Or maybe he’d just taken it down to lull intruders into a false sense of security.
Indree didn’t like not knowing, but there was a job to be done and a madman to stop and she didn’t have time to waste worrying over questions she couldn’t get answers to. All she could do was proceed with caution.
“Tane,” she sent. “There’s a divination ward over the place, that’s why no one’s heard from the Mageblades. No time to do anything about it. We’re going in. I’ll contact you after.” He wasn’t going to like it, but they both had other things that needed their focus, so she stepped across the threshold before he could respond. Immediately, she felt the ward close off the Astral channel between them.
She motioned for the people she’d left outside to move in. “Come on. Eyes open, weapons out, mouths shut.” Following her own order, she drew her ancryst pistol in one hand and her baton in the other. “They might already know we’re here, but if they don’t, let’s keep it that way. Mages, silence our movement, but not voices—we don’t want to disable our own magic. And be ready to shield at the first sign of trouble.”
Moving under the unnatural quiet of the silence spell, Indree led the way through the warehouse, slowing at every corner in the maze of shelves to check for danger ahead. She didn’t find any. The place was empty, or appeared that way.
Tinga had given her a thorough description of the place, and it only took a moment to find the hidden passage at the back. The gap between crates was narrow, but large enough to fit through if she shuffled sideways; the wall at the back offered no resistance when she touched it. But Indree didn’t like this as an access point. They were going to have to go in blind—there was no way around that, with divinations cut off—and squeezing through one by one would make it too easy to pick them off without a fight. Probing the edges of the illusion with her fingers as best she could from her cramped position, she determined it was large enough to allow several people to pass through abreast, if the way was clear.
With a whispered spell, she levitated several large crates aside to make a path, and then signaled for Vladak and a few of his people to make a wall in front. She fell in just behind with Bastian’s mages, and together they summoned a mobile shield, a faint shimmer of translucent silver in the air. Whatever was waiting inside, they were as ready as they could be. Let’s see what there is to see. With a jab of her fingers, she ordered the advance, following behind as Vladak and his chosen vanguard disappeared through the illusory wall.
She emerged on the other side into the chamber Tinga had described, large and open with workbenches along the back and one of Thorpe’s machines at the center. But it wasn’t empty, not this time.
There must have been an enchantment blocking sound from leaving the chamber, because as soon as Indree entered, the noise of battle abruptly filled her ears. The two sides were easy to tell apart: eight Mageblades in their brass cuirasses and uniforms of blue and white, badly outnumbered by a dozen cowled, black-clad Knights of the Emperor and a pair of nine-foot brass golems—the same design as the one Endo had called the Emperor’s Mask. The knights and golems made a rough circle around the machine in the center of the room, holding the Mageblades back. And there, bent over the instruments of the machine in his wheeled chair, was the would-be Emperor himself.
Indree had more people in her small force than the Mageblades and Knights of the Emperor put together. If she joined the Mageblades, Endo’s defenders wouldn’t hold up long, even with the golems. By all appearances, it would be an easy victory.
Too easy. Something felt very wrong.
And then it came to her: she’d witnessed a scene very like this one before. Endo beside his machine, surrounded by a handful of loyalists, apparently unconcerned that he’d been discovered. Belgrier, moments before she’d first seen the effects of the siphon spell.
Except in Belgrier he’d surrounded himself in non-magicals, the type the siphon would affect. Endo’s knights and the Mageblades were all magic users, immune to its effects. It didn’t make sense. Endo doesn’t let himself get backed into a corner this easily after all this time. What’s he planning?
Both sides immediately took note of the sudden entry of two dozen newcomers, but they didn’t stop fighting. The Mageblade captain was a muscular dwarven man, and he kept his attention on the cowled figures before him, only sparing a quick glance toward the door between spells. “Not one step further!” he shouted, though he was hardly in a position to make demands. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
“Lady Abena sent us,” Indree answered, stretching the truth just slightly. She needed him to listen. “There’s more to this than you—”
Endo’s voice interrupted, amplified by magic to drown out every other sound in the room. “Inspector Lovial. How lovely of you to join us.” Behind the magical shields his knights were holding to defend him, he wheeled about to face Indree. “I suppose my dear Oola sent you here. I thought she might.”
“Lovial?” The Mageblade captain looked back at Indree once more. “The traitor?”
Spellfire. He’s never going to trust me now. Which, of course, had been precisely Endo’s intent.
Still, she had to try. Indree met Vladak’s eye. “Artifacts in. Now.” They’d come prepared; she didn’t mean to feed her people to Endo’s spell. “Mages, with me. Captain, you’re outnumbered, and you need help. We’re going to take apart their shields. You can stand there mistrusting me or you can do your job. Your choice.”
Vladak didn’t hesitate; he produced one of the talismans Tane and Bastian had devised and plunged it into his own shoulder. The rest of the non-magicals followed his lead At the same time, Indree advanced with Bastian’s mages, already chanting in the lingua, gathering their magic for an assault on Endo’s defenses.
They weren’t fast enough.
“I have always admired your efficiency, Inspector Lovial.” Endo sounded more amused than afraid—the sound of it made Indree’s skin prickle. “But it seems poor Oola’s distraction was most effective, despite her regrettable lapse in loyalty at the end. You’re too late.”
He swiveled to grasp the machine’s master switch, and pulled.
Indree felt it immediately, a coldness in her chest that radiated down her veins and across her body. Something leeching at the bond that connected her to the Astra. Further in, Mageblades staggered and clutched at armored chests; even Endo’s own Knights of the Emperor paled and swayed on their feet.
This wasn’t like Belgrier. This time it was targeting mages too. And the cries behind her quickly verified that Vladak and the others were just as vulnerable as she was. Tane’s talismans had been designed to fool a spell that was trying to tell mage and magicless apart; they couldn’t protect against one that didn’t care.
For a moment, Indree didn’t understand. The drain made it hard to think of anything but the way it was spreading, numbing, stealing away the essence of who she was. What is he doing? He can’t build an empire of mages if all the mages are riven first.
But Endo’s own mages weren’t trying to flee. Instead, every one of the cowled figures had turned inward, facing the machine. They started chanting in the lingua, casting some sort of spell. The golems strode forward in the confusion, and each grabbed one of the reeling Mageblades in huge brass arms, dragging them back toward Endo.
And then Indree noticed the reservoir at the side of the machine, already filling with silver fluid. As the knights chanted, the level began to rise rapidly.
This isn’t the siphon at all. Her eyes went to the illusory display above the machine’s console. There they were, all of them, every person in the room drawn in silhouettes of ebbing silver. He’s using the machine to drain us, just like Thorpe did. And his knights are channeling their strength right into it. Sacrificing themselves to give him more power. He’s going to take it all and turn it into a siphon that makes the one in Belgrier look like a cheap trick.
“Everyone out!” she ordered, as loud as she could muster. “Go!” Th
orpe’s machine had a limited radius; they could still outdistance it. She staggered toward the door with Vladak and the others, hoping the Mageblades had the sense to follow.
A shield shimmered across the doorway, blocking their escape.
Indree turned on her heel, saw Endo reaching out toward the door with one outstretched hand. She gathered her strength, and as a spell rose to her lips, she felt the cold emptiness advance, felt her spirit weaken faster still as the energy she summoned was stolen away. She let the spell drop. We’re not going to be able to overpower him. He’s the only one who isn’t feeling this.
But the shields around Endo were gone. His knights were giving everything they had to the machine; several had already collapsed. All he had left were the two golems, and they were occupied, each feeding a struggling Mageblade to the machine.
He was vulnerable.
“On my word, throw everything you have at the door,” Indree said. “Mages, whatever power you can manage. The rest of you, just… just hit it. Weapons, hands, feet, anything.” She looked to Vladak. “When the shield falls, get our people out of here. Don’t look back.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just gathered her magic once more. Again, she felt the drain accelerate, felt cold race up her limbs and close around her heart. But this time, she didn’t stop. Chanting in the lingua, she jabbed her hand at Endo, and silver flame surged from her outstretched fingers.
Endo reacted instantly, just as she’d expected. Even before she’d finished her spell, he recognized the lingua, and raised a shield. His shimmering barrier caught Indree’s spellfire, holding it back.
“Now!” Indree shouted.
Mage and non-magical alike threw themselves into the assault on the door-shield. Endo was occupied with his own protection; he couldn’t hold both shields at once, and his own safety took precedence. The silver shimmer across the door flared bright and vanished. Those who were still standing surged toward freedom. Some fell, already too weak. And worse, a small few simply stood still, staring with empty eyes, unresponsive to the shouts and prodding of their comrades.
Indree didn’t think it would be very long before she joined that number. She felt her strength fail, her spellfire sputter out. The spell had taken too much out of her. The room spun, and her legs gave way. I got them out. I did that, at least.
A pair of huge white-furred arms caught her as she fell. “I’ve got you,” Vladak said, shaking with the effort as he ducked his broad shoulders under her arm. If Kadka’s reaction to the siphon spell in Belgrier had been any indication, he shouldn’t have had much strength left—orcs had a weaker Astral link than most. But somehow he managed to take her weight.
“Told you… to go,” Indree gasped.
“That’sh the plan. Jusht… taking you with me.”
Together, they staggered for the exit. Everyone else capable of leaving was already gone. Already riven.
Endo’s voice rose behind, chanting. Indree pointed her pistol back toward the sound and pulled the trigger with a trembling finger. Against all odds, her aim was true, and the magic of the machine was all on the Astral plane, not the physical—which meant it couldn’t turn aside ancryst. Whatever Endo had been trying to cast, he cut off halfway when he saw her aiming and pivoted into another shield, sent the ball careening off course. Indree heard it strike the wall somewhere behind her.
Which was fine; she hadn’t expected to hit him. The distraction gave her and Vladak the time they needed. They limped through the illusory wall, back into the warehouse proper. Endo’s spells couldn’t reach them now, not without line of sight, but walls didn’t stop Thorpe’s machine. Not everyone had made it out; the drain affected different people at different rates, depending on their Astral signature, how much they exerted themselves, and a hundred other possible factors. Some had fallen on the way to the door, slumped against the floor and walls, watching blankly as Indree and Vladak lurched past. Vladak’s strength was failing faster now; Indree was supporting him as much as he was her, and with every step the balance shifted further. He weighed twice what she did—she wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer.
As they neared the exit, the weight became too much. He sagged against her, and she couldn’t hold him up anymore. He dropped to his knees. “Go,” he croaked, and shoved her with the scant strength he had left. “They shtill need you.”
Indree staggered forward, barely able to keep her feet. The warehouse door was in sight, not ten yards ahead. It might as well have been miles. Pure momentum carried her forward, but only for a moment; she didn’t think she had the strength to keep going without it.
And then, all at once, warmth. One last step carried her out of the range of the machine, and Astral power flowed into her, filling the void, chasing away the cold. She whirled, saw Vladak face-down on the floor behind her. The magic came easy now. A few words, and silver cords wrapped around the big orc, yanked him clear of the machine’s radius.
“Come on, Vladak. We need to get out of here.”
He didn’t move.
“Vladak?” Indree knelt over him, grabbed his shoulder. He was breathing, but he didn’t answer. “No.” He was too heavy for her to flip physically, so she used her spell, lifting him with cords of silver and rolling him onto his back.
Empty eyes stared up at her, absent of any sign of recognition. He looked smaller somehow; every one of his thick orcish muscles hung slack.
He was gone. Riven. He’d stayed to pull her out, and it had cost him everything that he was.
“Oh, Vladak.” Tears stung Indree’s eyes, and she took his hand. His fingers didn’t close around hers. “I told you not to look back.”
But I should have known he would. The same way he’d thrown himself into saving Kadka from Hobbier’s trap. The way he’d devoted so much of his life to the Silver Dawn, fighting for the people everyone else forgot. He probably didn’t even think twice about it.
For longer than she should have, she knelt there beside him. When she left, it would make it real. People would have to be told, people who had known him and loved him better than she had. Kadka. Iskar. Maybe others—she didn’t even know if he had a family. She’d liked him, but they hadn’t been terribly close. It was Thilde Berken all over again. People kept throwing themselves into harm’s way for her. She wished they’d stop. It was too much to carry. How am I supposed to be worth this?
She was still looking for an answer when the ceiling exploded.
A great rumble and crash, and suddenly daylight flooded the dim warehouse. Indree looked toward the sound—the source was impossible to miss. Something had nearly torn the roof from the rear of the building. Debris plummeted downward as the integrity of what remained failed; huge cracks spread in her direction. She barely got a shield up in time as pieces started to rain down on her.
She looked down at Vladak one last time. His eyes marked the silver flashes as fragments of ceiling pelted her shield, but it was reflex, nothing more. He didn’t show any sign of concern. He wasn’t going to move under his own power, and she didn’t have the strength to carry him while protecting them both from falling debris.
But he hadn’t saved her so she could die trying to get a husk that wasn’t even him anymore to safety. He’d already paid for her life with his. She had to survive if she was going to make it a worthwhile trade.
“I’m so sorry, Vladak,” she whispered. “We’ll stop him. I promise you that.”
She stood, and ran.
Heavy rubble plummeted from above; her defense wasn’t going to last much longer under the assault. Five yards to the door. Three. A huge slab of concrete crashed down, broke upon her shield, and then she couldn’t hold it any longer. The translucent silver barrier blinked away. Dust blinded her. Falling debris struck her in the shoulder, hard, and nearly dropped her. She caught herself on one knee, pushed off the ground with all the strength she had left, lunged for the exit in a headlong dive.
Sliding painfully on her belly, Indree dove clear into th
e street just as the remains of the roof collapsed entirely. She could feel the force of it, displaced air whipping at her clothes and hair, stinging slivers of brick and concrete raking her skin.
She pushed herself to her feet, became aware of the presence of others around her. What remained of her little band—maybe sixteen of the two dozen she’d led in—stood together in the street. Three Mageblades had survived, too, absent their captain. Riven before he’d gotten out, she could only assume, and then swallowed in the collapse. Like anyone else left inside. Like Vladak. Maybe that’s a mercy.
None of them were looking at her, though, despite her last-second escape. Instead, they stared up at the warehouse roof. Or rather, the space where the roof had been. Indree turned to see.
Atop the rubble stood a massive silver dragon.
She’d seen it once before, in a cave far beneath the streets of the Belgrian capital. It was larger now than it had been then, maybe fifty feet from snout to tail with a wingspan to match, and the signs of whatever Endo had done to force that growth were impossible to miss. Its flesh was stretched and warped, shedding silver scales in huge patches. Two of its legs, the right front and left hind, had withered away to twisted stubs, replaced with constructions of brass and artifice. The joint where the right wing met the shoulder was entirely mechanical as well, whirring as the wings flexed and flapped.
This was the creature that had almost killed her—that would have killed her, if Lieutenant Berken hadn’t taken her place. It must have landed on the building and torn the roof away. Creating an escape route for its master, if not a subtle one.
Endo Stooke hovered above its back, lowering himself into a brass locking mechanism harnessed there. His chair clicked into place.
The Mage War Page 13