Chapter 23: Tales of Hearsay
Magnus had been known to get carried away in a fight, known to blur the line between right and wrong when the blood rage had gotten into his head. Though Magnus's mind now is no less tortured than it would be in one of his fits, he controls his body with a grim finality. His decision is clear and righteous. Nicolai must die. Now.
The murderer's face tilts back towards the ceiling, his pained grin unwavering, his body not so much as flinching in the face of death. Magnus steps swiftly through the doorway and the mace is swung with a calculating accuracy and all the strength of the minotaur's barrel-chested frame. The mace does not even slow as it connects just high and behind the man's temple, but crushes the man's skull with ease before the head rebounds downward along with the body, bouncing once like a cork off the rough-hewn stone.
In a matter of a moment, Nicolai has gone from living to unmistakably dead. His body lies broken, his head now a bowl overflowing with bright crimson and laying in a puddled mess of blood and teeth.
And yet... despite the fact that Magnus knows that everything has been unmistakably right... something, something inside him feels entirely wrong. Almost as if a bit of Nicolai's blackness had fled his body in death and latched on to the closest thing still standing...
Vaguely, Magnus can hear Sir Alston talking... Alfard is there... Something about the law, about Magnus saving more victims... None of it mattered. All that was left, was to ensure that Daneel had indeed pulled through...
"This is bullshit!"
It is over a month later when Magnus stands upon the road from Raphael with Gus, his mule, and Arnold Bozan, the one handed thief he had saved from the gallows. The man who had told him his suspicions of the Magistrate... the one single bit of information which had opened the door wide on Magnus's investigation. Magnus had much to thank Arnold for, for saving Daneel's life, for the pristine, gleaming pot helm which now adorned his head. And yet, despite this genuine gratitude, Magnus did not feel as if he owed Arnold anything.
On this one particular point, Arnold strenuously disagreed. He had quite clearly stated, many times now over as they had exited the city, that Magnus owed him his freedom.
"I help you, and all you see fit to do is drive me to my doom, fighting invaders on the border? Let me go, I'm no help to the legions anyway, I've only got one hand!"
Despite the man's insistences, Magnus had held resilient while picking Arnold up from the brig, had overseen as the leg shackles were installed (on Colonel Bright's insistence, as Arnold had made two bold but flawed attempts at escape) and had pushed him from the city walls without so much as a second thought.
It had taken effort though, as everything seemed to these days. Ever since Nicolai, Magnus seemed just a little bit clumsier, he tired faster, his intellect was just a little less sharp. It was hard to complain, especially when he spent as much time as he did around Daneel who had been on death's doorstep and was just so thankful to have completely healed within a matter of days. Magnus was genuinely happy for him, and he could not bear to let on that some small portion of Nicolai's dark magic may yet live on.
In the end it mattered little. Alice had said that some could throw off a curse naturally, and Magus's kind had a natural resistance to magic. He just needed more time. Until then, he still had a job to do, and a thief to send to Major Brashear... at least if he could stand him for that long.
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