Breathing hard, his face twisted into an angry grimace, Carr bellowed a war cry, coming after the enemy soldier in a rage of two-handed swings. The first swing cut the soldier’s sword arm to the bone, while the second cleaved through his shoulder. Another swing caught him across the ribs, deep enough that Niklas could hear the steel skitter against bone. The soldier dropped his sword and fell to his knees. Carr struck again, taking the entire sword arm this time, and rammed his blade through the fallen man’s throat.
“Carr! That’s enough. Carr!” Niklas shouted as he closed the distance between them. Carr kept on slashing, landing blow after blow although the soldier lay dead and nearly dismembered. Carr stood over the body, bloodied to the elbows and spattered head to toe in gore, heaving for breath as the killing rage drained from him.
“Stand down, soldier. That’s an order,” Niklas snapped, pushing back his horror and focusing on the wild-eyed young man he had known all his life who now seemed a complete stranger.
Exhausted, his rage spent, Carr’s swords dangled from his hands as he stared at the blood-soaked remains.
The battle was limping to an end. The area around Mirdalur’s walls was littered with the bodies of enemy soldiers. Geir emerged from the tree line dragging two corpses by the arms. Ayers directed two of their men to work their way across the downed fighters, administering a deathblow. The night air stank of blood and sweat.
“Drop your swords, Carr,” Niklas said. Carr remained motionless, eyes wide, puffing gusts of steam as he tried to catch his breath. After a delay, the crimson-stained blades dropped from Carr’s hands, but Carr did not move.
“Do you know where you are?” Niklas asked, more concerned than ever.
“Mirdalur,” Carr replied, his voice slightly slurred.
“You don’t have to fight anymore tonight,” Niklas said, doing his best to reassure him. “The attackers are dead. You won. We won. It’s over now.”
“I got him,” Carr said, staring at the butchered remains at his feet. “I got him.”
Ordel came up behind Niklas. “Let me handle this,” he murmured. Ordel whispered a word Niklas did not catch and made a subtle gesture, and Carr dropped to the ground, unconscious. Only then did Ordel stop to look at the carnage around them.
“Sweet Esthrane, did Carr—”
Niklas nodded. “Yes. I saw him do it, but there was no stopping him. If that wasn’t a blood frenzy, I don’t ever want to see one.”
Ordel knelt beside Carr, feeling for a pulse. “He’s alive. I see he got himself cut up again,” he added with a sigh. “And we’d only just patched him back together.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to mend him again,” Niklas replied. “I don’t know whether he just worked out his frustrations with a little more vigor than most, or whether I need to worry more about him than I already do,” he said. “He wouldn’t stop hacking,” he added quietly. “He wasn’t finished.”
Behind them, Ayers had the matter well in hand, shouting orders and sending the soldiers to clean up the area. Geir returned with two other talishte to help, meaning the bodies would be disposed of promptly. Ordel sat back on his heels and looked at Carr’s still form.
“I can heal the gashes,” Ordel replied. “But what’s driving him, making him reckless—I don’t even know where to begin.”
“He’s not the first soldier to take things to extremes,” Niklas replied.
“Have you seen anyone take things quite as far? Ever?” Ordel challenged.
Niklas looked away. “Once or twice. We all thought they were madmen; maybe they were. If they wanted to die, they got their wish.”
“I’m sorry, Niklas. I know you grew up with both Carr and Blaine, and I know you feel responsible for him, but it’s out of your hands,” Ordel said. “I can fix him up, and he’ll hare off again. Unless you’re ready to clap him in irons, that’s what will happen as soon as he’s well enough to walk. He’ll go out on another mission, with or without permission, and one of these times, he won’t come back.”
Niklas let out a long, ragged breath. “I know that,” he replied quietly. “But in a few days, I’m supposed to go up to Glenreith for Blaine and Kestel’s wedding. I don’t want to have to spoil the day by giving Blaine bad news.”
Ordel grimaced. “Look at the bright side. Maybe Carr won’t want to go with you. I suspect he won’t be the most welcome guest, after the last time.”
Niklas turned so that the wind swept past him, carrying the stench of death with it. “Blaine won’t give up on him,” he said. “Oh, the two of them will fight like wildcats, and Blaine’s plenty sore at the way Carr’s acted the fool, but he won’t cut him off.”
“Maybe he should.”
Niklas nodded. “Maybe. But he won’t.” He wished the bitter cold wind could cleanse him, and knew that was too much to ask even of the gods. “Come on,” he said finally. “Let’s get him back to camp.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
NEAR AS I CAN TELL, THE MAGIC IS BURNING YOU out, using up your reserves. Your body can’t survive this for too long. It’s not possible to get enough rest or food to make up for what it’s taking,” Zaryae said, standing back to have a look at Blaine. “So figure every day is a step closer to your grave until we can change the way the magic is anchored. Your bond with Penhallow will help, but the energy he can feed you through the kruvgaldur isn’t enough to counter the drain.”
“You’re certain the magic is causing it?” Kestel asked sharply.
Zaryae grimaced. “From the signs I find, yes.” She met Blaine’s gaze. “So it’s not something you can put off solving. You’ll do no one a favor dying before your time.”
“Can it be stopped?” Blaine asked. “Or slowed?” He wondered if he looked as tired and worn as he felt. It had been so much easier to blame the discomfort, fatigue, and headaches on the constant skirmishing and the storms than to think about them being a price to be paid for anchoring the magic. A steep price.
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Rikard replied. Since Dagur had left Glenreith to work with Niklas and the Knights, Rikard was now the senior mage in charge. Thin, fussy, and short-tempered, he had been a mage in a noble house before the Great Fire. Rumor had it he survived by hiding in a barn, something Rikard hotly denied.
They were gathered at Glenreith, Blaine’s lands, in the rooms he had outfitted for the mages’ workshop. Glenreith had two manor houses: the original home, now largely in ruins from time and the effects of the Great Fire, and the new house, still several centuries old and damaged from the Cataclysm’s toll. Little of the old, original home was still standing, but part of the first-floor wing remained, used for storage until Blaine reclaimed it for the mages.
The walls of the main room were stained from age and the elements. Glass had been replaced in the windows, and the floors had been scrubbed, but the rooms still smelled of disuse. The fireplace barely seemed to take the chill off the room. Several scarred worktables and a collection of mismatched stools and chairs gathered from around the manor furnished the rooms, together with a variety of lamps and lanterns. The mages’ sleeping quarters were in the new manor, though Blaine saw they had set up cots in the second room for long workdays.
“You think a null-magic charm will help?” Blaine asked warily. “What if it knocks the magic loose again? Having it anchored is bad, but having it out of control is worse. We don’t need that again.”
“It will be out of control if we don’t get the anchoring right and the strain of it kills you,” Kestel reproved. “Or if someone decides to kill you to get rid of magic once and for all.”
“How can magic ‘null’ magic?” Blaine asked.
“The same way a forest fire may be contained by starting another, controlled fire along its edge,” Rikard replied. “The original fire can’t ‘jump’ the second fire and the fire brigade has to be careful to make certain the new fire can’t spread. Eventually, both fires run out of fuel and die out.”
“A null charm counters magic with other magic,” Treven Lowrey said, and his tone warned them he was about to launch into professorial discourse. He had not yet forgiven Rikard for being named senior mage, an honor Lowrey coveted. “But since the ‘tamed’ magic you’ve anchored is the source of the problem, perhaps a bit of ‘wild’ magic—properly contained—might be enough to blunt the effect of the anchoring.”
Zaryae sighed at the two master mages’ posturing and looked away. The other three mages, Artan, Nemus, and Leiv, busied themselves with their projects to avoid being dragged into the fight. By now, Blaine assumed, they should be used to it. Rikard and Lowrey seemed incapable of breathing the same air for more than ten minutes without sniping at each other.
“If the null charm works, it could blunt the effects of the magic until you can find a way to change how the power is anchored,” Kestel said.
“How reliable are the manuscripts you used to create the null?” Zaryae asked suspiciously.
“It would take very careful adjustment—if it could be done at all,” Artan mused. He was short and squat as a cistern, with a broad face and small, piggy eyes.
“A stasis charm, perhaps?” Nemus asked, joining the group. Long-limbed and jug-eared, Nemus loped across the room. “Maybe something that would shield Lord McFadden from magic used around him, while not disturbing the anchor itself.”
Lowrey peered at Blaine over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Can you tell whether the workings we’re doing here in the manor are affecting him?” he asked, glancing at Zaryae.
“Of course it’s affecting him,” Zaryae replied, tossing her dark braid over one shoulder as she spoke. “Just keeping the magic harnessed is part of the drain. Any magic that’s done near him—large or small—makes it worse, and the closer it is, the harder it goes on him.”
“I am sitting here, and I can hear you,” Blaine interrupted drily. “And since I’m the poor bloke who has to live with the bond, I get a say in what we do about it,” he added.
“Then, tell us what you want, Lord McFadden,” Rikard said. “And we will endeavor to do it.”
Blaine sighed. “Finding a different way to anchor the magic is the important part. I know that Dolan thinks he’s onto something at Mirdalur, and maybe he is. But there are two parts. ‘Where?’ Dolan may have answered. ‘How?’ is the piece we don’t seem to know yet—and time is running out.”
“Quintrel was certain that the presence-crystals and the obsidian disks would be enough, together,” Lowrey said.
“Quintrel was being controlled by a divi,” Kestel retorted. “That means we can trust him even less than usual. Who knows what the divi really wants?”
“We had the disks at Valshoa, and it wasn’t enough,” Blaine replied. “The Wraith Lord is the only one who actually remembers the last time the magic was restored. They’d used the disks, but since he didn’t help prepare the chamber, he told Dagur that he couldn’t be certain other artifacts weren’t involved.”
Rikard held up a small lead box. “This is the null charm, or more correctly a dampening charm. It doesn’t remove or block magic altogether. I tried it personally, to no ill effect, either while I wore it or when I removed it.”
“We all tried it,” Artan said. “Well, all of us except for him,” he added with a glare toward Lowrey.
“It was essential to preserve someone in their unaltered condition,” Lowrey said with a sniff. “I volunteered to forgo any beneficial effects for the sake of the experiment.”
Blaine doubted that ‘beneficial effects’ had been uppermost in Lowrey’s mind, but said nothing.
Lowrey rolled his eyes. “Here,” he said. “Give it to me.” He snatched the charm from Rikard and slipped his head through the leather loop that held it. Everyone stood in silence for a moment while Lowrey did a turn in place.
“See?” He said. “No harm done.” He removed the charm and held it between his hands for a moment. “No negative energy at all,” he said. He put the charm into the box and slipped it into his pocket.
“The point being, four—five—of us have tried the charm and suffered no harm,” Rikard replied testily.
Zaryae nodded. “I can attest to that,” she said. “I checked the mages who used it before and after they wore the charm. The charm lessened their magical ability, but didn’t remove it completely. When they took the charm off, their power returned to its previous strength, and no one suffered ill effects.”
“All right,” Blaine said, reaching out his hand. “Let’s get this over with. Give it to me.”
Rikard clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Not quite like that, m’lord. Precautions must be taken.”
He led them into a small room off the main work space. A circle had been marked with salt and rope in the center of the room. Blaine noted a variety of protective stones, crystals, and dried herbs hanging from the room’s rafters, and the air smelled of burned sage.
“If you’ll stand in the center of the circle—step over the warding, don’t smudge it,” Rikard warned, “then open the box and remove the charm. If you feel any untoward effects, replace the charm in the box and close it.”
Zaryae stood just outside the circle. “I don’t know what effect the null charm will have on my ability to sense your safety, but I will watch over you the best I can,” she said. “If something worries me, I’ll signal. If I do, put the charm away.”
Blaine nodded. Kestel touched his arm and gave a wan smile. “I’ll keep an eye on the door. No one will bother us.” He gave her hand a squeeze.
Rikard looked around. “Where’s the charm?”
Lowrey withdrew the box from his pocket. “Not to worry,” he said. “Step across the warding, and I’ll hand it to Blaine.”
Blaine squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, then stepped into the circle. Lowrey came close enough that his toes touched the line, and handed the box to Blaine, then backed away.
Blaine flipped the box open and withdrew the charm. His heart was pounding, and he had to think to slow his breathing. Nervous energy tingled through his skin, making him jumpy and sending his thoughts racing. It took conscious effort to be aware of how the magic felt, the tingling energy that coursed through his blood, a feeling that had become oddly familiar, and then he focused on what was going on outside the circle.
Zaryae was closest, watching him with concern, but so far she was making no gestures to indicate danger. Kestel stood to the side of the door, a blade in each hand, her back against the wall, eyes on Blaine within the circle. Lowrey had retreated until he was in the farthest corner of the room, watching Blaine as if he might burst into flame at any moment. Artan, Nemus, and Leiv stood a pace or two behind Zaryae at the three other quarters of the circle, intently watching to see what would happen.
“It’s wrong,” Zaryae said, eyes widening. “Blaine! Something’s wrong. Close the box!” Her words were drowned out as Lowrey backed into a worktable full of metal bowls, sending them all scattering across the wooden floor in a cacophony. Nemus gestured for Rikard to look at one of the artifacts, which was pulsing with blue light. Artan stepped up to take Rikard’s place.
For an instant, Blaine felt a release as the pressure of anchoring the magic lifted. The strain melted away, the tingling fire faded, and a sense of well-being filled him, clean and rejuvenating.
Without warning, the pressure returned, smothering and heavy. Blaine’s heart raced, and he struggled to draw shallow breaths. His blood felt like it was on fire, energy coursing through his body. He stumbled, almost dropping the heavy leaded box. Outside the warded circle, Zaryae was calling to him and gesturing. Kestel started toward the circle, but Lowrey blundered into her way. Dimly, he heard them arguing.
The artifacts on the table suddenly activated. Some pieces flashed colored light, while others began to tremble or hum. Nemus, Leiv, and Rikard circled the table, doing their best to contain the errant objects.
Streaks of light crackled from the box and charm in Blaine’s ha
nd, sizzling across the room. Wood burst and glass shattered as the light flared, arcing in every direction. One of the bolts hit Artan and he fell, screaming, clutching for the seared skin of his back where his robes had been burned away.
The guards pounded at the door, but it was locked, a precaution to keep the ritual from being interrupted. Kestel and the others had thrown themselves to the floor to stay out of the way of the streaks of light, but Kestel was crawling toward the circle, trying to get to Blaine.
“The warding’s broken!” she shouted.
Smoke and the tang of lightning filled the air in the room. Wind gusted in through the broken window. Another arc struck perilously close to Rikard, who shrieked and dove beneath the heavy worktable. Lowrey cowered in the farthest corner, watching through the space between his arms, which he had put up in front of himself to cover his face and head.
Zaryae crawled toward Rikard and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him out of his refuge. “Counter the magic!” she ordered, and hurled him toward the circle.
Blood thundered in Blaine’s ears. His vision dimmed, limned in darkness. Chest heaving, he dropped to his knees, struggling to close the box. The heavy lead lid clanged shut, and Blaine collapsed, falling facedown on the wooden floor as the shouts around him faded into silence.
Blaine woke slowly, fighting off coldness as frigid as the winter sea. His body felt as leaden as the null charm’s box, inert and too heavy to move. After the way his heartbeat had hammered in his head, it now felt sluggish, as if his blood were too thick to move easily. Breathing came easier, but every movement hurt. The headache was back, pounding and relentless. He yearned for the peaceful darkness, but it had receded beyond his grasp. Blaine lay still, not yet ready to try to open his eyes.
“He’s coming around.” Rikard sounded tired.
War of Shadows: Book Three of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga Page 23