A sound from behind her made Merris startle. Whirling, she saw that two silk-clad women had come up behind them from out of the shadows of the cloistered walkway. Merris moved back to Quin’s side, clinging tightly to his arm with both hands.
Quin glanced over his shoulder at the two newcomers, taking note of their presence. He turned back to the mage in front of him with an amused grin. “Why, Rusty, you flatter me. You think it will take all three of you to bring me down?”
Rustin Taman brought his hand up to scratch the side of his face. “No, Quin. I think I can handle you just fine all by myself. From what I’ve heard, your brain’s got to be so pickled by now that you probably couldn’t light a candle with it.”
Quin cocked and eyebrow, nodding back over his shoulder. “Then why are they here?”
“They’re here for her.” The man’s gaze ticked toward Merris.
At his words, Quin chortled his disbelief. “For her? Truly?” He turned toward Merris with a delighted grin. “Did you hear that, darling? Apparently Master Rustin here believes you are more dangerous than I am. What do you think? Should I trouble myself to correct him or leave him wallowing in his ignorance?”
Merris at last realized the dangerous nature of the game Quinlan Reis was playing. They were outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and trapped. She had no idea whether or not Braden’s brother was a gambler, but at that moment it seemed only too obvious he was bluffing.
She just hoped it wasn’t as obvious to Rustin Taman and his companions as it was to her. She had to find a way to help him seem more believable. Merris brought her hand up, caressing the side of Quin’s face as she gazed up at him.
“I think you should make him scream for a long time before he dies,” she suggested in a mild voice, smiling sweetly.
“Isn’t she adorable?” Quin laughed, stroking his hand through Merris’s hair, continuing the motion all the way down her back. “What do you say, Rusty? Are you in or are you out? Or do you need a moment to think about it?”
The mage shook his head, eyes narrowing. “I’m about—”
His words were cut off as the expression on his face suddenly froze. A thick stream of blood dribbled out of his left nostril, running over his lips and streaming down his chin. As Merris watched in amazement, the man appeared to totter on his feet and then leaned over, slumping sideways to the ground.
From behind, she could hear the shrill sound of a woman’s scream.
Merris whirled in the direction of the sound, bringing a finger up to point first at one woman then the other. Taking in their horrified expressions, she felt a rush of exhilaration.
“Which one of you sweetlings would like to be next?” Merris inquired with a grin.
Both women turned and fled. Merris laughed as she watched them run, feeling almost giddy with the intoxicating illusion of power, something altogether different from anything she had ever felt before. The feel of it was thrilling, liberating. For the first time in her life, Merris felt firmly in command of her own destiny.
When she turned back to Quin, she found him staring at her in astonished bewilderment. Merris giggled, throwing her arms around him, in awe of the sinister elegance of his power.
Vintgar, Caladorn
Braden looked up at the sound of the door opening. He immediately rose to his feet as Sephana entered the long rectangular chamber made of rock and ice, flanked closely by Myria Anassis and Sareen Qadir. She moved forward with a calm, dignified poise, still enveloped in her black Master’s cloak. The embroidered Silver Star of Aerysius rode between her shoulder blades.
Braden’s eyes scoured over her for signs of injury. To his relief, Sephana seemed hale. Her red-gold curls spilled down around her face, only slightly disarrayed. For just a moment their eyes met, but Sephana’s gaze moved away again quickly, betraying nothing of her emotions. Her expression maintained an air of cool composure.
Braden swept forward around the table to intercept her before she reached the middle of the room. He took her fingers into his own and brought them up to his lips, kissing them gently. “I trust you are well?” he asked.
Sephana turned away from him, plucking her hand back out of his grasp. She glared her reproach at Cyrus Krane, who remained in his seat at the table next to Byron Connel.
“Prime Warden Krane,” she remarked dryly. “Why am I not surprised?”
She turned to glance around the cold chamber, her gaze lingering on the window-wall and its sweeping view of the gorge hundreds of feet below.
“And you, Ambassador Reis,” she spat vindictively. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “Or is it Battlemage Reis?”
“Braden Reis is Warden of Chancellors,” Byron Connel corrected her astutely. “I, actually, have the singular honor of being Warden of Battlemages.”
“Which makes him your superior, does it not?” Sephana retorted.
Braden frowned, shocked that she could possibly know such a detail. The hierarchy of orders within the ranks of the Lyceum had always been kept a closely guarded secret from the mages of Aerysius.
Byron Connel stared long and hard at Braden, obviously just as shaken as he was at Sephana’s knowledge. And obviously blaming Braden for Sephana coming by that knowledge. At last, the red-bearded man responded, “You are correct, actually. But only during time of war. Otherwise, our two orders remain completely autonomous.” An easy smile spread across his lips. “Why do I get the feeling that the two of you know each other better than you reasonably should?”
“Because we’re lovers, you moron,” Sephana admonished him dryly. “At least, we were.” She glared at Braden in disdain. “You shouldn’t have lied to me,” she hissed at him under her breath.
“I didn’t lie to you, my dear,” Braden corrected her mildly, wrapping a possessive hand around her shoulders. “I simply omitted a piece of information. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Enough,” spat Cyrus Krane. “I have honored your request, Ambassador Reis. Master Sephana has arrived before you, alive and unharmed. Now, let us resume our conversation.”
Braden nodded slightly, his gaze momentarily falling on the silver morning star that gleamed up at him from the table in front of Byron Connel.
The prime warden continued, “Sephana, I will ask that you wait in another area of the fortress while I continue my discussion with Ambassador Reis. When this is over, I desire the opportunity to speak with you before our return to Aerysius.” He didn’t pause for her acquiescence before turning to the two women behind her. “Escort Master Sephana to the holding area and remain with her until I send word.”
Both Sareen and Myria bowed their heads in deference to Cyrus Krane, a prime warden that was not even their own. Myria stepped forward out of the chamber first, gesturing for Sephana to follow as Sareen lingered behind to bring up the rear.
“Stop,” Braden called out as Sephana passed by Connel’s chair.
She turned to glance back at him with an inquiring expression on her face. He strode around the table toward her, taking her suddenly into his arms and kissing her full on the lips. His mouth explored hers, his right hand sliding up to caress the side of her face.
With his left hand, he reached down by his side and grasped the haft of Connel’s spiked weapon.
Braden jerked Sephana roughly backward, propelling her bodily away from the table as he launched himself toward the window-wall with the full weight of his body behind the morning star’s weighted strike. The head bit deeply into the ice and stuck there, deep cracks radiating outward to compromise the structure of the window. Braden struggled to dislodge the weapon, having to use his foot to leverage it out of the ice and, spinning around, struck the window again with all of his strength.
The window-wall caved away, raining sharp fragments of ice down into the gorge below. A frigid wind gusted into the chamber as he scrambled back away from the edge.
“Braden!” Sephana screamed.
Whirling, he saw that Byron Connel had her by the hair. The other mages had f
anned out in a half-circle behind them. The fury of the surrounding vortex shielded them from the magic field just as much as it did himself. But that would not stop them from overwhelming him with sheer numbers.
“Drop the weapon,” Connel barked, jerking Sephana’s head backwards. He had a knife in his hand and was brandishing it against her throat. The blade’s sharp tip had already scored her flesh; a thin trickle of blood ran down Sephana’s neck. Connel maneuvered her closer to the edge of the floor where the window-wall had been, threatening to send her bodily over.
Braden reacted immediately, holding Thar’gon out away from his body. He tossed the weapon up, catching it again crisply near the end of the shaft and offering it haft-first to Byron Connel.
“Drop it,” the Battlemage rasped, nodding his head in the direction of the floor.
Braden sneered, shaking his head emphatically as he retracted the offered haft.
“You’re killing her, Braden,” Connel growled, pressing the tip of the knife deeper into Sephana’s throat. “I know you murdered the last woman who made the mistake of falling in love with you. Are you going to watch this one die, as well?”
Sephana whimpered as the knife blade sawed wickedly against the skin of her throat. The thin trickle of blood running down her neck became a stream. Fear and betrayal consumed her tear-filled eyes.
Braden’s expression became deadly serious. “If you kill her, what’s there to stop me from taking you over that edge with me?” The look in his eyes was dangerous, almost a dare.
For just a moment, doubt clouded Connel’s eyes as his gaze ticked toward the gaping chasm. The knifepoint eased just a fraction from Sephana’s throat.
“Don’t be a fool, Byron,” Cyrus Krane growled. “He’s not going to choose suicide over the chance to aid Bryn Calazar.”
“Really?” Braden demanded of him, looping the leather cords of the morning star’s shaft around his belt and tying it there. “I warned you before, Krane. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do.”
He charged at Sephana and Connel, shoving them both forcefully over the edge. He could hear Sephana scream as she went over.
And then he was falling after them.
Sephana broke away from Connel’s hold, shrieking as she flailed her arms desperately in the air. Braden struggled to catch her hand, but she was too far away. He looked down. Hundreds of feet below, the River Nym ran its course, glowing bright with blue-green magelight from deep within its depths.
The cold embrace of the Nym seemed like it was rushing up to meet them.
Right before they hit the water’s surface, Braden opened himself to the magic field, allowing its wild energies to rage across his mind. This close to the vortex, the field was a torrent of molten power. It quickly overwhelmed him, the pain excruciating.
Braden retained just enough of himself to use the power of his mind to disrupt the river’s surface right before they hit.
The impact of his body with the water still felt like a powder keg exploding right in front of him. It knocked the breath out of him, his consciousness dimming toward darkness. Vaguely, Braden was aware of the feeling of the icy current grabbing him up, his body being spun like a leaf in the wind. He opened his eyes but saw only a bright, diffuse glow all around him. He couldn’t even tell which direction the surface lay.
His lungs were already burning.
Desperate, Braden clawed at the water with his hands. The current was deceptively stronger than it looked from above and shockingly cold. Beneath its smooth surface the River Nym was a nimble giant, its blue-green waters swift and turbulent. Braden found himself spun first one direction then another, at last breaking through the river’s surface.
He sucked in a great chestful of air right before the current dragged him back under again. The river had its way with him as it surged ahead in its course. Braden struggled toward the bank, but the current was too strong. The channel was narrowing, forming white-capped rapids that churned and punished him, beating his flailing limbs against the rocks that lined the bottom of the gorge.
Ahead, he could see a large boulder directly in his path. He struggled to propel his body away from it, but then he thought better of it and instead swam toward the massive rock. He put his hand out, trying to catch the boulder. His fingers slipped along its surface, finding no purchase on the stone. His body was hurled once again into the thick of the whitewater.
Something came down from out of nowhere, delivering a crushing blow to his head.
Braden was forced under as he sucked in a mouthful of water. His vision exploded in streaks of red, his lungs spasming in his chest. He almost lost consciousness. Then a hand was on him, jerking him roughly upward by the collar of his robe.
His head broke through the surface and he sputtered, gasping, trying desperately to expel the water from his lungs before he went under again. He opened his eyes long enough to get a glimpse of Byron Connel just before the man forced him back below the surface. Braden struggled futilely against the Battlemage’s brute strength. The big warrior was holding him down with a vise-like grip that he had no hope of breaking free of.
Braden’s lungs screamed, his mind edging towards panic. He flailed wildly against Connel’s hold on him. The urge to breathe was becoming too powerful to resist.
Then Braden remembered the magic field. Frantic, he lashed out with it.
Byron Connel screamed loud enough for Braden to hear him underwater. Released suddenly from the man’s powerful grip, Braden struggled back to the surface, sucking in desperate gulps of air.
Somehow, he managed to hook on to a large rock thrusting out of the river. He used the last of his strength to haul his body up onto the boulder’s wet surface. He lay there, spent and gasping, his heart thundering as it struggled to make up for lack of air. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers. His whole body was trembling violently.
Braden opened his eyes and glanced around to get an idea of his circumstances. He was on a boulder toward the side of the churning river. Swift rapids swirled by on both sides of the rock. The shore wasn’t far away, but in order to reach it he would have to get back into the turbulent river and swim.
Something floating by caught his attention.
Braden forced his body into motion. He rolled forward, spilling off the rock into the icy water. His feet reached the bottom and he stood, splashing forward against the current. He staggered, almost falling, at last reaching out and catching the edge of Sephana’s black cloak with fingers so numb they almost didn’t work.
He pulled her toward him by the fabric of her cloak, turning her over and hauling her up into his arms. Her eyes were closed, her face devoid of color.
“No,” Braden whispered, hugging her close against him. He stood there in the water as despair got the better of him, trying to find enough presence of mind to act.
Desperate, he reached out from within and let the magic field rampage across his brain. Through the agony in his head, Braden got a vague sense of Sephana’s condition. Her heart was stilled, her blood cold and stalled in her veins. But she was still there, somewhere, deep down inside. Her soul had not yet fled her body.
There was still time.
Crying out in frustration, Braden sent a confused and desperate torrent of healing energies coursing through her body. In the chaos of his anguish, his attempt at a probe had returned precious little information about what was actually wrong with her, and he had no idea how to go about fixing it. The only thing he could do was try to start her heart again and pray that would be enough.
He could feel warmth returning to Sephana’s cold limbs. Her nostrils quivered as she drew in a breath of air and life. Braden held her close as she sputtered and choked up the water from her lungs, maintaining the flow of healing despite the harsh toll the magic field was taking on his mind. He could feel his strength waning, his vision starting to ebb.
Braden struggled toward the shore, half carrying, half dragging Sephana in his arms. He cast himself do
wn upon the rocks and pulled her close, hoping to revive her with the warmth of his body.
The flesh of her neck was still bleeding from the bite of Connel’s knife. With a thought, Braden staunched the flow of blood. He reached up to stroke a finger down her soft, pale cheek.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he confessed to her, resting his forehead against the gentle curve of her shoulder. His head was throbbing with every pulse, the exhaustion becoming more than he could stand. He didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.
Braden wrapped his arms tightly around Sephana and held her close. Then he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift away.
Chapter Seven
A Broken Vow
Bryn Calazar, Caladorn
MERRIS GIGGLED IN DELIGHT as she threw her arms around Quin, catching him up in an exuberant hug. Then she pulled away with a giddy little whirl of excitement. The colorful silks that draped her body shimmered in the glow reflected off the walls of the Lyceum. The entire city lay unfolded before her, shining like a jewel beside the black waters of the ocean.
“I thought we were dead!” she exclaimed in wonderment. “I can’t believe you saved us! Did you see the looks on the faces of those women? They were terrified of us!”
Quin’s eyes held a trace of concern as he stood considering Merris, head canted to one side, hand fumbling in the pocket of his vest. “Are you certain you’re feeling quite well?” he asked slowly, fishing out his flask of liquor and unstoppering it. “You look a bit flushed, I’m afraid.” He downed a healthy draught from the container before extending it in her direction.
Merris broke into an endearing smile. “You’re such a sweetling. Thank you, but I shouldn’t.”
Quin shrugged indifferently, withdrawing the offer of the flask. “Suit yourself. Although if there was ever an occasion to drink, tonight might be it. Or any other night, for that matter. I was wondering…do you have any questions for me? About what happened with Master Rustin, I mean? Or anything else?”
“No.” Merris shook her head, eyes bright and glistening with exhilaration. Her heart pounded with what felt like the hooves of a hundred galloping horses, circulating the rush of excitement throughout her eager body. She had never felt a sensation so enthralling, so intoxicating, ever before in her life. The thrill of Quin’s power was euphoric. It was almost as though she could sense it radiating from his body just standing there next to him.
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