Emergence (Book 2)

by K. L. Schwengel

  I am free here.

  "And so I shall claim you here," Donovan said.

  He began to chant, the ancient words taking shape in the air around Ciara just as they had done in the old woman's chamber. A shudder ran through her. Andrakaos reared back on his haunches, great wings fanning the air in his chamber and extinguishing the torches that lined the walls. Ciara scrambled to her feet, fists clenched at her sides.

  "Not this time," she said.

  There had been a moment when she healed Bolin where she had joined with Andrakaos. She didn't know how she had done it, just that she had. In that moment, she became all that he embodied. His power had been hers. His strength flowed through her. She had seen with his eyes, and felt through his body. As the words Donovan chanted grew thicker around her, like moths around the flame of a lantern, Ciara let go her consciousness and allowed herself to fall into the surging power within.

  ***

  A sudden wave of dizziness tipped the ground beneath Bolin's feet, and he staggered to the side. Someone grabbed his arm to support him. They asked him a question, but he didn't pay any heed. He couldn't. His blood surged through his veins in an overwhelming feeling of complete release. Open sky replaced the room around him. Below him, Nisair fell away to nothing more than a tiny dot in a kaleidoscope landscape.

  Bolin shook his head. His heart slammed against his ribs as though it intended to burst from his chest. So much power. No longer chained but exalting in its freedom.

  I can't call him back. Ciara's voice from somewhere very distant.

  A scream. Anger, defiance, pain. And then laughter at the sheer thrill of it all.

  Bolin forced his breathing to slow, and his eyes to open. The panic he felt as he did so didn't come from Ciara or her power, it came from his own soul, and he squashed it before it could grow.

  "Too late," he said, and raised his face to meet Dain's concerned look. "We're too late."

  He pulled from Thadeus's grip, and bolted for the door with Dain following hard on his heels. The Emperor caught him in the hallway, and Bolin spun on him.

  "You can't do this alone," Dain said.

  "It's very likely we can't do it at all," Bolin said, giving voice to his fear.

  "We'll need the mages--"

  "Some are already there," Thadeus said, a distant look on his face that turned to an icy scowl as he drew his focus back. "It appears two of my brothers have cast their lot with our enemy."

  "Where's Ari?" Bolin asked.

  Dain started to shake his head when footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Ariadne and Nialyne rounded the corner.

  "What's going on?" Ariadne asked, the hint of demand in her voice as she joined them. "The wards barely gave a shiver, but someone is flinging around an awful lot of power. Ancient power."

  "Ciara and Donovan. We're going to need you." Bolin looked at Nialyne. "Stay here with Thadeus."

  "No."

  "Damn the bloody hells, Alyne, you'll do as I say and not argue."

  Nialyne stiffened, and the corridor became deathly quiet as the world held its collective breath. The Galysian elder's chin lifted the merest fraction. Her eyes hardened and slid from Bolin to Dain. "By your leave, Your Majesty, I offer the aid of the Greensward where it shall be needed." When Bolin opened his mouth, Nialyne put a hand up to stop him, but still didn't look at his way. "You will need whatever resources can be gathered if we are to salvage this day."

  "Alyne, please, listen to me." Bolin took her by the arms and forced her to face him, desperation coloring his tone. "I won't have you putting yourself in danger. Stay here with Thadeus. Please. For the love of the Goddess. You can aid us just as easily from inside the castle as you can from outside it."

  Her expression didn't soften. "You waste precious time, General."

  Bolin implored Dain. "Please, talk some sense into her."

  "You need to hurry," Thadeus said before Dain could respond.

  Bolin fought the cold dread growing in his gut. He shook his head, released Nialyne, and sprinted out of the castle, leaving the others to trail behind.

  By the time he reached the top of the north wall, Bolin's legs ached and his lungs burned. He paused to catch his breath, then blindly followed the undeniable pull of Ciara's power westward along the battlement. The currents of magic being called into play buffeted him from all sides. If Imperial Mages were aiding Donovan, that would explain the city wards not giving notice. It would also complicate matters. He'd be facing them along with Donovan and his witch. Alone until the others caught up to him. But that fact didn't slow his pace because from the skies overhead came a deafening roar.

  Alarm bells rang from the watch towers, and Bolin prayed Dain had the good sense to pass along orders before someone started taking shots at the apparition Bolin didn't want to acknowledge. Stairs to his right lead down to an old portion of the wall, and he took them without thought but came up short at the bottom. Berk blocked his path, sword in one hand, a long dagger in the other, his stance suggesting he had no intention of moving.

  "Out of the way," Bolin said.

  "No, sir."

  A whisper of powerful magic trailed past Bolin like a faint scent on the breeze. "Berk, step aside."

  The soldier glanced behind him then back at Bolin. He shook his head, but it appeared he did it more to clear his thoughts than in response to Bolin's order.

  "I..." Berk's brows drew together. "I can't seem to do that."

  "I think you want to."

  "I do." He flexed his fingers on his sword's grip. He winced then, and when his eyes finally came back to Bolin they looked glazed. "But I can't."

  "He'll kill her. You realize that, don't you?"

  "No. He won't. He just wants to talk to her."

  Bolin gestured behind Berk. "Does that look like he's interested in talking? Put your weapons down, and let me pass." He raised his hands, palms up. "I'm unarmed, Berk. You've more honor than that. Or has he taken that as well?"

  Berk's lip curled and anger flashed in his eyes. He flipped the dagger, catching it by the blade, and bent to slide it across the ground toward Bolin. "Arm yourself then."

  The weapon was damn near long enough to be a short sword, but still not a match for the length of steel Berk held. Maybe against someone with less skill. But Bolin had seen Berk fight, and he didn't like his chances of coming out unscathed, not without killing the man, and he really didn't want to do that.

  "We don't have time for this," Bolin said.

  "Arm yourself."

  "And if I don't?"

  Berk rubbed his hand across his forehead but kept his sword leveled at Bolin's chest. "Please, General, I'd rather not kill an unarmed man. I'd rather not kill you at all, but I don't have any choice. I wish I did. Trust me. I didn't mean to bring Ciara here and I don't mean to--"

  He grimaced, shook his head again and shifted back, the tip of his sword lowering. Bolin moved. He dropped his shoulder and shoved up under Berk's guard, knocking him backwards, his fingers closing around the wrist of Berk's sword arm. But the man took advantage of Bolin's momentum and let himself fall back. His free hand closed on a fistful of Bolin's tunic, dragging him down. He brought his feet up into Bolin's gut as they hit the ground, thrusting upwards, and sending Bolin somersaulting over his head.

  Bolin scrambled to his feet with just enough time to throw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding a gutting by Berk's upwards, backhanded slice. Fabric tore, followed by a burn across his collarbone that told of skin laid open by sharp steel. Then the blade whistled in waist high as Berk changed his grip overhead and brought it arcing down. Bolin pivoted on his right foot, spinning and putting himself inside Berk's reach so his sword arm encircled him. He slammed his elbow back, swearing when it crunched against mail.

  Berk shoved him away, and they turned to face one another. Somewhere behind Bolin, Donovan faced off with Ciara, struggling to control the power that screamed yet another challenge from overhead. Berk's gaze flicked to the bloom of red marking
Bolin's tunic, slid over his shoulder at the scene beyond and came back. Confusion danced in his eyes. He looked down to where the discarded dagger lay, and kicked it, sending it skittering across stone toward Bolin.

  "Pick it up," he said.

  "So you can feel better about what you're doing?" Bolin shook his head. "No."

  The soldier's jaw worked, and a tremor ran through him. "Damn the unholies, pick it up."

  "You're fighting the wrong person, Berk," Bolin said.

  "I have to!" He yelled the words, his face twisted with emotion and pain. And then he dropped to his knees, his head bowed and fists balled against his temples, though he kept hold of his sword. When Bolin took a step toward him the blade angled in threat. "Don't."

  Berk shoved himself back to his feet with obvious effort.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  Noise from the stairs behind him caused Berk to turn, and Bolin dashed forward. He snatched the dagger off the ground by its blade as he past, and swung the grip toward Berk's head. It caught him solidly just as he started to turn back, enough force behind it to daze him. Bolin followed it up with a punch to the jaw that completed the job, and Berk crumpled unconscious to the ground just as the Emperor arrived.

  "See to him," Bolin said.

  And Andrakaos's roar deafened them all.

  ***

  Andrakaos folded his wings close to his body and dove, the air rushing past him as the city below grew larger in his vision until it obliterated all else. Only then did he snap his wings open again. The maneuver sent him careening back into the blue of the open sky, reveling in his own strength. Muscles strained to lift himself higher. Currents moved like water in the sky, carrying him higher again until the clouds became the ground, and above him the sun looked near enough to touch. Nostrils flared, filling lungs with cold, clean air that held not the hint of scent. Higher still, and breath puffed out before him. Ice coated the edges of his shimmering black scales like a touch of silver moonlight.

  This was freedom.

  He dove again, slicing through the air, shredding the clouds, streaking toward the earth with water streaming from narrowed eyes. His heart slammed in his throat. Exhilaration. A twinge of fear if something should go wrong. If this time his wings weren't strong enough to bear the strain.

  He pushed them open, just enough to send him skimming above the trees, bending the tips of them with the rush of wind that rode in his wake. The smell of the river mingled with that of pines and men, the musk of livestock. He turned back toward the wall. Like great sails opening to catch the breath of the gods, the wings unfurled and Andrakaos touched down.

  ***

  Ciara's head whipped to the side, her ears ringing with the force of Donovan's backhanded blow. A second one brought tears springing to her eyes, and sent her staggering to the ground.

  "I am done playing games," he said. "And it seems I no longer need you."

  Ciara looked up through blurred eyes. A hulking shape perched on top of the nearby tower, wings mantled like a hawk guarding its dinner. Donovan faced the creature and began to chant. The words slithered through Ciara, trailing hot-cold fingers across her nerves, tugging her to her feet. The creature tilted its huge head and surveyed the sigils dancing in the air before it with clear, obsidian eyes.

  Andrakaos?

  The head jerked her way. We are magnificent.

  Ciara swallowed. The thing her power had become no longer had the faintest hint of transparency about it. Corporeal, a being of sinew and bone, the aged tower roof groaned under its substance as Andrakaos shifted his weight.

  How?

  Does it matter? We are. At long last.

  Donovan's fingers moved. Andrakaos roared in pain, echoed by Ciara's own scream. Donovan turned a curious look Ciara's way, and the scene repeated itself.

  "Fascinating," Donovan said. "It seems you are not so easily removed from him as I had thought. That will be inconvenient."

  "For you, perhaps," Ciara said.

  Her fingers moved of their own accord, scribing a quick symbol through the air and then flicking it toward Donovan. He did nothing as it hurtled toward him. The sigil stopped short of its target and hung suspended, spinning slowly. Donovan reached out to touch it, and Ciara grimaced. She shook herself, formed another symbol and then another, and fired one after another at Donovan until he stood surrounded by a glimmering wall of them.

  "Shall I tell you a secret, Daughter?" Donovan began to move the sigils about, changing their order and very subtly altering their shape. Each time he touched one Ciara felt as though someone dragged broken glass across her skin. "I never meant for you to live this long. You were merely a vessel. This power was not meant for you to keep, but only to bring into this world so that I could call it forth when my plans had come to fruition. Had I found you as an infant, I would have taken it then, and killed you without a thought. A shame for both of us that I did not. Your mother should not have thwarted my efforts. She would not have died had she not defied me. She would have sat by my side as I promised. But she saw fit to go back on her word."

  His words crashed into Ciara as incoherent bits of jabber until she sorted through them, trying to make sense of them. "You're a liar."

  "On occasion. This, however, is not one. Your mother proved to be only slightly less ambitious than I. Perhaps she sought to keep you to herself. Perhaps she was merely too soft to part herself from you. Which seems to make her death your fault. You truly are a harbinger of death, are you not?"

  Donovan's eyes glittered through the haze between them. Ciara shook her head. "I don't believe you."

  "Believe this, I lay claim to that which is mine."

  He pushed his hands forward and the wall of magic he had restructured flashed around Ciara, closing in like a fist and severing her connection to Andrakaos. He roared loud enough to shake the foundations and threw himself skyward. Ciara thrashed against the light hemming her in on all sides. She struck against it with her fists, called on her earth magic, tried everything she could to break free. Sweat poured freely down her face, trickling between her breasts, her chest heaving with effort. The air became close, so thick she couldn't drag in enough to fill her lungs. Black specks crowded her vision and she slumped to the ground, the cold stone rushing up to catch her as she fell.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Donovan moved further down the wall without sparing his daughter a second look. The priestess and mages shadowed his moves to keep him within the circle of their working. High above them Andrakaos spiraled through the air, screaming in challenge. Each ground rumbling bugle hit Donovan like a bludgeon to the head. The crone's power had picked a bad time to rebel. It twisted around his own, sharp tines digging in and wrenching it away even as he fought to form the ancient words of binding. His head spun, his vision blurring. He needed only to get the handful of syllables out of his mouth yet his tongue seemed to thicken behind his teeth making speech difficult. Concentration proved even more laborious, and more than once he lost the thread of what he did, forcing him to begin anew.

  "Your soldier boy failed," the priestess said, scorn dripping from her voice.

  Donovan could not spare the time or the effort to look for himself. "Then you had better not." Strange that those words flowed easily. "Kill them. And do not fail me this time."

  "Pah." She spat. "The Lady's power will destroy you. It is too strong to be manipulated. You are losing."

  "If I lose, you die. Now deal with them."

  The priestess bared her teeth in a feral grin. The mages' working wavered as she pulled herself from it, and they struggled to bolster it. Very soon, however, Donovan would not need it, or them.

  ***

  Bolin rushed toward Ciara, Dain at his side, Ariadne and Nialyne trailing. Before they could reach her Donovan's witch left the circle she and the mages had created, and stalked their way. Bolin grimaced.

  "See to Ciara," he said over his shoulder. "I'll deal with this one."

  No sooner had he said th
e words than a thick, black stream of Dominion magic rippled toward them. Rock crumbled as Bolin deflected it into the outer wall. The next one came even faster, directed at Dain. Bolin didn't think. He shoved Dain out of the way and took the full brunt of the blast square in the chest. It slammed him back into the parapet, and left him struggling to breathe. Before he could recover she launched another assault, and Bolin dove to the side, landing hard and rolling. He tried to gain his feet, but his legs wouldn't support him. Bracing against the inner wall he heaved upwards.

  "Pity," the witch said as she sauntered closer. "I'd hoped to keep you for myself."

  Bolin braced himself. The Dominion magic clawed inside him, sapping his strength.

  "He'll trade you to the highest bidder, you know that," Bolin said, gasping. "You are nothing more to him than chattel."

  She shrugged, but he saw the flicker of anger in her eyes. "A game within a game, all toward the same end."

  "I didn't think you enjoyed being a pawn."

  "When this world is his I shall sit by his side."

  Bolin barked out a harsh laugh. "Are you truly that blind? Does he strike you as the kind of man who will share power? You're less than nothing to him."

  "And you know less than nothing."

  The priestess raised her hand. Before Bolin could react, Nialyne stepped in front of him. Panic surged through him when he realized what she intended. She locked her gaze with his, a fierce light in her eyes, her mouth set in a firm line. Bolin shook his head. Nialyne's hand moved.

  "No!" The scream of terror ripped his throat raw but couldn't stop what happened next.