by CS Sealey
The uppermost window of the former inn was open, just as he had hoped, so he slipped through quickly and quietly into a world of unexpected noise: a woman was screaming.
He hurried into the room he had shared with the Auran brothers, fetched his small bag and prepared to depart. He had no idea what was happening here but it was no longer his concern. He swung his bag over his shoulder but, as he emerged from the room, Aiyla darted up the stairs and almost bumped into him. She uttered a little shriek and staggered back before recognizing him.
“Oh, Zoran!” she cried, clutching one hand to her breast. “You scared me half to death!”
A moment later, Lila emerged from another room, a blood-stained apron around her waist.
“Did I hear you say…? Sable! Come here, quick! Angora. Oh, gods! She’s gone into labor – ”
“Are you expecting me to help you?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course not!” Lila snapped. “She asked for you. She’s in such a state now, though, you won’t be able to see her until her condition improves. But she made me promise that, as soon as I saw you, I’d give you this.”
There was another loud and drawn-out scream, accompanied by sobs of pain. The old woman thrust something into Zoran’s hands before disappearing back into the room. Aiyla hesitated for a moment, then hurried after her.
Zoran stood there, perplexed, before he pocketed the package and strode down the length of the hallway. He had seen a birth before and did not wish to see another, so he kept his eyes forward and his sensitive ears deaf to the screams.
A blast of hot, smoky air hit him in the face as he swung out from the window and found himself on the rooftops once more. The screams of childbirth were thankfully drowned out by the sounds of battle below. He held a hand to his hip pocket and felt Angora’s parcel. Resisting the urge to inspect it, he turned his eyes to the South Gate of Te’Roek and prepared to leave the capital of the Ronnesian Empire for good.
CHAPTER 73
Archis Varren ran his hands through his hair and looked at the smoking city. The morning light was strengthening but the large gray cloud of smoke hovering above Te’Roek cast an ominous shadow over the buildings.
How could I have failed to foresee this? Varren asked himself. Have these pathetic people been fooling me all this time?
He considered all the policies he had put into place, the reformations and benefits he had introduced to try to win the citizens’ favor. Even so, they had risen up and turned against him. He had recognized Tarek banners amid the reinforcements that had stormed the city from the river. What other resources did the Ronnesians possess of which he was unaware? He had been surprised to discover that they had employed someone as brutal as Nomanis Tirk, the man responsible for the death of General Carter. And he could not even begin to imagine how they had found Zoran Sable – an elf who had been banished by his own people, forced to survive in the human world by hiring himself out as an assassin. The Ronnesians’ influence had indeed stretched further than he had expected.
The fight within the castle was drawing closer. He could hear Emil Latrett, Markus Taal and Kayte Heron shouting to each other as they fought Varren’s companions. It was impossible to tell who had the upper hand.
He returned to his war room. There, he piled all his documents on the marble floor and set them alight. The flames turned green and then white as they licked at the pieces of parchment. The fire died down and he stirred the ashes with his foot, then nodded, satisfied that all correspondence had been destroyed.
Following the echoes of the battle, he hastened to the castle courtyard, preparing his first spell. He spied Tarvenna and Markus rising to their feet, their clothes smoldering from what must have been a collision of two spells. On a section of lawn, Emil and Kayte were pushing back Lhunannon with frightening ease, their combined powers simply too much for him. His forehead was dotted with sweat and dust and his eyelids were half closed with exertion.
Varren leaped into the fray, sending a thick mist rippling through the air at Emil and Kayte, smothering the spells they were preparing. At once, their attention shifted to him, and Lhunannon was able to find cover and regain his strength. The surprise on Emil’s face was evident the moment the mist cleared.
“Your plan failed, shaman!” Varren shouted triumphantly. “Your elven assassin was valiant until the last, but little more than sport for me!”
“Yet the city is ours!” Emil cried. “Surrender your armies and we may be merciful.”
Varren laughed. He caught sight of Lhunannon approaching and was aware that all fighting had ceased. The mages stared each other down, the smoke of their many spells dissipating slowly in the air about them.
“You could save the lives of many men if you surrender what is left of your forces now and agree to terms. I speak on behalf of Her Majesty the queen,” Markus Taal declared.
“And I speak for the late King Samian and every single Ayon man, woman and child when I say that we will not bow down to you and your ruthless politics! Your queen chose this path. Every drop of blood spilt here and in the battle preceding is on her hands, not mine! The war is not yet over. You have not seen the full extent of our armies.”
“But where are they, Varren?” Emil taunted. “Not here, not today! Your king is dead and he left no heir. Unless your goal is to proclaim yourself sovereign, you fight for nothing!”
“As expected, shaman, your naivety blinds you,” Varren sneered.
“I have heard enough!” Kayte shouted. “We came here to reclaim what you have taken. If you do not stand aside, Varren, we will eliminate you!”
He chuckled. “You attempt to threaten me?”
“Enjoy your last breath.”
Kayte raised her arms and Varren felt a tremor ripple through the air as the energy was sucked away. He summoned a shield about Lhunannon and himself just before a wave of hot air and sparks hurtled from her open palms. To his right, he saw Tarvenna disappear into a coil of swirling white magic, which reflected the greater part of Kayte’s attack.
Emil sprang forward, red fire flickering around his fingers. Lhunannon reacted quickly and released a jet of fire from his wrinkled palms, which streaked toward the Ronnesian’s head. Emil ducked and threw his arms up in front of his face, summoning a shield.
Markus surged into action and Tarvenna dissipated her swirling shield. The witch laughed and scurried across the courtyard gardens, spurting pure energy at her enemies. Visibility grew poor and Varren soon needed to rely more on his ears than his eyes. Shrubs all around him were smoking and flickering with unnaturally colored flames, casting strange shadows across the lawns. A spell raced toward him and he twisted out of the way, feeling the heat of the shaman’s fireball on his face.
This is ridiculous. I could easily hit Lhunannon or Tarvenna.
He knelt on the ground and spread his fingers through the grass. He felt the energy pulsing through the soil, the roots and the individual green stems, and he absorbed it, sucking it into his skin. The pure energy from the earth coursed through his muscles, leaving his arms feeling hot. A moment later, he stood again and breathed deep, his fingers flickering with raw energy. With a great sweep of his arms, he commanded the smoke to dissipate and lift up from the ground. Almost immediately, visibility returned, leaving most of the mages momentarily stunned.
Emil, however, swiftly regained his composure and summoned a powerful force, which he sent at Varren. He saw the air wavering in front of him as the force approached and turned side-on, one arm held rigidly aloft, splitting his hand right down the middle of the spell. With a great hiss and crackle, it dissipated.
Clearly angered, Emil clasped his palms together and splayed his fingers wide, sending ten thin jets of fire in Varren’s direction. By this time, Kayte had also recovered from the sudden disappearance of the smoke and a spell quickly flew from her outstretched hand. Together, the two spells tore across the courtyard but neither reached Varren. Lhunannon ducked as the jets of fire approached him but
Tarvenna was too slow. Kayte’s spell knocked her off her feet and she disappeared into a hedge with a cry of anger and pain. A quick glance assured Varren that the witch was not seriously harmed.
“Varri de marteh!” Tarvenna growled as she pulled herself out of the hedge. “You will pay for that, Ronnesian!”
Varren watched as she sprang once more into action, flinging spells across the courtyard, one after another. He dodged yet another of Emil’s spells.
“Careful, shaman!” Varren taunted. “That one was almost on target!”
“How did your master die, Varren?” Emil shouted back, furious. “Was it truly our magic or your incompetence that sent him to an early grave?”
Varren smiled his thin smile. “If you wish to claim the glory for murdering a defenseless, weak and starving man, I will not stop you, but it will be your treacherous leika who will answer to the Spirits for the crime.”
“With the king dead, your empire will crumble!” Markus Taal cried. “You have no master to serve now, this campaign has no purpose!”
“No purpose?” Varren exclaimed incredulously. “I do this for the Ayon people, for every man, woman and child who lives in fear of your domination over them!”
“But with no monarch on the throne, even a grand victory over us will mean nothing!” Emil cried.
“And once again, you fail to understand the bigger picture, shaman,” Varren said, narrowing his eyes and smiling slightly. “When this day is won, there will be someone to take the throne. Killing King Samian was fortuitous for you but another will rise!”
“If you mean yourself, your reign will be short!” Kayte cried, summoning a ball of blue flame between her palms.
Varren flung his arms up before him. The spell hit his forearms and bounced off, careening away into the bushes, which were smoking again. Spells and charms filled the space between the opposing mages, choking the air with smoke and sparks. There was a great flash and boom as two spells collided and everything turned white. For a few seconds, Varren was blind and he instinctively crouched low into a more defensive position before drawing his sword.
He began to absorb energy from the soil and grass and channel it through himself to his sword. As his sight returned, he spotted Kayte and Emil huddled together behind a stone bench. He stood to his full height and raised his sword in the air, weaving a spell around the blade and surrounding air. What little light had managed to penetrate the smoke hanging above the city began to fade as Varren’s silent incantation bound the sun’s rays and channeled them into his sword. The courtyard grew darker and darker as not only the light but the very energy was stolen from the air.
He saw Lhunannon and Tarvenna stumble, becoming weak, and knew the Ronnesians could feel it too. He began to laugh.
“Kayte! Markus!” Emil cried, blinking furiously to keep himself awake. “Get out of the shadow!”
Hearing the shout, Varren sprang into action. With the glowing white sword in his hands, he plunged the blade downwards deep into the soil at his feet. A great tremor ripped through the whole castle, causing Lhunannon, Tarvenna, Emil and Markus to stagger. Only Varren and Kayte stood tall, glaring at each other across the courtyard. An instant later, the ground broke open and a shallow, jagged fissure split the lawn, hurtling at Kayte and her companions.
“No, the earth is mine!” the shaman cried, springing back onto his feet and holding his palms out to the oncoming fury.
Varren saw the shaman close his eyes tightly in concentration and felt him grasp the fragments of the oncoming spell and rip them apart. In a grand motion, Emil clapped his palms together and flung his arms wide. The fissure came to a grinding halt and a great cloud of dust lifted into the air. Panting, he rearranged his tunic and shook back his disheveled braids.
Varren cursed and dropped to one knee, a hand clutching his face. He had not seen the spell that had hit him but felt the lingering sting of a conjured arrow. He glowered at Markus, who was already weaving another charm. The other members of Queen Sorcha’s protectorate, apparently seeing an opportunity to strike as one, were preparing spells also. Emil summoned a ball of fire, Kayte created a dart of pure energy and, together with Markus, they sent their spells through the air toward Varren.
Just in time, he raised his other hand and conjured a shield. Great cracks and booms erupted as the spells careened away and hit walls and columns, but the Ronnesians did not relent in their attack. They spread out, each flinging anything they could in Varren’s direction while also avoiding the magical attacks from Tarvenna and Lhunannon.
Despite the throbbing pain in his cheek, Varren maintained his hold upon his shield and not a single spell managed to penetrate the barrier. Once the bombardment lessened, he rose, one side of his face running red with blood where the arrow had caught him. Once more, he began to laugh. He could not remember the last time he had felt pain from a magical wound. A strange feeling erupted within him, a mixture of fierce desire and anticipation. He wanted more – he wanted to use his powers to their very limits! He wanted a challenge much greater than this!
He drew his sword out from the earth, no longer glowing with magic, and pointed it at the Ronnesians. “Yes, yes!” he cried, his eyes shining. “This is good! Again!”
The assault was renewed and, soon, the air was hot with magic. Spell after spell came at Varren but, possessed by a cruel bout of laughter, he ducked and twisted away from every attack. The sorcerer quickly lost track of the world around him. There was a great battle being fought in the city – thousands of men were fighting and dying but here, within this dome of hot, smoke-filled air, the only thing he was aware of was his power, his allies and his enemies.
Varren bent down, gathered a handful of churned up earth, and threw it in front of him as though it were a spear. The soil glistened, trailing embers behind each particle like red-hot coals. Emil shouted in pain as the blast hit him and quickly conjured up a shield to fend off the remainder. Lhunannon flung his arms out and Varren saw both Markus and Kayte stumble, as though struck by an invisible giant fist. An instant later, Tarvenna sent forth a flurry of conjured darts and the combined force of the two spells sent the Ronnesians flying. Markus hit the lawn hard and rolled a few times before coming to a stop under a tree. He sat up, groaning, but was forced to fling himself aside to avoid another of Tarvenna’s attacks. Kayte narrowly missed a column and slammed into one of the courtyard walls. Though she was quick to return to her feet, she held a hand to her head and grimaced.
Varren returned his gaze to the shaman and saw, with a mixture of surprise and humor, that Emil had crouched and was attempting to call upon the powers of the earth, just as Varren had done. Though Emil had a greater affinity with the elements, Varren was not going to give him a moment longer to soak up their energy. He delved inside himself and forged a new magical attack, which he immediately forced out through his fingers in a great stream of freezing cold blue sparks.
The ground around Varren’s feet trembled and a ripple threw him off-balance, dissipating his spell. Leaping to his feet, Emil threw a bright streak of green light straight at Varren’s head. The Ayon sorcerer conjured up a hasty shield of thin mist just in time to ward off the brunt of the spell but the sheer power behind it threw him off his feet. Shrubs were crushed under the weight of Varren’s fall and twigs scratched at his face and arms. For a moment, he was dazed, but the ensuing silence quickly brought him back to his senses.
He rose from the bushes, tugging his robe free of a tangle of rose thorns, and looked around. Emil was anxiously hunched over Markus Taal, glancing up every few seconds, a half-formed spell ready in his palm. Kayte stood defensively beside him, her arms outstretched as she maintained her shield charm.
“I said no!” Emil was saying to her.
“We need to separate them,” she insisted, her eyes fixed on Lhunannon. “Their combined power is too great.”
“No!” Emil cried, making to grab her arm. “We cannot afford to split – ”
“Varren!”
>
Kayte brought her arms up and clapped them together. A spark appeared in the air above her head. Visibility dimmed once more but Varren spotted her figure leaping through the mist across the courtyard toward a flight of stairs. Flinging off his outer robe, which was torn and blackened from the fight, he followed her.
CHAPTER 74
Tiderius forced himself on, stumbling a little on the uneven paving. Markus’s diversion had lured the Ayon guards away from the secret path but the green flare had attracted Vrór. Shouting to Emil, Kayte and Markus to continue on without him, Tiderius had broken away from the group and pursued the Ayon leika into the monastery.
He had entered the building only once before but never this far. The corridors were narrow and dark and the open doors on either side led to small, dusty rooms with only narrow slits in the walls for windows. A few anxious faces peered out as Tiderius ran past but he did not offer even the briefest of explanations. He could hear the leika up ahead, just out of sight, banging on all the doors he passed and laughing, a strange combination of a cackle and a growl. Tiderius clutched his sword tightly as he ran, the magic lying dormant in the blade but ready to burst into action.
Corridor after corridor, he chased Vrór, catching a glimpse of his wolf-like tail every now and then when the leika tore around a corner. Tiderius was finding it hard to understand how any man could live in such an environment when the corridor he was following suddenly turned right and emerged into a grassy quadrangle. The late morning light shining down into the space was almost blinding after the gloom of the corridors and it took a few moments for Tiderius’s eyes to adjust. In the center of the vast lawn was a crumbling stone structure, a place of worship from ages past, but Vrór was nowhere to be seen.