The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price

by C. L. Schneider

  “Draken is Nef’taali,” he said, matter-of-fact. “He would never harm me.”

  “Even carrying half his soul, you still can’t see how black it is?”

  “He would never harm me,” Jem said again, but there was a strange, sad helplessness in his voice. I couldn’t tell if the man was naïve, confused, or just plain delusional. Regardless, he was dangerous. I couldn’t take him on with Jarryd and Malaq so close. I had to put him off.

  “So,” I said, “you’re here to offer me a job? I’ve never built an empire before. What’s the pay like? Hope it’s better than what you gave Taren Roe.”

  “I don’t appreciate being ridiculed.”

  “Then stop talking in riddles. Tell me what you want. I’ll consider your offer.”

  “You aren’t ready to consider anything. You’re still clinging to your first instinct to kill me. You would have tried by now, except you’re afraid to cast with your companions here. Even to stop a monster such as me.”

  “Unlike you, Jem, I don’t take casualties lightly.”

  “You talk of the dead like they are all my doing, like you have no hand in this.”

  “I didn’t raid Kabri. I didn’t kill Raynan Arcana. Or Sarin.”

  “No, you boast and threaten, waste my time with insults and bravado—because war is nowhere in sight. It’s a memory to you. A notion. But I promise you, Troy, Rella burns. It bleeds while you stand here judging and defying me.” Crossing the camp in long, angry strides, Jem stood before me. His breath raged wild through the mask. “Would you like to see? To know what your stubbornness has wrought?” Raising an arm to the side, he opened his gloved hand. His eyes on me began to glimmer and shine. “Would you like to witness their suffering? Count how many die while you hold onto that little trinket around your neck out of spite?” Whispers left his lips. He traced a shape in the air with his finger, once, twice, three times. On the fourth time around an outline formed in the dark. It was faint at first, but after another pass or two, four connected lines of dim, white light came into being.

  The lines pulsed. The lights brightened. The shape they made grew taller. It changed and stretched until the banded strands of energy ran fast and hot and colorful, along the edges of a distinct door-like pattern. All around the outside was night. Inside, was undulating darkness punctuated by tiny, random sparks of magic. They popped in and out of existence faster than I could focus.

  Holding my breath, I reached out. As if reacting to my approach, the sparks jumped. Warmth radiated from the center and gathered in front of my outstretched hand. It was incredible. “Did Sienn teach you this?”

  “Sienn is a woman of many talents.”

  I edged up to the threshold. “Where does it go?”

  “Step through and find out.”

  “No.” I glanced at him. But the door tugged my eyes back. “I don’t think so.”

  Jem moved up behind me. He leaned in. “It wasn’t a request,” he said, and pushed me.

  THIRTY ONE

  I hit the dirt face first. Picking my head up, my first breath was smoke. Dust came next, rising thick from the road as Langorian warhorses thundered past. People rushed by me on all sides, bumping, jostling. Screaming. Fire raged into the night sky, consuming walls and rooftops, so close I could taste the heat and feel it on my skin.

  Gathering myself up, I tried to get my bearings, but I had no idea where I was. I grabbed the arm of a stout, Rellan woman carrying a small bundle against her chest, and pulled her aside. “What’s happening? What village is this?”

  The woman gave me a strange, vacant look. Tear trails stained her dirty, flushed cheeks. Ash darkened her skin and clothes. She said one word, “Draken,” and the bundle in her arms started crying. Tiny arms struggled to break free of the wrappings.

  I let her go and drew my sword.

  “That won’t do you any good,” she wailed. “Fight, run…it makes no difference. We will all die.” Sobbing, she staggered away and the current of the panicked crowd carried the woman down the road. She blended with the sea of terrified faces fleeing certain death, and the years began to melt away.

  I remembered other villages, other women fighting to carry their babes to safety.

  I remembered most of them didn’t make it.

  A sharp elbow to the gut snapped my mind back to the present. It wasn’t intentional. The crowd was simply growing in speed and number, and I was in the way.

  Making myself more so, I pushed back into the heart of the throng. I returned to the exact spot where I first appeared, but there was no sign of the door. The spell was over, and wherever Jem had sent me, I had no apparent way back.

  Only, he hadn’t dumped me in some random, Rellan village being raided by Langorian troops. From what I knew of door-makers, they couldn’t open one unless they, or the person they were casting for, had a strong connection to someone on the other side. Since Jem didn’t give a damn about Rellans, his anchor wasn’t one of the villagers. And if Jillyan discovered him in the mines, he probably didn’t hold much love for the average Langorian soldier either. A King isn’t average, I thought. And there was no stronger connection between two people than a bond of the soul, like what Jem now shared with Draken.

  I stared back at where the woman and her child disappeared. She hadn’t just said his name out of fright. Draken is here.

  With a sudden rumbling crash, the row of buildings directly behind me collapsed and the night exploded with light and fire. The blast propelled me forward onto my knees. Towering waves of black smoke and dust rolled over me. A rain of embers and debris pelted my hair and clothes.

  Brushing them off as I stood, sprinkled in between the cries of the crowd and the roar of the flames, I caught the brief, faint echo of shouting men and clanging metal. It was coming from behind the stampede of villagers. It was what they were running away from.

  I pushed free of the horde and veered off the main road. Taking to the alleyways, I started weaving in between buildings. Flames shot out the windows as I passed. Billows of black smoke challenged my sight, making it hard to dodge the flying glass and splintering wood. I could barely make out the bodies I was tripping over.

  I took time to check each and every one. They were all dead.

  Following the sounds of battle, I made my way through the maze of destruction and came out at the edge of town. Draken was nowhere in sight. But I found what I was looking for. Stretched across the road, fifty or so Rellan guardsmen in white, blue, and black struggled to hold the line. Another thirty fought on horseback.

  The blaze was raging at their backs. They were enveloped in a haze. All choking and fighting blind, it was possible they had no idea that well over two hundred Langorian soldiers were bearing down on them.

  Looking to tip the odds, I tightened my grip on my sword and dove into the fray.

  And it was like no time had passed. As if only hours ago I’d been fighting under Aylagar’s command, in these exact same conditions, possibly in this exact same village.

  My instincts felt the familiarity as well, and as I cut through the Langorian force, my swings and evasions were an unconscious reflection of my experience with this particular enemy. I knew their limitations as well as my own. I knew the weak points in their armor and their weapons. I understood the way they fought, fast and hard without a thought to precision or aim. The occasional variations on their attacks didn’t throw me. I watched for signs of how their massive bodies moved to tell me which strike was coming.

  Ultimately though, Langorian troops went for the kill with every blow. Considering their size it was an effective tactic on helpless, untrained men and women.

  I wasn’t any of those things. Throwing all they had into every swing left them wide open. And I had no trouble finding my way in.

  Swerving from a swift moving axe, I lunged, pivoted, and sunk the length of my blade in between the joints of the armor of the man in front of me. I slammed an elbow into the throat of the one at my back, just below the edge of his
helmet.

  Deflecting blow after blow, I kept them off me. But I was surrounded. I was in the center of it all, where the bulk of the enemy was pushing forward. So far, I’d taken only glancing blows, but that could change in an instant. To stay alive long enough to help the Rellans, I needed more than steel.

  Turning to the stones at my wrist and gathering the obsidian inside me, in one breath I wished for strength in my blade, the stamina to wield it, and the speed to avoid my enemy’s attacks. In the next, I cast.

  Magic flew swiftly out of me. Pleasure swept in just as fast. As men started dying in a wide circle around me, power rippled across the sword in my hand. It sped down through the muscles in my arms and legs, and my sight came back in time to see the soldiers at the outer reach of my spell go down. Mounted, as their life drained away, their massive warhorses succumbed as well. The foam of exhaustion already bubbling from their mouths, the frantic animals let out terrible, desolate wails as their tall, muscular bodies went limp and slammed hard to the ground.

  One after the other—five, ten, fifteen of the great beasts fell, trapping the dead and the living beneath them and sending a heavy spray of dust into the already murky air.

  It was a dramatic sight that brought an instant hush over the battle. Soldiers on both sides disengaged and turned to stare through the haze at the staggeringly wide circle of Langorian bodies surrounding me. Silent but for their heavy breaths, what was left of the enemy held position, but they didn’t advance. They knew me. They had just watched the hunger of my spell drastically reduce their numbers in mere moments and they were afraid of what might come next.

  The Rellans knew me too. I watched their faces carefully, waiting for them to cower. And it moved me greatly to see that they were far from afraid. To the contrary, it was clear; in me, they saw a chance for something other than defeat. They saw hope.

  A rousing cheer rang through the Rellan ranks and they rushed forward.

  The Langorians met their charge. The two sides ran straight into each other and once more, screams and the sounds of metal filled the night.

  Adding my cries to theirs, I swiped a club from the nearest corpse and joined in. I let the Rellans do their job at the front and went the other direction to attack the back half of the enemy column. They tried to avoid me, but it wasn’t possible. Guided by intuition, driven by resolve, magic fed my blows. With one hit of the metal club in my hand, shields and helms split. My blade slashed through leather and chain, even steel, as easily as the flesh beneath. Swords broke in half. Skulls caved and kneecaps shattered.

  Never before had I cut through a line as quickly or precisely. Never had a hasty, battlefield spell been so powerful or so flawless.

  All I’d set out to do was give myself an edge. It was something I’d done hundreds of times under Aylagar’s command. Instead, I was slaughtering them without even breaking a sweat.

  Running out of opponents, I turned to look for more. The Rellan soldiers were outnumbering their enemy now, but a decent-sized cluster of Langorians were still at the edge of the village. Working to bring down the last structures still standing, soldiers on horseback were tossing torches onto rooftops, and through open windows. The men on the ground stood, weapons-ready, as the rising flames forced the villagers outside, like lambs to slaughter.

  I dropped the club. Swinging up onto an empty saddle, I kicked the warhorse beneath me into a fast run. Passing a few enemy stragglers on the road, I slashed them open and kicked them to the ground as I raced by.

  I pushed as close as I dared to the blaze. As I slid to the ground, one of the buildings buckled and caved. Dozens of villagers stumbled out of the burning doorway and ran straight into the arms of the enemy.

  Swords flashed. Bodies crumbled. Butchering old women, children, even those already injured, the Langorians showed no mercy.

  I started forward to teach them some when a short figure emerging from the flames caught my eye. It zigzagged down the broken steps and out into the street, and became recognizable as a young boy. Small, slight, and obscured by the smoke, he had managed to stray away from the massacre. Unfortunately, he didn’t stray far enough before succumbing to a fit of coughing and falling to the ground.

  As he wailed loudly for his mother, I looked over at the Langorians. They had yet to notice him. Neither were any of the villagers reacting to the boy’s call. Many were already dead. Others were begging for their lives. Men were being tied and beaten. Women struggled hysterically against pawing hands.

  There was a chance the boy’s mother was among them. But even if she were, and even if I could save her, his crying was bound to draw the enemy before I could get back.

  The boy first then.

  But there was someone on the hill behind him.

  Just beyond the town, about halfway up the grade was the shape of a tall man on horseback. Swathed in black, bathed in light and shadow from the flickering flames, as he slowly descended the hill, he stared down on the death and devastation like a proud father. His long back was straight, his broad shoulders square. He held his head high, as if witnessing such vicious deeds brought the man nothing less than sheer satisfaction.

  His name rumbled out of my mouth, “Draken,” and the cries of the villagers and the boy faded into the background. All thoughts of saving them vanished. Anticipation coursed through my veins. Hatred burned in my gut. I was enmeshed in the chaos of my dream-fueled vengeance. Suddenly nothing existed but the man in my sights…and my need to see him dead.

  I ran toward Draken. As if sensing me, his head snapped in my direction. Tapping the sides of his mount, he started moving faster, and I hurried to meet him. I was so focused on finally getting my hands on the bastard that when a piercing wail rang out behind me I didn’t even slow down.

  It came again. This time, the wealth of terror and desperation in the cry opened a crack in my single-minded objective, and I spun around.

  The boy was still in the road. I had run right past him.

  On his back, on the ground, he was dwarfed by two, hefty Langorian soldiers. Slapping him down as he tried to stand, kicking him as he crawled away, their huge, round bellies were shaking with laughter at the child’s frantic attempts to fend them off.

  They drew their weapons. I ran to intercept.

  Coming up behind them, I raised my sword to swing—and I suddenly lurched backwards.

  I tried again to go forward. I was still on my feet. Yet, I couldn’t gain any momentum. It felt like an arm had wrapped around my waist and was pulling, dragging me back. But there was nothing there.

  Still struggling against the invisible force, blinding sparks erupted around me.

  The air twisted and warped.

  An axe swung for the boy’s head and I sunk rapidly backwards into a rush of wind and color.

  Wet grass came at me fast. I landed on my side in the near dark, out of breath, and covered in filth. The mountain air was clear, quiet, and full of rain.

  There was no smoke, no flames. The burning village and the boy were gone.

  “No!” I cried, scrambling up from the ground. “Send me back! You fucking send me back right now!”

  Through the mask, Jem’s eyes ran over me. “You have been busy.”

  I looked at my hands and clothes, at the blood and the soot. I pictured the boy and imagined the axe biting into his neck. “You fucking bastard,” I growled. “I could have helped them. I could have killed Draken!” Blood pumping furiously through my veins, teeth clenched, I rushed up to Jem. “Send me back NOW!”

  “Such rage,” he said with delight, “such pure aggression. This must be what you were like when you channeled the crown. When you stripped the land to desert and painted it in blood. Oh, what a glorious sight you must have been.” Jem’s eyes gleamed eagerly. “I need you to be that way again.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you need.” Feeling my battle spell fade, the crushing fatigue I’d been living with for weeks returned anew and I shoved my blade away. “Go,” I said. �
��If you aren’t here to kill me, just…fucking go.”

  I could hear his angry, rasping breath. I expected more ridicule or another round of threats. Instead, Jem let out a roar and moved to strike me. He was a little slow.

  Catching his jab with my left hand, I went for his mask with my right. I started to rip it off when he reached up and closed his free hand around my wrist.

  “I said not yet.” Jem tightened his grip. Steadily, he increased the pressure and pain penetrated deep into my arm. Blood stopped flowing to my fingers and I couldn’t feel them.

  Magic was enhancing his strength. I had no choice. I let go of the mask.

  But Jem didn’t let go of me. “You will learn obedience,” he promised, squeezing harder. I felt things compressing. Bending. Breaking. “One way or another, you will learn.”

  Releasing his fist from my left hand, I clipped Jem hard across the jaw. I tried to pry his gloved fingers off, but he clamped down with such tremendous, crushing force that the bones in my wrist snapped like kindling.

  At the sound, Jem smiled. When I didn’t cry out though, he looked impressed. “To withstand such pain in silence is commendable. Perhaps I misjudged you.”

  I responded with a gasping laugh. Had I breath to spare, I would have set him straight. Bone had penetrated skin and I would have been screaming, if not for the Crown of Stones overriding the pain.

  Like many things lately, I couldn’t explain it. But at the point where our skin made contact outward, I was aware of the power in Jem’s veins. I felt the place where he channeled from, a deep well, dark and cavernous. I recognized the auras that filled it as they swirled and pulsed in vibrant color. The heat of his wrath and his intense, cold determination; I could sense how it blinded him. And I knew that somewhere inside the man, he was conflicted.

  “Leave!” he shouted, but I didn’t even know how I got in. Then Jem whispered in Shinree and everything inside of me came to a standstill. My heart constricted. My lungs emptied. Muscles turned flaccid and organs seized. Pain severed our odd link.

  It was only Jem’s unwavering hold that kept me upright.