by CS Sealey
“He’s lying to you!”
“Samian would not choose me as his wife if he meant to deceive me. He could have had any other woman. When I was captured, he had the opportunity to kill me, but he did not.” Turning, she motioned to her staff, held by one of the manservants gathered around the wedding guests. “I will keep the Staff of Lonys to remind your mistress that it is not she who owns me but the people I protect. Their needs far outweigh her own. You should do well to remember the same, Tiderius.”
“But, Angora – ”
“No more words,” she said, cutting him off. “There is nothing more for you to say.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Emil said. “The equilibrium has been steady for hundreds of years! You cannot break it! Come back with us, now!”
“I will not!” Angora replied, eyeing him angrily. “Even if you carry me back by force, I will run again. If you lock me up, I will not eat or drink. Believe me, Emil, I would embrace death if it meant escaping from you all for good!”
“You can’t mean that!” Kayte exclaimed.
Angora turned her eyes to the sorceress and clenched her fists. “My days in Te’Roek are over,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could. “Go now, without me.”
“My queen,” King Samian called, “we have delayed too long. The parade awaits us. Our unwelcome guests must leave immediately.”
Angora glanced back and saw him motion to his advisers. Tarvenna withdrew her arms from her sleeves and shook them back, her long fingers glowing blue; Vrór raised his staff in his animal-like fingers and looked eagerly at the Ronnesians; and Lhunannon began to whisper under his breath. But Varren remained motionless, his fiery eyes fixed upon the Ronnesians. The guests gasped and, ushered by the royal attendants, they shuffled further away from the conflict.
“Dearest, leave them,” Samian commanded.
“You should not have come here,” Angora said, stepping back. “Go while you still can. This is your last chance. If they attack you, I will not help you.” She turned away from those she had once called her companions, their faces stricken with disbelief and confusion. As she walked, she clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white and her nails dug into her palms. She strode to the manservant who held her staff and took it from his grasp, noticing he looked visibly relieved when it was gone. Angora returned to her husband’s side and rested her hand on his arm.
“You are enemies of this state,” King Samian declared. “Should you refuse to return to your own soil immediately, my men will attack without mercy.” He turned to Angora. “No one will take you away from me again,” he said through clenched teeth. “The fools. Despite all your warnings, they still do not depart.”
“They have had enough time,” Angora agreed sadly. “I have done everything I can. Give the order.”
Samian nodded. “Fire!”
*
It was not a command Varren would hesitate to execute. With great delight, he summoned up a spell of spirit reaping, a crimson fire, and sent it hurtling in the direction of the intruders. A moment later, a flash of silver pierced through the air from Lhunannon’s outstretched hand as his bolt of raw elemental energy sought out its target. Emil threw his hands out beside him and a great dome of mist sprang up, engulfing the three Ronnesians and Varren’s and Lhunannon’s spells hit the mist harmlessly and disintegrated.
Tarvenna let loose her own spell, a great dart of white-hot magic. It flew in a graceful arc, like the passage of an arrow released from its bow, which then was lost in the multitude of real arrows that rose from the ranks of archers. The arrows fell into the mist, turning to ash as though passing through the hottest of flames, piercing neither flesh nor soil. Vrór growled and angled his staff at the Ronnesians, then shot a partially summoned creature toward them and watched as the coil of orange light snaked its way along the ground, only to meet the barrier of mist and disintegrate like the other spells.
No spell can pierce the barrier, Varren thought angrily. But perhaps something unexpected…
He drew his sword, then ran his hand down the length of the blade, whispering words of power, pouring his magic through his fingers and into the flat surface of the metal. It glowed red for an instant, then he charged. He could sense his magic coursing through his veins and hear it drumming in his ears, eager to do his bidding. It had been a long time since he had fought a mage and every one of his muscles ached for action.
He surged through the dome of mist, his sword cutting through the magical defense as though the barrier was merely an illusion. The mist broke apart on impact and the three figures within the shelter sprang into action. Varren saw a flash of blue light at the edge of his vision and whirled his sword around. It clashed heavily with Anathris. Tiderius Auran was young and passionate, but also reckless in the face of danger. The young man broke the blade lock and swung for Varren’s head. Varren ducked and parried, feeling his skills with the blade reignite within him. However, as he blocked the next two attacks, he felt his own blade quiver and realized it would not last long against the Sword of Te’Roek.
He heard a roar and a terrible-looking beast bounded past him, knocking Tiderius to the ground. Vrór’s summoned creature snapped at the swordsman’s head several times before Tiderius managed to angle his weapon into the creature’s neck and deal it a fatal blow. The wolf-like demon stumbled back, spitting and shrieking from the attack. Dark blood oozed from the wound and sparks began to spill from the beast’s mouth. Tiderius staggered back to his feet, then leaped forward, driving the flaming blade deep into the magical flesh of the animal, decapitating it with an eruption of sparks. He turned and looked from Varren to Vrór, waiting to see which of them would attack next.
Tarvenna and Lhunannon had engaged Kayte and Emil in a fierce confrontation. Here, the aged enchanter’s frailty disappeared. In the heat of battle, Lhunannon used his body merely as a medium and did not let his age limit his power. He sucked energy from the air and channeled it through his muscles with such vigor that he was quite a match for Emil, who was half his age. Kayte, too, with her quick and simple spells, which she sent soaring through the air one after the other, was keeping Tarvenna at bay with ease.
Varren left Tiderius to Vrór, sheathed his sword and summoned up a great surge of magic. He felt the air quiver around him as he absorbed the energy from it and, for a second, it grew so cold that he saw his breath rising from his lips. He threw one hand above his head and swung it around in a wide arc. When the circle was complete, a great stream of darkness issued from his open palms and flew through the air toward Emil and Kayte. As it approached, it split into a dozen tendrils and encircled them. Emil reacted quickly, flinging his arms out and blasting two of them away. Kayte was distracted by one of Tarvenna’s spells. She deflected the ball of flickering energy with a flick of her wrist, scattering the witch’s spell into sparks of harmless light. But then Varren’s dark tendrils closed in on them, tugging at the air around them, choking them slowly but surely.
Varren saw the panic rise on Kayte’s face as she attempted to draw in a breath but found herself unable to do so. He raised his arms again and crossed them over his chest. His vision blurred for an instant and he could see the white fire flickering in the corner of his eyes. A burst of laughter escaped his lips as he flung his arms forward, releasing a jet of hot, raw power from his fingertips. Both shaman and sorceress hurled protective spells about them but Varren’s attack was too powerful. His curse hit the tendrils of his first spell and reacted with a deafening crash. The ground around them shook and a great shockwave knocked both Emil and Kayte off their feet. Varren dug his boots into the earth and stood firm as the recoil struck him.
“Gods, will you only give up when I am dead?” Angora screamed.
Varren, who had just raised his hand to perform another curse, stopped and whirled around, searching for the queen, but Angora was neither standing with her husband nor with the wedding guests. Varren glanced at the king, whose face was white
and contorted in an expression of fear. Following his gaze, Varren spotted Angora, who had moved away from the others and was now standing a dozen yards from the edge of the cliff, a fact she appeared not to have noticed. The wind was whipping violently at her dress and she staggered slightly to keep herself upright. She lifted her left arm high, raising her staff above her head.
“My queen,” Varren said, the words feeling strange on his tongue, “come away from there.”
“Is this what you want?” Angora continued, not hearing him. “Do you wish me to turn against you entirely, to use my gift against you?”
“We can talk about this, Angora!” Tiderius shouted. “It doesn’t have to be this final! We only want what’s best for you and the Ronnesian people! Please, just hear us out!”
“No! We have spoken long enough!”
Varren glanced back at the Ronnesians. Kayte was gripping Tiderius’s and Emil’s arms tightly but whether out of fear or preparing to transport them, Varren could not tell.
“You give me no choice,” Angora said, shaking her head. “I must defend my freedom! If that means fighting you, then I will do what must be done!”
With that, she twirled on the spot, bringing her staff down in a wide circle. Sparks erupted from the decorative tip, a shower of blue and white, which swirled and coiled into a great shimmering shape in the air above her. Varren heard the guests gasp and cry out in fright. He did not blame them, for the shape began to morph into the largest winged creature he had ever seen. Its eyes were pure magic, two boiling pools of bright blue light, its black feathers shining blue in the sun. It was no flying demon, the likes of which Vrór may have summoned, but a magnificent bird of prey. Its talons were the length and thickness of his forearm and the beak was hooked and sharp.
Though Tiderius stood still, stunned by Angora’s show of defiance, Kayte and Emil resumed their attack. Working together, they sent spell after spell at Varren and the Ayons, pressing forward in a desperate attempt to reach Angora. But Varren, Lhunannon, Tarvenna and Vrór stood against them, sending the spells harmlessly up into the sky before conjuring their own.
A great screech reverberated through the air and all who heard it cringed and covered their ears. A shadow passed over Varren’s head and he looked up to see Angora’s haladrai diving at the Ronnesians. He saw Tiderius swing his sword up high and slash wildly at the creature’s underbelly, but the eagle reeled away, unharmed.
Another flurry of spells flew across the plain and Angora released yet another eagle from the staff. Though not as large as the first, this eagle was just as fine. As one, the creatures dived and swooped around the Ronnesians, along with another of Vrór’s own beasts, emitting their ear-piercing screeches. The two leikas were fighting together, perhaps for the first time in the history of mortal magic. Varren could not believe his eyes.
A great tremor shook the earth and he spotted a fissure burst open in the grass in front of Emil. The ground tore apart as, at the shaman’s command, the fracture shot across the plain toward Varren. He dived aside just in time and scrambled back to his feet, a spell already flickering around his fingertips, as the fissure continued to cut its way towards the cliff.
Terrible screams split the air. Above him, the larger of Angora’s eagles swerved away from its attack on the Ronnesians and darted toward the cliff’s edge. Varren turned, his heart pounding in his chest, expecting the worst. As though in slow motion, he saw Samian lunging toward Angora as the new queen fell backward into the gorge. Varren shouted in disbelief and shrouded himself in his magic, transporting himself to the cliff edge in a flash. As the king desperately reached out to grab Angora’s dress, he too began to fall. The top soil crumbled into the ravine but Varren flung out his arm, releasing a coil of magic that wound tightly around the king’s arm. Samian came to a stop, one hand clinging to a tuft of loose grass, the other enclosed on thin air. Below him, the white figure of Angora hurtled to the rapids like a stone.
The blurred shape of her haladrai, with the voice of a hurricane, rushed past them on the wind. Varren’s clothes billowed so violently that he staggered backward, fearing he would also fall. With all his strength, he heaved on the coil of magic and pulled the screaming, trembling king back up to safety. His robes were torn and dirty from Emil’s spell and the resulting landslide and his cheeks were wet with tears. Once Varren dismissed his spell, Samian collapsed upon the grass, his breaths heavy and frequent.
“Angora!”
Varren glanced back down at the churning rapids as the king shouted and sobbed uncontrollably. The veil that Angora had worn in her hair was still drifting toward the river but her body had already been swallowed up. The water at the bottom of the ravine was white and merciless. No one could have survived the fall.
A sudden loud bang made him turn, remembering the Ronnesian intruders. However, when he searched the plain, there was no sign of them. He looked up at the shower of sparks raining down upon the wedding guests and realized that Angora’s second eagle had disintegrated.
She’s dead, then, Varren found himself thinking with a hint of anger. The Ronnesians have killed her – our queen! The king should wage war on the south immediately. There can be no more delay.
The balance had definitely shifted now.
ABOUT EQUILIBRIUM: EPISODE 4
A mage and newly-made queen is killed, devastating both sides of the war.
Unable to persuade her former companions to give up their quest to reclaim her allegiance, Angora has been forced to turn against them and fight for her freedom. However, the fight has proven to be a costly one and Angora has fallen to her death in a deep ravine.
In the wake of her demise, both empires are momentarily subdued, mourning the loss of a friend and queen.
However, driven by the belief that Angora may have survived, the Ronnesians launch an attack on the Ayon capital of Delseroy in an attempt to free her from the Ayons’ clutches. But their attack does not go according to plan, setting in motion a series of events that could spell their doom.
For more information, please visit momentumbooks.com.au/books/equilibrium-episode-4/.
ABOUT CS SEALEY
Carmel Sealey was born in Sydney, Australia, and has a great passion for fantasy. Her brother first inspired her to write at a very young age and she has continued to do so with gusto. The first seed of Equilibrium began to sprout at the age of 15 and the story has been rewritten, reworked, abused, edited, rewritten again, expanded, cut, stitched back together and polished in the dozen years since. Enjoy!
First published by Momentum in 2015
This edition published in 2015 by Momentum
Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
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Copyright © CS Sealey 2015
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
A CIP record for this book is available at the National Library of Australia
Equilibrium: Episode 3
EPUB format: 9781760300685
Mobi format: 9781760300692
Cover design by Raewyn Brack
Edited by Kylie Mason
Proofread by Thomasin Litchfield
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