Eric ignored her. She was well past the point of saying anything useful.
He walked up the step and heard a crack.
He looked around.
Nothing moved. Artemia didn’t even turn her head. I’m going crazy. Imagining things.
Shrugging, Eric looked back at the sculpture. He noticed then that the throne, too, had become captured by ice, and that beneath that ice, it was gold with several emeralds and rubies within. He could only fantasize about how much gold that throne was worth, but he quickly lost interest in that. He had enough gold to care for himself—more gold would not buy Ragnor’s downfall.
“It’s nice, but there’s nothing really here,” Eric said. “Can we move down?”
Artemia didn’t look at him.
“Artemia.”
Now she did. She looked mildly perturbed, but the half-smile returned to her face.
“I suppose so,” she said. “That is what we are here for. Even if there is so much here to explore and consider.”
Eric looked back at the figure on the chair. He shivered. Something about the figure didn’t sit right with him. Where was the face? Where was anything that told him it was once human?
Still, when Artemia approached, he walked past the throne and made his way to the massive door. He noticed, too, banners draped from a high, indeterminate point. The banners carried a symbol that suggested some sort of empire, bearing the profile of a dragon with the sun for its eye, but it looked nothing like the Syrast Empire or anything Eric knew of.
He reached for the door. This one, unlike the others, had two handles from which the door looked to swing open from.
“Ready?” he asked when Artemia approached.
She nodded. He grabbed the left handle, her the right one. Together, they pulled.
A loud slam came and echoed throughout the chamber multiple times.
Eric swung his head around.
The door they had entered from had shut. He gulped and turned back to the door, trying to pull on it harder. But it would not budge. Unlike last time, when the sounds of creaking and groaning told them they might yet open the door, this door was as silent as the dead.
Then he heard the sound of cracking, of something moving, of something taking a step.
Eric took a breath, looked to Artemia, who had unsheathed her own sword, and turned.
The figure on the throne had risen, sword in hand, and was scanning the room. When it stepped, ice shards fell off it, revealing bones. Eric realized there was no face beneath the ice sculpture because whatever this was, all of its skin had fallen off in the years since. It was now like Indica—a bony figure, surrounded by nothing but ice. Just don’t be as powerful as that dragon.
And whatever it was, it sure looked like the magic of the temple was empowering it to kill the intruding hunters.
Eric looked to Artemia, who gave a curt nod. Both knew better than to speak at this time, to give away their position. They also knew the proper protocol in such a spot—flank the enemy, attack it where it was weak, and overwhelm it by ambushing it from both sides. It could not defend itself at every spot, after all. Assuming it doesn’t have magic. If it does…
Still kill it. Do what it takes.
But how I ended up in a spot as dangerous as this for a beast like Ragnor, I cannot say.
He looped to its right as it continued to scan the room. Artemia did the same. He moved as quietly as he could, mouthing curses every time that he took a step down that produced even a whisper of a sound. He considered it the highest level of a miracle the ice monster had not yet noticed him.
How could a thing like this move? What other magic was here? What had they stumbled upon? What was the source of all of this?
Eric swore that if he got out of this alive, he was going straight back to Dabira and seeking all of the answers that he could. He had too many questions to ignore, and if this would come back to haunt him later, he wanted to be prepared. With Artemia, that seems too possible.
Then the monster looked to him.
In a swift motion, it leaped toward him with incredible, no, impossible ferocity. It flew through the air in its leap like a dragon soaring through the air, raising its sword, preparing for a swift kill.
Eric nearly lost his balance trying to roll to the side, but caught himself and rolled just as the ice monster slammed its sword down.
Sensing an opportunity, Eric quickly raised his sword over his head, his back still to the beast, and swung it as he turned, anticipating that the magical monster would still have its sword embedded into the ice.
But as he turned, with lightning-fast speed, the monster raised its own sword in defense. Eric’s eyes widened in shock at this ice warrior, and then he stumbled back when the warrior shoved him with his sword.
“Artemia!” Eric shouted. “Now would be a good time to use your magic!”
The ice warrior turned toward Artemia, who was running with the crystal on her neck distinctly glowing and screaming. The monster produced a snake-like hissing sound and went after Artemia, leaving Eric on his right knee. Eric quickly rose to his feet and joined the battle.
The ice monster moved with alarming speed, certainly faster than any human. But there was a tradeoff that Eric was thankful for—because it moved so fast, it produced more heat. And in producing more heat, it reduced the protection it had for itself with ice. If they could survive this battle long enough, Eric figured they could just wear the monster down to a harmless puddle.
Assuming none of the other knights in the room came to life.
They traded blows, Eric stepping back and striking whenever he saw a chance, retreating when the monster focused on him. The ice being seemed to know it was outnumbered, and did its best to isolate the two whenever possible by chasing one at the expense of the other. But Eric and Artemia had enough battle experience that neither seemed overly worried about the direction of battle once they got past its physical attributes. The monster began to panic, which in turn made its moves more predictable.
They only needed a few more minutes of fighting to wear the monster out.
Then, with the monster at about half of its original speed and its ice armor significantly reduced—to the point that Eric could see a human skeleton within—Artemia finally used magic.
Her sword took on a fire endowment, bursting into flames. The ice monster actually let out a wail, but it was quickly silenced by Artemia’s sword, which chopped the monster down. Eric watched in awe as the creature shattered into a million pieces, becoming a non-threat within seconds.
“I was wondering when you’d actually put that to use,” Eric said, relieved both for his safety and to have a conversation with Artemia that didn’t feel forced.
“I was going to use it when we’d need to use it,” she said.
Another growl came, as loud as before.
“You heard that, right?” Eric said.
“Most certainly,” Artemia said, but her eyes seemed to light up in anticipation. “Let us not stop now, Eric. Let’s try that door again.”
Eric felt, as usual, Artemia was deflecting the point, but said nothing. They moved to the door and opened it with ease. He came to another spiral staircase, and he knew the drill. He kept his sword at the ready, taking point, as the lighting continued to diminish, nearly becoming so dark that he could not see where he stepped.
He came to a door, and this time, on the door was a single figure. The figure was a massive dragon with large wings, an imposing snout, and four limbs.
Ragnor.
Ragnor was on the other side.
“This is what we came here for,” Eric said.
That same loud growl came, but this time, with their location, it left little doubt as to what lay on the other side. The growling that Eric had heard from the moment he examined the monsters on the first floor had come from Ragnor.
Ragnor. The murderer of his sister, Rey, and his mother. The final enemy in this heaven-forsaken quest to the pits of hell. The ultimate demon of the hunt
er.
For six long years, Eric had waited for this moment. Six. Never-ending. Years.
And now, all that stood between him and his final test was a single door.
“Fulfill what you’ve desired for all this time,” Artemia said.
Eric put a hand on the door, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and thought of his mother and sister. Finally, he would get the chance for Rey and Mom to know peace. Finally, he would get the chance to know peace.
Ragnor would die. Or he would die. Either way, the end had finally come.
He opened his eyes, steadied his trembling arms, and pushed the last door open.
CHAPTER 17: TYUS
Moments before, Tyus had felt sure that he’d found his most sympathetic ear yet. The young girl, Zelda, the one from Caia—she was willing to listen. Not only that, she seemed willing to carry his message.
She had an odd confidence to her. It wasn’t obvious or like Kara’s, for it did not manifest itself in strong speech or powerful status. But it did show her to be someone who felt certain about her ideals and would fight for them however necessary.
He could even say he felt like she would make a great woman someday. Tyus had felt so weak, but she’d lifted him up, even though she’d only come to talk business with him. He couldn’t help the attraction he felt.
And then came the scream of death, the laughter of demons, and the slaughter he’d so desperately tried to avoid.
He ran into the fire, leaving Zelda behind. The young girl had survived so much—she’d figure a way out. He glanced back at her to see her running in a different direction. He hoped he got to see her again, but felt reasonably confident he would.
For the rest of the town, though, he couldn’t say the same. And when he got closer to the flames, he saw that what he could do was almost nothing.
He saw it all. Death. Dying. Wounds. Casualties. It enveloped him like a flock of vultures. He fell to his knees in horror, his legs trembling as he collapsed and emotions rose in his throat.
The city of Dabira burned.
It burned to the ground.
Smoke rose to the sky.
Bodies lay strung out in the street, fresh blood pooling out of bodies and into the cracks of the cobblestone.
And Tyus knew exactly what had caused this. Or more specifically, who.
The guards who swore to obey him had done exactly the opposite. They had betrayed him. He had no following. He only had enemies on all sides. He was all alone in the fires of Dabira. He was not the future of the empire. There was no future of the empire. Only the present.
“No!” Tyus screamed, to everyone and to no one in particular. “No! I told you not to do this! Why?!? What in the name of Hydor are you doing?!?”
He sought the strength to more firmly speak to the guards that had lied in cold blood to his face. He sought the desire to run inside and grab a weapon and fight back.
Nothing came. The burning of Dabira had broken him, just as his expulsion from the palace, the battle against Indica, and his imprisonment with the Shadows of the Empire had broken him.
Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps he was too weak to assume any position of authority. Perhaps all he would ever be was an instrument of the strong, played to their own amusement.
The soldiers who ran past him—with swords pulled out, grins on their faces, and laughter trailing them—ignored him. They did not even acknowledge his presence. They instead moved like hornets to honey, if the task of destroying anything still standing represented that sweet, life-giving nectar.
Tyus wanted to cry.
But he also knew if he ever had a chance of returning home, his soldiers—no, the empire’s soldiers, they were not his—could not see him bawling like a scared child. He had to at least stand up and take the vicious sight in with his chest held high and his chin aloft. They would not be so brash as to kill him. But they could certainly undermine his future well enough.
Tyus rose to his feet and walked out toward the main road of Dabira. All of the city was up in flames, an inferno in which smoke had become the sky, fire had become the path ahead, ashes had become the dust beneath his feet, and death had taken over life. A few magi gamely fought back, but without weapons, they were largely weak before the soldiers equipped with the proper weapons. Only a select few would be able to stand—and stand they did, as Tyus saw a battle off in the distance. He could not see the magi who emitted such spells, but the flashes of lightning and the shards of ice exploding told of a great stand. May you claim victory, magi. I will surrender to the side that fights for good.
A guard pushed by him, shouting “Move!” as he shot by. But Tyus wanted the madness to end. Here was where he would stand up for himself and to those who had lied to him.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Tyus said, drawing the soldier’s attention as he slowly turned and walked back to the boy. “I told you to leave them in peace! I am the next emperor. I am in charge—”
To his surprise, the soldier shoved him with such force that he fell to the ground. Tyus looked up at the guard who sneered at him. Here was a predator who wanted death. It probably took more than Tyus wanted to admit for the guard not to kill him.
I truly have no authority. They would physically harm me to accomplish what they wish. I am barely above a mage in this city.
Father. Why? Why did you put me in a spot like this?
“You’re not the emperor, boy,” the guard said as he dared to hold his sword out, the tip pointed at Tyus’ chest. “Our dear emperor has requested the destruction of this city. He told us that you might resist, you little fool. We will not listen to you. We will not hesitate to run you over if need be. You would be wise not to interfere. Your father gave us quite the leeway to do as we saw fit. Understood?”
He let out a hearty laugh, but stopped. He dropped his sword harmlessly onto Tyus’ stomach, his face frozen in place.
From behind, lightning had shot forth and killed him, paralyzing his body. Tyus quickly backed up to avoid the guard dropping on him.
Tyus looked past the guard but did not see his savior. As it was, it was one of just a couple of possibilities, and he didn’t think Kara had bothered to save him because of a sudden change of heart. Whoever had done it… if he lived through the night, he would have to thank them. His life quite possibly depended on it. I hope it was you, Zelda. You are the future that can end this war forever.
But then, many things here depended on him.
He’d brought this upon himself, he realized. He was just the continuation of his father’s wishes. He may not have done so willingly, but he did so nevertheless. No matter how much he had fought it, Gaius was right. He had become his father.
It was a Syrast family tradition to bring about the death of magi through war, no matter how much they wanted it to happen or not. He was just continuing this way. The only way for him to end it…
He could not end it. Even if he became emperor, he realized, he would not be able to compensate for the years, the decades, the generations of torture which weighed upon him and the magi. He would become a crushed puppet, one to do the bidding of the Syrast Empire.
Tears flowed from his eyes. He could do nothing to stop this. He no longer cared if he remained strong in the eyes of those who saw him. What was there to stay strong for? A future that saw him continue the carnage and bloodshed of the magi? No.
Perhaps it was best if he did not make it out of Dabira. Perhaps it was best if the Syrast bloodline perished with the magi, an appropriate end to that centuries-old feud.
No. He just wanted to escape it all. Maybe he could return to Mathos under an assumed name. Maybe he could even go to Caia under a new name. But anything to do with the empire, his father, or the Syrast name, he had come to hate.
Then he saw her.
Kara.
She walked the streets by herself, slowly, like an angry demon who had come to stalk her prey out in the open. She moved without fear of attack, for she had transcended fighting so
ldiers. She was now human only in physical form. In spirit, she had transformed into a sword, a mindless, soulless tool which existed for the sole purpose of killing.
She looked opposite him. Tyus tried to tell himself to rise, to run, to get away from her, but he was frozen. His cowardice would undo him one last time. He knew that he was not getting out of this one alive. And while the conflict raged in his mind as to whether this was the appropriate course of action, the fact that there was conflict steered his choice in an inevitable direction.
She turned her head straight forward.
Then she looked in his direction.
Even knowing what she had become, even having expected her to become this vicious, cruel demon, the way her eyes scanned the world put the fear of all that existed into Tyus.
At first, she did not look like she had seen him. Tyus tied to lay low, the better to avoid detection.
Then she locked eyes with him. It was like seeing a sword in continuous motion—until it found its target, and froze.
He gulped. Her eyes narrowed in hatred. Even at this distance, even with most of her body a darkened outline illuminated by the fires of death, he could sense her anger, see her throat rising, her breathing accelerate, and her intentions harden.
The question was no longer if he’d get out of there alive. It was how brutal his death would be.
His feet became frozen—literally. Her magic. Even if he’d wanted to escape, he could not. She began walking toward him, her steps deliberate, unconcerned with the happenings around her. She’s killed everyone here already. If the city’s going to burn, we all are. This is what war has brought us.
He struggled to rise, struggled to crawl away, but Kara froze the rest of his legs, making it harder to move, let alone escape.
There’s no escape. You can’t get out.
It’s over, Tyus. It’s over. This is the fate of your life.
So be it. Don’t die groveling.
Determined not to go down as a coward, he rolled over, even as his heart rate accelerated to painful levels. Kara was only a few feet away from him now. Soon, it would be over. He hoped.
She reached back. A dagger appeared in her hand. It was already coated in blood.
Demons of the Hunter (War of the Magi Book 2) Page 29