marked the space around the doorway and the windows. He went around the side of the store to the rear, moving slowly and with care. Silencing Shadows helped him blend into the shadows almost perfectly, but he didn’t want to take any risks in case the pawn shop had any wards or protection against such magic. 

The rear was just as the clone saw in El-Prime’s memories. Except now, there were more cages, and many seemed more recently in use. There were torn clothes, food bowls, and bits of blood. El-One scoured the area for feathers, scales, or tracks that could connect the business or area to the Elder Wyrmkin. He found none.

Next, he turned his attention to the hidden docks, taking cover by the elevator mechanism and studying below. El-One didn’t have access to Spellweaver, but his close connection to shadow magic made it easy to tweak Shadow Sight and study what lay below. There was movement, but it mostly involved moving cargo on and off a long and narrow vessel. He wanted nothing more than to go down and wreak havoc, set people free, and maybe burn down the vessel. El-One knew for a fact that El-Prime did too.

However, they needed a longer-term plan. Freeing slaves and putting down a dozen or two low-level thugs wasn’t enough. The whole system, network, and, most importantly, the people at the top needed to be taken down. If their suspicion of the slavers bringing in Elder Wyrmkin proved correct, it was sure to damage the secret slave trade. So, El-One sat tight, contained his impulses, and watched.

__________________

El-Two arrived at the distillery within minutes of being dismissed. He snuck into the compound and entered the tavern through a first-floor window. His low mass made climbing and maneuvering a breeze. 

The clones had probed the area before, and there were subtle arcane defences, but instead of keeping people out, they seemed designed to alert the staff. An ordinary mage clone had attempted the infiltration once while channeling Silencing Shadows. Alarms had gone off. Armed thugs had come running. He had no choice but to dispel himself. Meanwhile, El-Two entered without issue. He guessed it was because the spell was an innate part of who he was, naturally suppressing presence and sound. It took El-Prime picking up Spellweaver to display the same level of mastery.

Temptation struck the clone as soon as he took his first step. The floor was empty, and the tavern devoid of noise or life. Expensive weapons and tools hung from the walls, calling to him. None of them felt magical, but the artisanry and history were bound to fetch a nice prize. El-Prime had lost all of his weapons and armor except the Runic Shortsword and Three-Stage Spear. El-Two was sure a couple of new toys would cheer everyone up, but he resisted. 

Instead, he crept onward, checking walls and doors for any backrooms and spaces. He doubted the tavern would have any such spaces. The risks of someone unwanted wandering in were much too high, but it didn’t hurt to check. El-Two covered all of his bases before moving onto the production part of the facility.

It all looked mundane and uninteresting. There were giant mixing pots, even bigger fermenting barrels, and boiling containers. El-Prime and the clones, by extension, had no knowledge of brewing beer, mead, or any such beverages. He assumed everything was above board, continuing to check for backrooms and hidden doors. 

Unlike the tavern, the distillery wasn’t empty. Workers milled around the vats and pots. They mixed, checked temperatures, and tasted. Everything seemed surprisingly above board for a criminal organization’s operations. The only thing that seemed odd and out of place was the number of little children among the workers. Child labor wasn’t illegal in Iskander, but it didn’t seem like the norm. 

Following a man pushing a pushcart of barrels eventually uncovered a secret door. A barrel as big as a house opened, revealing a downhill ramp. El-Two waited until it was about to close before creeping in. He had to step out of the shadows for a moment, but managed to slip through without being seen. 

El-Two’s heart leaped into his throat. He didn’t just see stacks of barrels, crates full of pink powder—the clone recognized it as the street drug, Pink Sellis—but also women, children, and young people in chains being escorted out of a tunnel and into another.

Jackpot.

___________________________

El-Three and El-Four parted ways at the research center. The pair agreed it was a dead end. It was unlikely any of Penelope’s colleagues were the people behind the Eldedr Wyrmkin plot. El-Prime and the sorcerer all agreed that they were far too incompetent. It was possible that they had hired goons to interfere with package deliveries, but the assassins and coordinating an entire smuggling ring felt beyond them. None were as well-connected, rich enough, or terrifying enough for such an operation.

No stone left unturned. It was what El-Prime said, and the clones, of course, agreed.

Tailing Captain Stefan Santana felt like a much more fruitful plan, and El-Four rushed to find the man. Over the past few months, they had learned a rough idea of his weekly routine. His responsibilities took him all over the city, ensuring everything was running fine. Occasionally, he stepped out of line to put out fires. 

It felt like a night for firefighting, and there were a few set places where Stefan went. El-Two started at the guardhouse, which Bass had first passed on exiting the undercity. He crept in. Checked the dormitory and the meeting rooms, and found no guard captain. However, hushed conversations suggested he had passed through the area. Most complained about his overzealous followed and assistant: Hump.

The next stop was a secret holding and interrogation room. It took El-Four on a curved path, edging toward the docks. He kept his third stop in mind and debated heading to it first, but then saw suspicious movement along the way. Guards and known Grey Rats were rushing toward something. And the clone followed, leaping between rooftops.

El-Four found Stefan Santana. He also found Kelpie. The latter of the pair lay dead on the ground, surrounded by a giant pool of blood. Her skin was discolored. She appeared diseased, decayed, and worn out. It appeared something or someone had sucked the life out of her. He recognized the oddity.

The failed incompetent assassins who attempted to take out Penelope, Lukas, and ‘Elvis’ during their first delve looked oddly similar once the spell tattooed on their skin disappeared. 

“No!” Mister Grey roared, rushing onto the scene. Guards and gang members swiftly moved out of the way, creating a path for him. Anyone who was too slow was knocked aside or down. “Who did this?!” He looked at Stefan Santana, beady eyes large and filled with rage. “Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” Stefan Santana answered, standing tall. El-Two could tell the man was lying. They’d observed the guard captain enough to identify such things. “A patrol found her like this. It wasn’t us. I swear.”

Mister Grey fell to his knees and tenderly picked up the immobile woman. She looked like a child in his giant arms. “What did you get entangled in my love?” He pulled down her collar, checking her scarred skin. Mister Grey did the same with her arms and pulled off her boots too, looking for marks. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Someone is tying off loose ends.