His damaged eyes looked around the forum, with its smoky, cracked bricks and toppled columns. One figure struggled to crawl to another, and Bayan recognized Doc Theo by his irresistible urge to care for others.
A faint, distant fear of ceasing to exist sparked in Bayan’s chest. He remembered how the singers had created a healing spell for both him and Sabella at the Temple. Had that happened just that morning? But Doc was a chanter, not a singer, because he was so tone deaf he couldn’t carry a tune in a canoe.
But if he could sing, he could heal us all at once. Why can’t that be part of my reality?
The white mist surrounding his rage spun into a typhoon and spiraled out through his eyes, his fingers, his chest. He arched with the sudden demand that billowed from his soul and spilled into the world. It didn’t hurt, but its high-pitched intensity made him glad it wasn’t audible.
Doc lurched in surprise at the touch of Bayan’s white magic.
“Doc,” Bayan rasped with a throat scorched by flame. “Doc. Sing, Doc. Sing.”
A thousand moments passed as Bayan waited, waited for Doc to feel the change in the world. Then, with the slow wonderment of a child who has received a gift he thought impossible, Doc’s hand slipped into a deep pocket, and he pulled forth two of his three chanting crystals. The old man knelt in the center of the moaning, crying crowd, balanced his crystals on his fingertips, and took a deep breath.
Bayan felt his own chest rising as well, though he seemed to be inhaling strips of flesh from his own throat. Sing.
Doc opened his mouth, and the first note emerged, pure and strong. Then the next and the next. Bayan recognized the melody, and by the look on Doc’s face, so did he. His mouth stretched in a brief smile of amazement as he returned to his songwork. The spell built in the air around Doc, and Bayan felt it wash over him and through him, stripping away the pain, restoring lost tissue and bone. His back arched again, this time with ecstasy at the complete cessation of pain. His eyes momentarily crossed, and the world flipped upside down.
The next moment, the world came crashing back in. The battle, the cetechupes, the emperor. Bayan kipped to his feet, his body pulsing with fresh adrenaline. He scanned the crowd under the ice dome and spotted Aleida, Tarin, and Eward but saw neither Taban nor Kiwani. He rushed over to them, pausing only to hug Doc in relief and murmur his heartfelt thanks.
He gathered his former hexmates close, ignoring everyone else, even the emperor, wherever he was. “We must make sure there are no more casters. If any of them survived inside those stone coffins, they’re still a threat.”
Tarin nodded. “We should exit through the top of the dome, in case that lava spell is still going out there.”
The earth rumbled, and the faint glow of lava through the ice vanished.
Eward grinned. “Looks like Kiwani and Taban finally took care of the lava problem for us.”
Aleida rose on a wind disc toward the top of the ice dome and willed a section of it to rise away. “Battle awaits.”
As Bayan and the others followed Aleida out, he heard a chorus of querulous voices rising below him, wondering what in sints had just happened. One glance back showed him that Doc was being swarmed by grateful and curious survivors.
Kiwani and Taban had not been idle outside the dome. The ground beneath the lava spell had collapsed, causing the molten rock to sink into a deep chasm that ringed the ice dome’s island like a glowing moat. He nodded as he landed beside the pair at the heat-damaged edge of the forum flagstones. He could almost see the battle memorial that would undoubtedly be erected nearby. I bet my name won’t be on it.
“Maybe the emperor can use that lava spell for some kind of heating system from now on.” His last few words were squeezed from his lungs by Taban’s exuberant hug, followed by a group embrace that left him breathless.
Bayan gritted his teeth to hold back sudden, unexpected tears. He had spent as much time separated from his friends as he had in their company, but he had constantly pushed aside how much he actually missed them until that moment. It meant far more to him than he could ever express that they still remembered him fondly, despite what he had done to their friendship, to their hex. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you.”
“Aye,” said Taban, “but you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. I wish Calder could be here to see you.”
“Well, not all that matters. Claiming this victory will certainly help.” Tarin grinned, her face smudged with ash.
Bayan looked at Taban and Kiwani. “Did you see anyone else while we were in the fire? Did anyone escape the coffins?”
Kiwani shook her head. “I didn’t see anyone else.”
A sudden twinge of worry touched Bayan’s mind, and he cast Lifeseeker out around them. Eight orange glows returned to him. All eight of the cetechupes had survived the stone coffins of Tegen’s Grave. “We need to—”
One of the stone coffins exploded, flinging chips in all directions. Aleida ripped flagstones up to form a large stone shield. As she hurled them toward the enemy caster, he gulped and spewed another spell, and the stone coffins around his allies dissolved in wisps of smoke.
As the cetechupes surrounded the Hexmates, Bayan noted dark streaks staining their clothing at their waists. “They’ve lost some of their spells. All we need to do is outlast them.”
Kiwani spoke. “And not get everyone else killed, you mean.”
Tarin’s hand sliced the air. “Listen, you great stupid prats. Whether we can admit it to the world or not, we are all hexmages—Hexmagic Duelists, worthy of the third and final seal of duelism. The empire separated us, scattered us across the map and beyond, but our magic is made to blend with each other’s. We all know the hexing spells. This Corona magic is too unfamiliar and powerful for us individually. We must hex together. Join me!”
Bayan could have kissed Tarin at that moment and seriously considered it. But with her eyes blazing and her chin high, she didn’t look like she needed any help focusing. The Mistress of Flame was itching for a fight. He held his arm out to her, and she clasped his wrist. Their hexing spells formed in the air between them, a flurry of blue swirls and red sparks, bonding and blending.
An awareness of Tarin and her magic potential grew in the corner of Bayan’s mind. She reached out to Taban, and he extended a hand toward Kiwani. Soon, both appeared in Bayan's mind next to Tarin’s potential. Eward and Aleida joined moments later.
The spells had taken mere moments to complete, but already, the cetechupes spewed dark sprays of deadly magic in their direction. Aleida whisked everyone straight off the paving stones with a wide wind disc, narrowly avoiding jagged bolts of lightning, showers of boulders, hail, and slivers of bamboo.
Surrounded by hexmagic, Bayan saw the attacks track his trajectory in slow motion. The nearest spell was a blaze of Shock magic. He borrowed Earth from the hex and cast an enormous metal spike that anchored in the flagstones and absorbed the spell. At the same instant, he felt Tarin borrow his Flame to melt and disperse a hailstorm and Eward borrow his Wind to redistribute the bamboo spikes.
The cetechupes scrambled, some jogging for better positions, some crying commands in Coronàl. All fumbled with their belts for their next mouthful of magic. As one, Bayan and his hexmates drove the ice dome deep into the earth and protected it with not only a hefty layer of stone but several trap spells as well, should one of the cetechupes decide to attack them again.
Aleida directed the wind disc out from between the two sets of casters, and the enemy gulped, spat, and flew into the air in pursuit. Tarin, Kiwani, and Eward deflected spells from behind, while Bayan helped Taban and Aleida search ahead for tactical advantages in the smoking landscape that had been the Kheerzaal campus. Bayan felt the serene confidence of his hexmates through their bond and matched it with his own.
The cetechupes began flinging gouts of flame onto the Kheerzaal buildings below, but the collective mind of the Hexmates did not deign to respond to the obvious tactic.
A b
last of Wind again—
They will have prepared a—
Encasing in stone isn’t—
Then neither wood nor ice will—
Airless?
Spitting doesn’t require—
Shock, then.
No, Flame.
As if they had read the Hexmages’ collective mind, the cetechupes spread out across the Kheerzaal, forming a wide, lazy circle. Bayan and his hexmates rose higher and looked down on the Kheerzaal campus and its surrounding cityscape: markets, neighborhoods, boulevards, and parks.
Such a large spell will obliterate the Kheerzaal.
Such temporary civilization. It can be replaced.
It is acceptable.
Lifeseeker confirms acceptable losses.
They will target villagers soon. Attack now.
Now.
Bayan and the others gave all of their Flame energy to Tarin. She bound all their energy into a single, molten spell, then delicately wove it with a skill Bayan didn’t think he would ever possess and whirled it wide across the sky. Broad rivers of living flame in red, yellow, and even bluish purple unwound across the sky, targeting not only the cetechupes’ current position but every direction in which they might flee. Tarin’s hex-spell devoured the sky, turning cloud to heat haze and blue sky to deepest sunset.
The cetechupes dived for the Kheerzaal, seeking shelter, but Tarin’s flaming sky hunted each one of them down in mere heartbeats. Bayan created multiple wind lenses to track each enemy caster. One man launched himself into a pond, only to have the water turn to curling blue flame around him and hold him there as he screamed into ash. Others tried to shelter inside various buildings, but the structures blackened and burst into flame, becoming funeral pyres.
A new facet to Tarin’s spell activated when one of the casters tried to spew a mouthful he’d been holding in reserve: just as the cetechupes’ flames had held everyone in place beneath the steel dome, Tarin’s burned his lips shut within a fist of fire, bottling his frantic screams inside his tortured form.
Through the hexmagic link, Bayan sensed the casters’ bodies being consumed by flame and crumbling to ash, their magic and seeming immortality finally broken.
Still, Tarin held the spell, reveling in the power of her Flamecast. Her mantle of fire hovered over the entire Kheerzaal with eight flaming tendrils snaking their way down amongst the buildings, clutching the hot ashes of their enemies. For a brief moment, Bayan wondered if those on the ground perceived an octopus of flame in the sky. If there were any imperial duelists left alive, he hoped they did not try to attack the hexmages. Tarin, in her flaming glory, might not distinguish them from true foes.
He gently pressed his consciousness against her, assuring her that the danger had passed and the enemy was truly defeated. The others joined him, and eventually, Tarin sighed, replete in ecstasy, and released everyone’s Flame magic back to their own minds. “Such beauty. Such power. Can we go again?”
Kiwani spoke, her voice slow and rich as honey. Bayan loved the feel of her mind, sated with power, against his. “That was delicious. But let’s free the emperor and the other hostages before they start thinking we’ve abandoned them. That wouldn’t do. ”
As Aleida directed the wind disc back toward the damaged forum, Taban added, “Aye, we havena officially done anything until the emperor tells us we have. I’ve been aching for another battle pennant for a while now. But if His Shiny Gloriousness is gonna try to toss Bayan over the border again, I say we leave him down there.”
In a Nutshell
Calder’s mind blanked. No sint-stopping ideas came. He absently patted his pockets and found a bulge in one of them. He pulled it out and stared at the lumpy brown walnut shell.
One element, Wood, encasing another, Earth. Wood was dense enough to block the combination of elemental and anima ingredients—iron and bone—the Karkhedonians used in their steel. Blocking the mixed magics negated steel’s effect on focused magic. He turned to Tala. “Do you have any purifying spells, something that can cleanse an element?”
Tala tipped her head toward the floodwaters. “We use them to create clean water after disasters like this. What are you thinking?”
“What do you do with the dirt you filter out?”
“We sing a kind of filter that catches it, and we sing the water through it. It’s very pretty to watch. Arches of bright, clean water. Children love it.”
Calder held up the nutshell and shook it. “Can you use the steel ball inside my nutshell for your filter? Without actually opening the nut?”
Tala lifted her chin. “I’d have to alter a couple stanzas of the melody, but yes. It’s a magical filtration process, not a physical one.” She looked thoughtful. “All this time, the Godsmaw’s used bonding to a single element as his advantage, but it’s also a weakness.”
“Aren’t I always nattering on about moderation?” Calder gave a satisfied nod. “If you wouldn’t mind, Trio Singer Tala, I need you to bind the Godsmaw within a nutshell.”
She rubbed at her forehead, shoulders slumping with the effort she’d already expended. “I’d better get my own holiday for this.” She turned her face toward the array of crystals hovering above the Godsmaw. Her abdomen flexed impressively as she took a deep breath, and she began to belt out notes, turning this way and that, directing them into the various crystals.
The walnut lifted off Calder's palm and shot downward. Calder tracked its progress through a wind lens. It came to a halt a few strides above the surface, which had begun to boil with enraged resistance. Murky, twisting loops of water arced past the nut, first singly, then dozens at a time, until Calder could just make out the silty bottom of the seafloor past the hundreds of leaping streams of water. The flying rivers calmed as the spell continued—their edges smoothed to mirrors, reflecting the blue sky and glints of sunlight. Calder was reminded more of the drowned fountains of Muggenhem than a raging, sentient evil.
Tala had spoken truly: the sint bound himself to one single thing—the waters of the Godsmaw—and they became his weakness as well as his strength. He and the water were at each other’s mercy.
The floodwaters pulled back into the Godsmaw’s basin. The sun wheeled overhead. And still Tala sang. Just listening made Calder's throat seem dry. Finally, the leaping waters stopped. Wind rippled across the sea, making delicate waves. Tala’s last note echoed long across the crystals and finally faded away. She sang another small melody, and the nut leapt up and landed in her hand.
She gave it to Calder, and he gathered her close, letting her rest against him. “We did it. We did it. You were marvelous.”
She brought his head down to hers and kissed him sweetly. “That’s my hexmage. Always with the clever ideas.”
“Aye, well, that’s what happens when you read useful books.”
“A pocket-sized sint. What should we do with him?”
Calder studied the nut. “I havena any idea. All I know is that I’d best not crack this shell. Remember what the Godsmaw showed us? All those other forces in the distance, waiting to converge on us? I canna let that happen.”
Calder let his hex crystals dissipate, then dived his wind disc toward the nearest shore, a sandy beach along the edge of the Spineforest, riven with massive erosion runnels. He offered a hand to Tala as she stepped from the disc to a shiny, wet plane of black stone left behind when the Godsmaw had snapped off a spire.
He crafted a pair of new black crystals and handed them to her. “Go to the other hexmates. Tell them I’m going to destroy that threat from the east, the one neither Taban nor I could find.”
Tala’s posture was a mix of concern and exhaustion. “Alone? Right now? What are you going to do?”
Calder let his wind disc rise just out of her reach. “Anything I like. I have the love of a good woman and a sint in my pocket.” He blew her a kiss, grinned at her helpless frustration, and shot through the air with such speed that he needed a shield of wind to block the icy breeze from freezing his eyeballs. He
paused over the newly calm Gyre, now separate from its inhabiting Godsmaw, and gave it a speculative eye. That bloody water owes me.
Soon, trailing a league-long, sparkling river that twisted and flowed through the air like a fluttering procession carpet, Calder veered to the southeast. Though he had drawn real water from the Gyre, he had used it to form a new Water hexling, bonding the water itself to his magic for easier control. Dunfarroghan see, Dunfarroghan do.
When he’d searched the previous evening—from the shore of the Gyre south for hundreds of leagues along the imperial border—he’d found plenty of evidence to support Philo’s reports of a wandering army sacking villages. The trouble was, they came and went without leaving any evidence of their passage. Eyewitness accounts had consistently claimed that the army had descended upon the villages in broad daylight. Calder scanned the sunny sky. Excellent raiding weather, methinks.
He slung his wind disc low and slipped across the rolling hills in the direction of Aklaa and the Huku Hills. He cast Lifeseeker ahead of him, sensing the occasional human or small village cluster and untold thousands of small orange flickers of animal life in the broad wild forest. Calder’s Gyre water followed dutifully, winding and twisting and undulating, one fluid current amongst all the air currents. The way it brushed against the air made it obvious where the air currents lay. He normally sensed that only with his Wind magic. He grinned. Tis the little things.
He climbed higher and pushed Lifeseeker over a wider area, scouring entire valleys from high above before moving on over the next ridge, the next river.
An orange sea struck his mind. Thousands of men, clustered together beneath a thick oaken forest, slunk through the trees, headed for a small village across a low ridge of hills. Calder spread his other elements below, picking up wood, leather, and an alarming quantity of steel.
Steelwielders. The Corona has sent an army of steelwielders. Calder’s joy at controlling his own airborne river burned away in sudden rage.
Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) Page 20