Chapter 9: Betrayal
The Hall of Records still stood tall and proud, like a wounded Thyrian soldier too stubborn to fall. It was not far from the Emperor’s Palace in the newer government district, which is what saved it from devastation. Not that it was undamaged. Even in the pale moonlight, Jaysynn could see that the nondescript five-story building was scarred from exploding wires, its windows shattered. Even so, Dracon had made sure to have a few soldiers guarding the place at all times. It housed Thyrion’s history and countless government records. While it was probably unlikely any Thyrians would attack it, caution was still advised.
This might be a good test of the security, thought Jaysynn, surveying the scene from the roof of the building next door. If I can sneak in, who’s to say someone else couldn’t? Then we’d all be in trouble. He sighed. But it’s not like I can just walk over there and ask them to let me in. They’d report it to Dracon, and then he’d never let me leave the bunker. I’ll have to sneak in there. But how?
The building he stood on was the same height, but the Hall was too far to jump across the gap between them. Jaysynn knew he would have to get to the Hall’s top floor, which was where all the secret government records were kept. It was locked at all times, but Jaysynn, being the Emperor, had a master key. The soldiers’ patrol was thorough, and the moonlight would not conceal him. He could try jumping for a window, but he would risk wounding himself on the broken glass and making noise.
I’m running out of time and options, thought Jaysynn.
Then he looked to his right and saw his way in—a power line. Though frayed, it still clung to both buildings. Jaysynn’s eyes followed the cable from this building to the Hall. It was fastened to the corner near a fifth story window.
It’ll do, he thought.
He slunk to the corner. He gripped and twisted the cable to test its strength. I’m light enough that it should support me. He did not want to think about what would happen if it could not. So, clutching the cable with both gloved hands, he slowly leaned over the edge, the gray streets four stories below. Then he let his body drop from the rooftop and, in one quick motion, wrapped his legs around the cable, hooking his knees over it.
He glanced down at the guards. They had not seen or heard him. His gaze returned to the now upside down Hall.
Better hurry before the blood rushes to my head.
Hand over hand, he slowly pulled himself across the cable. His hood dangled under his head, catching the sweat that dripped from his forehead. He tried not to look down unless it was to check on the guards, not because he was afraid of heights but because he did not want to break his concentration. His thundering heart beating against his ribs and his burning limbs already fought to distract him. But the Hall inched closer.
Jaysynn’s muscles ached. Many days of near inactivity and the aggressive tracing he had done tonight had weakened them. His unhealed injuries only exacerbated the pain. Jaysynn bit his lower lip to swallow his grunts. I can’t let the guards hear me! I’m a sitting duck up here!
Minutes passed like hours. They slowed with the increase of Jaysynn’s fatigue. Lightheaded. Vision blurring. Focus! Fight through it! He crawled ahead with screaming muscles. He was within two body lengths. Just a little further!
His hand touched a wall. Jaysynn shook his head to regain his bearings. I made it! He glanced down and saw an open window, or rather, a window with shattered glass. He would have to hope his gloves were thick enough to protect his hands.
He took a deep breath as he uncoiled his legs from the cable. Fire coursed through his arms. Fighting the pain, he quickly switched his hands so he spun around. He threw his legs back and forth to build some momentum and let go of the cable. He dropped toward the window. His feet missed the sill—but his hands gripped it, vice-like. The razor edges of the glass dug into his gloves without penetrating them. Jaysynn swallowed grunts as he pulled himself up and crawled through the window. Glass crunched under his body as he fell to the floor.
For a few minutes, he lay there panting, letting his muscles rest. He listened for the soldiers below, but their faint footfalls were still outside. So, he slowly and carefully stood up, brushing glass shards from his clothes.
That was one of the closer calls I’ve had.
The corridor was dark, but Jaysynn knew his way around since he had visited this place several times with Dracon. Walking a short distance down the hall, he came to an unmarked door. He removed his backpack, unzipped it, and produced the master key, which he plunged into the lock and opened the door. With that, he tossed the key back into his backpack and then pulled out a light rod. He bent the thing and it glowed orange-red. He was careful to cover it when he walked past the windows to avoid attracting attention.
He slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. He stuffed his light rod into his backpack and surveyed the large room in the moonlight pouring through the window. Every important document was stored in the filing cabinets lining the entire room, except for the wall to his right where a large window overlooked the city. The answers he sought would be in one of those cabinets.
For the next hour, with the light rod gripped in his teeth, Jaysynn rummaged through the file cabinets, searching, reading, studying. It was not aimless, though. The file cabinets were organized into groups and subjects, so he started with secret military operations, of which there were many. His father had sent many advance scouts to infiltrate neighboring cities to prepare them for conquest, among other things. But even there he could find no mention of the “Whispers.” Why? He had heard stories growing up about past Emperors having a black ops team at their command who answered only to them, but since neither his father nor Dracon had told him such things, he figured it was a tall tale. Did they not officially exist?
Next, based on a hunch, he went to the section for the Heart of Thyrion. Jaysynn knew the explosion that devastated the city originated from the Great Well and figured that he might find answers in those documents. He was almost afraid to look, though. The officers at the crater seemed to speak of something clandestine happening there. Did his father know about this? Did Dracon? No, they couldn’t have. One or both of them would’ve stopped it, especially if it threatened the city. The idea of the Cataclysm being manmade was both comforting and terrifying. Who’s to say someone won’t figure out how to replicate this and destroy another city? That is, if the other cities haven’t been destroyed already. The officers said the destruction stretched beyond our borders. Why is this being kept from me?
Jaysynn shoved such thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. He thumbed through the documents, looking for anything suspicious. There were blueprints for new magic-harvesting technologies, scientific papers stolen from Jalseion theorizing about the nature of magic, a map of the underground rivers and surface wells of magic on the entire continent. These were important documents, but hardly world-shattering. Do they point to something bigger?
Then he was jolted as he found a document covered with blocks of black ink, and his fingers froze. He pulled out the folder and grabbed the light rod from his mouth. Whole paragraphs had disappeared in the black voids. The few that were visible provided no explanation. In fact, what Jaysynn could read seemed to be borderline gibberish. Was it codespeak?
He replaced the folder and looked at the next one. It, too, was covered with blacked out paragraphs. So was the next one—and the next and the next. Each one seemed to have more than the previous. What is this? He scoured the documents for any clues, hoping against hope that something had been left uncovered. Then he saw words that seemed to jump off the page and grab him, words that so puzzled and shocked him that he reflexively read them aloud:
“Project: Godfire.”
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