Shadowborn's Terror: Book IV of 'The Magician's Brother' Series

  Shadowborn's Terror

  Book IV of 'The Magician's Brother' Series

  HDA Roberts

  Copyright © 2019 HDA Roberts

  All rights reserved.

  Any resemblance to any person living or dead is unintentional.

  Cover by Warren Design

  CONTENTS

  Shadowborn's Terror

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 1

  I was bored.

  So very, very bored.

  It was actually a nice change from scared, wounded and angry, but still... politics were so, so dull!

  After being presented to the Conclave as the fifth Archon, in what was actually a very nice ceremony, I was expected to take my Seat for the important sessions, agonising though that was. This particular one was the opening of the Conclave for the Summer Session. Once it was over, I wouldn't have to come back for a while, but I was making up for it that day. Good grief, how could the others stand the never-ending babble?

  As it was a full assembly, the entire place was packed from floor to ceiling with Magicians, observers, diplomats and various creatures. Between them, they hadn't stopped talking for four hours, and I'd really needed to pee for the last two.

  The Grand Conclave Chamber was built like an amphitheatre, with a set of large wooden doors built into the west wall, opposite which was an open space containing the Seats of the Archons. Mine was far left, as I was the most junior. Hopkins was next to me, with Kron in the centre as High Seat for this session (we rotate on a decade-basis, it wouldn't be my turn for a while, thank God), then Killian and finally Palmyra. There rest of the chamber was organised into three tiers of seats, stretching up towards the domed roof, each tier containing various rows of (relatively comfortable) chairs, with the more important people closer to the front of each tier.

  The councillors representing British Magicians occupied the lowest rows, closest to the Archons; above them were representatives from other countries and groups as well as the press and even a block for non-magical observers from Her Majesty's Government (who could never resist sticking their noses or fingers into other people's pies). Above them were the country's non-political Mages, sorted by power level, and generally just there to get stuck into a good argument, should one turn up (and with this many Magicians in one place, one usually did, just not on Opening Day).

  Every country with a significant magical population had their own Conclave, along with their own Seats (though the names for these varied from place to place, naturally). As a result, the Archons were normally a little more spread out; Palmyra, for example, liked to make her home at the French Conclave in Paris. But because they'd just returned from their self-imposed exile a few months earlier, the decision had been made to re-establish the power base in a single Conclave there before spreading back out to their old territories. The one in Stonebridge had been chosen for a number of reasons, not the least of which was because this had been their... our official capital since the fall of the Roman Empire, and it was a necessary symbolic act to reclaim it first (that, and Great Britain was home to the largest concentration of Sorcerers in the world; it was best not to snub them).

  My fellow Archons also wanted a have good yell at the Magicians who thought that they could fold up our political power without our say-so. There had been a very brief debate in the Conclave (in which Killian, Lord Death, had expressed his displeasure at their presumption) before a swift repeal of those acts. Only two other Conclaves had even tried to put legislation like that into effect, and both of them had recanted before close of business that same day (Lord Death was scary when he wanted to be. The rest of the time he was a horrific prankster with an evil sense of humour; but a word of advice: never piss him off. He could literally kill with a look).

  I contained a yawn with an effort, flicking a piece of lint off my jacket. I was dressed in a navy blue suit with a dark tie, white shirt and highly polished shoes, over which I had a set of black academic robes and the enchanted hood which concealed my face from prying eyes (I was still trying to keep a low profile). The others were dressed similarly, and formally, in business suits of one sort or another, though theirs were considerably more expensive and better tailored than mine. Kron, who was never one for modern trends, wore her own version of formal attire, which amounted to an ornate suit of gold-chased black armour; to complete the look, she had a heavy-headed war-hammer next to her seat within easy snatching distance.

  Councillor... Something-or-other was droning on about... some-such. I think it was about closer ties with... someone, I couldn't tell you for sure; it was far from important. He'd been talking for twenty minutes, and even the glacially patient Kron was starting to look like she was bored.

  Then, just as I was considering something Magically drastic to relieve the pressure in my bladder, someone came in through one of the side doors, a tiny fellow I recognised as one of Arianna Hellstrom's lackeys. He darted straight over to her.

  Hellstrom was the new Domestic Minister, a post she'd inherited when she beat the living snot out of her predecessor, Balthazar Thorne (now serving six consecutive life sentences at the Farm, and good riddance to him). Hellstrom was now the power behind the Primus inter pares, called the Primus for ease of conversation (that means 'first among equals', sort of our Prime Minister). The Primus was a watery man called Aiden Foltre; he sat in the front row, near the Seats, and largely did what he was told. I'd thought that Hellstrom would have taken the spot for herself, but she wasn't the sort to stand in the limelight.

  Hellstrom was blonde and attractive, appearing to be in her early thirties, but was in fact far older. She wore a simple dress which should have looked silly under a robe, with her Imperial-purple Sorcerer's hood draped around the shoulders, but somehow she made it look stylish. The various symbols and metal badges on the front of her hood marked her out as a woman of wide interests and not inconsiderable skill (as I'd learned the hard way).

  Hellstrom's lackey bent over and whispered something in her ear. She turned and whispered something back. He nodded and left again. I thought that was it for a moment and my heart sank, but then she stood, meaning she wanted the chance to speak, raising her hand to indicate urgency.

  "The Seat recognises Duchess Hellstrom," Kron said, with almost indecent haste.

  Councillor Boring-me-to-death sat down with an irate look on his face, after a moment where his mouth continued moving without any words coming out.

  "Lady Namia Sutton of the Peace Legion requests a moment of our time," Hellstrom said, looking towards Kron, "I think it would be best to see her. She says that she has news of a threat to us all."

  Lady who of the what? I sent, Telepathically, to Hopkins.

  Ever since we'd joined our wells and minds for a rather nasty little fight a couple of months earlier,
it had been very easy to link with her and talk like this (it also made it less embarrassing to ask questions in the middle of Conclave).

  Namia Sutton, she replied (the same way), one of our best and most loyal allies. She's what you might call a scout, looking out for threats to Magical society. The Peace Legion is her group; Magicians and Magical creatures that work together and help out where they can. They keep people safe; keep the peace.

  Sounds like a great idea to me, does she come into Conclave often?

  Rarely. Normally she can deal with any issues herself. If she's here then there must be something badly wrong.

  "Bring her in," Kron said while we were 'talking'.

  The big doors at the other end of the room opened, and in marched a woman, a man at her side in cuffs. He was older and dishevelled, with a heavily lined face, wearing a wrinkled grey suit that was stained in the armpits and groin. His eyes were blank, like he was almost dead.

  She... she was something else entirely.

  Namia Sutton was the kind of beautiful you only read about. Tall and strong-looking, graceful and athletic, but not so much as to take from an appearance of soft femininity. Her face looked kind and sweet, framed by long, flowing, golden hair that curled around her cheeks. Her lips were red and generous, her eyes a startling blue. She wore a conservative outfit, a blue jacket over long skirt. In short, she looked like the sort of cute girl-next-door you'd love on sight and treasure for your whole life.

  And one look was all it took for that woman to terrify me to my very core.

  I don't know if you've ever been scared. Not scared of something in a movie, or by someone jumping from the shadows to frighten you, I mean truly terrified of something that could have ended your life, the kind of fear that comes from being in the presence of something that is going to do you immense harm.

  I took one look at her, and that feeling of utter, horrible dread came over me. Terror seared through my mind, making my hands shake and my bladder control waver dangerously. I could feel my Shadows at the edge of my perception perk up at my reaction, trying to come for me and offer comfort. It was an immense effort to push them back and away.

  I saw Palmyra looking around the others at me. She was a Life Mage, sometimes called a White Magician, and so an Empath. She was able to feel my fear like it was her own. Hopkins noticed too, she took my hand and squeezed the fingers.

  What is it? she sent.

  I don't know, I replied, my heart pounding as Sutton approached the Seats.

  Do you want to adjourn?

  No, that's okay. I'll manage.

  I breathed carefully, controlling my emotions, watching intently as the woman stopped and bowed to the Seat.

  "My Lords and Ladies," she said; her voice was high and musical, very gentle. It should have been soothing, but instead it sent shivers down my spine and I broke into a cold sweat, "I apologise for interrupting, but something terrible has been brought to my attention."

  She paused to pull something out of her pocket; it was a clear plastic pouch that fit comfortably in the palm of her hand, a thimbleful's worth of miniscule red crystals in the bottom.

  "This is Source," she said, holding it up, "It is a drug; manufactured by this man and his associates in great quantity. We don't know what it's made from, but we do know is that it greatly enhances the innate powers of a Magician. It is even possible to give a normal human being, a Pureborn, the powers of an Acolyte, even an Adept if he takes enough of it."

  She paused for a moment, looking around, her eyes earnest and respectful.

  I didn't believe a word of it. It might have been the terror talking, but something wasn't right with this, I was certain.

  "I'm here because I need help. The Legion needs help to stop this epidemic before it can get any worse. Already thousands of men and women have used it, and the power is addictive. Imagine a Wizard taking a dose of this, or even a Sorcerer. Imagine the kind of power he'd have!"

  This whole thing smelled funny to me. The way she was talking... she sounded more like a salesman than a crusader.

  I took a tight rein on my fear and stood, walking towards Sutton and the man. She stopped talking at my approach. There was muttering (there's usually muttering when I do things, I try not to take it personally).

  "Lord Shadow?" Kron said from behind me.

  Matty, what are you doing? Hopkins sent.

  Something's wrong, I'm taking a look, I replied.

  The man was just standing there as I approached, his eyes glazed over. He didn't even seem to register my presence.

  "Sir?" I said, standing in front of him. He flinched a very little bit, "Can you hear me?"

  He nodded slowly.

  "You have questions for my prisoner, my lord?" Sutton said, her voice making my skin crawl, though her tone was reasonable and utterly respectful.

  I nodded.

  "Sir, you have no reason to be afraid here," I said quietly.

  He nodded, though nothing in his eyes showed understanding of what I'd said.

  "I'd like to touch your mind. Would you allow that, Sir?"

  His lip trembled, but he nodded.

  "I'm not sure that's wise, Milord, this man was a killer. You might be better off keeping out," Sutton said, her voice filled with concern. She sounded genuine; my heart told me she wasn't.

  So I ignored her and sent in a Telepathic probe...

  And very nearly got my mind peeled apart by a neural shredder. If I hadn't been moving carefully, I'd have lost a chunk of memory, or something even more important. I dodged it and moved around his headspace even more cautiously. I felt my way in deeper and saw the shredder as a chunk of foreign power in his mind. It took some time to dismantle it and pull away the pieces.

  Whoever had put it in there had been both competent and vicious. It would have left both me and the prisoner a vegetable if it had been triggered. If that wasn't enough, the poor man's memories had been extensively altered; carefully, meticulously, but still recognisably if you knew what to look for. I could feel the edges of the false engrams, where they were just the tiniest fraction out of sync with the rest of his mind.

  I took a closer look at those. There were memories of him making something very complicated, drugs, presumably; more of him selling them to people whose faces he couldn't remember. The memories felt discordant, out of balance. It was like... his mind was a train, and his memories were the tracks. It was as if he were forced into a cycle of falseness that ground his real personality against the implants, fraying them both away. There was only a little damage so far, but it wouldn't be long before his mind was a broken thing, driven into total insanity.

  Whoever had done this was simultaneously very competent and yet also quite sloppy. I guessed that they hadn't expected him to come under Telepathic scrutiny, or that if he did, then the shredder would take care of the problem. I set to work fixing the damage, being as gentle as I could, excising the falsehoods one by one. There were quite a few, and each time I had to reconnect the empty sections with the rest of his mind.

  The actual memories buried under the false ones were gone; there would be no recovering them. Nor could I find any evidence of who'd done this to him aside from the very vague impression of a Magical signature I could feel within the implanted memories.

  The last six months or so of memory was where the damage was at its worst. Beyond that, everything seemed to be more or less stable. I wasn't really practiced at this sort of reconstructive work, but I did a passable job. The human mind was a very robust thing; it could heal most damage on its own as long as everything was more or less in the right place.

  The man's eyes cleared as I finished snipping out the last false memory. He looked around, a dazed look on his face.

  "Where am I?" he asked, moving about a little before he realised he was cuffed, "What is this?"

  "Don't worry, Mister...?" I asked calmly, waving at the cuffs, which fell away into a heap at his feet.

  "Clayton. Andrew Clayton. Where am I?"
he asked again, looking around.

  "In the Conclave building in Stonebridge," I said, "You've been falsely accused of a crime and have had your memory altered. I've repaired the damage, but I'm afraid you've lost a few months of time."

  There was further muttering, much of it angry, from around me.

  Sutton looked shocked and confused. She threw her hand over her chest and her eyes were suddenly wet.

  "Stonebridge?" Clayton said, his eyes wide, "And what crime? I've never committed a crime in my life! Who said I did?"

  "That is a very good question," I said, turning towards Sutton.

  "I had no idea..." she said, looking mortified. She dropped to a knee, "I will accept any punishment my Lords decide I deserve. I have brought shame on myself and my Legion. I am nothing, nothing but a worthless fool."

  Kron was at the cowering woman's side in an instant, glaring daggers at me as I stood between Sutton and the man she'd abused. Well, that someone had abused, anyway. I couldn't help but think it was her, in spite of her current theatrics. Oh, I didn't think she'd done it herself; the Telepath's Magical signature just didn't mesh with Sutton, so it wasn't her. But I just knew that she was responsible somehow.

  Kron helped Sutton to her feet.

  "No, my Lady, I have erred horribly, I must pay recompense," Sutton said, trying to drop to her knees again.

  "That is ludicrous," Kron said, "You were sold a bill of goods. It's hardly your fault."

  "Really?" I asked, letting a little incredulous doubt enter my voice, "That man was the victim of a terrible abuse. Do you really mean to tell me that she couldn't spot something like that over the course of an interrogation, when I managed to see it in seconds without Magic?"

  Kron turned and gave me a look of such vehement hate that I actually took an involuntary step backwards. The only person I wished to piss off even less than Killian was Kron, and it seemed that I'd managed to do precisely that.

  "Lady Namia has been a trusted confidant and friend of this Conclave and your brother Archons for hundreds of years before you were born," Kron spat, glaring at me, "you will show her the respect she's due."