The gauntlet was no longer a silver alloy, but charred as black as midnight. Metal so cold the air steamed around it. Everything about the object screamed anathema to Caldan. It was all he feared—and mirrored what he was.
Caldan lay back, used his feet to push himself a few paces away from Kelhak’s corpse. His head ached abominably from corrosive sorcery. His wells were blocked. He didn’t know if forcing all that power through his mind before had damaged him permanently, but at least the lich had been contained.
Contained.
Not killed or destroyed. Its essence still existed. The power of many of its stolen wells also remained with it. As did its sorcerous knowledge.
People would kill to obtain such an artifact. Unscrupulous sorcerers who lusted after power. The warlocks.
Whoever succeeded the emperor.
That was why Gazija had pushed Caldan in this direction. To give him no option. No safe haven.
The crafting couldn’t remain here; it wasn’t safe. And Caldan couldn’t stay, either, else he’d be killed. Two birds with one stone. That’s what Gazija had planned for.
Caldan laughed weakly; all he could manage. Still he was being used.
He closed his eyes, body and mind aching. His muscles spasmed, sending waves of agony throughout him. Cramps ripped through his stomach, and it felt his bones would twist so much they’d break.
His Touched abilities had caught up with him. With prolonged use, and only one trinket to mitigate the effects, the damage to his body manifested quickly.
Just a minute, he thought. Then I’ll get up.
Footsteps pounded close by.
Miranda.
CHAPTER 57
Caldan grimaced, wiped blood from his brow with a shaking hand. He tried to draw a deep breath, but a knifing pain in his chest stopped him. He swallowed, the inside of his mouth gritty with dust, and forced himself to take shallow breaths.
The purified land underneath him was hard, and he could feel its abyssal absence like a palpable force. Its very lifelessness leached strength from him, as if merely taking away his sorcery wasn’t enough for it. As if it hungered for more.
Death came for all of them, he knew this with certainty. But he hadn’t thought his would be so soon. Then again, he hadn’t thought they’d be able to defeat Kelhak.
He tried to get up, but his legs refused to move. He coughed and spat, turning onto his back and looking up into the sky. A wave of agony threaded its way along his limbs and into his head.
The sky was still blue. A bright color that shouted life, after the dismal depths of the ancient ruins beneath Anasoma, and the darkness of the purified land pressing into his back.
Life.
Someone grabbed his outstretched arm and pulled, grunting with the effort. White-hot needles poked his joints and skin, and he gasped. He blinked, tried to focus on the indistinct figure. They tugged again, and he slid across the ground, slowly gaining momentum as they backpedaled. Then he ceased moving. There was a curse, then a sob.
“Bloody ancestors! Why are you so heavy?”
Miranda.
Now he recognized her scent, overlaid with sweat and fear and determination.
Gritting his teeth and groaning against the agony of his battered and bruised body, Caldan struggled to sit up. Pain pressed into his skull, hot spikes, the first of many.
“Caldan,” she said. “Are you hurt? You were only out for a few minutes.”
“Miranda,” he managed to croak.
“Thank the ancestors! It worked! But we need to get out of here. You need to get up.”
She was talking about their plan. For Caldan to transport Kelhak, so they’d be away from the others. And be able to save themselves and flee.
Caldan laughed weakly, then winced at the lancing pain in his skull. Nausea squeezed his stomach, and he turned his head to retch. Nothing came out.
“Wait,” he said, then coughed. “A few . . . moments.”
“They’ll be coming,” Miranda said. “You made such a ruckus, they couldn’t have failed to notice. And I assume they’ll have sensed the sorcery.”
There was no need for her to state who “they” were. The Indryallans. Quiss and his people. The warlocks. All of them would be coming. And they all probably wanted Caldan’s head.
“Kelhak’s dead,” Miranda said. “And I think Gazija is too. We have to run. Now. There are people watching us; they’ll know which direction we go.”
There was panic in her voice.
“Where’s Vasile?” Caldan said.
“Gone to gather provisions, and a carriage to get us through the city quickly.”
His left hand felt light. Caldan saw his own misshapen fingers, no longer enclosed in his gauntlet. “Where . . . is it?”
“Your gauntlet? Here. I put it my satchel while you were unconscious. That crafting . . . Caldan, I didn’t like the feel of it. There’s something wrong about it. It was icy cold, and I didn’t want it touching you.”
Gazija’s words echoed in Caldan’s head: Go, far from here. Tell no one. Leave no trace.
The old sorcerer had pulled Caldan’s strings since the body of his altered construct had appeared in the cabin. Perhaps in case they were victorious and this very situation arose. But with the number of dead, Caldan thought this triumph tasted much the same as defeat. Ashes and blood and darkness.
It all made sense now. Gazija wanted Caldan to possess the gauntlet. To flee, and become its guardian. Or its destroyer. The warlocks, or the emperor had he survived—even his own people—couldn’t be trusted with such a powerful artifact. Hundreds of wells, and possibly the essence of the lich, with all the knowledge it possessed.
He had to move, do something. But he had no strength left.
“The bone rings,” Caldan said. “I dropped them, somewhere.”
“I have them,” Miranda said. “They’re safe. Gazija . . . I’m sorry.”
Again, her hands gripped his arms, and she began dragging him along the dirt-covered surface.
Get up! he implored himself.
“Miranda . . .”
She stopped pulling him. “What?” she said, breath coming in gasps.
Caldan rubbed his eyes, then opened and closed them a few times. His surroundings became clearer. Miranda stood above him, clothes torn and dirty, covered with dust and dried blood. There was a kind of shocked disbelief in her eyes. Perhaps she wondered how they were still alive. There was a crimson smear across one cheek, and sweat trickled down her grubby face. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her head.
She was beautiful.
He shook his head and managed to lever himself to his knees. He felt Miranda’s hand on his shoulder.
“Easy,” she said. “Take a breath. Then try to stand.”
Off to the side was Kelhak’s corpse. His body was bloody and raw, skin a bright red, as if scalded by boiling water. Once-bright blue eyes were now sightless white orbs.
The Protectors’ sword was back in Caldan’s scabbard. Miranda must have sheathed it.
“The emperor is dead,” Caldan said.
Miranda gasped, then her mouth drew into a tight line. “Good riddance. But that brings its own troubles.”
A few dozen paces away, Caldan glimpsed the blackened and furrowed metal form of the construct that housed Gazija. It lay facedown, unmoving. Many of the runes and patterns were disfigured or melted away.
“Gazija,” Caldan called, coughing as his throat stuck together.
There was no answer.
“Gazija!” Caldan said again.
The figure twitched. Leave me, Gazija said, voice barely above a whisper.
Miranda ran to Gazija and picked him up. She cradled his damaged form in her hands.
Quiss . . . is coming. I’ll hang on.
“No,” Caldan said. “I’ll not—”
Leave me. Flee.
“Caldan,” Miranda said. “We should do as he says. He might be able to persuade Quiss not to come after you.”
They placed Gazija gently on the ground and made their way to the brink of the purified land. Ahead, Caldan could see startled and curious faces. Whoever had been close enough to observe or hear the final moments of his fight with the lich had come to see what the disturbance was about. The crowd they were heading toward was at least a few faces deep, but none of them seemed to want to step onto the null of the purified land.
Caldan did as Miranda had asked, but his legs were like jelly. He fell, and agony flared as he tumbled to the ground. The debilitating aftereffects of his Touched abilities had taken their toll. He’d damaged himself and needed time to recover. And right now, even the thought of opening his well made his mind flinch in expectation of the pain sure to follow. His senses were scraped raw, scalded and hurting from the power he’d drawn in the fight with Kelhak.
“It’s no use,” he said. “I’m too weak. Leave me.”
Miranda stood above him, biting her lip. Tears trailed down her cheeks. “I’m not leaving you here. I’m not.”
She grabbed his arm, and he winced as she started dragging him again. “You reek,” she said.
Caldan managed a halfhearted chuckle. “I know. We’ll clean up later. Once we’re safe.”
She paused and bent over, sucking in air. “Stop talking. I need to save my breath.”
Even though moving hurt him, he forced himself to endure it. They had to run if they wanted to survive, but he also wanted to be off this accursed purified land. Its nothingness was soul destroying for a sorcerer, and without his wells, he was defenseless—if he hadn’t damaged his mind permanently in the final battle with Kelhak.
“We’ll get out of this,” Caldan reassured her. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?” His vision blurred and became gray. The pressure in his head increased, and he clenched his jaw. Miranda swayed in front of him.
No. It was him. He couldn’t go on. It was all over.
Darkness came crashing down.
CHAPTER 58
When Kelhak and Caldan had disappeared, leaving behind only a smoking circle, Quiss and the other sorcerers were livid. And frightened. But that had lasted only a few minutes.
“Where did the talon go?” Aidan asked Lady Felicienne.
“It was injured,” she said. “I saw it drag itself away, but it’s disappeared.”
She was shaking, and her eyes were wild. He couldn’t blame her. Aidan never wanted to go through another fight like that.
“We have to get out of here,” he said. “If Kelhak’s not dead now, we’ve lost.”
Felicienne shook her head. “We have to get to Caldan. He’s the key now, if Kelhak survived.”
They stumbled along behind Quiss and the others as they ran back the way they’d come, this time following the trail left in the dust by Kelhak’s Silent Companions, hoping the route out of the ancient city would be shorter. Aidan checked on Felice often, making sure she kept up with the furious pace.
Then, as one, Quiss and his sorcerers stopped. They raised their faces upward, as if they could see through the rock above them. Quiss fell to his knees, head bowed, as if he were praying. And some of his people were weeping. Quiss took some aside and whispered urgently to them, before turning to the survivors.
“Kelhak is dead!” he crowed. “But there is another lich, somewhere near the purified land. A lesser one. We will deal with him.”
“Don’t you bloody dare touch Caldan!” Felice said.
Quiss ignored her. “We are too weak to travel there by sorcery,” he said to those around him. “We must go quickly then. By the time we reach the lich, we’ll have recovered enough of our strength to be able to defeat him.”
Quiss and his sorcerers hurried their pace. Out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw cel Rau dart off into the darkness of a tunnel.
Aidan grabbed Felice’s sleeve, stopping her in her tracks. “They’ll make it to the rendezvous quickly. Unless we get ahead of them.”
With a nod of her head, Felice latched onto Aidan’s arm and pulled him after Quiss. “You want to make sure Vasile is all right, don’t you?”
“Yes. Though we have another problem. Cel Rau just disappeared down that side tunnel there. I don’t know what he’s up to, but . . .”
Felice pursed her lips. “You have to follow him. I’ll stay with Quiss in case Caldan and Vasile are still at the purified land. But after that, they were meant to rendezvous at a warehouse in Dockside. I fear cel Rau has been tasked with killing Caldan. And that must not happen. I don’t want to split up, but it can’t be helped.”
Aidan nodded reluctantly. Felice was right—they couldn’t cover two places at once unless they separated. “If you find Vasile,” he told Felice, “keep him safe. And if I find Caldan, I’ll do my best to protect him. After what just happened, he doesn’t deserve to die.”
He left Felice to follow Quiss after taking a burning torch from one of the surviving mercenaries. The Silent Companions had come from these side passages, so it was a good bet cel Rau was following their trail in the dust. A flicker of light came from up ahead: cel Rau.
Aidan ran through ancient corridors, taking short walking breaks to catch his breath. Cel Rau remained a good distance ahead, and he caught glimpses of the swordsman’s light only along particularly long passages. He has to be running too, thought Aidan.
After what seemed like an eternity, Aidan emerged into sewage tunnels, then finally into the streets of Anasoma.
Once outside, he stopped, blinking in the daylight. He panted like a dog, face dripping sweat.
A few passersby looked at him curiously but scurried about their business. Sounds of fighting came from all over the city: sorcerous detonations and keening, metal clanging. The Indryallans were retreating. Already, people were shouting that ships had left the harbor, and that the God-Emperor had been killed. But strangely, there wasn’t much relief in their expressions.
He skirted the edge of a wide avenue, searching for cel Rau. In the distance, the docks of Anasoma glistened amid sparkling waves.
There. Cel Rau pushed his way through a crowd of people, then took off at a sprint once his passage was clear.
Aidan followed as fast as he could. Cel Rau never paused to glance behind him, so it was relatively easy to match his pace without worrying about being seen.
After a while, buildings grew sparser, then eventually petered out. Ahead of him, Aidan saw a vast, cleared area. The purified land.
Cel Rau stopped, and Aidan ducked against a wall, his face dripping sweat and his breath coming in gasps. There was no way Quiss and his people could have kept up such a punishing pace. They had to be far behind, which meant Aidan had time to deal with cel Rau.
Aidan loosened his sword in his sheath and glanced around. He began walking toward cel Rau, who was peering across the purified land, one hand shading his eyes.
Suddenly, cel Rau dashed away, sprinting toward a carriage. It was a hundred yards away, and rapidly gathering speed.
Was that . . . Vasile! The magistrate was driving the horses. Which meant Caldan and Miranda could be inside. And it seemed cel Rau had drawn the same conclusion.
CHAPTER 59
Caldan rocked like he was on a boat. Hooves clopping on paved streets drummed into his body through the floor of the carriage.
Fire lashed Caldan’s mind from his wells, all of them open and leaking power. His sorcerous senses flinched from the corrosive onslaught. He suppressed a strangled groan and frantically closed them. He licked his lips when his original well closed, the last of them. Without the distraction, he could feel his skin tingling, his bones vibrating to the life all around him.
He was out of the null zone and was now able to defend himself. Except that his mind was still scraped raw from his fight with Kelhak and his sorcerers. And he was as
weak as a newborn calf and walked just as well as one. Sure, he had access to his wells, but he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to use them.
Caldan hesitated, then opened his well. Fire coursed across his nerves, and he flinched, both his body and his mind. But it was bearable, just. A tiny trickle was all he required, enough to disguise his wells, and in moments, he was done. There was nothing he could do about his trinkets, though. And there had to be sorcerers with the talent of sensing them, as he did. But at least he’d closed off one avenue of detection.
Sorcery flared all over the city, small eruptions, but intensely focused. Fights between opposing forces, neither of which probably knew Kelhak was vanquished. Horns pealed to the north. Answering calls came from the northeast and east. Indryallans or Quivers, it didn’t matter. All that did was flight.
Their pursuers were invisible to Miranda and Vasile, but Caldan kept track of the wells he could, marking the most powerful. Those would be the ones to worry about, if it came down to a fight for survival.
Then, behind him, a few of the wells winked out, only to return a moment later.
The purified land. They’d reached it, and likely found Kelhak’s body along with the ravaged smith-crafting that had housed Gazija. Caldan had no way to tell if they were Indryallans or someone else, but the reality was, it didn’t matter. The crowd they’d left at the purified land would point them in this direction, and then the sorcerers would search for wells, and finding none, would turn to trinkets—then they would detect his ring and the Protectors’ sword.
The buzz of a crowd. Unwashed people. Laughter. Cloth rustling.
He lay still for a while, but the swaying sensation was making him sick. He opened his eyes and sat up, wincing at the pain it caused.
Miranda was by his side. “Lie back down,” she said. “Vasile’s driving the horses, but I think he hasn’t practiced for a while.”
“Wh . . .” Caldan coughed, tried to swallow. “Where are we going?”
“My warehouse. We can hide out.”
“Again,” Caldan said.
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