Agents of Artifice: A Planeswalker Novel by Ari Marmell Page B

anywhere else in the extravagant quarter, yes, but its proximity to the shore and the tiny islands beyond filled Jace with a sense of security. Jace had never understood, and none of his teachers had satisfactorily explained, why the magics of the mind were best and most efficiently empowered by the mana that drifted and flowed within the waters of the many worlds; he knew only that it was so.
    With a sigh of profound relief, Jace slammed his door behind him, leaning briefly against it and trying to calm himself. That he’d made many enemies throughout the past few years was no surprise at all, considering how he’d supported his preferred lifestyle. That any of them could have found him so exposed, however, was worrisome in the extreme. He turned, locking the door’s four deadbolts. Without lighting a lantern, he tossed his cloak haphazardly over an old coat rack, stepped into the next room, and collapsed into bed without bothering to get undressed. He’d deal with the rumples and wrinkles in the morning; right now he just needed time to relax, to meditate on the mana flowing through the currents beyond the shore.
    Despite his nervous energy, he was asleep within minutes, wrapped in peculiar and disturbing dreams wherein he tried to bribe a giant cat not to spit fire at him, only to find he couldn’t afford the beast’s askingprice. He ran from the predator, calling for help, as embers rained from the sky.
    And then he was awake, screaming at the terrible pain that throbbed in his chest.
    Craning his head until his neck ached, Jace stared at the horrid shape squatting atop his torso. Only scarcely visible in the dark of the chamber, it stood on four legs that jutted obscenely from its sides like those of an insect. Two more appendages emerged from its shoulders to clutch at his collar. Its head was that of a jolly, almost cherubic old man, which stood in stark contrast to the wicked stinger at its tail, dripping with Jace’s own blood.
    “What—” Jace froze in mid-question, his jaw clenching tight as his body spasmed with a new surge of pain. “What do—?” He couldn’t seem to force out the question.
    “You tell me, mind-reader,” the demon hissed in a voice that quivered with palsy.
    “I—I can’t!” He could barely concentrate enough to speak, let alone read its mind.
    “You will! Tell me why I am here, Jace Beleren, and what I wish from you, and I will provide respite from this pain. Fail and the poison shall run its course!”
    Jace scarcely even reacted to the use of his name, though he’d never done business in Dravhoc as anyone but Berrim, and never revealed the name “Jace” to anyone since he’d arrived on the sprawling, urban world of Ravnica. He struggled to rise, to throw the terrible thing away from him, but the last of his strength was drowning swiftly beneath the toxin’s spreading burn.
    He wanted to cry out, to scream, to rail against the unfairness of it all, but he did none of these. Squeezing shut his eyes, clenching his jaw until his teeth ached, he forced himself to calm.
    Long moments passed and the pain grew steadily worse, but Jace remained focused and stared down atthe creature once more. Scarcely visible even in the darkened room, his eyes began to glow.
    “Your master, your summoner, is a mage called Gemreth,” he told the demon through trembling lips. “You were told that
his
master, called Tezzeret, wants to meet me. The First Vineyard, an hour after dusk tomorrow.” Even through the pain, Jace felt his anger growing, burning away the worst of his weakness. “This was a test!” he accused his vile attacker.
    “A test indeed, Jace Beleren. And you have passed.” The horrific vermin skittered off him and made for the window.
    “Antidote …” he croaked, his throat dry with agony.
    Somehow, the inhuman creature shrugged. “Poison’s not lethal,” it cackled at him as it scurried over the sill. “You’ll be fine in an hour or two.”
    Jace watched it go,