by Gregory Ashe
Chapter Forty-two
The old Jaecan was harder to catch than Joaquim had expected. For the first few blocks, Joaquim thought he was gaining on the man, but then, inexplicably, he found himself falling behind—catching only glimpses of age-speckled scalp or desiccated, almost inhuman flesh before the Jaecan would disappear again turning down another street.
He knows I’m following.
The thought spurred Joaquim on. It tasted of fear, and that sweetened the prospect of coming revenge against the sorcerer who had tricked Joaquim into thinking himself a murderer. A monster. Joaquim’s new-found determination propelled him along the streets.
They neared the eastern wall, passing through streets of lower middle-class homes—the kind that Joaquim would, at one point, not have deigned to visit. They were, after all, just a step above the Gut, and barely that. Now, though, the wood-and-stone buildings blurred together, barely registering to Joaquim; he could have still been on the Tacline for all it mattered.
Ruddy light broke out in the sky ahead, lighting up buildings and street alike in its glow. Moments later, the crackle of flame reached Joaquim’s ears above his own racing pulse. He paid it no heed; a fire in the city was not unknown, and it did not interest him. He kept his eyes moving, tracking his prey. The Jaecan rounded a corner ahead, still moving toward the city wall. Joaquim followed.
He pulled up short, knees twinging at the abrupt stop. A wall of flame—a dome, more precisely, cut off the street ahead, the edges of the fiery curtain inches from the buildings around it. Sorcery. Joaquim could smell it; nothing else could create that precision edge of destruction. Sweat sprung out on Joaquim’s forehead. The Jaecan, nothing more than a black outline against the red-white fire, stood just a few feet ahead of Joaquim.
The dagger still hung from between the Jaecan’s shoulder blades. Bel take me, if he can run with that, what’s it going to take to kill him? Joaquim eased forward, grateful for the growing roar of the fire that masked the sound of his steps. Small flames had kindled along the houses closest to the dome, and a wagon loaded with firewood became a raging inferno in front of Joaquim’s eyes.
He focused on the Jaecan. Slow, sure steps. The short sword came up.
The Jaecan sprinted forward, straight for the fiery dome. “Wait for me, dear friends,” he shouted in a mad voice.
Joaquim stood there, stunned. The Jaecan was going to be burned to ashes. In a way, it was disappointing; Joaquim would not even get to see the Jaecan’s last, agonized look. He straightened and waited for the man to become a smoking pile of flesh.
The Jaecan ran. The flames curled away in front of him, as though blown back by some wind that did not touch Joaquim. Joaquim’s mouth dropped. Then, without thinking, he dashed forward, praying to the Day Sister that he would not burn to ash himself.
The opening rippled, strands of fire falling back into place. Joaquim threw himself forward, letting out a howl as something red-hot brushed his back. Darkness swallowed him. He was through.
Cool air brushed his face. Joaquim regained his feet. It was surprisingly dark under the dome; the swirling currents of fire overhead were dull and mixed with streaks of darkness. The Jaecan was nowhere to be seen. Sword at the ready, Joaquim crept forward, trying to ignore the pain that was blossoming along his back. Seeing the wound would not make it any better.
He moved through a small garden, which he realized was part of a larger park. A park along the city wall. A dome of fire. Bloody Bel, it can’t be. The Brilliant Flame and the Bloodless, conjuring fire to hold back Bel and his pets.
It was a child’s story, although his mother said that her own mother had seen the Bloodless, once. Joaquim had never given it any credence. Still, the fire was real enough. The city wall stood a few dozen yards away, visible even in the weak light. Where the dome of fire ran up against the massive stones of the wall, tears of molten rock trickled down the wall.
Voices caught Joaquim’s ear. He crouched lower, hiding behind a row of blossoming hydrangeas. He stalked toward the voices, surprised, suddenly, that the fires made no noise under the dome. He had not realized that until now.
He took a few steps closer and hunkered down. Three men, talking. He did not understand what they were saying; it sounded like Jaecan. The practitioner’s allies, then.
Joaquim sank to the ground and began to crawl closer. The garden offered plenty of cover, and doubtless the Jaecan thought they were secure behind their enchantment. Joaquim wasn’t going to get a better chance to surprise the men. Three against one were not good odds, but Joaquim found he did not mind.