“I could lose it all, Myranda. And too much has been done in the name of this cause to squander it on the word of someone who would do anything to stop me.”
“Will you at least tell me how long ago it happened? When did your sister die?”
“It was in the twentieth year of Queen Marrow the fierce. Her triumph over the beast was to be her gift to the queen on the anniversary of her coronation. That much I can never forget. Bid your mother farewell, Myranda. I shall be taking back the strength I have lent her.”
Lucia turned, the ghostly glow of her body beginning to grow sharper.
“Myn, my dear child,” Lucia said, reaching out and touching Myranda’s cheeks. “Take it, and use it well… I’ll be with you always.”
She stood on her tiptoes and gave Myranda a gentle kiss on her forehead. From the point where her lips pressed to Myranda’s skin, the young wizard felt an intense warmth that seemed to wash through her, revitalizing her. By the time she realized that somehow her mother was making a gift of the borrowed power, it was too late to say or do anything but accept the strength she’d been given.
The image of her mother faded before her until it was simply one of a thousand points of light thrown about by the mystic torrent swirling around them. A few final tears ran down Myranda’s cheeks and she held out her hand, but the brief respite was over. Her purpose was calling once again.
“Now really, giving up my generously offered power to your daughter? That is genuinely rude,” Turiel remarked.
With the fresh magic pulsing through her, Myranda felt almost like herself again. A few days of rest or even a few hours of meditation would have done far more good, but as a gift, it was a godsend. Even after dosing out enough of it to restore Myn to some semblance of fighting shape, Myranda had enough focus and energy in reserve to defend herself and her home… though knowing that the merest fraction of Turiel’s power was enough to restore her to this degree was concerning. The woman must be swimming in power…
#
The source of the wind, which had now been joined by the first stinging flakes of a fresh snowfall, finally arrived. Myranda had been expecting Ether’s windy form, but instead the shapeshifter had assumed a form they’d seen her take only a handful of times. She was a griffin, her front half with the features of an eagle and her rear half with the features of a lion. Her feathers and fur were both slate gray, and two figures were tightly clutching her back. From the looks of it, the form she’d selected was barely large enough to support their combined weight. Perhaps it was for that reason that the wind had been raging along with her, to aide her in lifting them and speed their journey.
She circled around and came down above Myranda, bringing herself to a swift and graceful landing. Ivy and Greydon Celeste shakily tumbled down from her back. The very instant she was no longer supporting them, Ether shifted to flame and launched herself at Turiel.
The dark sorceress raised her staff and stood, sending what at first seemed to be a black cloud from the head of her staff to swirl about Ether’s fiery form. As it grew closer to her blazing glow, slivers of the light slipped through, and it became clear that the attack was simply the densest, most agile cluster of black filaments Turiel had yet summoned.
Ether moved like lightning, flitting this way and that in her attempts to reach Turiel, but every tongue of flame was scattered and broken by the thrashing of the threads, and every momentary pause was punished by a dozen of them lancing through her.
“Mott, dear, if the dragon does anything unpleasant, you see to her. I’ll handle the elemental,” Turiel said, the merest flutter of effort in her tone.
“Myn, stand guard and be ready to protect the city,” Myranda crisply ordered. “Don’t fight unless you have to. I don’t want this clash to threaten any of the people. Kenvard has seen enough bloodshed for a hundred lifetimes.”
“Myranda!” Ivy said, running up to her and throwing her arms around her. “I’m so glad to see you. Please! Give me something to do! Every decision I make on my own seems to go terribly wrong.”
“How are you? Are you strong? Rested?” Myranda asked.
“I’m not hurt, but I can barely think straight,” Ivy said, stepping aside and looking upon the manic clash going on. “How did Mott get so big?”
“We’ve been traveling for two straight days. Barely a nibble of food and only what rest can be had while clinging to the back of a griffin,” Greydon explained. “I don’t imagine any of us are as strong as we might be.”
“When fate sees fit to challenge us, it seldom waits until we are ready,” Myranda said.
“Have you been crying?” Greydon asked, wiping away a tear.
She took his hand from her face and clutched it tight for a moment. “I have so much to say to you, but there is no time now. Please, get to the town, make sure no one panics, make sure the town guard is prepared to keep the people safe, and find out the status of the troops. We’ve all been out of communication for two full days at a time when war could come at any hour. If we cannot contain Turiel, she will seek the front, and she cannot be allowed to reach it.”
Greydon gave a stiff nod and moved as quickly over the rubble as his limbs would allow.
The air filled with an inhuman shriek of anger and all eyes but Greydon’s turned to Ether. She was at the center of a thicket of threads, searing her way through them as quickly as Turiel could conjure them and inching steadily closer. She was blindingly brilliant, illuminating Turiel’s features as she began to show the stress of battle.
Myranda stalked forward, her own staff raised, and began to pull her mind to the task of dispelling the dark workings of Turiel’s own magic. Each wave of blue-white light that pulsed from her staff’s gem caused the lashing swirl of black threads to wither just that much more and allowed Ether to advance just that much closer.
“I’m begging you, Turiel, before anyone else gets hurt, let us discuss this reasonably. Let us—”
“I am truly sorry, Myranda, but I’m years past the point of reason,” she interrupted. “And what I do now, I do only because you’ve forced me to.”
She dropped to one knee and clutched her staff tight with both hands. The threads slashing at Ether instead wove themselves into a dense shield to protect her. Answering some unheard call, the swirling torrent of spirits curled around behind her and descended upon the heroes like locusts upon a field.
Icy phantom fingers clutched Ether’s form and hauled her back. Spirits fell upon Myn, each ghastly blow seeming to cut into not the flesh but the soul, jolting the dragon with pain that went beyond the limits of mere injury.
Myranda burst forward and thrust her staff down, driving it into the cobbles and wrapping her mind tightly around it. The rush of spirits parted around her like the flow of a river around a bridge’s supports.
Myn ducked down into the void in the storm of souls that Myranda created, and Ivy huddled close. For a few heroic moments it seemed that Ether would still get her hands about the throat of the necromancer, but floating as she was in the focal point of the spectral flood, it was only a matter of time before she was thrown back. She shifted to stone midair and thumped to the ground. The rush of angry spirits forced her back across the ground, but she dug her toes into the bricks beneath her and stomped forward.
Myranda squinted through the brilliant flow of spirits, their unearthly chill cutting her to the very soul. Ether’s determination was remarkable. Even as the constant assault of the massacre’s victims caused cracks to feather her stony surface, she didn’t falter.
Turiel watched as Ether drew nearer, but the sorceress appeared unconcerned in the face of the furious shapeshifter. She’d let her shield fall away and now wore an expression that was almost bemused.
“I would suggest that you are pushing me to make a very unpleasant decision, but I believe it has been established that you don’t care about such things, do you, Ether?” Turiel asked calmly. “Very well. Mott, defend Mommy.”
The screeching
rush of spirits suddenly scattered, becoming less focused on Ether in particular and more of an indistinct hailstorm of unguided rage. Ether thundered two steps closer before Mott’s massive jaws snapped around her, grinding angrily at her body before he whipped his head aside, hurling her in a high arc over the city walls.
Myn took the act as an invitation to finally charge into battle, leaping over Myranda and enduring the stray attack of an angry spirit as she kept her eyes set on the monstrosity ahead. She drew in a deep breath and released it as a shaft of flame toward Mott. He yelped in surprise and coiled his long body barely around the attack, essentially dodging in all directions at once. It spared him the burn, but left him in no position to dodge the dragon’s charge. A titanic, fleshy thud and a yowl of pain signaled the impact as Myn drove her lowered head into the armored scales of Mott’s underbelly. Scratching, spindly legs wrapped around her, driving their claws into her scales. His long body constricted around hers, immobilizing her legs and wings. It took every ounce of his strength and all of his attention, but Mott was just barely able to keep Myn occupied, tangling with her and rolling about the ruins of the castle.
“Now do you see what you’ve done?” Turiel called to Myranda. “I’ve lost the attention of the spirits. What they do to the city and its people is entirely on your head.”
Myranda turned to the reconstructed southern side of the city. Indeed, though they were not doing so in a concentrated or dedicated way, the points of light representing the angered shades of people she’d once called her countrymen were diving and sweeping among those places where the living residents of New Kenvard had taken shelter.
The young wizard did not take the time to waste words. Almost without thought she found herself rushing over the piles of rubble, raising her staff and steadying her mind. Spirits were things of magic and emotion. Some, like that of her mother, were thinking things, capable of compassion and reason. Those who tore at the town were not. The aspects of the heart and mind that defined a human or other sapient creature had been burned away in the heat of the tragedy that had ended their lives. These were not the people she had known in life. These were the stains in the living fabric of her world that were left by the massacre. They were shadows, twisted and grotesque mockeries of what they had been. Until whatever held them here could release them, Myranda knew that they felt only the torturous need to spread their dark feelings to others.
She had to forget who they were and treat them as the force of nature they had become. And unlike a normal storm, which could be held at bay by a sturdy roof and stout walls, these spirits passed effortlessly through the wood and stone. Their grim attacks could only damage the living. The people were defenseless. Myranda had to do something to give her people a chance.
By the time she skidded to a stop in the center of the restored portion of the city, she had her answer. Now the only concern was if she had the skill and strength to work the appropriate spells, and if Turiel would allow her to do so…
#
Ivy stood her ground among the rubble of the castle. A blue aura flashed and swirled about her, but she managed to keep her terror in check. The only weapon she had, besides the teeth and claws she knew would do her little good against someone like Turiel, was the bow and arrow. She set her feet and reached back for the quiver, her shaking fingers finding the fletching of one of the shafts. As she nocked the arrow and began to draw the string, the malthrope saw Turiel turn her eyes to Ivy, seemingly disappointed by what she saw.
“Ivy. You know what I know now,” Turiel said, her posture relaxed and her voice reasonable. “And I know what you know. Life has been difficult for us both, but you must see that even if these people have always meant the best for the world, I must honor my task. I mustn’t let my crimes be without reason!”
“Turiel, there is a better way,” Ivy said.
“No! There is not! The D’Karon are the only way!” Turiel growled. She stirred the air with her staff. “And they have left enough of themselves behind in this city to prove that! Do you recall what the D’Karon made of this place once it was theirs? I know that you do. I saw it in your mind. It was a place for the manufacture of their foot soldiers. This is the place where so many of their nearmen were created. And though you and the others have worked to clear them away, there were still plenty of pieces to be put to good use. And I’ve been quite busy with them.”
Threads began to spiral down the staff and slip between the cracks of the stone at her feet.
“Don’t! I won’t let you!” Ivy cried.
She took aim and fired. Alas, a few hours of training even at the hands of someone as skilled and patient as Celeste were not sufficient to keep her hands steady and her aim true in such trying circumstances. The arrow hissed through the air, missing Turiel by more than a foot.
Ivy cried out in frustration and reached for another arrow.
“There, there. No one is perfect,” Turiel said encouragingly. “I’m sure in time you’ll—”
The necromancer stopped suddenly and looked up, raised her staff above her head, and braced it with both hands. A fraction of a heartbeat later, a form from above came slamming down atop her. It was Ether. She must have shifted to wind and climbed high above the battleground, then shifted to stone again above her target. Unlike Ivy’s arrow, the shapeshifter’s aim was true. She struck with such force that both she and Turiel punched through the stone floor, crashing down into the lower level of this section of the fallen castle.
Ivy raced up to the hole and peered down just as a flare of fire cast light all around. Ether was in her fiery form now, swiping and darting around Turiel as she frantically raised any defense she could to deflect the willful flames. The malthrope’s eyes widened as she saw what else the light fell upon.
All around the fierce battle was devastation. Not a single support column was fully intact. Many sections of floor had fallen away to still deeper layers of the castle’s catacombs. Walls were mostly rubble and fractured stone. She wondered how the heaps of collapsed palace walls that were mounded above had remained where they were rather than collapsing further into the hollows and voids below. From the worrying way the ground shuddered and quaked with each blow from Ether or Myn, she very much doubted the castle would remain as intact as it was for much longer.
Worse even than the likely collapse was the fact that Ether and Turiel were not alone in the bowels of the castle. Motion drew her eyes to the shifting shadows cast by the mounds of stone. Several hundred forms, most dressed in twisted but functional armor, were pulling themselves from the rubble. Nearmen… Ivy had been foolish enough to believe that she’d been done with them, that she’d seen the last of the blasted playthings of the D’Karon. Seeing them again, knowing what they had done, and that so many of them had been lurking even in their inert form within the place she called a home was enough to tip the emotional balance firmly in the direction of anger.
Her fist tightened around the grip of the longbow and long wisps of red aura flicked and rolled around her. She dropped the bow and slowly slipped the quiver from her back, teeth bared and eyes darkened. As much as she’d tried to suppress the emotions that would claim her mind and body, those things that would turn her into the weapon the D’Karon had meant her to be, in this moment the strength that flooded through her and the pure, righteous fury that welled in her chest were welcome. Right now a weapon was what she needed to be. But tooth and claw would only get her so far. She needed to be properly armed if she was to be any good to her friends.
Realization dawned a moment later. This was New Kenvard. This was her home.
“Keep her busy, Ether,” Ivy called, her lips curving into a fierce grin. “I’ll be right back…”
#
Myn struggled against Mott, but the stitched-together concoction of a beast was far stronger than he had any right to be. His powerful tail was clutched so tight around the dragon she could scarcely breathe, and his long neck was cinched tight around her head and snout, leaving her
flame to spray uselessly from her nostrils. The one saving grace was that it was taking every ounce of his considerable strength to keep his grip on her, and as eager to please as he was, he lacked anything resembling skill and tactics. His combat was centered on raw strength and frenzied attacks.
She rolled to the side and shook her body, managing to dislodge the coils trapping her wings. Instantly she put them to work, catching the rushing wind and flexing hard. Three mighty flaps got Mott and Myn airborne. The familiar tried to work his own wings to bring their flight under control, but the tug-of-war in the air was impossible for him to win. Instead, every flap of his wings drew more and more of his long body away from hers until finally her claws were free.
The dragon slashed viciously at Mott, carving deep gashes into his armored hide. If the monster had any blood to spill, there was little doubt it would be running freely. When her jaws slipped free of his coils, she belched a potent blast of flame that seared and blackened the scraggly fur of Mott’s face, inspiring the monster to release her entirely.
For several seconds the two creatures hung in the air measuring the other and planning their next attack. As Myn tensed herself to swoop in and attempt to end the battle, she realized that the gashes on his belly were visibly closing. Even the blackness of his fur was fading quickly. He was healing. In seconds the worst of the damage was gone.
Mott grinned, his eyes flashing with defiance as he finished recovering. The creature seemed to be utterly reveling in the thrill of combat, madness driving his motions as he caught a fresh gust of wind with his wings and was pulled higher before tucking them back and plummeting toward her.
She pulled aside, but his body lashed wildly from side to side and his spearing legs spread like a net. The sheer size of the attack made it impossible to dodge cleanly. The very tip of his tail caught the base of her wings, and he coiled three quick loops about them, robbing her of her mobility and sending the pair plummeting down like stones.
The D'Karon Apprentice Page 43