Sorcerer's Shadow

Chapter 22: Anatole's Workspace

Chapter 22: Anatole's Workspace

So, I descended. In utter silence. My eyes had already adjusted to the darkness and a faint light below aided my navigation; I could move swiftly. The staircase was narrow and steep, yet solid stone. No railings were present. I focused entirely on remaining soundless.

I went through The Plan in my mind: reach the floor where Anatole, presumably, stored entities like souls encapsulated in staffs, unlock the door (dispelling any necessary spells without alerting Anatole), and let Drevolan launch his unexpected (we hoped) assault on the stronghold's defenses sufficiently robustly and for a long enough period to allow us both to teleport out.

The thought crossed my mind again that I'd never previously relied on magic to extract me from a situation. I wasn't fond of the idea. I mentally ran through the various escape routes available to me, which barely took any time.

Finally, I'd reached the bottom!

Here, only one guard was stationed. Unlike the two upstairs, he was in a state of slumber, which spared his life. I ensured he'd remain unconscious for a while longer, and proceeded. I took twenty-five steps to the left, leading to a door. This one was imposing and robust, and its lock, I was informed, was formidable. Upon examining it, I agreed. However, I had a knack for such things.

My fingers twitched as I scrutinized the deadbolt and the hinges. But, truth be told, I was more concerned about the magical seals and potential alarm-triggering spells. I guessed the door weighed approximately forty pounds. It was constructed from dense wooden planks secured with iron bands. It wasn't entirely air-tight, as light was filtering through from the other side. I didn't know what to make of this; this was where my knowledge ended. I moistened my lips and started working.

Liora, the Thief, had not only procured a set of burglar tools for me but had also tutored me in their use. I'm no thief, but I can hold my own. I was banking on the "device" to handle the alarms because that was beyond my capability; unlocking the door was the maximum I could achieve.

A good lock melds an intricate mechanism with a sturdy bolt. This lock indeed boasted a superior mechanism and three separate deadbolts. Therefore, the pick had to be strong enough to maneuver the bolts but delicate enough to fit into the lock. It was a three-tumbler system, necessitating a spring-pick and three rods, all of which had to press against tumblers moving in different directions while being rotated in yet another direction. If my fingers had been a bit smaller and I'd had an additional pair of arms, it would have been a breeze. As it was, it took me twenty minutes, but I managed, and as far as I could discern, no alarms were triggered.

I might have overlooked oiling the hinges if Opal hadn't prompted me. Beyond the door was a landing brightly illuminated by several lamps, and stairs led down to three doors, all appearing from my vantage pointquite flimsy.

It took about a quarter of an hour to relock the sturdy door. I was uncertain if this was time well-spent. Afterwards, I drew a few deep, silent breaths, closed my eyes, and

"What's happening, Viktor?" In telepathic communication, you always address each other on a first-name basis, as magic goes beyond formalities.

"I've gotten through the large door."

"Good. I'll relay this to Drevolan. We'll remain in touch. As soon as you grasp the staff, we'll disrupt the teleport barrier. But it won't last long."

"So you've mentioned."

"And I reiterate it. Be cautious."

"Sure."

Once at the bottom, I had to select a door. With none of them locked or magically protected, I went for the central one. I lubricated the hinge and gently pushed it open. After about forty-five minutes, I returned to the trio of doors, now with a much clearer idea of the variety of seashells Anatole favored and a deep understanding of his artistic preferences. But I was still clueless about the staff's location.

I pondered over how much time would pass before the corpses in the kitchen would be discovered, or the absence of the guards would be noticed.

I loathed this scenario. I decided to try the left-hand door next.

The room was illuminated, although the source of light was elusive. The room was approximately forty paces across, with a door on the opposite wall. A massive table, roughly ten feet long, dominated the room's center. Globes hung from the ceiling, casting focused beams of light onto a single spot on one side. Close to this spot lay a pile of thick, hefty books. Another book lay open on the table, a quill pen next to it, with half a page inscribed. Shiny, petite stones were strewn across the table. Three wands, none matching the description of my target, leaned against the wall on my left. A pedestal at the table's end supported a golden chain, seemingly suspended in mid-air except where it made contact with the pedestal. A large sword rested against the table, looking oddly out of place until I noticed the runes and symbols etched on it from my vantage point. Against another wall was a large basin, likely containing something abnormal subjected to unthinkable treatments.

If you haven't guessed by now, this was Anatole's workspace.

I surveyed the floor ahead of me meticulously, scrutinizing the path leading to the door on the opposite side. It appeared to be unobstructed. I relayed my observations to Alyssra. She acknowledged them but didn't respond. I navigated the space with extreme caution, reaching the opposite door without a sound.