Gatecrash: The Secretist, Part Two Read Online Free

his mind, feeling even closer than it had felt before. Where will your prison be?
    The guildmages pulled him through rancid puddles, down staircases, through curving and sloping tunnels for what felt like days. His captors lifted him over unknown obstacles and carried him through windy, echoing spaces. They escorted him over creaking, unstable boardwalks and dropped him in stinking water. They tied rope around him and lowered him down a pit that felt miles deep, and then dragged him through pipes and tunnels again. At all times, an uncertain number of hands retained their iron grip on him, other agents of House Dimir, just like him.
    Finally Vosk’s captors used magic to push him through tunnel walls—and he knew by the duration of the sensation of passing through stone that the walls were thick. He fell against a flat, cold, stony surface, and the hands released him all at once. His bonds dissolved, and he was free to move his arms and head again. He removed the blindfold from his face but he saw nothing. The darkness around him was complete.
    He felt around. The boundaries of the floor were quickly apparent, and the ceiling was low. His cell was uncertain in dimension, but featureless other than the smooth stone. Vosk’s sensitive fingers felt nothing in the stone, not a crack, not a ridge, not a single fissure of any kind. He pounded on the walls with his fists, but they were so solid that they barely registered the blows. He was in a black, featureless box in some unknown place far below the district.
    The voice in his head laughed, and the sound echoed from one side of Vosk’s head to the other. “I’ve hidden you away , ” it said. “And using a technique I learned from my formerly most promising agent, I’ve drained the memories of my mages who’ve brought you there. Now no one but I will ever know where Mirko Vosk is laid to rest. No one.”
    Lazav’s voice in his mind said nothing else. All was quiet.
    Vosk slumped against the flat, unyielding wall.
    After a moment he heard a rustling in the darkness, and the sound of breathing. Someone else was in this cell with him.
    “Hello?” said a man’s voice in the void. “Is someone there? My name is Kavin. Please, where am I?”

STIRRING UP THE PAST
    The sacred grove of the Selesnya Conclave was new to Jace. It was a manicured temple garden, natural yet sculpted. Trees and creeping ivy were allowed to grow and thrive, but were manicured in pleasing patterns against columns of white marble. Around the edges of the garden, soldiers of Selesnya stood at attention, bowing their heads to Emmara as they passed.
    Jace had never seen Emmara take on her guild persona like this. Even with days of travel on her, and the muck and injury of the undercity, her bearing was noble—not the cheap nobility of title or holdings, but originating from somewhere within her. She was a true hero of the Conclave, and all the sentries admired her as she passed through the Selesnya gates.
    A group of Selesnya elders greeted them as guests of honor. They adorned Emmara with leaf garlands and bowed to her. Jace’s presence was met with politeness, but tinged with looks of suspicion. When their eyes shot to him, their faces became stern, and their tranquil smiles were strained. Perhaps they knew that Jace had once refused an offer of membership in theirguild, or perhaps they blamed him for the Rakdos attack on her.
    Still, one of the Selesnya elders, a wizened woman in a white robe inset with wooden elements, put a small gift into Jace’s hand. It was a carved wooden leaf, like the one Emmara had given him before. This one was different in shape, long and tapered, with a slight twist in its edge, but equally delicate and masterfully made—a precious gift of welcoming. Jace bowed to the creator.
    A tall elf man, geared in Selesnya soldier dress, stepped out from the ranks and strode toward him and Emmara. He smiled broadly at Emmara, and when she saw him, the two elves seemed to fall