Grimes seized the haft in both hands and yanked with all his might. The knight staggered and lost hold of the weapon. Grimes quickly reversed the halberd and sent its haft against the man’s head with a loud crack. The knight’s helmet saved him from a broken skull, but the blow sent him reeling into his comrade, giving Kincaid a chance to dart forward with to strike that man in the face with his club. The bouncer then kicked his adversary in the groin, a move that would have worked if not for the armor.
The knight backhanded Kincaid, but before he could follow this up, Abigail threw a bottle at him. Whatever it contained sizzled and smoked and caused him to drop his halberd. The Stormguard screamed in pain, tearing at his helmet. Grimes winced, but considered it was still probably better than shooting the man. Maybe.
Midwinter was in motion. Instead of trying to cross the crowded center of the room, he circled around the outer perimeter toward Morley. He raised his staff, and another swirling ring of runes appeared, followed by a streaking bolt of lightning. Morley hunkered down behind the nearest table; the bolt exploded through an elaborate arrangement of alembics and beakers. Morley then rose again, extending his own hand to invoke a ball of greenish orange fire. It streaked by Midwinter to light another counter on fire. Whatever alchemical liquids had been stored in that area blazed in a mad variety of bright colors.
The arcane administrator raised a hand as he staggered back. “The magic of your allies may be immune to my power, but your feeble efforts are another matter!”
Rings of runes encircled Midwinter’s waist and expanded with a ripple of light. The nearest flames died down, but Morley seemed intent on using his magic, despite Midwinter’s threat. He pointed at the approaching arcanist, his face knotted with concentration, but the runes that briefly manifested around his hands immediately unraveled and faded.
Unfortunately, the former inquisitor was so focused on Morley, he didn’t see the infernalist’s other mind-controlled lackey closing in on him from around one of the higher sets of shelves between them.
Grimes drove his shoulder into the off-balance Stormguard before him, knocking him to the ground. He tore the man’s helmet off before the soldier could recover his wind, then he delivered a brutal punch to the Stormguard’s face. The man head jerked to the side as his body slumped, the fight knocked out of him as he fell unconscious. Grimes hoped he hadn’t killed the man. Kincaid and Abigail had taken care of the other knight to his left.
The jammer had a moment to consider they weren’t doing half-bad, which was when he saw Midwinter’s peril out of the corner of his eye. Morley’s last lackey shoved the rack of shelves between him and Midwinter, sending it toppling over onto the arcane administrator. Heavy boxes, books, and other devices it had contained came crashing down, pinning Midwinter under the debris.
Before Grimes could do anything to help, the nearest shadows came alive. All of the flames near them dimmed and flickered. Pieces of animated darkness swirled and coalesced into two fiendish humanoid forms just a few feet from Grimes and Kincaid Morley’s “allies” were now in their midst.
The air went cold as a winter night, and Grimes’ breath plumed as he tried to brace himself. He stood from where he had toppled the fallen knight, but it felt like his legs had turned to jelly. He had intended to punch one of the shadowy things, to treat it the same as he had the soul stalker in the dining hall, but instead he stood stock-still, trembling, swallowing against a fear that threatened to consume him. A part of his mind was screaming a reminder of what had happened to Lestingway, but his legs would not move. He felt disconnected from his own body.
The shadow infernals extended their hands, and tendrils of darkness flowed out to each of those who had rushed into the room. Abigail had been turning toward one, raising her pistol, but now she froze, her eyes wide. Mel reached for the long metal rods atop which she had attached one of her larger shuttered lanterns, but she stopped moving as well. They were all seized in the grip of the infernals. Kincaid had an expression of terror fixed on his features, his body twisted in an uncomfortable pose as he had been stopped in mid-turn.
In his terror, Grimes had a moment to realize two things.
First, he was certain he was not actually in the grip of any supernatural control. What the others were experiencing was not the same as his dilemma. His mind remained his own. The suit had protected him, despite the air leaking from the rent in his shoulder. What paralyzed him was his own dread and the triggered memories of past horrors.
Second, he saw Elliot was still moving. He was the farthest away from the shadows and for whatever reason was not frozen like the others. He had taken his hood off and looked at Grimes, who directed a sharp glance away, to the hall behind him. He mentally urged the boy to run, to save himself. He’d have said it aloud if he wasn’t too filled with panic to form words. Elliot gave a small shake of his head. The caller’s own eyes shot to Midwinter, who was about to be skewered by the henchman closing on him with a drawn blade.
The shadowy infernals drifted closer to Kincaid and Grimes, their gleaming eyes peering at them as if they approached a matter of considerable fascination.
“Hey!” Elliot shouted. “I’m the one you want, not them! You’ve been in my head before. You know you liked it! How many people can you control at once? I bet you can’t take me, too.”
His words seemed to have the intended effect of distracting their attention. The young man was doing his job, as caller, as the lure.
The infernals hissed and drifted toward him, their shadowy hands reaching for him. Elliot choked and gasped, his posture going stiff. He had Midwinter’s coin in one hand, which he raised and clenched. Grimes could see it was glowing, perhaps helping interfere with the infernals’ power. Elliot made a growling noise in his throat and then took a step backward. He put his hood back on, but he gave Grimes a determined look as he did so. He was telling the jammer in that look that his will was strong—that they wouldn’t get into his head as easily this time.
Grimes knew what he had to do. He only had a few moments to act.
Breaking through the fear that gripped him, he rushed the man with glowing eyes who was about to murder Midwinter, who was still struggling to extract himself from the toppled shelves. The henchman gave a huff of expelled air as Grimes hit him in a tackle and smashed him against the counter behind him. His sword clattering away from his numbed grip. With a single backhanded strike, Grimes sent the man flying over the counter and onto the floor on the other side. He didn’t bother following, but turned instead and yanked with all his strength on the metal shelving that was pinning Midwinter, pulling it aside. He reached down to drag the arcanist to his feet.
Morley was watching them with disbelieving eyes. “No. I am to be the victor here. I am your servant! Protect me!”
He seemed to be shouting at the infernals clustered close to Elliot, who had fallen to his knees, his hands on his head. He was making a keening noise as he fought to keep them out of his mind. Each of the infernals had a hand extended toward him, and they paid Morley no attention.
“Obey me!” Morley screamed. He raised his book even as Midwinter stepped toward him. He opened it and began speaking in an oddly atonal and sibilant tongue, his eyes wild. Dark red runes surrounded him.
Midwinter looked dazed. His forehead bled. He was unsteady on his feet, and Grimes had a sudden certainty he would not act quickly enough to stop whatever horrible spell Morley was setting in motion. All around them shadows danced, alive and fluid. Several flames tripped unnaturally across various surfaces, disconnected from any fuel.
Elliot’s distraction in pulling the two umbrals to him had served one more purpose—the others could move again. Abigail’s gun fired, and one of the shadowy infernals gave a shriek, jerking back as the round struck its shoulder. It seemed unlikely the shot had hurt it much, but the injury seemed to break the creature’s mental concentration.
Kincaid had broken free of his paralysis and rushed to where Grimes and Midwinter were st
anding. His arm went back, and he flung the bronze links of chain given him earlier by Dungot. He threw it straight at Morley, even as the man’s chanting reached a feverish pitch. What inspired Kincaid to do this, Grimes didn’t know, but likely it was simply desperation. The bronze links flared with white light and crashed through the swirling red runes, melting as they impacted the book. All of the mystical energy Morley had gathered broke and shattered, like a reflection in a pond broken by a hurled rock.
That was when a light like the sun was unleashed behind them, casting the room into bright and stark relief. Grimes winced in pain, and his hands went to his goggles, clicking them to the darkest tinted lenses. Still squinting, he looked back to where Mel was standing with her head averted and her eyes closed, holding aloft the brightest lantern he had ever seen outside of a lighthouse. He had no idea what she had used to make that radiance, though he suspected it had to be related to whatever the military used in its brightest flares. For a moment, all shadows were banished.
Now it was the umbrals shrieking in pain, a sound that faded as whatever made up their forms was torn away by the intensity of the light. After several long seconds, there was a popping sound from Mel’s apparatus—its lenses shattered, extinguishing the light as smoke rose from whatever had been consumed within.
Grimes turned back in time to see Midwinter collect his wits enough to point his staff at Morley. The infernalist snarled in hatred, both his hands filled with greenish flames. Midwinter was faster—or perhaps it was just that lightning was faster than fire. There came a crackling like thunder as white arcs leapt from Midwinter’s staff straight into Morley’s chest, sending him flying back to impact the wall behind him. When the infernalist fell, he did not rise again.
Violet light washed over the tableau. Grimes did not need to look to deduce that Abigail had activated her lumitype, hoping to document some aspect of this scene for her report. Amid the Strangelight, a familiar greenish smoke rose to become an orb of light above him: the infernalist’s soul, streaked with thick black lines like oil. The mark, Grimes thought, remembering that infernals could stain a soul promised to them, barring it from passage to Urcaen.
A dark sphere appeared above the corpse to disgorge another serpentine terror like the one they had faced in the dining hall. They all stepped back, and those with weapons in hand readied for another brutal fight. Grimes held a hand out to forestall them. The soul stalker was focused solely on Morley’s oily soul. It extended its tail to constrict the infernalist’s soul in its coils. Then its wriggling black tentacles wrapped around the orb and pulled it into its fanged maw.
Grimes saw the soul cage just a few feet from the infernal. Gathering his courage, he stepped near enough to kick it away, back toward the center of the room. The creature ignored him, focused on its unholy repast.
Midwinter raised his staff as it became encircled in blazing runes. He said in a commanding voice, “Begone! You have what you came for, fiend!”
It was impossible to tell if the entity reacted to his words, to the magic, or if it simply chose to depart, but it reentered the sphere of darkness, which shrank and vanished with a sound of inrushing air.
Elliot was unaffected by the blinding light, thanks to the dark tint of his hood’s lenses. He walked past Grimes, nodding at him, and reached down to pick up the soul cage.
“We’ll see that all of you get back to Urcaen,” he whispered to it, his throat hoarse. “I promise.”
• • •
THEY MANAGED TO PREVENT THE LABORATORY from burning down, though it seemed as though a great deal of Midwinter’s equipment had been destroyed. The arcane administrator did not voice any conviction that he held them responsible, suggesting things could have gone much worse. They regrouped in a reading room nearby where he thanked them for their work. Dungot was sent for and joined them, explaining Takal was doing well and was with the king’s surgeons, who insisted she get some rest.
Grimes had realized after the fight he was also bleeding, a minor wound on his shoulder where the halberd had bitten home. He tolerated being bandaged by Mel, who insisted on taking care of it herself, despite Midwinter’s offer to send him to the castle healers. Grimes was oddly touched, though he wondered if he might not have been better off with the professionals; Mel didn’t bother to wash her hands.
They were startled by the arrival of an unexpected visitor. A pair of the palace guards entered and checked the room, asking those present to turn over their weapons. For a moment, Grimes thought they might be under arrest. From the look on Kincaid’s face, the bouncer clearly thought the same. Once the guards ensured those gathered were not armed, however, a thin and attractive woman dressed in a flowing robe of purple fringed with gold entered. Her hair was elaborately coiffed, and a narrow silver coronet rested on her brow.
Orin Midwinter bowed deeply, and they followed his example. He introduced her, though they knew at once who she must be. “Princess Kaetlyn di la Martyn, allow me to present the individuals most responsible for clearing up the problem we’ve been experiencing in the castle. These men and women risked their lives—and one of them paid the ultimate price—to restore sanity here.”
Midwinter proceeded to give each of their names, an act that surprised Grimes. He ended with the late and absent Lestingway, prompting each of them to lower their heads respectfully for a moment in remembrance to his sacrifice.
Abigail was blushing furiously as the princess turned to address her as the leader of the group. It was clearly difficult for her to look Kaetlyn in the eye.
“I wished to personally thank you for what you have done.” When the Llaelese princess spoke, her words bore a distinct accent, though she was clearly fluent in Cygnaran. “I was greatly troubled by these strange events. It was almost enough to make me leave the capital. I owe you, and Arcane Advisor Midwinter, a great debt. Julius was unavailable to thank you personally, but know that the king also appreciates the risks you took to handle this matter.”
She laughed slightly at some private thought and added, “In truth, he was not initially in favor of your involvement. Midwinter had to convince him. Now he knows it was the right thing to do. I hope and trust you will refrain from relating what transpired here.”
Abigail swallowed. “We will tell only our superiors at Blackwell Hall. They are very good at keeping secrets.” She offered a deep curtsey.
“Farewell, and safe travels,” Kaetlyn said. With that, she inclined her head and left the room, the long train of her gown flowing after.
After the door closed again, Midwinter sighed. “It has been a very long day, and I know you did not get much rest while coming here. Please remain as my guests in the castle for as long as you require to recuperate. I suggest taking a bit of time to visit Caspia, if you haven’t before. It would be good for you to see the better side of this city. I will ensure Martin Lestingway receives a formal funeral as soon as it can be arranged, and I will coordinate with your counterparts at his branch office. Priests have also been contacted, on Elliot’s suggestion, to ensure the souls once held by Morley can be freed and receive last rites.”
Elliot nodded gratefully at this last.
It was clear their meeting was concluded, but as the others moved to leave, Abigail did not. Grimes stopped and looked at her expectantly, but she was still facing Midwinter. “Arcane Administrator,” she said slowly, “I have a question for you.”
“Of course,” he said. “I will answer anything I can.”
She drew herself up. “Something doesn’t add up. I do not think you were entirely forthcoming with us. I think we have earned a proper explanation.”
“Oh?” His smile faltered. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Ephraim Morley. He was never targeting the royals, was he? You knew him, and his words suggested that he came here for you, not them. That was what this was all about, wasn’t it? Was he an inquisitor as well?”
Midwinter blinked and looked startled. Even Mel looked uncomfortable at this sudden in
terrogation of their client, now that the job was done. Grimes stepped closer to Abigail, folding his arms to stare at Midwinter, letting her know she had his support. Kincaid stepped closer as well.
For a long moment there was silence, but then Midwinter sighed. “No,” he said, “not exactly. But you are right. I am sorry for any deception by omission. I did know Morley many years ago when my life was quite different.”
He swallowed and seemed to gather his thoughts. His expression was pained. He said at last, “I first ran into Morley as part of an investigation into suspected infernalists, back when I was a senior inquisitor. I questioned him at length, and he was… treated harshly. I will spare you the details. I broke him, or so I thought, and discovered to my horror that he was innocent. I knew my superiors would want him executed regardless, but I couldn’t do it. I took pity upon him. I let him go, a rare reprieve. It was not until years later, after the Inquisition was gone and I had become a hunted man that I learned Morley had deceived me. He was in fact every bit the infernalist we had suspected him to be, guilty of countless unspeakable evils. I realized that all the deaths he caused since I let him go, every soul he had sold to his masters, were my responsibility. That I had been so gullible as to believe him innocent resulted in tremendous pain and suffering. When King Julius gave me my new position, and with it some degree of power and influence, I decided to rectify this wrong. I should have handled the matter personally, but I sent agents in my stead. I thought they had succeeded, but I was wrong. These were the events that provoked Morley to come for me, seeking vengeance and a reckoning.”
Grimes gritted his teeth, biting down on his rising indignation. He said, “You could have told us these things at the outset. Helped our investigation. We might have done better, had you not held out.”
“Perhaps, though in my defense I did not know for certain Morley was behind all this until you had your encounter on the battlements.” He stared back at Grimes for a moment but then he looked to the side, his stern expression becoming one of regret. “But you are right, and I apologize. I had hoped to settle this matter without my past coming to light. I worried that King Julius, if he knew my connection to this man, would lose faith in me. I should have told you more from the very beginning.”
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