Just ahead of her, she could see the ash motes falling behind a thin, filmy magical barrier. It looked like she’d created a bubble, and the edges of the warped shimmer bent the light, forming a wall of distortion. Ignoring the pain in her side, she ran. She could already hear sounds coming from behind her, stretched groans pulled from putrefied vocal cords as the creatures began to recover, realizing too late that she’d somehow escaped. The tangles of golden strands crisscrossing the expanse of distorted time were already crumbling as the spell collapsed.
Blackness crept in around the edges of her vision as she felt that same drain of… something. It felt like her lungs were ready to collapse in on themselves, and her legs felt shaky, but she forced herself to keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other. She needed to find Skye. Had he run into these things too? Shards, she hoped he was okay.
Taly wiped at her cheek, grimacing when she saw the streak of black blood that stained her hand. Skye was okay. He had to be. After all, shadow mages were almost indestructible. If she was still alive, then so was he.
The market square was just ahead now, and beyond that, the Gate Watchers’ Compound. That’s where he had been heading. That’s where she would be safe.
Chapter 16
-A letter from Lord Ivain Castaro of House Fairmont, High Commander of the Gate Watchers, to Lord Moryn Enix of House Myridan, Lt-Commander of the Gate Watchers
The 2nd day of the month Dranna, during the 248th year of the Empty Throne
Commander Enix,
I am writing to inform you of my intent to appoint my ward, Lord Skylen Emrys, as my new Precept. Though still young, he has shown great talent and potential, and I believe he is ready to step in as my second.
I realize that this is unorthodox, and we do not usually allow Marshals to skip more than two ranks at a time. However, with the impending Aion Gate connection, I believe the circumstances warrant an exception. Skylen has already been performing the duties of a Precept for several years now. The only reason I held him back from advancing as quickly as he should was so that he would not feel honor-bound to stay with the Order once his primary education concluded. However, he has recently expressed his desire to continue training under my tutelage rather than attending the University in Arylaan, so it is time he was awarded the rank and authority he is due.
I will be bringing Skylen to Ebondrift at the end of the month to complete the written and practical examinations. Please make the necessary arrangements.
Regards,
Lord Ivain Castaro of House Fairmont, Marquess of Tempris and High Commander of the Gate Watchers
The streets were empty as Skye turned onto the main road and headed for the Gate Watchers’ compound. Taly had stayed behind at the stables, and he could hear her whistling to herself as she tied off the horses. When the sound of her puttering around the stables began to fade, he channeled his aether, using a small amount of magic to sharpen his senses.
A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. As she was wont to do when she didn’t think anyone was listening, Taly had started talking to the various animals in the barn—something about highborn jerks that worried too much. The horses, in voices that sounded strangely like her own, agreed with her and seemed quite sympathetic to her plight.
Skye released the aether augmentation spell and took a long, cleansing breath, attempting to clear his thoughts. The smell of wood, smoke, and wet grass hit his nose, washing away any lingering traces of Taly’s scent. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself turning around and going back to fetch her, something he really didn’t have time to do if he had any hope of accomplishing anything useful.
We should’ve left sooner. Although he had awoken just before dawn, long before Taly had oh-so-stealthily tried to sneak out of their room, he hadn’t been able to pry himself out of bed. Not with Taly curled into his side, clinging to him in a way that almost seemed possessive. Even now, he could still see that waterfall of golden hair glowing in the morning light, still hear the soft kitten-like snores that fell from her lips, still feel her warmth.
Skye stopped, realizing that he had turned and was heading back towards the stables. Shaking his head, he took off for the Gate Watchers’ compound at a jog. Maybe he and Taly needed to spend the evening apart to give him time to clear his head. While he couldn’t deny that Taly had grown into a beautiful woman (a very beautiful woman), he should not be having these kinds of feelings for her.
This was Taly. His friend. Nothing else.
And besides, even if he did have genuine romantic feelings for her (which he didn’t), apparently just the idea of bedding him horrified and disgusted her.
So… problem solved.
As Skye entered the city proper, moving out of the more sparsely populated outer perimeter and into the tenements, all thoughts of Taly were pushed to the back of his mind. Instead, a sense of dread started to take root. Something didn’t feel right. The streets were empty. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen a single person since he left Taly at the stables.
His steps slowed, and he turned, surveying his surroundings. All around him, the doors to the cramped cottages and apartments hung open, and wagons, still filled with goods and wares destined for the market, were left abandoned. Even the air seemed off somehow. Usually, when the Seren Gate was open, he could almost taste the aether flowing in from the fey mainland. But today, the air around him felt dead. Stagnant. Curling his magic between the amorphous, drifting aether, he pulled. Only a few small wisps of energy answered his call—violet threads coiling around his body and then dissipating as he released his hold.
This is bad, Skye thought, increasing his pace. If something were wrong with the Seren Gate, that would throw off their entire timeline for the Aion Gate, and he didn’t even want to try to imagine the effects a failed gate connection would have on the island’s already fragile economy.
The Gate Watchers’ Compound was just ahead. The outer walls were forged from a single block of milky quartz and loomed over the surrounding village, making the patchwork collection of buildings appear shabby and squat in its shadow. The main building, an old, repurposed palace, was housed within, and Skye could just see the towers of the keep peeking over the battlements. Like most traditional fey architecture, every surface of the sprawling assembly was inscribed with stone latticework and ornamentation. The overall effect, though breathtaking, was, in Skye’s opinion, exaggerated and just a little too much. But that was how he felt about most traditional fey architecture.
Today, the pale expanse of quartz was marred by smoke and ash. The gates were closed, and the portcullis had been locked. A makeshift barricade of overturned wagons and wreckage had been erected a few yards from the walls.
As Skye crossed the deserted market square, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the temperature dropped rapidly, and his breath puffed and hung in the air. He stumbled slightly, his boots slipping as the crunch of ice broke the silence. A thick coating of frost and snow had formed on the ground, and when he took a breath, he could just barely detect the final fading remnants of water magic lingering on the air.
A crackling hiss sounded from in front of him. Glancing up, Skye saw a ball of flame rocketing towards him from the battlements. He ducked, instinctively drawing on his aether to quicken his movements and only narrowly avoiding the fiery blast. The ball of fire struck the spot where he’d been standing, throwing up a cloud of steam and small chunks of ice and rock.
“What the hell?!” Skye snapped, drawing his sword. He turned towards the compound, searching for his attackers. Three mages stood on the outer wall of the compound, peeking above the top of the ramparts and eyeing him warily. Another whirling ball of flame was already being summoned in the air beside them.
“Don’t fire!” Skye screamed, waving a hand in the air. “I’m one of you!”
“Prove it!” one of them called. A man—several centuries old at least. “How do we know you’re not with those thin
gs?”
“What things?!” Skye shouted back. “What happened here?”
The mages didn’t answer. Instead, they seemed to look past him, their eyes growing wide. Suspicion and doubt soon gave way to fear. “They’re back,” another man shouted. There was more movement on the rampart, and mages started lining up, taking up defensive stances.
A trickle of dread crawled down his spine as Skye turned. Behind him, an advancing horde of… he didn’t have a name for what he saw. They defied nature—their very existence was an abomination. Dead men. They looked like dead men. Their skin hung loosely on their emaciated bodies, marred by gaping wounds that stained their clothing with congealed blood. Their decaying limbs tangled together as they raced forward. Despite their jerky, uncoordinated movements, they moved with an unnatural speed. Even as he watched in stunned silence, Skye could see that they would be upon him in moments.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, backing toward the barricade behind him.
Skye raised his blade, adjusting the grip so that his skin was touching each one of the three shadow crystals embedded in the handle. When he flicked a small switch hidden beneath the guard, the stored aether shuddered excitedly as it seeped into the fire crystals embedded in the swirling hilt, sending waves of heat sweeping across his skin.
A current of flame flowed down the length of the blade, lighting the dull, gray metal with a molten glow. Feeling the energy in the shadow crystals start to dip, Skye pulled at the meager supply of aether in the air around him and stored it away inside the shadow crystals.
The advancing wave of corpses was getting closer, their mouths gaping wildly as roars of rage and pain erupted from their rotting throats. Sweeping his blade in a wide arc, the air crystals embedded in the blade activated, blasting out a gale of fire directly at his assailants. Several of the undead writhed and screamed as the conflagration consumed them, but that didn’t halt their advance. Although their bodies had been set ablaze, they still stumbled toward him even as their skin bubbled and melted away.
Okay, that’s obviously not going to work. There were hundreds of these creatures, and they seemed to be incredibly resilient. He clamped down on the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.
Sheathing his sword and pulling a shadow crystal from his pocket, Skye siphoned off the magic. The aether seeped into his blood, into the muscles of his arms and legs, overcharging the already adrenaline-fueled energy that pumped through his veins.
His eyes darted to the side, catching sight of a ruined wagon resting along the jagged line of debris in front of the compound. The semblance of an idea fluttered through his mind’s eye, and then he was running parallel to the walls of the compound, a small group of undead peeling off from the horde to chase him. The world was nothing but a blur as his legs surged, the mangled cries of the approaching throng little more than an unintelligible whine.
A moment later, his boots swept up a flood of gravel and dirt into the air as he skidded to a halt in front of a pile of litter and debris. Skye effortlessly lifted the overturned wagon from the heap, and a grim smile tugged at his lips as he felt the muscles in his arms ripple and surge. It wasn’t very often that he got to use the full extent of his augmented strength. Not unless he was sparring with Ivain.
Feeling a tingle of exhilaration, he turned and hurled the cracked, wooden carriage through the air at his attackers. It flew across the square, barreling through the charging horde just as they managed to clear the overturned fountain that used to decorate the center of the market. The force of the blow knocked a dozen of the undead off their feet, severing their limbs and impaling their bodies with splintered wood. Cries of pain and rage promptly echoed above the clamoring din.
Skye grinned as he pulled out another shadow crystal. That was a far more effective strategy.
More of those undead monsters had split off from the main group and were headed towards him. Making a split-second decision, Skye charged at one of the creatures that ran ahead of the throng. These things were fast, but he was faster. Shifting his weight at the last moment, he dodged the creature’s blade, grabbing it by the arm and crushing its bones in his iron grip. Its sword clattered to the ground as Skye’s other hand swept forward to catch it by the neck. Twisting his body, he hurled the writhing corpse back into the advancing crowd of reanimated dead. They flew back, falling to the ground in a heap.
They didn’t stay down long. In fact, Skye could already see that the corpses were beginning to regain their feet. He was only slowing the creatures down. He searched the area around him, frantically looking for anything that could be used as a more effective weapon.
Most of the market stalls that lined the square had been destroyed, the wooden counters hacked apart and the crates of goods and wares overturned and strewn across the ground. Making his way to a stand that was still relatively intact, Skye’s hands gripped at a gnarled beam that used to be part of a fruit stand. The post was nearly eight feet tall and rooted in the ground—a product of an obscenely expensive earth spell that could create architectural structures from living trees. He suspected that the awning of the small shop had once been formed from a canopy of leaves, but any and all greenery had been burned away.
He pulled at the young tree, groaning as he felt the muscles in his arms strain. He pushed more aether into the augmentation spell, bolstering his strength, and felt the plant start to give way. With a final jerk, he ripped the tree from the ground in a shower of dirt and rock, giving the end a sharp kick to break away any remaining roots.
“This’ll do,” Skye said aloud, turning to face the rushing throng of undead. Widening his stance, he swung the makeshift weapon, slamming the fractured tree trunk into one of the creatures. The blow ripped apart the monster’s torso and sent the flailing corpse flying into another group of its comrades. Their bodies hit the ground like dolls.
One of the felled undead that had somehow managed to free itself from the heap of tangled corpses threw a rusted dagger at Skye as he struck at another group with the tree. The metal bit into the skin of his shoulder, embedding into his flesh between a gap in his armor. Blood welled around the wound, but with this much aether flooding his system, it was of no concern. Skye grimaced as he ripped the blade from his arm, watching with detached interest as the flesh knit itself back together.
They’re not using poison, he thought with a grin. That was a bad move on their part.
One of the creatures clawed at the ground, inching its way across the broken pavement. Its body had been cleaved in two, but its arms still reached for him. Adjusting his grip on the beam, Skye brought it down, smashing in the thing’s head. Its bone and flesh splattered across the pavement, staining the ground black with rotted blood.
Finding a moment of respite, Skye stopped to catch his breath, his eyes taking in the roiling mass of dead men that filled the market square. He stood off to the side of the main fray and could see that the majority of the creatures were scrambling over the debris piled in front of the compound, their mad, soulless eyes focused on the fey on the walls. Giant whorls of flames struck the group as the mages entered the fray, incinerating their bodies and igniting the debris. The fires quickly spread, zipping along the line of the barricade and creating a wall of flame in front of the compound.
Clever. Though the blaze didn’t wholly stem the tide, it did slow their attackers down. They stumbled over each other as their flesh turned to ash, revealing cracked and broken bone beneath. The smell of smoke and charred meat permeated the air.
Skye heard a thunderous howl of rage, and his head whipped to the side, searching for the source of the cry. Another group of undead was rounding the corner, streaming in from one of the narrower side streets as they barreled toward the compound. Tightening his grip on the tree, he readied himself for their advance.
There were so many of these… things. None of this made sense.
“Back up the shadow mage! He’s one of ours!” a voice shouted
from the walls.
A hailstorm of ice rained down in front of Skye, blasting him backward and creating a protective barrier of offensive magic. The creatures shrieked as the ice impaled their bodies and severed their limbs. Some were completely ripped apart by the onslaught, and many more were frozen solid, their forms fixed mid-charge in a ghastly portrait of feral rage.
Skye scrambled back to his feet. In an instant, he was in front of the group of undead, each swing of the bloodied trunk in his hands shattering the frozen creatures. Shards of blackened ice rocketed in every direction as he continued to slam the makeshift club against them again and again.
“Shadow mages, reinforce the Gate Watcher!” another shout sounded from the walls.
A group of men and women, other Gate Watchers, jumped from the walls of the compound. Their boots landed with heavy thuds, throwing up a cloud of dust where they hit the ground. They immediately drew their swords and leapt through the flames encircling the compound, wisps of smoke drifting from their armor as they emerged from the fire. Within seconds, they had fallen into line beside Skye.
“These things don’t go down easy!” Skye called to the others, brandishing his makeshift weapon. “Fire and slicing weapons only slow them down. You have to bludgeon them!”
The other shadow mages shared a look but followed his orders. Sheathing their weapons, they followed his example, ripping broken beams and girders from the remains of the market stalls as the oncoming swarm raced toward them.
Now that he had backup, the horde of dead men didn’t seem so daunting. The shadow mages cut through the enemy’s advances, crushing the creatures’ already broken bodies beneath the force of their blows and splattering more of that strange, blackened blood across the pavement. Occasionally, a rusty blade would pierce Skye’s skin, but the wounds healed themselves before they even had a chance to bleed.
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