by Lou Hoffmann
The weird part of Lucky’s mind that always seemed to stand off to the side and make meaningless comments on the action thought, That’s really pretty. He had no time to dwell on such observations, though, because his energy started to flag. He called up what he’d learned from Thurlock about drawing some of the energy for magic from the world around you instead of relying only on what you could dredge up from inside you. He cast his awareness all around and found three sources. He discarded two right away. One was Rio—he needed his own energy to stay alive. And the stone surrounding him, though rich in energy stored over millennia, held it so tightly captive Lucky figured he’d spend all his own life force before he could even begin to tap it. He wondered for a split instant how Bayahr managed it, but he shoved the thought aside and turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
The third source of energy Lucky saw was the power Mahros was pouring out. Lucky had serious doubts, though.
Is it evil, all by itself?
Lucky felt pretty certain it wasn’t, which surprised him. The energy seemed clean. Its source may have been dark, probably dark indeed, but dark power wasn’t evil. That quality came only from Mahros’s abuse of it.
So the energy he sets free… it’s not evil. But can I take it from his control? Can I use it against him?
Lucky didn’t think so. But if he couldn’t, that meant Rio would continue to suffer—and maybe die!
Ciarrah? Can you help me do this? Can we save Rio by stealing Mahros’s fire?
Perhaps there was a new Wish wrapped up in the question. Whether or not that was so, three things happened before Lucky could draw another breath. The Key blazed, leaving Lucky standing with mouth agape at the impossible sight of fire shooting from his own chest. The pitch of Ciarrah’s song shifted—or rather, it split, and the beam of her light divided into twin streams of sapphire and ruby—pure colors that didn’t in the least resemble Mahl’s lifeless electric-blue sparks or Mahros’s bloody red fire. The blue light wrapped around Mahros’s magic and curled it, pulling it away from Rio, while the ruby light pulsed out and hammered against Mahros.
But Mahros stood against that pulse, his face screwed up with pure hatred. He raised his arms high, hands spread like claws, preparing to unleash magic in deadly force.
Lucky could predict what was going to happen when Mahros’s magic met his own, because he’d seen it before when Thurlock’s magic met Hehlios. His own magic was no match for this centuries-old wizard, but the Key and Blade were a different story. If Mahros let loose the power building in his hands, it was going to backfire. Mahros would die.
Lucky didn’t want that to happen.
Maybe he hadn’t gotten over seeing Hehlios vanish in a cloud of dust and droplets. Maybe Lucky remembered Thurlock’s deep despondency after that deed had been done. Maybe Lucky thought of Han’s clear distaste for the violence he was so expert at. Or perhaps he remembered how it had felt when he helped his own mother die, disintegrate—though it was what she wanted and a better fate than many thought she deserved. The horror of being part of someone’s death rose up in front of him like a neon sign flashing “danger, danger, danger.” In that moment, he wanted Mahros to die less than he wanted anything else except Rio’s safety. He certainly didn’t Wish for the red wizard’s death. But the magic of the Key and Blade had already been set in motion, and he wasn’t sure he could keep Mahros alive should he choose to hurl his awful spell.
Of course, in addition to wanting Rio safe, Lucky didn’t want to die either, and that made the situation triply difficult, to say the least. Not coming up with any other options, he hurried to do the one thing he could think of: he tried to talk his way out of it.
“Wait, Mahros! Listen to me!”
Mahros’s face screwed up, and he squinted at Lucky through the haze of magic clouding the room. His hands lowered slightly and the sparks flying from his fingertips and his staff slowed a bit. Sounding both surprised and confused, he said, “What?”
“Hey,” Lucky said. “Maybe nobody has to die here, right? I mean… you haven’t even told me what you want, really, other than to eventually sacrifice me to somebody—”
“My Lord Ahmadou.”
“Yeah, but m-maybe we can cut a deal. I’d like to get out of here alive.”
Mahros laughed, and it wasn’t the sort of laugh that made Lucky want to join in, which was discouraging. But then, Mahros geared the laugh down to a derisive chuckle and asked, “What sort of ‘deal’ did you have in mind, boy?”
“I don’t know,” Lucky said. “You still haven’t told me what you want, and I can’t think clearly in here right now. All this magic and stuff—it’s kind of noisy, distracting. How about we call a ceasefire for a while.”
Mahros’s eyes, which reminded Lucky a lot of Thurlock’s except that the pupils looked red when the light shone on them, widened. Under eyebrows arched in apparent disbelief that Lucky could be so cheeky, he said, “You first.”
Crap. Knowing he might be signing his own death warrant, Lucky said, “Okay, but you have to promise to stop hurting Rio.”
Mahros laughed again, but after he stopped, he appeared to be chewing something while contemplating. Finally, he said, “Hm. Perhaps Thurlock is more of an old fool than I thought. It’s just possible you are able to think for yourself. Very well, let’s find out where this might lead. You drop your magic, Luccan, and I’ll drop mine, including what’s touching your friend, Rio.”
“Touching” seemed like a ridiculous understatement, and after he heard it, an unexpected thought came to Lucky: But what if Rio’s already dead? With all his will, he pushed that fear aside—as well as the fear that he was signing his own death warrant. He said, “Agreed,” and made good on his word. He didn’t have to do anything, he discovered, to make Ciarrah and the Key respond, he simply became conscious of wanting the magic to stop, and his talismans went quiescent—though not quite dark, as a dim light continued to shine from the Key, and deep in Ciarrah’s heart a violet light—color reunited from the red and blue—glowed with a faint pulse.
For an instant Mahros’s magic flared, and Lucky feared the worst, but then it changed. The flames didn’t so much go out as return to Mahros, retreating into his staff. Like the Key and the Blade, the pommel of the staff continued to glow, its faint red shine a deceptively friendly color like embers in a fireplace.
The magical struggle had weakened Lucky despite much of the power having come through Ciarrah and the Key of Behliseth. He would have liked to let himself collapse. But he didn’t want to seem weak just then. Though Mahros was sweating and breathing a little fast, he didn’t seem like a man at the end of his strength. Lucky locked his knees and then, after a few invigorating breaths, turned to see Rio, who lay unconscious but clearly breathing, his skin unmarred.
“He’s not burned,” Lucky said.
“No,” Mahros answered.
Lucky waited for more, but soon realized Mahros, being a wizard, would be no more forthcoming than Thurlock. “Why not?” he said, not caring that he sounded annoyed.
“Because I did not will it. But never mind that. You want to deal you say? I’ll make my one and only offer. Give me the Key of Behliseth and I’ll send your friend back unharmed.”
Lucky hadn’t expected that, and his mouth fell open before he could remind himself he was trying to hold on to his composure. He snapped it shut, and tried to answer. “Uh… the Key? You want the Key of Behliseth? But it only works for me… I think.” Great, Lucky. Look like you don’t even know what you’re talking about. That’s really going to help you negotiate.
Mahros snorted. “Is that what the old man told you? It’s wrong. You can use it because you have some little strength of your own, magic that comes to you through the Ol’Karrigh line. But the line is weak in you, despite any signs the committee thought they’d seen. I, on the other hand, am like Thurlock—Ol’Karrigh to the bone, through and through, unbroken lineage through all my ancestors. I can wield the Key of Behliseth. And I
will—there is no question of that. All that remains unknown is whether I will sacrifice your friend to my Lord Ahmadou alongside you—sweeten my gift, so to speak—or whether you will hand me the Key now and your friend will live.”
He’s not so sure he can beat me and take the Key. If he was, he’d just do it.
“Don’t think for a minute I can’t just take the Key—I was well on my way to subduing you a moment ago.”
“Maybe,” Lucky said, but it was just a placeholder, because Lucky knew the fight might have cost Mahros his life. Of course, it probably would have cost mine and Rio’s at the same time…. “Then why? Why did you agree to talk about making a deal?”
“Because you showed some initiative when you asked. It’s possible that instead of being enemies, we could be allies. One way or the other, if you give me the Key of Behliseth, I will keep my word to you and let the other boy go—he is of no use to me. Then, I can kill you, let your blood drain into the sacred fire to gain favor with Ahmadou. But… hmmm… yes. I will give you another option, should you choose it. It’s the same offer I made you at the drake laboratory. I am certain that if I hold the Key, and you work with me, we will be unstoppable.”
Not this again—
Lucky’s thought never got finished. With a flash, all the light, all the flame, all the power in the room turned electric-blue. The flames burning from Mahros’s staff faded, receded, died. The gold and white lights of the Key of Behliseth flickered and sparked out. Within the space of a second, Ciarrah’s violet glow retreated into the obsidian and was buried by stone. Footsteps echoing into that cavernous room drew slowly nearer. Lucky turned his face to see who approached, the deathly blue light and the instant chill it brought making him half expect Isa, though he knew it was impossible.
“Lady Relian,” Mahros said. His face was red and dripping with sweat, and his voice weak and raspy. Still his disregard for the woman came through loud and clear.
“Witch-Mortaine Relian, if you please, for I’ve taken on that mantle, at the behest of my Lord Mahl. I am the vessel of the greatest god and you, Mahros—and of course you, Luccan—might as well go ahead and bow to me—to honor him, of course.”
“I shall bow to no one but my Lord Ahmadou!”
“Have you forgotten, then, that Ahmadou is but one of Mahl’s many aspects, who exists only for such time as Mahl wills it?” She’d sounded almost bored up to that point, but then her voice took on an edge like sharpened steel. “And how dare you malign me in your selfish speeches to this boy! How dare you disregard me and attempt to raise yourself above me! Do you not remember it was I who brought this child here! It was I who made you someone who mattered in the first place, for your only importance to the Terrathians was the drake lab, and I created its foundation.”
While she delivered this speech, Mahros seethed, several times trying to interrupt, only to flinch back when she came down particularly hard on an “I.” The two of them seemed very involved with one another. Lucky saw their focus on each other as an opportunity, and he edged backward until he was next to Rio, who still lay supine and either sleeping or knocked out. Lucky lowered himself to the ground, checked to be sure Rio was breathing, and mouthed a message to him without sound.
“We’re gonna get out of here, Rio. I’m gonna try it now. Stick with me, okay?”
He had no way to know if Rio agreed or even heard him, but it didn’t matter. He thought a message to Ciarrah: “Wake up, Ciarrah. Help us get out of here? I don’t know how, but I’m going to believe it can be done, and we’ve got the magic to make it happen. Maybe like getting out of Isa’s tower….”
He paused, noticing he’d had no response beyond a hum so faint he could barely perceive it. Either the Blade’s stores of energy had been completely depleted opposing Mahros’s fire, or Relian’s magic truly had Ciarrah manacled and gagged. Okay, he thought. A Wish—
Once again, his incomplete thought was cut off as Relian, who apparently had reached a point of no return in her association with Mahros, took action.
“This ends now,” she said, and though she hadn’t shouted, her words cut through everything with unshakable finality and tripped Lucky into absolute darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Relian
WHEN LUCKY woke he lay on a floor carpeted in rich colors and designs, staring at a domed ceiling with a chandelier that reminded him of the one in Thurlock’s dining room. Although ice frosted the windows both outside and inside along the near wall, he didn’t feel cold. The place didn’t smell of death or rot, and he saw no pillars of blackness. He did spy two silver-colored metal poles topped with white candles burning with blue flame, but other than that and the frost, he might have been in anyone’s living room. There was a couch—unoccupied—and an easy chair with Rio in it.
Rio!
Lucky scrambled clumsily on half-sleeping feet to the chair and bent over his boyfriend. Rio was warm, his breathing was regular and easy, and there were no marks of abuse on him anywhere.
“I haven’t harmed him” was declared in a voice Lucky recognized as Relian’s.
He whirled around so fast he almost fell into Rio’s lap, and raised his hands defensively when he saw she held her wand aloft.
“I don’t plan to hurt you, either, Luccan.” She used the wand to whip a striped blanket from the back of her couch to Lucky’s shoulders. “You looked cold.”
“I… I’m fine,” Lucky said, because he didn’t want to say thank you to this witch who had been obstinate and accusing when dealing with him and Thurlock, who had attempted to… he didn’t know what exactly… in the library, and who had abducted Lucky’s boyfriend. “Why did you do it? Take Rio?”
“Oh, come now! You’re smarter than that. It isn’t him I want, it’s you. Same with Mahros. But you are not so easily taken, what with your weapon—”
Ciarrah! He checked and found she remained in her sheath, though he still couldn’t feel her magic, and she didn’t respond to his mental call.
“Don’t worry, you haven’t lost anything. The Blade’s power weakened after your clash with Mahros, and consequently I was able to manage a temporary block. I’m rather proud of that little bit of fancy work. Anyway, what with your talismans, Thurlock, and your dear uncle, I figured I didn’t have much chance of taking you against your will. Rio was, I’m a little ashamed to say, bait.” She breathed deep and sighed, and when she turned back toward him, her mouth was set in a grim line, her cheeks looked hollow, and her eyes flashed blue fire. “Mahros,” she said, and now she sounded like the scornful woman she’d seemed during the council interview in Nedhra City.
Lucky expected her to say more, but she clammed up and stretched out on one end of the couch.
“Please,” she said, motioning to the other end of the couch. “Sit down.”
Lucky ignored her gesture and sat gingerly on the arm of the easy chair where Rio remained perhaps unconscious, though he looked as though he simply slept. A small metal table appeared with a tray of finger food, a pitcher of cold water, and a pot of tea. Relian moved to pour and passed Lucky a cup on a saucer. He took it automatically, but he wasn’t about to drink anything she provided. He had to admit it smelled normal.
Which was completely weird. He decided that might be the weirdest thing about this whole encounter—how strangely close to normal everything seemed when truly it was completely absurd, and probably dangerous. What in all the worlds is going on?
He needed information. He didn’t think the Charismata would work—might even backfire—but he’d improved at the art of conversation over the past year. It hadn’t worked perfectly with Mahros, but….
“So,” he said. “You were working with Mahros?”
“No! Well, yes, but no. Not really.” She puffed out an exasperated breath. “He was such a fool. Mahl-Ahmadou this, Mahl-Ahmadou that. As if he didn’t know that Ahmadou is but a splinter of Mahliseth—or Mahl as you’ve no doubt heard him called—incomplete like the six-rayed sun he took for his symbol.”
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br /> Lucky found it passing strange to sit in a room that would have fit right into a twenty-first century California home and have a conversation with a witch who styled herself as serving the single most malicious being in all the world… worlds. But, as long as she was talking, she wasn’t doing anything to hurt Rio or him, and maybe he could find out something that would give him an edge. So he kept it going.
“Then… you aren’t… weren’t really working with Mahros? Or with the Terrathians?”
“I was.” She nodded as she admitted that as if to say she wasn’t ashamed of it. “I even let them—Mahros and those ridiculous Terrathians both—think they were in charge. You see, I didn’t tell you quite the whole truth. I said it wasn’t Rio I wanted, it was you. But I didn’t say that you are also bait for a fish I’ve been trying to hook, gut, and fillet for a long time. Thurlock.”
Lucky said the first thing that came to his mind. “It won’t work.”
“It will. I know that old man. I’ve been watching him for three hundred years! That was the one thing Mahros and I had in common—hating Thurlock Ol’Karrigh. And don’t jump on any high horse. You don’t really know him. You don’t know what he did three centuries ago. You might even join the cause yourself if I tell you.”
“Uh… not much chance?”
She laughed, and the sound was rich and alive. Lucky realized that, whatever evil she’d aligned herself with, she—her soul—hadn’t become hopelessly corrupted by it. And she believes she’s truly in the right. She believes Thurlock is an evil man. The idea was a novel one, a possibility Lucky had never entertained. Even when he saw how people feared him in the city, he’d never for a moment considered that anyone could think him truly evil. Relian stopped laughing and helped herself to a small sandwich from a plate decorated with little yellow flowers. She spoke with her mouth full, as if anxious to divulge her secrets.