That hadn’t been an idle boast to Nora. The Eternity Crucible had made me strong. Without it, I might have survived the three thefts for Nicholas. But I definitely would not have lived through Nicholas’s attempt to kill me after he had found the Sky Hammer. And I would not have been able to throw the Sky Hammer into Venomhold…
No.
Disgust twisted my stomach.
Why was I defending Arvalaeon? The ends didn’t justify the means. Arvalaeon had put me in the Eternity Crucible, and I had suffered inside it for twice as long as a normal human lifespan. He owed me fifty-eight thousand deaths.
I would settle for killing him once.
I made up my mind to kill him, but still, I didn’t pull the trigger.
He had opened the rift way for Russell and Riordan to get me back. There had been no need for him to do it. There was no way Riordan and Russell could have forced him to do it, either. If they had tried to threaten him, Arvalaeon could have used his magic to kill them or ordered the nearby men-at-arms to arrest them.
The Lord Inquisitor couldn’t lie, and he said that he owed me.
I think, in the end, it came down to a single question.
Would I do it over again?
If I had known everything that I knew now on the day I had walked into the Eternity Crucible, would I do it again? Arvalaeon had put me in there against my will, but if he hadn’t, billions of people would have died.
If I could go back in time and have the choice, would I do it again?
I looked at the yellow school buses lining the street.
All those kids…
Yes. Yes, I would do it again.
I had realized that when I had told Russell about the Eternity Crucible, and it was even truer now.
“God damn it all,” I whispered, and I slung the voidslayer gun back over my shoulder. That really hurt. One of the wraithwolves must have clawed my back.
“Thank you, Nadia Moran,” said Arvalaeon, his voice quiet.
“Yeah, well, you’re…you’re…you’re still a stupid asshole with a stupid face that looks stupid,” I said.
A terrible insult, I know, but I was exhausted, and I had lost a lot of blood. Give me a break.
“And you speak the truth,” murmured Arvalaeon. He stood, wincing. “I must return to the High Queen. The explosion will have destroyed the army in Venomhold, but there are still a great many orcs and Archons to hunt down.”
“Go,” said Riordan. “Thank you again.”
Arvalaeon nodded and strode away, limping.
Riordan and Russell watched him go. I saw the Inquisitors’ SUV parked a little distance away, Nora and Adler watching Arvalaeon walk past with wide eyes.
“Hey,” I croaked. “Help me up, will you? My left knee is a mess.”
Riordan helped me to my feet. “You really wanted to kill him.”
“Yeah.” I wobbled a little, kept my balance, and started summoning magical power.
“But you didn’t,” said Riordan.
I shook my head, unable to articulate what had gone through my head. “What’s done is done. And I didn’t want you guys to get in trouble when I murdered the Lord Inquisitor.”
“Nadia,” said Russell. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital as soon as possible.” His voice sounded a little unsteady. “You’re really hurt. I don’t even know how you’re still conscious.”
“Stubbornness,” I said, shaping the magical force into a spell. The power burned through me, and my fingers started to glow with golden light. I looked at Riordan. “You know what I have to do next.” He nodded. “Can you…”
“I’ll look after you,” said Riordan. “I’ve done it before.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, concentrating. “Yeah, you have.”
“Nadia?” said Russell.
“Riordan will explain it to you,” I said. I was so, so tired, but I just had to cast one more spell. “This is going to look a little weird. Don’t touch me for this part.”
I took one deep, ragged breath, and I cast the regeneration spell that Arvalaeon had taught me.
And pain exploded through my body, exploded through it again and again. Golden light filled my vision, and I heard myself screaming. It felt like every inch of my body had been dipped into acid, or that toxic chemicals had been poured into my wounds. On and on the agony went, and I screamed and screamed and screamed through clenched teeth. I wanted to lie down and die, but I had come this far, and I would not give up, I would not give up, I would not give up…
Then, all at once, the golden light vanished, and I staggered back, panting and sobbing.
I glanced at my arms. The cuts and gashes from the wraithwolf had disappeared, as had the burns from the diesel explosion. As I stumbled, I noted that the pain in my left knee had vanished.
“You healed yourself,” said Russell, stunned.
“It’s not fun,” I croaked.
My eyes rolled back, and my legs collapsed beneath me.
The last thing I felt was Riordan catching me.
Chapter 13: Summons
The regeneration spell is better than spending months recovering in a hospital, but it’s still an unpleasant experience.
The hallucinations make it into a kind of hell.
When I cast the regeneration spell, I fell into a coma after, and in that coma, I hallucinated.
This time, I found myself running through Manhattan, the city burning around me. I called Riordan’s and Russell’s name over and over again, but I never found them. I ran into burning buildings, trying to find them, but they always seemed just out of reach.
Or I saw them lying dead on the sidewalks.
Then I was back in the Ducal Mall on the day we fought Victor Lorenz and the Elven necromancer Vastarion. Except this time when I rushed to stop them, I found Vastarion smirking as he held the dead infant child of Robert Ross and his wife Alexandra, and Alexandra screamed as Lorenz dragged her by the hair, laughing and jeering at me while he did it.
After that I was back in the Shadowlands, fleeing with Alexandra Ross to get away from Sergei Rogomil’s attempted assassination of Jarl Rimethur. But this time, I killed Alexandra to keep her quiet, and laughed as her corpse fell to the ground. I escaped the Shadowlands and joined Nicholas, and I stood with him in Venomhold and laughed as New York burned and the fall of the Skythrone shattered the Atlantic coast of the United States. I stared at this other version of myself, this other path my life might have taken if I had killed Alexandra instead of saving her.
The version of myself who stood at Nicholas’s side at his consort grinned at me, and the shadow and purple fire of the Dark Ones filled her eyes.
“It’s not too late, Nadia,” said my other self. “Nicholas was unworthy, but you can still be one of us. You don’t even have to murder someone to invite us in. Just ask, and we’ll be glad to help you. You can kill Arvalaeon for what he did to you. You can make Morvilind crawl and beg. All that can be yours, if…”
I screamed and called fire, burning the other version of myself.
Her face grinned at me from the flames as it withered and melted.
The dreams twisted together, mad vision after mad vision. I raced through the burning ruins of Manhattan, seeking for Russell, but never finding him. Except Manhattan somehow became the Royal Bank in Washington DC, and steel golems stalked from the shadows to kill me. I ran from them, and I fled from the exiled myothar and its undead through the ancient ruins of Chicago. But Nicholas had destroyed this version of Chicago with the Sky Hammer, and the city burst into flames around me.
And then I was back in the Eternity Crucible, fighting as the creatures of the Shadowlands closed around me. But the Sky Hammer was inside the Crucible, and I had to reach it, I had to find it before it was too late…
On and on the nightmarish hallucinations went, and I chased my past and all the horrors I had seen and survived through the reeling maze of my exhausted mind.
Then I ran through a door and came to a shocked halt.
<
br /> I was in the Marneys’ living room back in Milwaukee.
It looked just as it had on the day Riordan and I had taken Russell to Reno to meet with Nicholas’s crew. The same couches, the same stack of paperback books by Russell’s spot on the couch (I guess Riordan had actually written a bunch of them), the same big TV and pictures on the walls. Through the door to the dining room I saw the High Queen’s portrait over the table, but now the picture showed her fighting in Times Square, cutting down Archons with every spell.
A man stood at the foot of the stairs, smiling at me.
“Dad?” I said, disbelieving.
I had forgotten how much Philip Moran looked like Russell. Or maybe I had never realized it before. He looked like Russell if Russell had brown hair instead of white and if his features had not been made gaunt by frostfever. He wore the black uniform of a soldier of the Wizard’s Legion, and he filled it out well.
“Nadia,” said my father.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve done so many terrible things. I’ve failed so many times. I’ve…I’ve…”
I started crying, and I waited for him to rebuke me, to turn his back on me for all the things I had done.
Instead, he gathered me in his arms, and I cried against him for a while.
“Nadia,” he said. “I’m so proud of you. All those people you’ve saved.”
“I’m so tired, Dad,” I said. “I’ve been fighting for so long. I’m so old now. I just want to lie down, and…and just stop. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this.”
“Yes, you can,” said my father. “And you’ll do it magnificently. But you won’t have to do it alone anymore. Some things are about to change for you. You’ll see. You saved the world once, and you’ll do it again. You saved Russell. Look, Nadia. Look.”
I sniffled, wiped at my streaming eyes, and looked up from his chest.
We looked at New York in the setting sun, and somehow, I could see the entire city at once. It’s a loud and busy and frequently unpleasant place, but in the setting sun, it looked beautiful.
“All those people,” said my father. “All those people are still alive because of you.”
I shook my head. “They were in danger because of me.”
My father laughed. “You really think so? You really think the Dark Ones wouldn’t have found another dupe like Nicholas? No. You saved them, Nadia.”
“I wish things could have been different,” I said, wiping at my eyes again. “I wish you and Mom had lived. I wish none of this had ever happened.”
“I know,” said my father, and he kissed the top of my head. “But you’re special, Nadia. I always knew that, and you just went and proved it. Get your sleep now while you can. When you wake up, you’re going to have a very busy day.”
The dream dissolved, and I walked alone for a long time through swirling gray mist.
Bit by bit, I started to become aware of things.
Soft. I was lying on something soft, beneath something warm.
There was something cold against my left wrist, something metallic. Yes, that was it – the little bracelet I had made out of Jeremy Shane’s dog tags, to remind me of what he had said. I heard a clattering noise that I realized was someone typing on a laptop computer, and I smelled something sharp and strong and harsh, something nonetheless pleasant…
Coffee? Did I smell coffee?
That was what got me to open my eyes.
My vision swam into focus. I was in a good-sized bedroom. Through the window, I could see the towers of southern Manhattan. Not far from the window was a table, and Riordan and Russell sat at it. Russell was wearing a polo shirt and jeans and reading a paperback book with a picture of a medieval knight on it and the words MALCOLM LOCK on the cover. Riordan sat at the other side of the table, typing on a laptop and taking occasional sips from the mug of coffee next to the computer.
I stared at them for a while and then worked moisture into my throat.
“Good God,” I croaked. I sounded frightful. “Don’t tell me you’re actually reading a Malcolm Lock book while he’s writing one in front of you. That’s just weird.”
I had the satisfaction of seeing their heads snap around in surprise, and then Russell grinned and bounded out of his chair.
“Nadia!” he said, and he dropped to his knees next to the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Um,” I said. “Thirsty. Tired. Woozy. Really hungry.”
“Here,” said Riordan, reaching for the nightstand. He picked up a bottle of water, opened it, and passed it to me. I drained two-thirds of it in three swallows. The water felt glorious against my raw throat, and Riordan opened up a protein bar and handed it to me.
“You’re probably ravenous,” said Riordan.
“God, yes,” I said. The protein bar didn’t last long, and I ate another one after it. “How long was I out this time?”
“Um,” said Russell. “It’s…July 11th, so…”
“Seven days,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t let the dismay stop me from eating a third protein bar. By then the harsh edge of hunger had started to abate. Eating without nausea for once was nice.
“You were hurt pretty badly,” said Riordan.
I grimaced, started to sit up, and then looked down in alarm, fearing that I was naked. Nope – I was wearing an oversized black T-shirt. Probably one of Riordan’s, but it was large enough on me that I could use it as a nightshirt.
“Yeah, guess so,” I said. I sighed. “Suppose it’s better than spending a few months on crutches while my knee heals.” I rubbed my face and finished off the bottle of water. “Just where are we?”
“A safehouse of the Family on the south side of Manhattan,” said Riordan. “Not all that far from Times Square, actually.”
I snorted. “I suppose we couldn’t go back to the one by Central Park.”
“The Inquisitors did rip the door off,” said Riordan. “Not that they will have any memory of that, thanks to you. But better not to take the risk.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Uh.” I tried to think of relevant questions to ask, but my brain felt hazy. “Did we…”
The bedroom door opened, and Nora stepped inside. She wore dark slacks and a purple jacket. “You were right, boss. They shut down the last of the checkpoints today, and…”
She stopped and grinned at me.
“Well, well,” said Nora. “The tigress awakens.”
“Tigress.” I snorted and looked at Russell. “Has she thought up a clever nickname for you yet?”
“Iceman.” Russell grinned. “I kind of like it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You stopped me from getting nuked,” said Nora. “Me and a few million other people. If that doesn’t make you a tigress, then nothing does.”
“Sure,” I said. “You said something about roadblocks.”
“Since you’ve been sleeping it off for the last week, you probably want some news, yeah?” said Nora. “Well, they locked New York down after we got you here. Homeland Security and the men-at-arms went block to block, clearing out the Rebels. It got easier once the Rebels realized they couldn’t retreat, on account of all their Gatekeepers being dead and Venomhold being radioactive. The High Queen let any orcs who wanted to surrender return to the Shadowlands, but the Elven nobles killed all the Rebels and Archons they could catch. They just opened the roadblocks an hour ago.”
“How many people died?” I said. “In the attack, I mean.”
Nora shrugged. “Don’t know. The last estimate I heard was about seventeen thousand people. It’s probably going to go a lot higher once the final tally is done.” She shook her head. “I doubt they'll ever have an exact count.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. I rubbed my face. “Seventeen thousand people, all because I helped Nicholas find the Sky Hammer.”
“It would have been a lot worse,” said Riordan, “if you hadn’t stopped him. And Morvilind forced you to work with him.”
“I know all that,” I said.
“I’m still not happy about it.”
The anger that had been simmering in my mind got stronger. Morvilind had forced me to work with Nicholas…and look what had happened. Look at all the people who had died. Morvilind himself had nearly been killed. Archmage or not, he would have burned with the rest of New York when the Sky Hammer went off. Had he known, I wondered, what would happen? Or had his clever plans almost blown up in his face?
Either possibility just made me angrier.
“I’m going to have to talk to Morvilind soon,” I said. “He’ll know the deal is done.” My mouth twisted. “I wonder if he got his damned question answered by the Forerunner.”
“He’s gone too far this time,” said Riordan, his voice quiet.
“Boss,” said Nora, a warning note in her voice.
“This isn’t about my brother, Nora,” said Riordan, still calm. “It’s not even about Nadia and Russell. Morvilind made a pact with the Forerunner, and the Family has been hunting the Forerunner since the Conquest. The Elders have issued writs of execution for anyone who deals with the Forerunner. The High Queen herself has given us writs of execution for Elven nobles who made deals with the Forerunner. Why should Morvilind be any different?”
I frowned at him. “Do you think…”
Then pain exploded through me, and I gritted my teeth, blinking.
“Nadia?” said Russell.
“I’m fine,” I said, as the pain drained away. “It’s just the summons spell. Morvilind is summoning me.”
I had always felt fear before when he had summoned me, but now I was just angry.
Seventeen thousand people had died…and we had gotten off easy compared to what might have happened.
“You need a phone, tigress?” said Nora.
“Yeah,” I said. “I have to call Morvilind’s butler.”
Nora disappeared into the living room and returned with a burner phone. I had Rusk’s number memorized, and I punched in the digits and lifted the phone to my ear.
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