by Beth Alvarez
The chasm was wide. The walkway that ringed it was a lazy spiral, each tier twenty-something feet apart. Too far to try to swing down to the next level. The pit in the center that delved farther than the sun reached would swallow him if any attempt to move faster went wrong. Running alongside the outer wall was all he could do.
The others were a full ring below, on the opposite side. Vahn paused, looking across the gap.
“Keep going!” Rune shouted, giving the trees overhead another glance. “Don’t stop. You’ll know the mine shaft when you see it!”
He was halfway around the ring when Envesi freed herself from the rubble and spun to face him.
She spared no retorts this time, no soliloquy to buy him time to act. Instead she struck the ground at her feet. Wide cracks shot from the point of impact, fracturing the walkway between them and sending massive blocks tumbling into the endless pit.
Rune swore and pressed his back to the wall as a crack shot past his feet, leaving him with only inches of path to stand on.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and he didn’t know whether he spoke to his absent teachers or the trees.
The trees shuddered as he drained them past the brink, consuming their life as power. The leaves withered, curled and browned as he spread his palms against the wall and opened all his senses.
Awareness of the pathway and the mass of tunnels surrounding them blossomed in his mind, tunnels he’d walked a hundred times and some he’d never realized were there. He followed them to a central point, nearest Envesi, and focused everything there.
Wood creaked and cracked as the aspens died, the smallest trees crumbling into dust and then nothing as he pulled the last they had to offer and the trees came unmade.
The earth rumbled, vibrated beneath his feet, and threatened to shake him from his narrow ledge.
One by one, the trees burst into shimmering motes and faded into nothing as their being was consumed. The ground shook harder in return.
Earth split and rock splintered. Tunnels collapsed and floors caved in. The cascade began, stones flowing like sand in his senses, racing downward to fill the emptiness they’d been poured into. Each passage gave way more easily, the weight of rubble above it too much to bear.
The last tree sighed and slipped from reality to nothingness, and with the last shred of its power, Rune stepped off the ledge.
The Gate opened beneath his feet and he bit off a cry as he hit the ground, transported several rings down.
Vahn blinked in surprise and rushed back to aid him.
“Rhyllyn,” Rune called, his voice rough in his throat.
The boy turned back, his eyes wide.
Channeling the essence of the trees still drained him, and Rune held out his hand as he extended what was left of his energy. “Link!”
Rhyllyn met his magic and meshed with it, bolstering his strength and granting him access to pure power again.
Rune had the Gate halfway open before Rhyllyn reached him.
The manor waited on the other side. Rune stared through, startled. He’d meant to reach the Royal City, his thoughts muddled with a sense of home.
He looked at Vahn and jerked his head. “Go.”
“I have to see this finished,” Vahn insisted.
Rune smiled grimly. “Then I guess we die together.”
Before Rhyllyn could protest, Rune reached for the sword at his hip with one hand, planted the other on the youth’s chest, and shoved with all his might.
The sword came free and Rhyllyn fell backwards through the portal, releasing an agonized shout of dismay.
The Gate severed their connection and the portal’s power hit Rune with a force to rival the collapsing tunnel. His knees buckled and he clung to the sword, fearful it would slide from his hand when he hit the ground.
But something kept him on his feet, and it took him a moment to realize it was Vahn’s arm under his.
“C’mon,” Vahn breathed, hefting him back to his feet. “We’re not done yet.”
23
All Things End
The ground shuddered until every mage in Firal’s group lost their balance. She staggered toward Ilmenhith’s chapter house until she could lay hands against its corner and cling to the building for support. Others crouched until the tremors passed. Cries of surprise and fear echoed down the busy streets.
“What was that?” one of the Masters asked.
Firal watched them climb back to their feet and right their robes. Her eyes swept north, toward the gleaming spires of the palace that rose above the city. The other mages turned the same direction, verifying her fear. The tremors had come from that direction. She could feel the disruption in the flows of magic that lay over the city.
“Whatever it is, you can expect it to get worse,” Firal said as she pushed herself off the chapter house. “We need to make sure the palace is empty, and I’m best suited to gaining entry. Sybet, warn the mages in the chapter house, if there are any. Meet us at the palace when you’re done. The rest of you, come.”
The white-robed Master bowed her head and hurried for the chapter house door.
Firal allowed herself to close her eyes and open her senses, seeing with her Gift instead of her eyes. All around her, the presence of life lit up. Ilmenhith was incandescent with its light. Her stomach turned at the sheer number of people. How were they to evacuate everyone?
“Majesty,” another mage said. Kella had proven herself as a court mage and worked hard among those who had escaped the palace alongside Firal. She was a welcome addition to the party. “Should we approach the palace so soon? If the plan to combat the former Archmage is already underway—”
Firal raised a hand to cut her off. “We’ll need to trust that we can move around the rest of the palace without being noticed. We’re no longer important to her.”
A few mages exchanged doubtful looks, but they fell in step behind Firal when she began the trek toward the soaring palace.
The sight of her home wrenched her heart. If all went according to plan, the palace could be ruined, or worse. Tightness bound her throat and she worked to loosen the constriction. For the safety of her people, her family, it had to be a risk she was willing to take.
The palace gates were closed, but at the sight of a team of mages in white progressing up the street, a guard atop the wall waved to the gatekeeper. The portcullis groaned and clanked as it began its slow ascent.
“Your Majesty!” a guard exclaimed as Firal’s face became clear. He ducked under the portcullis and knelt before her on the street.
Firal spread her hands to signal for the other mages to halt. “Rise. Gather my men and have them collect everyone still within the palace. Everyone is to gather in the courtyard. Not a soul left behind.”
“Everyone?” the guard repeated. “But, Majesty—”
“That is an order from your queen,” she snapped.
The guard shut his jaw, nodded, and hastened back into the courtyard.
Firal turned toward her team. “Six of you are to remain in the courtyard. Prepare to open a Gate and hold it firm. When Sybet rejoins you, she is to help with the Gate. The rest of you, fan out and comb the palace.” She paused to explore with her Gift again. The presence of the mages in front of her burned bright, but elsewhere, glimmers of life tickled her awareness. A low sense of dread drew together in the pit of her belly.
She tamped it down and continued her orders. “You, east. You, west. If you encounter guards or soldiers, repeat the orders I just gave. Do not let anyone else assist you. Everyone else is to head for the courtyard immediately. Open the Gate when at least fifty have gathered, unless those tremors begin again. If more mages arrive, they are to wait here for my command. Do you understand?”
Every head bobbed in confirmation.
Firal nodded back. “I will return.”
No one said anything else as she spun toward the palace and marched toward the door. Her slippers whispered against the stone
. The white robes that swirled around her ankles glowed in the sunlight, foreign to her eye.
Clothed in Master white and leading a team of mages in the palace. In her youth, such a situation would have been everything she ever dreamed of. It was strange to realize how much her dreams had changed.
She no more than stepped inside before a Master in blue-trimmed white stepped into her path.
“My queen,” the mage gasped. She clapped a hand to her heart and bowed deeply. “We were told—”
“No time,” Firal interrupted. “Join the others in the courtyard. The palace is in danger of collapse.”
The mage’s eyes widened, but she hurried past Firal without protest.
With her head high, Firal gripped the skirts of her robes and pressed onward.
Somehow, wearing white gave her a sense of authority she’d never experienced as queen. People had listened to her then, but perhaps only because they had no choice. She had never been confident as a leader, despite the years of practice she’d gained. But her Gift had always given her a sense of security. As a mage, she knew her strengths and weaknesses, knew her role, knew what she could achieve. She had always intended to be a Master mage. The throne had robbed her of the chance. In the face of everything she suffered now, a new idea sprang to mind.
If Ilmenhith was destroyed, perhaps that chance would rise again.
A tingle of magic rose in the throne room ahead and Firal stalled at the door. Then the magic winked out, and with it, the most powerful presence disappeared. She dared not think what that could mean. Instead, she thrust the doors open and strode inside.
Pieces of the balcony and ceiling lay scattered in ruin across the throne room. Charred marks marred the walls and ceiling in places, and glass still peppered the floor from what Firal could only assume was her encounter with Envesi days before. Her stomach heaved.
“You,” a voice snarled from above.
Firal turned toward what remained of the walkway that ringed the throne room. Ennil glowered down at her, his face a twisted mask of hatred and rage. A handful of mages in white clustered behind him, but a flick of his hand sent them scattering. They looked as if they’d just reached the top of the stairs when she arrived, rumpled and harried, and none of them looked happy to see her. Was she supposed to collect the mages who answered to Envesi, too? Firal did not want to leave them behind, but she did not know how she could trust them to help with evacuation.
“All of this happened because of you.” Ennil descended the damaged staircase with the flat of his sword against his shoulder.
“I’m not responsible for my mother’s actions,” she replied levelly, “just my own. We must empty the palace. The island is in grave danger.”
He went on as if he hadn’t heard. “You’ve sullied everything you touched. The kingdom, House Tanrys, my son.” His head twitched in disgust. “The mages wanted you because they thought you’d be easy to control. We never should have listened to them.”
“This is hardly the time to discuss your issues with me.” Firal retreated a step, though she hardly knew why. Ennil was always hard, often cold, but she had never feared him. Why did uneasiness worm its way into her belly now? “If you will not assist with evacuation efforts, then I order you to step aside.”
His lip curled in a sneer. “Looked at you. You’re dressed like one of those witches now. You think you can command me?” The heel of his boot clacked against the throne room floor with a chilly sense of finality.
Firal drew herself up. “I am still your queen.”
A cold laugh escaped Ennil’s throat. “I have no ruler.” His sword slipped from his shoulder and swung for her head.
She leaped backwards with a cry of surprise. The rush of air sent by the blade’s passing made her skin rise in gooseflesh. “What are you doing?”
Ennil’s expression hardened and he shifted into a combat stance. “If we’re all to die, then at least I’ll have the satisfaction of seeing your end.”
He swung again.
Firal thrust her hand out in front of her and a burst of energy deflected the blow. The blade glanced off her shield, but he twisted like a dancer and came at her again. Panic surged in her veins and set her heart to drumming in her ears.
“I don’t want to fight you!” she cried. She hardly knew how to fight. Her Gift was life; she was a medic, not a warrior.
Ennil dove and Firal leaped aside. His sword rasped against her skirts, too close, too dangerous. Again, she thrust her hand toward him. A pulse of air knocked him off balance, but only for a moment.
She couldn’t let him regain his bearings. Instead, she twirled close to his back as he found his footing and shoved her hand against the back of his head. Another pulse answered her call, and the shockwave that followed cast Ennil to the ground.
“I’m not your enemy,” Firal insisted.
Snarling, Ennil thrust himself from the debris-strewn floor and reached for his sword again. “You’re a blight on the island. You always have been. The council should have killed you in your sleep.”
The impulse to run throbbed in her head and Firal wheeled to go. She made it a single step before Ennil’s sword tore through the skirt of her robe and rang against the stone. Her slippers slid and she crashed to the floor. Pain shot up her arms and through her shoulders as she landed.
Ennil planted a foot on her robes, jerked his sword free and raised it overhead.
Beneath her, the earth began to tremble.
Firal clenched her teeth and seized the flows underneath her.
Jagged shards of marble shot from the floor as she tied herself to the stone and pulled. They pelted the man above her and he staggered back, shielding his face.
Her skirt freed, Firal shoved herself backwards and clambered to her feet. When he came at her again, she was ready.
He charged.
Firal swept an arm to her chest and stone surged up between them. She whirled back, her skirts flaring, and she begged the winds to follow. They hit like a gale, howling through the throne room and stirring the debris. The wind dragged Ennil back, step by step.
Fury burned in his eyes as he dropped to his knees and the winds evaporated.
“Yield,” Firal ordered.
His knuckles turned white as he gripped his sword and rushed toward her.
The palace shuddered. Stones fell from the ceiling and thundered to the floor around them. Marble shattered and spiderwebbing cracks opened across the floor.
Firal planted her feet firm and spun a new shield. His sword struck dead center and sparks shot from the blade. She curled her hand to a fist and shoved it forward. A bolt of raw power struck him in the stomach and forced him to his knees.
“Yield!” she repeated.
Ennil turned his head and spat.
The earth beneath them groaned. A low crack like popping eggshells split the air. An entire section of the ceiling broke free. Firal ducked, arms over her head as she thrust her magic out to defend them. The stone bounced off a half-sphere of power that enveloped them both.
Ennil released a startled cry and his sword clanged against something solid. Her head jerked up just as the floor fell away and a chasm opened beneath them. Fragments of stone crashed down around them as the ground split and the earthquake intensified.
The floor began to slide. Ennil dug his fingers against the jagged edges of the marble as it threatened to spill him over the edge. His sword hissed against the stone as it slid past him into the chasm.
Heart in her throat, Firal lunged forward and reached for the air. The shield above them wavered. She wasn’t strong enough to seize him and hold the barrier at the same time. She could have cursed.
She leaned forward and extended her hand. “Vivenne waits for you in the Royal City. It’s not too late.”
Ennil glowered up at her as he clawed his way up the slipping stone. “Save your pity,” he snarled. “I don’t need mercy from you.”
Her heart sank. “Then I hope you find it in what comes
next.”
“Firal!” a familiar voice called from the palace entry, somewhere behind them. Kella. Her group.
“Here!” Firal called back.
A handful of mages in white and mageling colors ran toward her. The shield above them flashed as falling stones struck it, but they didn’t threaten its integrity.
Kella reached her first. “We have to go.”
Firal didn’t resist as Kella pulled her to her feet. The white-robed Master cast Ennil a single hateful look, then spun and hurried Firal to the door.
Smoke and dust clouded the sky over Ilmenhith. The courtyard seethed with people. A half-dozen Gates shone against the castle’s outer wall, and the crowd flowed toward them like water.
“We need more Gates,” Kella called above the noise.
Firal nodded once and hurried to join the others. With so many people in the courtyard, she couldn’t sense if there were people anywhere else. Silently, she prayed everyone had been found.
Someone reached for her. She grasped the offered magic and bound herself to it, fed what she could offer into the opening of another Gate.
Cries of terror filled the air and the crowd moved faster. One of the mages spun to point toward the sky and Firal twisted to follow.
Somewhere far south of the capital, from what had to be the heart of the island, a blinding pillar of pure white light surged into the sky.
24
The Collapse
A blast of pure magic impacted the wall beside Rune’s head. He stumbled a step before he found his legs. Still unsteady, he let Vahn steer him across precarious ledges where the walkway’s scaffolding broke away.
“How far down do we have to go?” Vahn flinched as another blast rocked the column, adding to the tremors.
“We’re going to have to catch the lift.” Rune raised his voice over the roar of collapsing stone. “We’ll never make it down the ramp.”