“You don’t care how. All you care about is me knowing something you don’t.” I smiled slowly. “Something you never will.”
Jem took a step. The stone buttons on his surcoat glowed. “We had an agreement.”
“We had nothing. Your threats against Lirih were always empty. You wanted your granddaughter to stay. You wanted her to choose you.”
“I wanted my son!” he cried. “But you were always too righteous, too superior.”
“And you were always an asshole.”
Flexing his claws, Jem growled, long and guttural like any eldring would. “Then we will do this as we have all else, son. As you have always wanted it.” His eyes flashed in a dark rainbow of color. “The hard way.”
FIFTY THREE
Orange streaked the blue sky as flaming arrows fell on my position. Breaching the sand a whisker from my body, the fiery points and smoking green shafts formed a tight circle around my legs.
“You might not want to move,” Jem warned as I eyed the line of Arullan archers occupying the top row of the stands on both sides of the arena. “Their aim is quite accurate. And,” delight touched his voice, “the next volley will be laced with Kayn’l.”
“The next volley won’t leave its string.” I gathered the nine auras. Throwing a portion at the archers, the tendrils shadowed my thoughts; wrapping around like a whip as my mind enfolded the slender wooden rods. I squeezed. Their shafts turned to dust. Barbs fell from their notches. As the Arullans stared at their empty bows, I disintegrated the arrows resting in their quivers, then those encircling my legs.
Angry, Jem’s claw-like nails twitched at his sides. As the talons jerked, a vibration ran through the sand. It reached me, and the barbs at my feet shot into the air. They dived toward my face. I tossed the obsidian out in a fast shield. Iron hit the barrier, shattering into tiny fragments that blasted out and fell like black rain to the ground.
Granting me no respite, Jem tried again. He uttered a single word, and the sand in front of me burst straight up like a wave. My shield, a one-shot, knee-jerk reaction, was gone. I threw both arms in front of my face as the swell surged over me. It did no good.
Entering mouth and eyes, stealing my vision, clogging my throat; every breath pulled the grit in faster. I kept waiting for the spell to weaken, but Lirih was wrong. No, she wasn’t wrong.
She didn’t know about Sienn.
Jem took her magic to match mine.
The wave kept rising and falling. I needed to push it off me.
Not push. Blow.
I thrust the diamond’s aura up high. It soared skyward, past the city, through the blue, and into the clouds. I reached out, gathering the wind and stripping it down—fast and desperate.
The gale hit my position. The arena exploded in a tempest of dust, leaving only a tight circle around me clear. I breathed gratefully as the air began to settle.
I spotted Jem through the thinning haze. He’d been knocked to the ground. His clothing and hide were torn and bloody from the sheer force of my wind. Spectators on both sides were coughing. The bear was stumbling like he was drunk. Our magic had sapped his energy some and given him ten new bodies to eat. They’d fallen from the stands, gray and withered with jaws locked open in perpetual horror.
I turned my head from their sunken eyes. Watching Jem struggling to stand, I spat more grains from my mouth. “Clear the stands. Now.”
“You’re the one who came looking for a fight,” he said, nonchalantly putting their deaths on me as he wiped at the blood trailing into his eyes. “I only struck first in anticipation of your violent tendencies. But if you insist I clear the stands...”
His magic rippled out once more. I held my own at the ready. When his subjects started obediently filing down, I was surprised. Far less, when they reached level ground and headed for me instead of the exit. Slivers of garnet—adorning necklaces, bracelets, and rings—came to life, making the varied hues of their skin all glow the same eerie red. Their bodies moved as a single mass, stepping in unison, hands simultaneously reaching inside cloaks and robes to extract weapons. All members of the mob carried the same small, metal rod. All wore the same glossy expression of malice.
Jem walked amongst his minions as they surrounded me. “What will you do, L’tarian? Kill all these innocents?” His tone dropped to an excited snarl. “Or stand like a coward and let them rip you to pieces?”
“I’m the coward? You shield yourself behind one hapless soul after another. You bully and kidnap and coerce. What kind of soldier are you? What kind of Reth are you?”
His palms thrust out and a streak of crackling air struck my chest. Muscles seized. Nerves shuddered. Insides constricted in one fell swoop. Pain dove in and out, reminiscent of that first incapacitating spell he’d cast on me in the swamps through Taren. I was sure the reminder of how he subdued me that day was on purpose. Though, as blood filled my mouth, my legs caved, and the mob descended, Jem’s derisive personality became the least of my concerns.
Limbs unresponsive, agony tearing through me, I had no defense against their boots, fists, and weapons. Pain had made the magic instantly distant. I couldn’t latch on. My skin tore. A stilted breath later, the scars fixed themselves. My unmarked flesh fared worse, bruising and opening as the metal beat against me. Wisps of colored auras escaped with my blood. Feeling the nearness of the crown, they wanted to go home.
Not yet, I thought. Jem was still in possession of the artifact.
I have to get up. I have to get his people off me. But the scars were losing ground. They couldn’t combat so much pain. What brief respite I gained was no more than a breath before the torture of Jem’s spell resumed. Cutting in and out, over and over, plunging and retracting, like the stab of a thousand blades impaling me to the ground. I couldn’t even gather the strength to scream.
Barely conscious, I felt hands grab onto my arms and legs. I tried to resist. To influence my flaccid muscles and make them work. Instead, I hung limp in their grips as Jem’s subjects carried me across the arena.
An odd scraping noise of stone against stone echoed in my ringing ears as they maneuvered me into a sitting position and dropped me. My back hit something hard. My right arm was wrenched up. Cold locked tight about my wrist. I managed to twist my head to get a look, and a stone alter was at my back. Its edges were sunk into the ground, like it had risen from the depths of the city. Thick, black shackles were affixed to the surface of the slab. One encircled my wrist. The weight felt dead against my skin.
Hornblende.
Having secured me, the mob retreated. Jem moved in and gripped my trapped hand. Finally feeling some control returning, I squirmed. “What are you doing?”
“Hold still,” he demanded. “This will be difficult enough with my fingers as they are.” Pain pierced my palm. Somehow, it pierced the veil of his spell, too.
It was finally fading.
My spirits buoyed. They plummeted at seeing the object in his hand. “No—”
“Quiet.” Jem thrust his elbow into my face. Returning to his carving, he went right back to sculpting runes on the palm of my hand with his Nor-Taali dagger. “You’re being selfish, son. Holding all that power, hording the information I need. But you’re going to share now. You’re going to share so many things.”
I jerked my hand. The blade tore across my palm.
His grip tightened. “As my other, you’ll see the importance of what I’ve done. And I’ll have access to all your wonderful erudite abilities. I can cure myself of this curse and know the secrets of the crown—and whatever else you found on those tablets.”
“Never,” I snarled. “I’ll die before I give you a damn thing.”
His elbow struck me again. Spittle flew from his toothy maw as he shouted, “Stop being irrational! Don’t you understand? I want peace the same as you. We simply disagree on who should sit at the head of the table. But
once Darkhorne is mine, I’ll take Roarke as nef’taali as well, and his opinion will change.”
“You can’t…”
Jem squatted so he could better rub his superior reasoning in my face. “Malaq Roarke’s soul will strengthen my ability to lead, and his alliance with Arulla will provide me with the machines to expand my empire swiftly and efficiently.”
“That’s your idea of peace? Strapping your adversaries to you against their will? Trampling on people’s lives so you can build them how you see fit? Goddamn it, Jem. Do you need to be worshiped that badly?”
“What I need is acceptance and respect for our kind.”
“This isn’t the way.”
He threw back his misshapen head in laughter. “I seem to recall those inspiring words leaving your mouth once before. Yet in nearly three years you’ve offered no alternative, other than turning the lands over to a Langorian.”
“Rella’s slave laws have been abolished. If you give Malaq a chance, the same will happen all across Mirra’kelan.”
“Do you think their mistrust of us will evaporate? Because Malaq Roarke lost his fear the rest will lose theirs so easily? Once we’re declared free it will be only a matter of time before the other races start demanding regulations be put on our magic. The King will be forced to comply, to make new laws. Oh, they’ll be innocent at first,” he chuckled joylessly. “But how long before one of us loses control and drains one of them? How long until some contrived injustice is claimed—and we’re back with chains around our necks and Kayn’l in our veins?” His clawed hand seized my jaw. “What will you think of your precious King then?”
He let me go with a grunt of disgust. Jem held the blade over his palm, ready to make the first cut. Once he did, our blood would mingle. I’d feel what he felt. Sharing sensations was the precursor to exchanging souls.
“Wait,” I said. “What if I told you I could lessen the risk? What if we didn’t lose control? What if we didn’t need to cast? We’d pose less of a threat. We could create a society worthy of freedom. That was your goal once, Jem. Somewhere under all this shit, it still is.”
Jem’s gaze had gone distant. He’d halted the ritual as he contemplated my words. I knew my reprieve was brief, but I didn’t need long. While we spoke, his spell on me had died.
A scream rang out from the back of the crowd. A bone-chilling growl trailed behind it. As more screams followed, Sienn let out a desperate call of, “Ian!” far closer than I liked.
Jem mumbled a curse. As he turned away, shoving through the crowd, searching for the source of the commotion, I sank down inside. I mustered my inner shield against the hornblende and set my mind to untangling the marks. The runes began to separate. I didn’t try deciphering them. I concentrated on what I needed and consumed all the magic at my disposal. Persuading the abundance of delightful, thumping vibrations to the left side of my body then, I shoved it down into my shackled arm. A warm glow arose. My scars pulsed. Heat floated off the limb in soft, multicolored waves.
It was a dazzling site. But it was overkill. I wanted no mistakes.
I shut off the bulk of the magic and aimed my price at the bear. Pushing the spell into my wrist, I let go. I drank in my reward—pleasure far less than my body wanted—as the shackle burst apart. Black pebbles bounced across the altar. I clung to its surface.
Pushing through the weakness, I forced myself to stand. I turned toward the uproar, and my still ragged breath went out of me. Mere minutes had gone by since the first scream. What had unfolded during that short time seemed impossible. Popped eyes stared out from severed heads. Torsos—open and shredded— vomited burst organs and sinew onto the sand. Lonely limbs spewed dark fluid from severed veins. The fortunate were dead. The rest wished they were, as they watched the life drain from their own twisted, mangled forms.
The bear, having trampled over his banquet, flopped heavily to the sand. With a satisfied growl and agile paws, he pulled a chunk of someone into his mouth.
Whatever my spell had taken from the beast, it wasn’t near enough.
Drawing swords, I scanned the chaos for Jem. I found Sienn instead. She was smack in the middle of the carnage, kneeling beside a woman with a stomach wound so deep she should have been dead. Sienn’s eyes were a vibrant, variegated hue as she attempted to wrench her patient from Death’s grip.
Sliding a sword away, I ran up and yanked Sienn to her feet. She gasped in alarm at my sudden presence. “No, I have to stay,” she begged, guessing my intent. “I can help them.”
“You don’t have time. If this bear gets out and hits the streets…” I didn’t need to finish. “I have to kill it now.”
“Ian, these people have little life left. Anything big enough to kill the bear will kill them as well. Whatever you cast you must divert the price outside the arena.”
“Outside where? There’s nothing out there but sand and people. People Jem trapped here to feed his spells. People he’s using as weapons against my conscience, because he believes I won’t drain their lives to fight him. He’s wrong. I can’t let him have what’s in me, Sienn. I won’t.”
Her distraught gaze drifted over the bloodbath. “What of the animals and vegetation? Surely some must be nearby?”
“To finish the bear, maybe, but Jem and I are just getting started. If we go on like this, there isn’t enough here to—”
Sienn jumped on my abrupt pause. “You have an idea. What is it?”
“Clear a spot. Get everyone back. At least thirty feet.”
“What of the ones too injured to move?”
“Leave them.”
I didn’t stay for her argument. I ran around behind the occupied skin bear and ripped both blades across his enormous pink backside. Flesh parted. Blood rolled out. I cut him again. He expelled a bellow of pain and whipped around. Locking hostile eyes on me, he hunkered down onto his thick legs. With the spell in my mind, I sheathed swords and backed away. When the bear started following, I ran.
Size was my advantage. The bear’s girth was that of a small house. As I zigzagged around the mess of bodies, his large frame and lumbering legs couldn’t shift directions nearly as fast. Each frustrated strike of his immense weight vibrated the ground as he struggled to keep up. I slowed once or twice, keeping my pursuer interested as I led him in circles, trying to give Sienn a chance to make a clearing for me.
Her time was all but done as I saw Jem. He was standing at the edge of the bedlam, assessing it with a curious eye. The Crown of Stones was in his hand.
I smiled and adjusted my course.
Channeling all I had, I kept up my unpredictable pattern around the arena. I waited until the last possible second to let my target be known. When Jem realized what I was doing his eyes went wide; seeing me coming for him with the slobbering bear hot on my heels. What he didn’t see was the spell as I cast it swiftly and directly behind him. He didn’t notice the colored lines popping into existence. They took shape. Black filled their center.
Jem turned to flee. I barreled into him and grabbed hold—right as my pursuer caught up. Wind burst from the edges of the door. Claws swiped at my back, ripping into the harness and sticking in as my overly large spell took its fill from the bear. Drained in an instant, his dead weight was sudden and crushing. It threw all three of us forward. And the sun-lit arena vanished.
FIFTY FOUR
My arm breached the muck. Seizing a thick vine dangling from an overhead branch, I wrapped the rope-like fiber around my hand and pulled. My head and shoulders cleared the surface. Clumps of green mire slid off. More mud fled my lungs in a violent, gagging discharge. Throat burning, eyes stinging, I wiped them clean as I got my legs beneath me. The swampy water was well above my knees. I turned to get my bearings, and behind me was a hulking mound of flaky ashen flesh. The skin bear, half-buried in the bog I’d nearly drowned in, was wrinkled and withered, and very much dead.
Scum and foliage floated around me in the soup. Black shapes darted skittishly beneath the skim. Gnarled, vine-choked limbs jutted out, reaching from the tangle of mossy-coated trees lining the bank. Clouds of busy gnats danced in the sultry, still air. They buzzed insistently in my ear; all aflutter at my presence.
This was the first time I’d been back in the swamp since our camp fell. I hadn’t missed it.
I sputtered out a few stubborn crunchy granules and checked for weapons. My knives were still tucked inside the built-in sheaths of my shirt. The belt and sword were still at my waist, but no weight was on my back. I’d lost the blade and harness both. After the bear cut through the straps, the whole thing must have fallen off either inside the void, at the moment of my break-neck arrival, or during my subsequent near-death plunge beneath the marsh. Possibly, it was underneath the bear. It would have been nice if my father was under there too, but I had a flash of his body flying past mine when we burst out the door.
Estimating speed and arc, he could have easily landed on the other side of the bog-filled clearing—which would put him somewhere in the thick vegetation; unconscious, or lying in wait. He could have also fled the area to nurse wounds and plan his next attack. I didn’t care which. I’d brought the fight here to the Borderlands to dispose of the bear and remove the risk of casualties. My father could throw around all the magic he wanted. We both can. I just had to find him first. Tracking wouldn’t be a problem, though. The malleable ground should have chronicled his steps nicely.
Picking the most likely direction, I headed toward the bank. The silt-clogged water broke grudgingly around me as I pushed through. Mist filled in the gaps between the trees. A halo of bright yellow burned in the sky as the sun struggled to push through the gray swollen bellies of clouds that felt close enough to touch. It was a stifling effect, being caught between the low, misty veil and the high moist ground. The added weight of the grunge didn’t help. The filth was everywhere, sliding under my shirt, caked inside my breeches and boots, invading the fresh cuts on my hand from Jem’s botched attempt at binding. As much as I disliked the freeze of Langor, a little clean, white snow to rinse my skin would have been nice.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 45