Finn had made it back to his feet, but leaned heavily against a wall as blood trickled from his scalp. There was no sign of Thule and Eloise cried as she held the bloody figure of her husband. The sight of his Blood Brother drained the rage from him in an instant.
“He needs a surgeon,” said Balfruss, but he wasn’t sure anyone heard him.
A runner came pounding into view, a sweaty teenage boy with a red face. He skidded to a stop in front of Balfruss, his eyes widening at the sight of Darius lying in the street, before he refocused.
“General Vannok,” gasped the runner. “Said you have to come now. Splinters. Attacking.”
Seizing the boy by the shoulders Balfruss bent down until they were at eye level. “Find a surgeon. Now!”
He waited until the runner nodded before releasing him. The boy set off at a sprint, his long legs eating up the distance. Balfruss could hear the boy shouting for a surgeon as he went.
He wasn’t sure if it would be in time, but he had to hope there was something that could still be done. For all of his power, Balfruss didn’t know how to use any of his abilities to heal. The city still needed defending against the Splinters. If he did nothing, even more people would die.
Balfruss approached Finn. “Can you fight?” The big man was dazed and his eyes wandered a little until Balfruss slapped him across the face. “Can you fight?”
His eyes settled on Darius and then drifted to Balfruss’s face. “I can fight.”
Thule stumbled into the street with blood trickling down his face, but the cuts on his cheek looked shallow.
“Thule, can you fight?”
“Yes,” said Thule. Even that one word, sent through their link, seemed a struggle, but at least he showed willing.
The runner came around a corner, dragging a tall surgeon by the hand towards them. She was struggling to keep up and stop her satchel from bouncing around and damaging its contents. Although he was loath to do it, Balfruss approached Eloise.
“Don’t ask me,” she said without looking up.
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.”
“We’re dead without you. Then all of this will have been for nothing.”
Finally, Eloise looked up at him. Her expression of grief was one that he knew would stay with him for the rest of his life. The sum of every moment of anguish, every drop of sorrow he’d ever experienced, was nothing compared to the look on her face. It had become etched into the lines around her eyes and mouth, where laughter once lived. Now they had become something else, a testament to her grief and anguish. The total loss of something priceless that could never be replaced.
The surgeon dropped to her knees beside Eloise, made a quick assessment of Darius and then laid him out face down on the ground.
“Press here,” ordered the surgeon, guiding Eloise’s hands over a wound. Darius’s skin looked pale and waxy and his face composed as if sleeping, but one eye remained open. For a second Balfruss thought his Blood Brother was still awake and trying to tell him something.
“Eloise,” he tried again. “We need you.”
“No.” The word was said quietly but there was a finality to it. “Without him, I don’t care. About anything.”
The surgeon pulled bandages and several small vials from her satchel, while directing the runner to fetch a stretcher.
“We can’t fight the Warlock and his Splinters without them,” said Finn. “It’s suicide.”
“We must at least try,” whispered Thule.
The Warlock had attacked one of his friends. He’d sneaked into the city like a coward and knifed his Blood Brother in the back. The undercurrent of rage started to surge towards the surface, making his fingers tingle.
“Take good care of him,” said Balfruss. It seemed like a weak and inadequate thing to say about an old friend who had given him so much. The sort of careless comment a stranger might offer to someone they’d seen fall over in the street. The surgeon nodded, but didn’t look up from her work. Balfruss felt the urge to say something to Eloise, but he lacked the words to communicate all that he was feeling.
“She already knows,” said Thule in his mind.
A roar went up from the walls. A wordless shout of defiance from thousands of throats directed at the approaching enemy. An echo of it thrummed in Balfruss’s veins and his whole body began to shake. His hands curled into tight fists and his shoulders hunched up.
Thoughts of Darius were pushed to one side as he and the two remaining Battlemages ran towards the city wall. By the time they’d ascended the stairs and reached the battlements, Balfruss saw the enemy soldiers would soon be at the wall. The scream of the warriors enveloped him, flooding his senses with noise. As his mind went over the last few minutes, his blood began to boil.
The fear and worry melted away until he was enveloped in a cocoon of rage. Balfruss summoned power from the Source and the air began to crackle all around him. Pressure built up and the charge caused the hair of his beard to bristle. The power, or maybe it was the beat of his heart, hummed in his ears, an angry drum that needed release.
Stood less than a mile from the walls were the four remaining Splinters, faceless and silent as ever. Although he felt no anger towards them, for they were nothing more than mindless puppets, Balfruss still hated them because of who held their leash.
As he drew more heavily on the Source, Balfruss thought about all the lives that had been lost in the war. The warriors and the innocents, the refugees from Shael, Ecko and maybe his Blood Brother, Darius. Someone was talking, but Balfruss couldn’t hear them. He pulled even more power into him until it pressed against the back of his eyes and he felt it deep down in his bones.
Reaching towards the sky, Balfruss added his voice to the throng of defiant warriors on the battlements before unleashing all of his hatred, rage and frustration at the closest Splinter.
There was a loud cracking sound and a fat bolt of lightning split the sky, slamming down into the cowled figure. A fountain of earth and stones were thrown half a mile into the air at the point of impact.
Finally, when the dust cleared, only a deep fissure remained and not a single trace of the Splinter.
CHAPTER 38
Talandra insisted the conversation take place in the dining room, so that it didn’t look like an inquisition, and yet she felt it still resembled one. She sat at one end of the table with Graegor stood behind, armed to the teeth as usual. Her brothers sat to her immediate left and right, and beside them her two Generals, Wolfe and Vannok Lore. Graegor had asked that Vannok be excused because of his personal connection, but she’d refused and then reminded Graegor this wasn’t an inquisition, formal or otherwise.
It was late and Talandra was already struggling to stay awake after another long and busy day. In truth she could have done without this. She already knew much of what had happened, and she could make a reasonable guess about what she was about to hear. Unfortunately procedure needed to be observed. The others needed this ritual and she hoped it would at least clear the air, allowing them to put it behind them and move forward together.
Two guards escorted Balfruss to the door where they left him and took up their posts outside. Looking at his face Talandra was once again reminded of his recent losses. First Ecko and now his Blood Brother. By the time Darius reached the hospital it was already too late. Shani’s report from the surgeon detailed the stab wounds. One had pierced the Battlemage’s heart and the other a lung. Nothing could be done and now she’d lost another irreplaceable weapon. Part of her recognised it was a cold and calculating way to look at it, but every warrior in the army could be replaced. The Battlemages could not. Without them the war would already be over, and all of them would be dead or enslaved. This faux inquisition seemed like a poor reward for all that Balfruss had done to save lives in her service.
Somehow, Balfruss, Thule and Finn had managed to hold the line against the Splinters while the battle raged around them. She’d heard that Balfruss had destroyed one
of the Splinters in the first minute of fighting, but there was no way to prove it. Talandra considered it a possibility, especially as minutes before the battle started Balfruss had seen his Blood Brother dying in the arms of his wife. From what little she knew about how their power worked, emotion played an important part, and Balfruss could certainly have used it as an outlet for his rage.
King Usermeses IV would have to be informed about the tragedy and the death of Darius as soon as possible. She didn’t want the Desert King finding out about this news from unofficial channels ahead of any formal missive. Talandra’s next task after this meeting was to draft a letter to the King, extending her deepest condolences and sympathy.
Talandra offered Balfruss a friendly smile and gestured towards the only available chair in the room at the other end of the table. For all intents and purposes this could have been just another meeting of the War Council, if not for the fact that Graegor was standing behind her seat and there were no papers or maps scattered across the table.
The war was affecting everyone, but as Balfruss sat down she thought the Battlemages seemed to be showing it the most. When he’d first arrived Balfruss had been a little plump with round cheeks and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Now his red-rimmed eyes were shadowed by deep purple slashes, his face was lean and his skin a little grey. His long beard and shaggy black hair gave him a wild look. Despite his obvious exhaustion after another day of brutal fighting, his mind still worked quickly. Talandra saw him glance around the room, making a note of the dour faces, then finally at Graegor standing behind her chair.
Balfruss also looked at the closed door and was perhaps thinking of the guards posted outside. All guests were escorted inside the palace, but had they been any less friendly with him than usual? How much did they know? Would they try to stop him leaving if he stepped outside the room? These and a hundred questions must have been running through his mind.
To Talandra’s surprise Balfruss leaned back in his chair, adopting a blank expression to match her own. It seemed pointless to leave him to stew, since he clearly knew why he’d been summoned.
“Tell me about the Warlock,” said Talandra, breaking the heavy silence.
“What do you want to know?” asked Balfruss.
Without looking around Talandra reached out and put a restraining hand on Graegor’s arm. She could feel the old General shaking from head to toe, seething with rage. Graegor was on the cusp of doing something reckless, but violence was the last thing she wanted. Steel was useless against a Battlemage. After a second’s thought Talandra corrected herself; it was useless if they saw it coming. The thought felt unworthy after all they’d given to protect Seveldrom and yet she couldn’t ignore it.
“When did you first meet with him?”
“He approached me a few weeks ago. It was late at night, and I was the only one awake in our camp. At first I didn’t know who he was, but after talking for a while I realised he was different.”
Talandra raised an eyebrow. “Different?”
Balfruss sighed. “His tone was challenging. He claimed to work for the quartermaster, but he was used to giving orders, not taking them. He pretended to be nervous, but it soon fell away.”
“I see,” mused Talandra, working it through in her head.
“When did you start conspiring with him?” roared Graegor, shattering the calm. His voice echoed off the stone walls and faded away. Talandra rolled her eyes and was about to discredit the remark when she saw the expressions of everyone else at the table. All of them looked uncomfortable at the idea, but she noticed a hint of something else. A notion that, perhaps, such an idea was possible. Talandra looked at Vannok, who met her gaze steadily. No doubt lingered in his eyes. His faith in Balfruss was absolute.
“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but…” Talandra trailed off and left the unspoken question hanging.
Balfruss snorted. “After everything I’ve done, how can you ask me that?”
“You didn’t answer the question,” said Talandra, not unkindly.
“I’ve never conspired with him,” spat Balfruss, staring at Graegor. The two men were locked together in a glaring match, neither willing to back down. Talandra suspected it would go on for days, weeks even, unless someone intervened. Both men were stubborn and totally unyielding.
“You said he was different,” said Vannok, perhaps the only person in the room who could disrupt the staring match. “Did you know who he was at your first meeting?”
Balfruss hesitated only briefly before answering. “Yes, and I confronted him.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone afterwards?” asked Vannok. “If you knew, why keep it a secret?”
There was a note of betrayal in Vannok’s voice, enough to make Balfruss look away from Graegor. The Battlemage’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared at his oldest friend. “You think I’m a traitor, Vann?”
“No. But it’s unusual to keep this a secret.”
“I don’t know why. It didn’t seem important.”
Graegor snorted in disbelief.
“What did he want?” asked Talandra, steering everyone’s focus back to her before another staring match started.
“To gloat, to find out what sort of a man I was.”
Talandra raised an eyebrow. “That’s all?”
“That was all at our first meeting.”
“Great Maker!” swore Graegor. Talandra slammed both fists on the table to distract Graegor before he did something stupid. She shouldn’t have done it. It hurt a lot more than expected, and the sound wasn’t as loud as she’d hoped. She wasn’t heavy enough, but even so the pain gave her something to focus on. Anger stirred inside beneath the surface, especially when she thought about the shredded remains of her father, but she wouldn’t let emotion be her master.
Her father had always remained calm during tense discussions, whereas Graegor often swore and shouted. She realised that was one of the many reasons her father always included the grizzled General. He remained composed and dispassionate, but Graegor could rant and rave, sometimes on his behalf. He was a handy surrogate for one’s rage and useful misdirection. It amazed Talandra that even now, after more than thirty years, she was still learning about her father.
“How many times have you met with the Warlock?” asked Thias.
“Maybe half a dozen. Each time he wanted to boast and challenge me. I also think he met with me because he was lonely.”
“Lonely?” scoffed Graegor.
Balfruss clenched his hands into fists and the ridges in his furrowed brow deepened. He must have known how ridiculous it sounded, as he slowly relaxed and took a few deep breaths. Talandra noticed that Graegor relaxed his grip, but didn’t move his hand away from the axe on his belt.
When Balfruss spoke, his voice was ragged. “In many ways, he’s like a child. He’s more powerful than any Battlemage I’ve ever met. Maybe stronger than one of the Grey Council, and yet he’s constantly seeking approval. He wants me to admit that we’re alike, that we’re the same, so he’s not alone any more.”
“Why?” asked Talandra.
“For years he’s been doing whatever he wants, and no one can stop him. He has almost unlimited power and there are no consequences for his actions. Can you imagine what that’s like?” said Balfruss, shaking his shaggy head. “Helping Taikon form the alliance, creating the Splinters, murdering your father, even the war, none of it means anything to him. People mean nothing to him. They’re all just toys to be played with and broken.”
“He sounds insane,” muttered Hyram.
“Perhaps,” admitted Balfruss.
“Why you?” asked Vannok. “Why has he fixated on you?”
“Found a kindred spirit, has he?” sneered Graegor.
Talandra expected more anger, but instead Balfruss remained utterly calm. He tilted his head to one side as if listening to something before speaking. “No. We’re nothing alike,” he said finally, with a faint smile.
“Then why?” said Talan
dra.
“Because he needed a new challenge and I won’t yield. He’s threatened to kill all the other Battlemages, one at a time, until it’s just the two of us. He wants me to lose control, drive me over the edge, until we’re the same.”
One incredibly powerful and unstable Battlemage had manipulated nations and drawn almost the entire world into a war. The idea of two such beings working together was a terrifying thought she didn’t want to consider. Not even for a second.
“He doesn’t want to kill you. He wants you as an ally.”
“Failing that, he will try to turn me into another Splinter.”
That thought disturbed Talandra even more. She saw the same unbridled fear in the faces of those around her.
“It doesn’t change the facts,” said Graegor. “You’ve been meeting with him in secret. How do we know you’re not one of his puppets?”
“Because I have free will.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Giving Graegor’s anger free rein was useful. It kept people off balance and allowed her to see how they coped under pressure, but Talandra was quickly realising there were times when she needed to rein him in before he went too far.
“Graegor,” she said, trying to interrupt the General, but it was too late. The rage he’d been holding in check started boiling over and it would not be put aside so easily. The meeting was not going as she’d planned.
“Everything we’ve been told about the Splinters came from you, not the other Battlemages. I think it’s all been lies. Mind games to distract us, because you’re working for him. You’re a traitor!”
As Balfruss surged to his feet Graegor drew his axe. The others quickly leapt to intervene, keeping the two men apart before there was any bloodshed. Talandra remained seated, letting it flow around her. Her brothers were struggling to restrain the big General despite the differences in age, while Vannok and Wolfe kept Balfruss at arm’s length. He could have drawn on his magic and turned Graegor into a red spot on the wall, and yet he didn’t. Perhaps, on some level, he already knew.
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