The Mirrored City by Michael J. Bode Page A

shape. He kept to the shadows that lengthened as the daylight receded, like fingers beckoning him forward. Bracing himself between the walls of a narrow alley, he climbed to the roof of a squat building just before a patrol marched past.
    His reflexes were incredible since becoming a Stormlord. When he needed to react, it felt like things were happening in slow motion. It also helped that he’d stopped taking his morning remedies. The medicine made him sicker than the illness growing inside him, and he had more energy than he’d had in months.
    It felt good to be out in the field, doing honest work with nothing but his wit and skill to keep him alive. Mastery of the elements was intoxicating, but sometimes magic felt like cheating. This was like old times… except Sword wasn’t by his side to enjoy it.
    He bolted across the roof and vaulted to the next building. Although he landed fine, he was sweating and had a stitch in his side. “I’m getting too old for this,” he whispered to himself.
    Sword would have agreed and made some kind of joke. Heath missed his partner but meant what he said: Maddox wasn’t a criminal and didn’t need to be. He’d been a young wizard with a promising future that involved writing papers and giving lectures. Heath and Jessa owed it to Maddox to give him the life he wanted.
    Heath also had to admit, as he tiptoed across the top of a high archway, that he missed Sword. Since becoming Maddox, the Sword had changed and not for the better. It was arrogant and constantly annoyed with Heath over everything. It would be happier in another body with a more affable persona.
    Heath paused.
    A pair of women, a blonde one laughing quite loudly, darted through the street hand in hand. She was shushed by the Turisian woman as they hustled down an adjacent alleyway.
    Heath shrugged and moved on, finding purchase on a higher level of buildings. He made his way without incident.
    Before him was the palatial square compound of House Qaadar, the First House of Baash and home of the ruling Patriarch. Like all buildings in Baash, it bore no outward decoration aside from some magnificent stained glass windows. Its size and deepening shadow were the only indications of its importance. Heath hunkered down and waited for night to descend.
    He slowly willed clouds to move in over the city, blotting out the stars and moon. He did it as subtly as he could manage. Satisfied it was dark enough, he made his move.
    House Qaadar had a mirrored structure in Dessim. Over there, it was a government office with embassy quarters for the representatives and dignitaries appointed by the other six Free Cities. He’d visited the Rivern office on numerous occasions and “gotten lost” in the labyrinthine structure many times, so he knew the layout perfectly.
    Under the cover of night, he leapt from the roof where he was perched and shot one of his springblades into the wall of the compound. The abraevium alloy pierced the marble while a thin filament anchored him to the blade. The metal was elastic yet sharp. Once he hit the wall, he jammed his other springblade into the stone. He retracted the first and repeated the process of stabbing the wall as he made his ascent.
    The cuts from the blade were razor thin and difficult to see.
    He mounted the summit of the building. Like in Dessim, the square compound surrounded an open atrium filled with lush palms and flowering fruit trees. Each of the three stories featured an exposed balcony overlooking the gardens. Heath wiped his brow and took a minute to catch his breath.
    Patrols were light. Single Patrean guards strolled around casually. It would be a mistake to think they weren’t alert. Patreans didn’t get bored as easily as other humans, which made them more ideal than dogs for security.
    Heath made his way across the roof to the master bedroom, taking extra care to tread quietly.
    He winced at the loud pop of his knee as he crept forward. This is probably my last time doing