Renegade Wizards aot-3

by Lucien Soulban

  Par-Salian summoned another sphere of flame and directed its path to protect those in the greatest danger. He maneuvered to avoid the bodies littering the ground already, but it was growing more difficult.

  The Vagros continued unleashing what paltry magic he possessed and swinging his club when he had a chance. He was crying and struggling to keep the tears from blinding him, but he fought with a frenzied fervor for his friends and family. Par-Salian’s heart broke for him.

  Among a clutch of wagons, Par-Salian spied Snowbeard struggling to protect a young boy of eight. One arm dangled by Snowbeard’s side, bloody and useless, while the other still hefted an axe. He was swinging it freely to keep two blight shades at bay, but his last swing unbalanced him, and Snowbeard tripped over Lorall’s body. The undead creatures mauled him while the boy looked on and screamed.

  One of the monsters noticed the boy then, its head snapping up in attention.

  “Save him!” the Vagros sorcerer shouted. He batted at the head of a blight shade nearing him, but the creature, after stumbling, sprang back to its feet, angrier than ever.

  Par-Salian nodded and ran for the boy, only barely recognizing him as one of his history students. He directed a sphere of flame ahead of himself with a flick of his hand, catching the undead from behind. Its gauzy cloak and hood caught fire, and it threw itself against the earth, thrashing, trying to extinguish the flame. Its high-pitched shrieks filled the air, and its compatriot leaped away from Snowbeard’s decayed corpse to avoid the same fate.

  The boy was still screaming when Par-Salian reached him. The child clung to his leg, sobbing Par-Salian’s name into his thigh. Par-Salian wanted to pick him up and console him, but he needed both hands free. Another two blight shades loped toward them. They were surrounded; only Par-Salian’s blazing sphere kept the monsters at bay.

  A sudden flash of light caught their attention. Even the undead glanced back at the incredible spectacle unfolding at the ritual circle.

  Par-Salian could barely see his friends through the black bodies of the undead, but the air over their heads glowed as dozens of hornetlike lights spit out in all directions. He watched in amazement as missiles angled off. The air seemed filled with a never-ending cascade.

  Ladonna’s Death Blossom, Par-Salian realized. She’d been preparing for the attack for days, slowly storing one single spell again and again in the magical stones hidden in her jewelry. It would be her final desperate act if the monsters were about to overwhelm her, he knew. It meant that conjuring a horse to escape with Tythonnia was impossible now. It meant that reaching her to teleport away was equally unlikely. It was the end. She was in mortal peril, and he could do nothing to save her.

  He could barely save himself and the boy with him.

  Just then, Par-Salian felt the pull of some critical force … toward the gate. The boy cried out in panic, as his feet seemed to lift into the air. The blight shades howled in panic and clawed at the ground to anchor themselves.

  Farther away, creatures, a few corpses, and renegades who had escaped were already aloft and flying through the air, back toward the gate. Just before they reached Par-Salian, however, they stopped in from their flight, fell and landed hard.

  The pull is greater at the periphery, Par-Salian realized. It was a collapsing bubble that was about to sweep over them and push them back toward the iris and into it.

  Par-Salian abandoned the flame sphere and lifted the boy in his arms.

  “Run!” he screamed. He wasn’t sure anyone was left to hear him, but he ran, the undead be damned, for the gate.

  And at his back, he felt the growing pressure of the collapsing bubble.

  Once caught, nothing could escape it.

  The deadly darts blasted the undead, peppering them with shots and leaving behind ruined bodies. Tythonnia knew the missiles wouldn’t touch her, yet found it impossible to budge. It was time for her to act, to do something.

  Berthal was on the ground, struggling to rise and bleeding heavily. Hundor lay deathly still, though Mariyah gripped him like a drowning woman looking for purchase on the ocean. Everything seemed surreal, the moment too insane to grasp completely. As Tythonnia watched in shock, she saw the limp bodies of the destroyed creatures begin to roll away, toward the patch of ground beneath the iris. More monsters landed on the ground, intent on coming through. But some of the others were being tugged upward.

  Then Dumas rose slowly to her feet. She didn’t seem to notice the angry gnats of light buzzing around her. A furious mixture of hate and pain swelled her face. Berthal was forgotten in her eyes, but Ladonna was there to slake her blade’s thirst.

  In that moment, Tythonnia never hated another human being as much as she did the huntress. Dumas was not yet broken. Tythonnia wanted to shatter her. She wanted to hear the woman scream in agony, to match the unholy wails in her own thoughts.

  Tythonnia envisioned her tattoo, her gift from Amma Batros, and imagined the full circle of black ink drain away. She felt the power of the tattoo slip through her skin and into her veins and arteries. The power infused her, made her skin ache. She shivered.

  Dumas advanced on Ladonna, stumble-stepping with her blade in her hand. Ladonna did not see her. Tythonnia did, and moved to counter her once and for all.

  Tythonnia was spent of her learned spells, but the Wyldling was still hers to command. She fell into familiar motions. Her fingers flew together. They flew apart. Her mind became a mirror. And in that mirror where Sutler had once stood was Dumas. She was blurry and distant somehow, but the tome on her chest was visible and distinct in each detail. Also in the reflection, standing behind Dumas, was the very thing to end her.

  “Khalayan ut matithat,” Tythonnia said through clenched teeth. The magic sent static coursing through her hair.

  Dumas hesitated as a shadowy, nebulous vision appeared to block her path. It was indistinct and hard to decipher. She shook her head and swung weakly at it. The illusion shimmered and wavered-it was as though she had hit a wall. The metal tome was resisting the spell, but the magic in her would not be denied. She pushed harder and drained the ink of the tattoo completely, forever perhaps. The Wyldling flooded into her blood and back out again through her mind. Around her, flames of witch fire flickered and sparkled.

  The huntress let out a small yelp at the same time Ladonna’s flight of darts finally ended. Bodies were slowly floating upward, through the portal. The pull had strengthened.

  Dumas shook her head against the illusion, fighting it with every last ounce of willpower. Tythonnia forced every ounce of hers into the spell, but in the mirror where Dumas stood, there was the tome, protecting her. It prevented her from coming into view clearly.

  Then the image wavered.

  “No!” Dumas grunted. She shook her head. Whatever she saw was beginning to shake her confidence. Her hand grabbed at the cover, her fingers scrambling at its edges. “No!” she said.

  In the mirror, Dumas was struggling to pull the metal tome off.

  She’s fighting with the book! Tythonnia realized.

  “I killed Thoma!” Dumas cried. “I did it! Bastard! He made me do it! It was Be-” she stammered, trying to force the word out, but something was stopping her. “B-Be-!”

  The shadow shape meant to kill Dumas struggled to take form. Dumas’s fingers grappled with the tome’s lock. Her body was caught in seemingly crippling paroxysms as she fought the illusion and fought herself.

  A single moment of control was all she needed. Tythonnia pushed harder a final time. Dumas grabbed the latch of the metal book.

  “Ufta!” she cried.

  The hard, bronze cover swung open, the gold-leaf pages within flapping wildly. In Tythonnia’s mind, the tome vanished from the reflection and Dumas appeared in focus.

  The illusion had her; the Wyldling currents pushed into the huntress, scouring out her skull. She began screaming as pure horror gripped her tightly. Tythonnia couldn’t stop it if she wanted to.

  Ladonna was spent, as were
her precious stones. They’d fallen back into their settings among her jewelry, though the color had left them. Around her, the blight shades regrouped, but the gate was dragging everything back toward it. The creatures were content to wait; everything would get pulled through, and anyone still alive would be at their terrible mercies.

  In the distance, Ladonna could see the undead, the renegades, and Dumas’s soldiers all falling and tumbling back toward them. Would they be crushed and battered before going through? It didn’t matter. They couldn’t run from it. Even as she watched, her clothing rippled upward as though caught in an updraft, and the pull drove her to her knees.

  The undead began clacking eagerly, like a flock of birds. Some willingly jumped up and back inside the iris; others struggled against the force. Some just watched them, waiting for the terrible moment when it all would be done. There wasn’t much time left. Dumas was dead, her expression forever locked in a state of horror, the empty pages of her book flapping in the air. She began to roll away, toward the gate.

  Tythonnia was by Berthal’s side, cradling his head and struggling to keep them both rooted. Mariyah was near them, looking frightened and alone.

  “Tell her to leave … before it’s too late,” he gasped. “Ladonna!”

  Ladonna didn’t expect to hear her name. She scrambled to Berthal’s side and nearly overshot him when the iris pulled her along an additional foot. Tythonnia was struggling to keep them both in place, and Mariyah joined them to add her strength.

  “It’s too late,” Ladonna shouted over the rush of air and the clacks of the undead. “We’re trapped.”

  “No!” he said, staring at Tythonnia. Ladonna tried not to wince at the look of utter grief and confusion that filled her friend. He touched Tythonnia’s face. The pull of the other world grew stronger still. They were being dragged through the dirt slowly.

  Mariyah and Tythonnia gripped Berthal harder, as though trying to anchor him through willpower alone.

  “I can’t do this with them on me!” Berthal cried. He appeared ashen and so close to death that Ladonna half wondered if he wasn’t dead already. But she understood. She grabbed Tythonnia by the shoulders and tried to pull her away.

  “No!” Tythonnia screamed.

  “Mariyah, help me!” Ladonna cried. “Berthal’s trying to save us!”

  Mariyah, though frightened, nodded and struggled to peel Tythonnia away. They were being dragged toward the iris. Finally, Ladonna and Mariyah managed to wrench Tythonnia away from Berthal. They fell together and Berthal was immediately dragged toward the gate; he left a blood smear in his wake, as he fumbled for his staff.

  “Go!” he shouted. He slammed the staff into the ground. A circle, no more than five feet across, glowed brightly where his staff touched the earth then dimmed. It didn’t vanish, however.

  The gate sucked Berthal farther away from them. He was almost beneath it; his body rose by inches then feet.

  “No!” Tythonnia cried. She struggled against her friends, desperate to break free and save him.

  Ladonna and Mariyah held her tightly, tighter still when he was suddenly sucked through. Berthal was gone and the growing roar of the gate devoured Tythonnia’s scream. Ladonna pulled them toward the circle of light left by Berthal, the iris’s gravity helping them along. Plumes of dirt and grass spiraled around the gate’s lip like water being drained through a hole. The undead fought the pull as well, though many slipped and fell up through it.

  The circle was almost beneath their feet. Ladonna quickly looked around to see if there was anyone left to save, but she couldn’t see another soul through the biting dirt storm. She prayed Par-Salian had been selfish enough to save himself.

  Tythonnia struggled to get away, to run for the portal and pursue Berthal into the beyond, but Ladonna and Mariyah tackled her again when she broke from their grips. They overshot the circle by inches and a few inches more as the gate dragged them toward its greedy mouth. Mariyah screamed. One of the undead gripped her foot, but she kicked the monster hard enough that it stumbled back and up, through the aperture.

  Mariyah grabbed Ladonna’s legs as the gate dragged her up; even then, Ladonna could feel her grip around Tythonnia’s waist and Mariyah’s grip on her leg slipping. At the last second, Tythonnia realized what was happening and reached down to grab Mariyah’s wrist before she, too, fell away. With the last of her strength, Ladonna stretched for the circle even as the gate tried to suck her from it.

  Her ribs protested the torture, but her finger grazed the lip of Berthal’s circle. The teleportation ring exploded in a burst of light, and all three women vanished.

  Par-Salian wedged the boy into a rock outcropping, trying to shield his body. The pull of the gate was tremendous, with bodies slamming into the rocks and ground with enough force to crack bone. In a moment, he’d be sucked away and the boy would be crushed against the rocks by the growing force trying to drag them into hell.

  The winds whipped and howled around them, and Par-Salian struggled to look over the rocks at the ritual circle. Was anyone still alive?

  He spotted Ladonna, struggling on the ground with Tythonnia and Mariyah. They were seconds away from being sucked through the iris. Mariyah kicked away a blight shade. Ladonna lunged for something on the ground, and a burst of light nearly blinded him. When he could see again, they were gone.

  Panic filled his stomach and lungs. Where’d she go? Was she safe?

  Anywhere is better than here, he thought.

  The boy cried out in pain. The weight exerted against them had flattened the boy out on the stone. He was pressed against it.

  “Can’t-breathe,” he gasped.

  Par-Salian felt the pressure too. If he didn’t act, they’d both be dead. But he couldn’t leave while Ladonna was still here.

  Wherever you are, be safe, he prayed. The pull increased and he nearly tumbled out over the rocks. The boy could no longer cry; the air was being crushed from him.

  “Beysar,” Par-Salian gasped as he touched the boy’s shoulder.

  They both vanished.

  CHAPTER 17

  Aftermath

  The circle beneath their feet glowed a moment before sputtering out like a spent candle; a faint discoloration remained in the red carpet. They lay inside a parlor with richly paneled oak walls, luxuriant tapestries, and a fireplace. Tythonnia pulled free of Mariyah and Ladonna as she stood, her hand scrambling through the empty air, trying to save a man who was no longer there.

  “No!” she screamed and spun around, trying to gain her bearings. “Where are we? Where are we?”

  Through the transom window, Ladonna could see the hub of Palanthas and the Bay of Branchala. They were somewhere in Purple Ridge, overlooking the city. Likely, it was the safest place Berthal could envision before casting his spell.

  “Palanthas,” Ladonna answered softly.

  “We have to go back!”

  Mariyah wept softly. She understood the situation; she knew there was nothing they could do. She crumpled into one of the chairs.

  “We can’t,” Ladonna said. “It’s already too late. The portal-”

  “No,” Tythonnia said, pacing around the room, ready to hurl herself at the walls at any moment. “No no no, you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not,” Ladonna said gently. “It was a trap.”

  “By who?” Tythonnia demanded. “What was that book?”

  “It was put there by the Black Robes,” she said. “I didn’t know about it, but Arianna boasted about using it against Berthal. I tried to stop you, but-”

  “A trap,” Tythonnia said. “They couldn’t have known! How did they know?”

  “They knew what to do the moment the key was stolen … the one Mariyah took.”

  Mariyah looked up, her face absolutely horror-stricken.

  “Did you really think we’d leave a book of spells by Gadrella of Tarsis, of all people, where it was? Especially when we had the key this entire time. The real book hasn’t been there in decades.” />
  Tythonnia stopped pacing as the revelation settled in. She stumbled and fell into a velvet-covered settee.

  “Once Mariyah stole the key, the Black Robes placed the book of Orphaned Echoes there. It opened into a demiplane but not the one you wanted. They saw it as a way to end the renegade threat once and for all. That’s why the crypt lay unprotected. They were waiting for another spy to steal it for Berthal.”

  “No,” Tythonnia whispered. “The Black Robes wouldn’t move against the highmage like this. The other orders-”

  “The Red Robes were complicit in this, Tythonnia. We found a strong ally in Belize.”

  “But-”

  “I’m sorry,” Ladonna said. “The Black and Red Robes realized they couldn’t afford to capture Berthal. They couldn’t make a martyr of him. Neither could they murder him outright without accomplishing the same thing. He had to die of his own arrogance, his own undoing.”

  With that, Ladonna walked toward the doorway, but she hesitated at the archway leading onto the entrance porch. “I’ll tell the orders you both died fighting alongside Berthal. I saved you, and you too Mariyah; that’s as far as I go, Tythonnia. If you want to live out your remaining years in peace, I suggest you hide and never practice magic again. Tythonnia and Mariyah are dead. Find new lives.”

  “And if we don’t?” Tythonnia asked, almost whispering through the pangs of sorrow.

  “Then I’ll find you and kill you both myself. Don’t make me regret this.”

  “I’ll never forgive you,” Tythonnia said bitterly.

  “Perhaps,” Ladonna responded. “But I couldn’t let a friend die … no matter how much she wanted to.”

  Ladonna chanced a last glance back at the two women holding each other fiercely. She walked through the door and out into the sunlight of Palanthas. She had to find a way back home, if she still had a home.