of the gods and achieved immortality.
The tyranny of the old, replaced by the tyranny of the new. Such is the way of the world. He was about to close the book when he saw the place in the middle where several pages had been torn out. A few specks of dried blood marked the ancient parchment.
The author’s chronicle of certain details of Salazar’s role in the Godswar had displeased the Magelord. The Tyrant of Dorminia had ordered the unfortunate scribe put to death and the offending chapter removed. Even before the unpleasant events surrounding the Culling years passed, and the subsequent crackdown on freedom of expression that had seen the introduction of mindhawks into the skies, there were certain topics those in the Grey City did not talk about. Not if they valued their lives.
There was a sudden knocking at his door. Eremul sighed. It seemed half of Dorminia was intent on paying him a visit these days.
He wheeled his chair over, pulled the latch, and pushed open the door.
‘Oh, fuck,’ he muttered, as he stared into the hard eyes of four of the Watch’s finest.
‘Eremul Kaldrian?’ asked the officer in charge. The Halfmage’s heart hammered in his chest and a hundred thoughts whirled inside his head. They know. Shit, they know. I’m a dead man. I’m dead—
‘You’re coming with us.’ The Watchman’s eyes bore into his own. ‘There’s been an incident at the Obelisk.’
Dorminia was in a state of chaos.
Eremul gazed out at the commotion on the streets far below. The crowd was too far away for him to be able to make out individual faces, but he imagined the multifarious horde wore looks of fear, hope, and – in some cases – quiet satisfaction. By now most in the city were aware that the Tyrant of Dorminia had been the victim of an assassination attempt and that his very life hung in the balance.
He enjoyed a fleeting moment of satisfaction himself. The magistrates who had survived the murder plot were no doubt wondering how news of the incident had slipped beyond the Obelisk’s walls. The truth was that the Halfmage had sent word to certain of his contacts as soon as he was able. If tidings of the Magelord’s perilous condition inspired the braver of Dorminia’s dissidents to push ahead with an insurrection, it would be yet another nail in Salazar’s metaphorical coffin.
The more perceptive of the Magelord’s lackeys had their suspicions about the source of the leak, he knew. The Supreme Augmentor, the blond-haired warrior with the golden armour who looked like some prince from a children’s tale, he was a sharp one. The man’s blue eyes had cut into him like the edge of a steel blade.
Which is exactly what will happen if Salazar dies.
Eremul’s good humour suddenly evaporated. He was under no illusions about his fate if he failed to save the Tyrant of Dorminia from whatever unnatural poison coursed through his veins. There would be no consolatory pat on the back. No oh well, you did your best and never mind, it was a valiant effort. The Supreme Augmentor had been rather insistent on that point. If he failed, he would share the Magelord’s fate.
And wouldn’t that be a tragedy.
He remembered the sudden dread he had felt upon seeing the soldiers. He was certain they had learned of his meeting with the White Lady’s agents at the abandoned lighthouse. Such a perfidious act could not be explained away as the scheming of an informant. Anyone truly loyal to Salazar’s regime would have reported their presence to the Watch, not wheeled themselves back to the book depository for a good long piss followed by a lie-down.
He could barely disguise his relief when the Watch had revealed the truth – but his hidden delight at Salazar’s condition was immediately tempered upon learning he was to be entrusted with the Magelord’s life.
He glanced once more at his surroundings. He was inside a small guest room on the seventh and highest level of the Obelisk. The room was luxuriously adorned, with a four-poster bed covered in silk sheets and carved darkwood armoires that were worth more than most in the city earned in a year. And yet for all the luxury on display, the room was just as much a prison as the dungeons beneath the tower.
The door was locked and magically warded. Two Augmentors waited outside. The windows were barred and enchanted so that the metal was immutable and heat-proof and safe from all the tricks a