God's Last Breath

by Sam Sykes

  The apprentices, just as young as he had been, who would one day fantasize about being him …

  And where are you now, old man? He could taste bile on his tongue, held back by a bitter smile. So many years you’ve given them, so much of your life to their laws, their rules, their priorities, and what are you? A heretic to be persecuted, a tool to be used … when have any of them looked at you with anything but contempt?

  His fingers tightened around the brim of the hat until they shook.

  No more, old man. No fucking more.

  He raised the hat and placed it on his head. It settled down upon his head, perhaps a little bigger than he would have liked.

  Just like any old dirty hat.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  If there were two things wizards prided themselves on, they would be efficiency and the ability to render the typical barknecked mud-grubbing idiot sodden-trousered and jelly-legged with awesome displays of power.

  If one asked them to choose between the two?

  Well, Dreadaeleon supposed it varied from wizard to wizard, but whoever had been in charge of the design of Tower Resolute was likely more fond of impressing the rabble.

  The tower stood tall over Cier’Djaal, dwarfing the two stone gods in Temple Row—or one, now, since the other one had been destroyed—and rivaling the Silken Spire itself for height. A typical wizard tower had to supply room enough for lodging, kitchens, laboratory, library, and chamber for its chapter of the Venarium.

  And since Tower Resolute only had about two hundred fifty wizards, that meant there was a lot of empty space dedicated to meandering hallways such as the one Dreadaeleon found himself in.

  It was fairly spacious, as hallways went—maybe wide enough for fifteen men to walk abreast and tall enough for three of them to stack on top of each other. Great sets of double doors were on either end of it. Tall pillars, such as the one Dreadaeleon was concealed behind, marched its length.

  Ideal place for an ambush involving a magical duel, he noted dryly.

  And, with significant less dryness, it was so wide that he could almost hear his own thoughts echoing as he ran through the plan for five hundredth time.

  Easy, old man, easy. Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady. Keep your power under control or Annis will sense you a mile away.

  He shut his eyes, breathed himself calm.

  Any moment now, Annis will come through those doors there. He glanced toward the western doors. And he’ll head toward his study through those doors there. He looked to the eastern doors. There are two Librarians there already to hold the doors shut. Two more behind Annis to hold the western ones shut. They’ll try to mask the magic you use here. It’ll be just you and him.

  He felt something moving, looked down, saw it was his own hands shaking.

  Stop that. He breathed in and out. You can do this. Annis will be tired, weary, he won’t be expecting you. A few quick lightning bolts, a bit of fire and you’re done, old man. You’re free. You can leave the Venarium behind. You can go wherever you want.

  If you don’t die, that is.

  Stop it. STOP it! He snarled, clenched his teeth. You’re going to succeed. You’re going to escape. If the lightning and fire doesn’t work, you can always …

  He could feel like it a weight in his pocket: barely the size of a pebble, yet it felt like a boulder. It weighed him down, telling him that all he had to do was take it out, pop it in his mouth, let the smoke come and the visions come and …

  Careful. Broodvine’s how you get into this situation in the first place. He shook his head. It’s how you wound up here. It’s how you became a pawn. It’s how you … how you lost …

  His vision grew hazy at the edges. She danced in the shadows of the hall: the scent of her skin in his nose, the flutter of her hair brushing against his cheek, the whisper of her voice in the stillness of the hall.

  “Northern boy.”

  You don’t need it, old man. He shook his head. You don’t need it. Don’t use it. Don’t you dare—

  He paused.

  A sudden sensation pricked him: fluctuating temperature, a steady pressure on his temple. The sound of footsteps reached him shortly afterward as someone approached. He had barely enough time to register them before he heard the western doors creak open.

  Here we go.

  He tried to keep his body still, his breath shallow. He wound up tensing up so tightly that his legs ached and held his breath so long his lungs strained. How did Kataria always make this “ambush” thing look so easy, he wondered?

  He heard the sound echoing through the hallway. Footsteps approaching quickly. One after another … and then another after another. His pulse quickened. His heart began beating.

  Too many footsteps, he realized. Annis isn’t alone. They said he’d be alone! They lied to you. Betrayed you, old man! They set this whole thing up so—

  Easy. He took a breath. Easy. He swallowed bitterness. Not like it matters much now, does it? He clenched and unclenched his hands. No matter how many are in here, the only way this ends well for you is if only one leaves.

  The footsteps came past his hiding place. So close, he was able to count them as they passed him. Three sets of feet, two of them slightly more hurried than the other. He waited for them to pass him, waited for them to reach the eastern doors, waited for them to stop and …

  “What’s the matter?”

  A young voice, shrill and irritated.

  “The doors won’t open. They’re stuck.”

  Another voice, still young, more worried. Neither of them Annis’s. Had he even come?

  “You’re a wizard,” the first one said. “If you can’t figure out how doors work, you’re in the wrong damn line of work.”

  “If you’re so smart, you try them. Blast them open or something.”

  “No.”

  Dreadaeleon’s ears pricked up at the sound of a third voice.

  “That will not help.”

  Deep, rolling, bitter.

  “They’ve been sealed shut.”

  Annis.

  Blood hammered through his veins, a forge that made his breath burn in his mouth and his heart hammer against his chest. The power came bursting into him, rising up inside him to leap to his eyes, his hands.

  Now or never, old man.

  The power leapt to his mind, the word leapt to his lips. He spun around the pillar, fingers pointed out like a spear. The hall filled with a bright blue flash as the lightning raced down his arm, into his fingers, and into the air with a sizzling crack.

  He could see it streak out from his fingers, flash across the room. He could see Annis as the Lector whirled about just in time for the lightning to reach a jagged arc right toward his chest. And he could almost see it pierce the bastard’s heart and end it all right then and there.

  Almost.

  But then, things had never been easy for him before. Why should they start now?

  The air shimmered. The lightning dissipated out into a dozen tiny rivulets of electricity, dancing across an invisible shield. Annis’s face, a perfectly harsh order of hard angles crowned by a well-groomed scowl, hadn’t so much as flinched.

  His bodyguards, at least, looked a little frazzled.

  Librarians. One man, one woman. The former was still gawping in wide-eyed shock, not certain what was going on. It had been just dumb luck, Dreadaeleon assumed, that the other one had managed to put up a shield. She stood beside Annis, her palms outstretched, eyes ablaze with the red glow of Venarie.

  “The heretic!” the man gasped. “How … how did he …”

  “Is it not obvious?” Annis muttered. “We have a traitor in our midst.”

  “In your midst?” Dreadaeleon chuckled. “The traitor is far from here, Lector.” He smiled. His teeth were painted red as the Venarie’s crimson light poured out of his eyes. “In your midst is something far more dangerous.”

  “We need help,” the woman said, looking to her companion. “Go. I’ll protect the Lector. F
ind the others and—”

  “No.” Annis’s voice was a harsh rasp. His foot slid forward as he eased into a disciplined, steady stance. “There’s only one way out of this.” He narrowed his eyes at Dreadaeleon. “Isn’t that right, concomitant?”

  “Technically two, Lector,” Dreadaeleon replied. He wiggled his fingers, letting the electric sparks dance across them. “Whether you want to leave as a carcass or a pile of ashes, though, I’ll let you decide later.”

  “Do not fear him,” Annis said. “A heretic is nothing to a true wizard. With me, members. One, two …”

  Dreadaeleon wasn’t about to let him finish. He thrust his fingers out, calling the power to them once more. Again, the lightning raced down his arm and out his fingers and sang a thunderous note as it rushed toward Annis.

  Or so he assumed.

  Really, it was hard to tell, what with all the lightning that followed.

  In one fluid motion, the two Librarians mirrored Annis’s stance, stretched their own fingers out, and called their own power. Their eyes, all six of them, burst with red power. Their fingers, all three of them, erupted with blue lightning. And in the time it had taken for Dreadaeleon to make one note, the three of them answered in a staggering, cobalt cacophony.

  Dreadaeleon narrowly had time to duck back behind the pillar. And he had even less time to fall to the floor as he felt the hall shudder from the blow. Their lightning, all three jagged bolts, sheared through the pillar, gnawing off chunks of stone and spitting them out on the floor and leaving behind smoldering plumes of steam behind.

  He heard electricity crackle again. He heard their feet sliding on the floor.

  Move, old man. MOVE.

  He called the spell to mind, to hands. He threw his limbs out behind him, felt the invisible force erupt from his fingers, propelling him forward with its energy.

  He sailed across the floor just as the lightning came again, punching through the remnants of the pillar. It chased him, three tongues of a hungry snake, lashing at the floor and digging deep gouges in the tile as he hurled himself toward the next pillar. He slid behind it, taking cover as their lightning dissipated behind him, their limit met for the moment.

  “Spread out,” the woman snarled. “Flank him!”

  “Do not,” Annis replied. “Do not let him trap you in his desperation. Unity is our strength. With me.”

  Footsteps. In near perfect unison. They were moving toward him. He couldn’t stay here, he knew, couldn’t be defensive. If necessary, they’d simply blow up the pillars one by one until he had nowhere left to hide.

  But what else can you do? he asked himself. How the fuck are you supposed to handle three?

  He felt his hand drifting unconsciously toward that pocket, toward that weighty little thing in his coat. That thing that cost him everything.

  He snarled.

  You don’t need it, old man. You don’t! He looked around. Think quickly. Three of them all moving together. They’ll be slow. Just be faster.

  He looked to the floor, the seemingly impossible distance between his pillar and the one across the hall. An idea came to him just as quickly as the power did. He drew in a deep breath, felt his body go cold, felt the saliva freeze in his mouth.

  He blew out a great cloud of white. It raced across the floor like a serpent, leaving a trail of slick frost behind it. And no sooner had it left him than he forced the power back into his arms, threw them out behind him, let the invisible force ripple out and propel him forward.

  The momentum carried him out onto the frost. The ice carried him the rest of the way.

  He slid across its slick surface, sailing effortlessly across the tile. Too quick for them to get an eye on him, let alone a spell. But he was ready, his power was prepared, and when he caught sight of them, the electricity was already dancing on his fingers.

  He let out a shout, let the lightning fly from his fingers. It streaked toward Annis, veered suddenly toward the man. Librarian he might have been, he didn’t see it coming in time. His eyes went wide. He let out a scream.

  A scream so loud, Dreadaeleon didn’t even hear Annis’s spell.

  The air rippled around the man, an invisible force shoving him out of the way. Dreadaeleon’s lightning crackled through empty air, bit at the floor, brought him nothing but a few fragments of stone. He snarled and launched another bolt toward the man. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Annis’s hand pull back, drawing the Librarian back to his side.

  Another bolt, this one from the woman, lashed toward Dreadaeleon. But his momentum was too great. He skidded off the ice, across the floor, and ducked behind the next pillar.

  Damn it, he thought as he ducked behind. Gods damn it.

  “Concomitant Arethenes,” Annis called out. “This is folly. You could not best me at your full strength. No matter what aid you’ve received, you’ll not best me here.”

  He’s right, you know, he thought. Anything you can do—any fire, lightning, force, ice—he’s had years more training and a hundred more battles than you have. He knows everything, can do anything.

  A thought, like an errant itch at the corner of his eye.

  Except one thing.

  No. Not that. You can do this, old man. You can beat him.

  Footsteps. They were advancing on him again.

  He glanced around. The hall was dimly lit by lanterns, each one glowing with a magical light. Not enough light here to bend to create a true illusion, but perhaps …

  He reached out with the power, drew what tiny traces of light he could to himself. He bent it with his mind, shaped it into something new before him: a vague image of himself, a skinny fellow in a dirty coat. Hazy and shadowy, he thought, but it would have to do.

  And, with that same power, he cast it out.

  The shadowy image of himself stepped out behind the pillar. He heard lightning crack, saw a bright flash.

  They took the bait.

  He whirled out around the other side of the pillar, palms outstretched. He screamed a word. Smoke burst from the palms of his hand.

  Fire followed.

  In a crackling laughter, gouts of flame erupted from his hands, so bright that he had to shut his eyes. He saw the three of them turn his way, but nothing more as the flames washed over them. But the scream he heard—an agonized, womanly screech—told him he had hit.

  No male screams followed, though. Rather, he could hear Annis bellow out a hasty word of power, draw in a deep breath.

  What happened next, he felt.

  The temperature dropped suddenly. He felt the sweat on his brow freeze. He felt the plumes of steam brush across his face as his fires hissed impotently.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but white.

  A great cloud of frost rolled toward him, extinguishing his flames and rendering them into tiny wisps of gray, swallowed and consumed in the cold. Crystals of ice formed inside, reaching out toward him like frigid fingers.

  He turned to run back to the safety of the pillar.

  He had taken maybe three steps before the ice took hold. It reached out from beneath him, seized his ankles and pulled his feet to the floor and held them there. He tried to pull at them, to no avail. He tried to call fire to his hand to melt them, but the cold seemed to reach inside him and snuff the flames out before he could even make them.

  He growled, spread his arms out wide. The power welled up inside him, rushing from his chest to his arms to his hands. He brought his hands together in a great clap.

  And the sound was thunder.

  The cloud of frost split apart with the reverberating force, its crystals shattering.

  Dreadaeleon drew in a breath, found it ragged and coppery on his tongue.

  Too much magic, cast one spell after another, too soon. He wasn’t strong enough to manage that. His muscles ached, his heart beat too quickly, his breath was ragged.

  And still, it had not been enough.

  The air shimmered with a rippling shield, the last vestiges of hi
s flames sizzling off it. The male Librarian was sweating; the shield had been hastily erected, cost him a lot. The female was on the ground, clutching a blackened patch of flesh that had once been half of her face.

  But Dreadaeleon’s eyes were on Annis.

  Annis’s perfect stance, now slightly crooked. Annis’s perfect breathing, now heavy and rapid. Annis’s perfectly composed face, now glistening with sweat and marred by genuine surprise and anger.

  Son of a bitch. Dreadaeleon couldn’t help but smile. That caught you off guard, didn’t it? That’s why your cloud was so big. You panicked, you old shit.

  “He burned me,” the woman moaned. “That little shit burned me.” She turned a single wild eye upon him. “Kill him. Kill him!”

  “Lector?” The man glanced nervously to Annis. “What do we do?”

  Annis didn’t answer. No easy retort, no put-down. All the composure had fled from his eyes, replaced by a wild, desperate searching. Was he surprised by Dreadaeleon’s power, he wondered? Or was he simply still processing the fact that he had been betrayed?

  Dreadaeleon wasn’t about to give them a chance to decide.

  You can do it, old man. Finish it. Finish it now.

  The thought came, the word followed, the power answered.

  He drew in a great breath. The frigid mist of Annis’s cloud came rushing toward him. His lungs burned with the effort, but he didn’t care. He blew outward, sending the cloud toward his foes, little more than a thick blanket of slightly cold fog. But that was fine.

  He didn’t need it to be anything else.

  He spoke a word, swallowed it, sent it deep inside himself. And something answered.

  He felt himself burning inside, a furnace stoked. The ice melted from his boots, turned to water at his feet, turned to steam in his wake as he rushed forward through the mist. His blood boiled, skin trembled. His hands flexed, fingers spread wide open. Light blossomed upon his palm.

  And hell followed.

  Rivers of flame poured from his hands, devouring the freezing mist. He swept them up, driving the fire like a stampede before him.