“I’m fine, Captain. Just tired, is all.”
The man grunted. “Well now, that’s what you get for playin’ at bein’ a soldier ain’t it?” He shook his head slowly. “A man your age. Still, I’m glad to see you made it through so far—the gods know it’s a pain in the ass trainin’ a first mate, and I don’t aim to do it again anytime soon.”
Thom grinned, knowing the relief in the man’s voice for what it was. “And what of you? Aren’t you needed to command the troops?”
Festa snorted, sitting down heavily beside Thom. “Captain Gant, General Yalleck and the Queen got that one handled well enough, and it’s just as well. I’m a sailor, Thom. I don’t know nothin’ about battles and defendin’ walls. I’ll leave that to them, and gladly.”
Thom laughed. “Still, from what I hear you did a fine job, bringing the lads all the way through the city and fightin’ the enemy as you did. Might be you missed your callin’, Cap.”
The other man frowned. “Much more talk like that, first mate, and I’ll make sure the healers got some real work to do on you when they get here, you hear me?”
Thom nodded, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Yes, sir.”
“Anyhow,” Festa said, rubbing at his chin, “it’ll be good to have you back on the ship. Blunderfoot’s a good enough sort, but he’s a jumpy bastard. Why, I can’t so much as pull out a chair to have a seat without him cringing like a child scared of the bogeyman.”
I imagine that’s because, if you’re touching a chair, it’s better than even odds you’re getting ready to throw it at someone, Thom thought, but he only nodded. “How is Balen, anyway?”
Festa frowned. “Can’t say as I know for sure. Him and those criminals got the harbor chain down—if it weren’t for them we never would have been able to dock—but I ain’t seen ‘em since.”
Before Thom could respond, there was a loud screech of tortured metal, and he spun to look in the direction of the gate. On the gate’s other side, he could make out one of the giant creatures. The thing had at least a dozen crossbow bolts protruding from its chest and arms, but it hardly seemed to notice, and the sound he’d heard was it using its incredible strength to force the gate open.
Thom rose, hurrying toward the gate to offer what help he could, and he heard Festa shouting at the nearby troops from behind him. Wherever Balen and the others were, they would have to see to themselves for now—Thom and those with him had their own problems.
CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT
Kevlane stood gazing out of the castle window, watching the battle at the western gate with eyes capable of seeing farther than any man’s, one of the many gifts of the Virtue of Adaptability. One of the many benefits of being a god. And had someone been there to see him, they would have noted eyes that didn’t belong to any human at all, but ones that had been shaped and formed by his bond, mimicking the superior sight of a bird of prey.
Yet for all his power, for all their utility, his eyes could do nothing to change that which they viewed, and the ancient mage’s hands knotted into fists at his sides, his nails digging into palms until blood began to drip onto the castle floor. His army—his glorious, unstoppable army—was somehow trapped outside the city. Oh, they would get in sooner or later, but being outmaneuvered, made a fool of, made anger boil within him. Envelar would pay. They would all pay.
There was a knock at the door, and Kevlane snarled. He had left specific instructions to not be disturbed, and who would dare defy such strictures? If that is you, Caldwell, I will show you the true nature of my wrath. He had sent the advisor, along with a complement of his experiments, to see to the situation at the gate; whatever had happened, the man had clearly failed. The only consolation was that this failure would be his last. Kevlane would see to it.
“Enter,” he growled.
The man who stepped through the door wore the clothes of a clerk, and he was bent nearly double, his eyes staring at the ground as if afraid to meet his ruler’s gaze. “Look at me,” Kevlane demanded in a hiss.
The man did, slowly, and he let out a gasp when he saw the mage standing there. Kevlane frowned at the man’s reaction, then realized that this one did not know his true identity, and had thought to find King Belgarin within the room. Now, though, Kevlane did not wear the king’s face but his own, and his eyes were not that of a man’s at all, but of an eagle. He closed his eyes, calling on the bond, and suppressed the wince of pain as his eyes readjusted, becoming his own once more. When he looked up again, the man had fallen to his knees, his face pale as he studied Kevlane with an expression of abject terror.
“Well?” Kevlane demanded. “What do you want?”
“I-I-I c-came to tell you, S-Sire,” the man said, his voice a whimper. “M-Madam Caulia of the G-Golden Oars waits in your audience chamber.”
Kevlane frowned, stalking toward the man. “You disturbed me for that?”
The man swallowed, recoiling. “S-she would not leave, S-Sire. She insisted on you meeting her.”
Kevlane stared down at the clerk. “She insisted?”
“Y-yes, M-Majesty.”
The mage studied the man for several seconds, the only sound that of the blood dripping from his hands onto the stone floor. “And what of Caldwell?”
“T-there has been no word, Majesty.”
“Very well,” Kevlane said after a moment. “I will meet with Maladine Caulia, and she will regret her presumption.”
“O-of course, Majesty,” the man said, backing toward the door, still on his hands and knees. “I’ll let her know—”
“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Kevlane said, baring his teeth in a grin. “I’ll let her know myself. Tell me, Clerk. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to fly?”
“M-Majesty?” the man asked in a confused tone, finally daring to meet Kevlane’s eyes.
Without a word, the mage lifted the man even as his muscles grew with the power of his bond and, with a bellow of rage, hurled him at the window. The glass shattered as the clerk’s body plowed through it, and Kevlane stood there, listening to his screams of terror until they dwindled away into nothing. Then he headed for the door and Maladine Caulia, promising himself the woman would suffer for her presumption.
CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE
Thom arrived at the gate with dozens of other soldiers, all of them staring in horror as another of the giant creatures joined its companion, heaving against the massive iron gate. Crossbow bolts and arrows stuck out of them in dozens of places, but they went on about their task, their unnatural muscles straining against the barrier between them and Perennia’s beleaguered forces.
They’d raised it to the height of a normal man’s chest when several soldiers rushed the creatures, perhaps meaning to kill them while they were occupied with the gate, but one of the fast creatures appeared then, its long, slender blade sweeping under the slowly rising gate in a blur and cutting the men down.
Thom gritted his teeth, glancing to either side of him to see soldiers lined up in a semi-circle around the gate, waiting to throw themselves at the creatures. Gods, we’re all dead. May was right—I should have stayed on the damn ship.
“Out of the way!”
The voice sounded familiar, and Thom and those standing with him spun to see a group of people running toward them. He grunted in surprise as he recognized Balen among them, a crossbow in his hands to match those of the dozens of others with him. Thom didn’t waste time, pushing the soldiers nearest him. “You heard him, move it!”
In seconds, the path between Balen’s group and the gate was clear, and bolts flashed out of the crossbows, dozens of them, burying themselves in the two monstrosities beside the other quarrels already protruding from their bodies. Thom hurried to Balen. “Glad to see you alive, Blunderfoot.”
The first mate handed his crossbow off to another man and stepped to the side of the street with Thom. “Glad to be alive, Thom. It’s been a real shit day so far, I can tell you t
hat.”
Thom nodded. “It ain’t lookin’ like it’s gonna get any better. Those crossbows ain’t gonna work. We’ve tried it.”
“Not like this you haven’t.”
They both turned, and Thom frowned at an unfamiliar older man with a patch over one eye. “Do I know you?”
“Thom,” Balen said, speaking fast, “this is Eyes. He uh…well, he runs the uh…”
“I’m a criminal,” the old man said, smiling. “Pleasure to meet you. Anyway, as I was saying, those quarrels are different from those your troops have been using.”
Thom frowned, studying the creatures who were still steadily raising the gate inch by inch. “They look the same to me.”
“Well, they are, in fact,” Eyes said. “Except, of course, these are coated in poison.”
“Poison?” Thom said. “Gods, man, why would you have quarrels coated in…” He trailed off.
The old man gave him a vulpine grin. “That’s right. Criminals.”
Before Thom could answer, there was a loud crash, and they turned to see one of the behemoths collapse, toppling like a massive tree. The second strained, its body shaking now that it was taking the weight of the gate alone, then its unnatural muscles gave out, and it fell, the iron spikes on the gate impaling it as it slammed closed.
“Damn,” Thom said, looking back at the older man. “Nice arrows.”
“So they were,” Eyes agreed. Thom frowned, and the old man nodded. “Yes. That was the last of them. The next time they come, I suppose we’ll have to do things the hard way.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY
The anxiety of Aaron’s companions was clear in their tense postures and carefully-controlled expressions as they waited for the mage to arrive in the audience room. Aaron, was nervous to, but what he felt more than anything else was shame at bringing them here. A ship captain, a chamberlain, a child, a woman who had just lost her father, and another who had only just recovered from nearly dying. And the Ghosts—Bastion and the other whose name he thought was Clyde, the only two remaining of Perennia’s elite troops. They were here because of him, had suffered because of him, and if they found their death here, in this place, it would be him who had led them to it.
They chose to come, Aaron. Co said. You know that. Would you now hold yourself responsible for their choice and steal from them the value of their sacrifice? Is that not the same theft of honor of which you accused Tianya, not so very long ago?
Aaron sighed. You’re right, Firefly.
Maladine Caulia had departed shortly after showing them to the audience chamber, telling Aaron and the others she would see them once it was finished. She’d said the words confidently enough, but he hadn’t missed the speed with which she’d retreated, taking her guards with her, and the truth was, he couldn’t blame her.
Still, he stood as confidently as he could, all too aware that the others were stealing nervous glances at him. For his part, his gaze remained on the door the mage would come through. Assuming, of course, that Maladine had been honest and that there weren’t, even now, an army of the mage’s creatures rushing toward them, intent on cutting them down.
The thought wouldn’t leave him, and before he knew it, he’d called on the power of his bond with Co. Not much, but enough to see the auras of those within the castle walls—a soft magenta for the regular guards and servants of the castle. But there were other auras, more than he would have liked, weak and barely there at all. Those, he knew, belonged to Kevlane’s creatures, those poor souls on whom he had worked his dark Art.
And, among all of these, there was one other: a dark, twisted aura that was uncomfortable to look upon. The mage, then. A man who had lived for thousands of years, who was responsible for untold deaths, Aaron’s parents among them. A man, if man he still was, who healed from any wound, who could shape his body and appearance to whatever was needed, who wielded untold power. And he was coming straight for them.
His frown deepened as he noticed two others accompanying the mage, their auras marking them as normal castle guards. They were walking down the hall now, moving toward the audience chamber.
“Aaron,” Tianya said, opening her eyes from where she’d been concentrating on her own gift and turning to Aaron, a panicked look on her face, “he’s not alone.”
He nodded grimly, drawing the blade at his back. “I know. Seline, watch the left of the door. Bastion, Clyde, the right.” He paused, looking at each of the others in turn. “This is why we came here. To finish this. So let’s finish it.”
They all nodded, and then there was no time left for worries or fears, for the door was opening. Kevlane walked in wearing Belgarin’s face. “Maladine,” the mage was saying even before he was through the door, “how dare you—” He cut off, and Aaron was rewarded with a look of shock on the man’s features, one enhanced when a moment later, the two guards following him let out grunts of pain and surprise as Seline and Bastion brought the handles of their weapons down on their heads, knocking them unconscious.
The mage glanced to either side of him, then looked up at Aaron and the others standing there, and slowly his surprise faded, replaced by a smile that looked more like a snarl. “Aaron Envelar. You have come.”
Aaron shrugged. “We have unfinished business.”
“So we do,” the mage said, walking slowly into the room, apparently unconcerned with the fact that he was alone and surrounded by his enemies. “So we do.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I must confess, I had not thought you would be so foolish as to come here, to my place of power.”
Aaron gave the man a smile of his own. “I’ve been known to be foolish from time to time.”
“And these others,” Kevlane went on, studying Aaron’s companions. “All Virtue-bearers, I see—I can feel it.” He laughed. “And have you all come, then, to give me what is rightfully mine? To bow in worship to your god?”
“I’ve never been much good at bowing,” Aaron said.
The mage cocked his head, studying them. “Then I will show you how. Do you truly think you have any chance at victory? Even now, your forces at the western gate are dying. Did you really believe—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was lost in Gryle’s roar as the chamberlain stepped out from where he’d been standing behind the door, swinging the chair he held. Powered by the man’s Virtue-enhanced strength, the blow struck the mage in the back with a crash. The chair itself shattered into splinters at the impact, and the mage hurtled across the room to slam into the far wall, crashing through the stone. Aaron blinked, stunned, as part of the wall gave way, falling on top of the man, and in seconds he was buried in rubble. Gryle had a confused, surprised look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He still held the shattered remnants of the chair in his hands. The chamberlain saw Aaron watching him, and his face turned red before he finally shrugged.
Aaron and the others turned to stare at the pile of rubble in silent disbelief as Seline and the two Ghosts came to stand with them once more. A cloud of dust slowly settled, but nothing else stirred. Could it really be that easy? Aaron thought, but the small surge of hope vanished a second later when the stones began to tremble. Then there was a savage, bestial growl, and Aaron and his companions were forced to cover their eyes as the mage burst free in a shower of stone and debris.
Kevlane’s neck hung at an impossible angle, and his back was twisted strangely. The bones of his arms and legs had torn through the skin in several places, but he was standing just the same, and even as Aaron and the others watched, his body began to reknit itself, his neck straightening with a sickening pop, his body twisting as his spine shifted back to where it belonged. “You dare,” he snarled in a voice that barely sounded human at all, “to strike your god?” He took a step toward them, the bones protruding from his body snapping into place as he did, his flesh mending itself.
He started to take another step, but something flashed past Aaron in a blur, and the mage staggered as one o
f Seline’s knives embedded itself in his chest. The mage looked down at the blade in disgust, then pulled it free in a spurt of blood. “Enough,” he hissed. “You cannot defeat me. Now, give me the Virtues, and I will make your deaths quick. They are killing you anyway. You know that, don’t you?” His gaze swept Aaron and the others, his lips spreading in a too-wide grin at the obvious look of understanding on their faces. “The power the Virtues contain is too much for any mortal to hold. You feel it, don’t you? Like poison coursing through your veins?”
His gaze settled on Caleb, and his grin widened. Aaron’s saw that the youth’s face was pale, his expression sickly. “What of you, little one?” the mage ventured. “Would you like for me to take your pain away? I can, you know. The Virtues are, after all, my children. Do you understand the price of such knowledge as you carry? The mind grows, young one, and the body weakens. Soon, you will be a shriveled thing, and others will scream when they look upon you. Unless you give it to me now. I can save you from what it would do to you—from the monster you would become.”
Caleb’s mouth worked and, at first, nothing came out. Then, his back seemed to straighten, and he met the mage’s eyes. “Go to the Fields.”
Kevlane snarled, and the hand holding the knife flashed forward, impossibly fast. “Look ou—” Aaron began, but it was too late. The blade flew through the air, directly at Caleb, but suddenly Tianya was there, stepping in front of him, and the blade buried itself in her chest. She gasped, falling to her knees, and Caleb screamed.
“No!” Aaron shouted in anger and disbelief. He had fought the mage before, but he had never been so fast.
“Oh yes, Aaron Envelar,” Kevlane said, grinning, “my creations are not alone in the gifts the Art has given them. Since last we met, I have…improved myself.”
Aaron rushed to the woman’s side, catching her before she fell. “I…saw him—” she started, then paused, coughing up blood. “About to…throw. I’m…sorry, Aaron…that I could not help more.”
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