cat, this thing, had it not been roughly the size of a hunting dog—and had it not been made entirely of a living, semi-solid flame.
Moving in concert, all four images of Jace leaned out from cover. From their outstretched hands, a thick spray of freezing water arced across the open-air café to drench the fiery predator. A geyser of steam shot into the air, and the hiss of water-on-fire almost drowned out the terrified shriek of the elemental.
Then the images, the water, even the steam were gone. The feline creature stood, utterly confused, its animalistic mind unable to grasp the concept of illusion.
And Jace—the real Jace, who had been none of the four phantoms but wrapped tight in an illusion of invisibility—rose up before the distracted, disoriented beast, hauled back a fist and struck.
No mere punch, this, but a devastating blow of mystical force. Telekinesis had never been among Jace’s stronger skills—the lifting of a simple fork or the opening of a distant window took everything he had—but manipulation of himself? That came far more easily. More than easily enough, with a few seconds of preparation and a surge of mana, to augment the strength of his own harms, to reach out and violently flip the table.
The flaming beast flew from the tabletop to sail dozens of feet through the air—clear over the protective wall that marked the edge of the terrace, plummeting from sight. Jace didn’t know how many levels of Dravhoc it might have dropped, or whether the fall would be sufficient to kill it, but he knew he intended to be well gone before it could return.
For an instant, Jace cast his senses outward, peering behind walls, around corners, over ledges. But his cursory examination failed to locate the wizard who had summoned the beast, and he wasn’t about to hang around for a prolonged search. The singed hem of his cloak swirling dramatically, Jace moved at a brisk walk toward the café’s exit, trying hard to peer around him in every direction at once, and wondered just who he’d managed to piss off this time.
Two levels above, near the very peak of the mountain, a man stood within the high, arched confines of a tower window. He stared down, not with the naked eye, but through a peculiar crystalline device, globes within globes. Within its confines, he watched the events of the café unfold, lowering the sphere only when Jace Beleren swept from the open patio and into the bustling avenues.
And still he waited, until he was joined several moments later by a woman, taller than he, broader of shoulder, with a shock of ash-gray hair that made her appear far older than her years.
“Not a bad performance,” he said to her without preamble. “He survived your firecat easily enough, my dear.”
“Bah.” She shrugged, leaning against the side of the massive window frame. “I’m not impressed. Decent reaction time, and I won’t deny he’s got power. But we’ve rejected recruits who performed a lot better.”
“We have. But then, we’re not after Jace Beleren for his reaction time or even his illusions, are we?
“We’ll see how he performs for Gemreth. And then we’ll decide if we can make Jace Beleren who, and what, we need him to be.”
To Jace’s paranoid and worry-addled mind, every insect flitting in the darkness was the eye of an enemy;every echo the footsteps of an unseen stalker creeping across the cobblestones; every stranger an assassin set to grab him from behind; every overhanging banner a noose that hungered for his neck. He trod the roads, the alleys, and the broad steps of the descending avenues as swiftly as he dared, jumping at every sound, peering suspiciously at every shadow, until he finally reached his destination.
What Jace called home was a modest three-room flat, located in one of Dravhoc’s lowest tiers, where the scents of the river filled the humid air with a vaguely fishy aroma and the cost of living was only moderately outrageous. It was cheaper than
Moving in concert, all four images of Jace leaned out from cover. From their outstretched hands, a thick spray of freezing water arced across the open-air café to drench the fiery predator. A geyser of steam shot into the air, and the hiss of water-on-fire almost drowned out the terrified shriek of the elemental.
Then the images, the water, even the steam were gone. The feline creature stood, utterly confused, its animalistic mind unable to grasp the concept of illusion.
And Jace—the real Jace, who had been none of the four phantoms but wrapped tight in an illusion of invisibility—rose up before the distracted, disoriented beast, hauled back a fist and struck.
No mere punch, this, but a devastating blow of mystical force. Telekinesis had never been among Jace’s stronger skills—the lifting of a simple fork or the opening of a distant window took everything he had—but manipulation of himself? That came far more easily. More than easily enough, with a few seconds of preparation and a surge of mana, to augment the strength of his own harms, to reach out and violently flip the table.
The flaming beast flew from the tabletop to sail dozens of feet through the air—clear over the protective wall that marked the edge of the terrace, plummeting from sight. Jace didn’t know how many levels of Dravhoc it might have dropped, or whether the fall would be sufficient to kill it, but he knew he intended to be well gone before it could return.
For an instant, Jace cast his senses outward, peering behind walls, around corners, over ledges. But his cursory examination failed to locate the wizard who had summoned the beast, and he wasn’t about to hang around for a prolonged search. The singed hem of his cloak swirling dramatically, Jace moved at a brisk walk toward the café’s exit, trying hard to peer around him in every direction at once, and wondered just who he’d managed to piss off this time.
Two levels above, near the very peak of the mountain, a man stood within the high, arched confines of a tower window. He stared down, not with the naked eye, but through a peculiar crystalline device, globes within globes. Within its confines, he watched the events of the café unfold, lowering the sphere only when Jace Beleren swept from the open patio and into the bustling avenues.
And still he waited, until he was joined several moments later by a woman, taller than he, broader of shoulder, with a shock of ash-gray hair that made her appear far older than her years.
“Not a bad performance,” he said to her without preamble. “He survived your firecat easily enough, my dear.”
“Bah.” She shrugged, leaning against the side of the massive window frame. “I’m not impressed. Decent reaction time, and I won’t deny he’s got power. But we’ve rejected recruits who performed a lot better.”
“We have. But then, we’re not after Jace Beleren for his reaction time or even his illusions, are we?
“We’ll see how he performs for Gemreth. And then we’ll decide if we can make Jace Beleren who, and what, we need him to be.”
To Jace’s paranoid and worry-addled mind, every insect flitting in the darkness was the eye of an enemy;every echo the footsteps of an unseen stalker creeping across the cobblestones; every stranger an assassin set to grab him from behind; every overhanging banner a noose that hungered for his neck. He trod the roads, the alleys, and the broad steps of the descending avenues as swiftly as he dared, jumping at every sound, peering suspiciously at every shadow, until he finally reached his destination.
What Jace called home was a modest three-room flat, located in one of Dravhoc’s lowest tiers, where the scents of the river filled the humid air with a vaguely fishy aroma and the cost of living was only moderately outrageous. It was cheaper than
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