The Enemy Within Read Online Free

churning his guts made
it difficult.
    “I wanted to kill you in your sleep,” said the man with the
knife, “but Jarla wanted to question you. You’re awake now, so I guess we can
spare a moment to try it her way. But struggle, or raise your voice above a
whisper, and that’s the end of you, understand?”
    “Yes.” The mention of Jarla’s name helped bring his thoughts
into focus. He recalled their final conversation in the tavern, and the
circuitous creep through the alleyways that followed. He’d thought he’d fooled
her, but now could only assume he’d somehow roused her suspicions, whereupon
she’d rendered him helpless with a drug or spell, then run to fetch one of her
fellow conspirators.
    “Who are you?” asked the man crouching over him.
    Dieter was frightened enough to tell him, except that the
truth was damning. “I already explained to Jarla who I am. I don’t understand.
Is this some kind of test?”
    The knife pressed his raw, smarting neck a little harder.
“You don’t have time to play games.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Get over here,” the big man said. “Hurt him. Break his
fingers or something.”
    “Me?” Jarla asked. When Dieter shifted his eyes, he could see
her standing off to the left, hugging herself as if she were cold.
    “No, the Grand Theogonist!” her companion snapped. “Of
course, you. I can’t do it. I have to hold onto him and be ready to stick the
knife in if he struggles or squeals.”
    Jarla’s features clenched with a mixture of reluctance and
resolve. She trudged forwards, knelt down, and took hold of Dieter’s wrist.
     
    As every wizard knew, the energies required to fuel his
sorceries fluctuated from place to place and time to time, and that was the
problem. The man in the dark hooded cloak needed to act quickly, and it was just
his bad luck that his immediate surroundings had little power to offer. The
ambient forces wouldn’t support the manifestation he intended.
    That left him with a choice. He could go somewhere more
accommodating, or he could try to raise the raw energy he needed. As time was of
the essence, he’d opted for the latter.
    Accordingly, he strode along the twisting little side street
seeking a fellow pedestrian. Damn it, people claimed Altdorf never slept, even
late at night. So where was everybody?
    He rounded a bend and spied a yawning youth emerging from a
doorway. Perhaps the boy had apprenticed to a trade that required him to report
for work well before dawn.
    “You,” the magician said, and the boy turned in his
direction. The warlock whispered a word of power and fixed his quarry with his
gaze. Fortunately, this particular cantrip required only an iota of mystical
force to power it, and the lad froze like a rabbit before a serpent. Only for a
heartbeat, but that was all the time the sorcerer required to dash across the
intervening distance, whip the dagger out from under his mantle and drive it
into the youth’s torso.
    Even late at night, on a deserted little street with a
paucity of lamps, it was dangerous to commit murder right out in the open, but
the warlock had no time to worry about that. He kept on stabbing. The boy
grunted every time the blade rammed home, and fumbled at his attacker as if he
hoped to shove him away. But he no longer had the strength.
    Finally the youth collapsed and lay motionless. Working as
quickly as he dared, given that a slip could ruin the magic and imperil him in
the process, the sorcerer carved sigils on his victim’s brow and cheeks. Then he
dipped his forefinger in blood and daubed additional symbols on a wall.
    The act of desecration cracked the barrier between worlds,
and power flowed through. The mage could feel it rising like floodwater full of
drowned corpses and filth. He shuddered in mingled ecstasy and revulsion.
    Since he needed a clear head for the conjuring yet to come,
neither emotion was useful. Drawing a deep breath, he did his best to quell
them, then