Shadowblade by Tom Bielawski Page A

the man standing before him, knowing that what the immortal said was entirely true. He chose not to push the issue and asked another question instead.
    “How will this affect our plans, O Wise One?” the old man asked with a bit more tact in his tone.
    “Let me enlighten you, O enlightened holy man,” said the Cjii, his voice dripping with sarcasm as usual. “This man, whom we already knew to be one enlightened in the ways of the Harmony Monks was also an information merchant. The latter of course, being that which concerned you most. Yet, it would seem, the former should have been more important.
    “You see,” continued the transparent man, prolonging the ire of his counterpart, “as a practitioner of the way of the Open Palm, he was able to displace his mind to the spirit realm to merge himself with what he believed to be his god, Zuhr. What really happened, you see, is that the fool simply willed himself to die and his soul went on to the afterlife.”
    “He is dead, then. Will you be able to use him as your avatar?”
    “Yes. He will still make a suitable avatar. Shameful, that his soul escaped me; I would have exponentially improved my strategy using his memories.” The transparent man’s image flickered in and out, reflecting the irritation that his voice did not. “Let us not waste time; a better line of replacements from you will I expect!” The spectre glided to the alter and blinked out of existence. The bishop quickly poured oil on Hugh’s forehead and traced the shape of the dragon. Then he stepped back, whispering a prayer to Qra’z, and grasped his dragon’s head staff.
    Suddenly Hugh sat bolt upright, sending the blanket to the floor; the bishop watched with interest. The movements were quite mechanical, as they always were when Devoricus inhabited a new body, but this time they were a bit stiffer due to the beginnings of rigor mortis. The bishop smirked a bit. Let the bastard Cjii suffer , he thought to himself.
    As the Cjii worked out the kinks and stretched out stiff muscles, he made quite a spectacle of himself. Working his jaw, kicking his feet, and flexing his arms, the supernatural being looked as comical as an Arnathian mime.
    “Oh, very good, Sir. Very good! You will pass for this pathetic peasant with ease!” chuckled the bishop.
    The newly animated body seemed to be getting the hang of itself and strode over to face the bishop. “The peasant took his considerable knowledge with him when he escaped you. We must learn what Umber is planning,” said Devoricus with emotion, his voice sounding less awkward with each syllable. “However, I can still see where his common speech patterns and physical demeanor are stored. Enough information for me to feign his personality. I will obtain the information myself.”
    The bishop was slightly irritated by the Cjii’s obvious ignorance of his sarcasm. He sighed, consoling himself with the comical images of the immortal being trying to walk in a human’s body.
    “Very well, Devoricus. Blessed be Qra’z.”
     

     
    “My Lord?”
    Cannath looked up from his great desk to see Hugh standing in the doorway, looking very pale with sweat dripping along his temples.
    “What is it, Hugh? Have you taken ill?” he asked.
    “No, sire,” replied Hugh with surprise. “Ah, just a bit of over exertion, you see.”
    Cannath simply watched his old friend with a grimace. How very odd, he thought. “Where were you? I could have used your advice earlier.”
    “How so, My Lord?”
    “Since when do you call me, ‘My Lord?’” asked Cannath sharply. Devoricus shook Hugh’s head ruefully. He should have remembered that Hugh would call Cannath “Prince” and not “Lord.”
    “My apologies, Prince Cannath,” said the Cjii with a humble bow.
    Cannath dismissed the apology with an angry wave. “What do you have to report?”
    “I believe my contact, Regari, may have been compromised. He was not present for our appointment.”
    “You’ve never