Ahm closed his eyes and put his fingertips on his temples, a look of concentration on his face. When he opened his eyes, his glance flew to Meena.
“Dzur i’Oth! A whole host approaches.”
“Folly!” Geret cursed in Vinten.
An enormous, light-sucking implosion ate away the wooden section of the hideout, and the stone rooms down the hall were shredded to rubble. Only the stub of the broad stone corridor remained between their den and the outside air. Moments later, the splintered remains of the lodge’s beams and rock walls blasted back into existence, showering the entire cliff with toothpick-sized shavings and bits of gravel, as if an invisible monster had bitten into the Red Cliff, chewed it up and spat it back out. The spells around the lodge fizzled and failed, rippling in the air with brief, multicolored flashes before dying completely.
Many of the Scions stepped into the shattered corridor, swords and magic at the ready. Geret, Ruel, Rhona and Salvor drew their swords as well. Sanych gulped and slid toward the back of the room. Meena stood by her, looking disgruntled, as if the cult had personally offended her by attacking right then.
Geret swore as he looked outside. “It’s him again.”
Sanych didn’t need to guess who he meant; the deep rage in the prince’s voice could only refer to one man.
The bald man who had held them prisoner bellowed, his voice echoing off the Red Cliff, and a roar of voices followed. Dozens of footsteps crunched across the remains of the hideout. The Scions braced for the onslaught in the narrow corridor. The first cultist popped a translucent green shield into existence around herself. Others brought enchanted weapons to bear, or wielded balls or bolts of light and energy. Behind them, a horde of Enforcers wielded their wicked-looking serrated swords and howled with unholy glee.
The first clashes were loud and bright. Screams echoed in the stone chamber. Several of the Scions were thrown to the floor, skidding away, and the cultists advanced a few steps closer.
So many…they’re going to kill us all! Sanych thought, feeling her throat close with fear.
Ahm called to his people. “To the pods!”
While those Scions in front kept firing magic at the cultists, engaging and slowing them, several in back ran to certain spots around the walls and pulled hidden switches. A stone puzzle door twisted and folded open in the back of the tall fireplace, and a cool wind whirled out, extinguishing the flames and scattering embers into the fur rugs beside Sanych and Meena.
“Fighting retreat!” Ahm called, waving the others ahead of him with one hand, while he directed his magic with the other. Sanych saw metal blocks appearing in midair and falling onto Dzur i’Oth spellcasters. Many were blocked, but some hit their targets, leaving them unconscious or worse.
Sanych stared, wide-eyed, at the ease and competence with which Ahm killed his enemies. Faintly, she heard Meena barking her name. Before she could tear her eyes from the invading enemies, Geret grabbed her hand and tugged her through the puzzle door.
The chamber beyond the common room was broad and dim. It echoed with dozens of footsteps. The ceiling was indistinguishable from the pitch blackness overhead. A single yellow light glowed on a metal stand in the lonely center of the room, turning the floor a blazing orange. Several small round chambers lined the room’s walls, each with slender central pillars of intricately carved stone rising from floor to ceiling.
“Ahm,” Meena called urgently, taking Sanych’s hand from Geret. The silver-haired patriarch had slipped into the larger chamber, and was marshalling the fighting Scions just outside the puzzle door. “Sanych needs to get to the Emerald for training.”
Ahm squinted, distracted from the impending battle. “I’ll spread the word; we’ll all meet there.” He turned back to the Scions and began organizing them into battle lines.
Blasts of sound and bolts of fire shook the den. A pair of screams made Sanych look back, then wish she hadn’t: two scorched bodies skidded and tumbled across the floor toward her. She gasped and stumbled back, feeling a burst of healing run up her arm from Meena’s hand.
Rhona joined them, short swords out. The pirate wore a look of eager anticipation. “This’ll be fun.”
Narjin’s blue fire blasted four men into the wall. Salvor and Geret fought side by side against a knot of Enforcers who had slipped into the chamber. Ruel danced around them, using them for cover and slicing forward with quick thrusts at the enemy’s unprotected areas: hamstrings, groins, throats.
Ahm stood behind the front line and dropped more blocks of metal onto distracted cultists. The blocks vanished, only to appear over someone else’s head a moment later.
Sanych caught a momentary glimpse of Kemsil as he darted around behind one of the foremost cultists. He raised a dagger to strike, and Meena tugged Sanych further toward one of the smaller chambers. The edge of the Circuit’s barrier—safe to use now that the refuge’s spells had failed—rippled through Sanych, and Kemsil was lost to view.
“Pull back!” Ahm called hoarsely. He backed through the jostling Scions and directed Meena and Sanych into a chamber with him.
The cultists closed in, pressing the Scions toward the podlike chambers. Rhona slid over next to Ruel, Salvor and Geret just in front of Sanych’s pod, swords at the ready.
Seeing her fighting next to Geret made Sanych’s stomach churn. Any good advisor would tell her prince to get his arse out of danger. “Geret!” she called. “Get in here!”
“Go,” Salvor urged his prince. Geret began to back away from the battle.
Then Kemsil screamed nearby. Geret paused, looked over and swore. “Go without me!” he shouted, running to toward Kemsil’s voice. Sanych leaned over to see what had happened to the Jualan.
“Hands!” called Ahm. He slapped his palm onto the pillar. Sanych, wide-eyed, felt Meena grasp her palm and slap it against the cool stone. But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Kemsil’s writhing form—visible because his left arm was missing.
Then the screaming faded, and all went white.
~~~
“Giril, don’t do this.” Count Aponden stood, torn, as the other man fetched a small vial from a secret compartment along the molding in his office. “We all agreed this sort of action should never be necessary.”
N’Hara looked at him, depositing the vial in an inner pocket of his vest, then tugging the fabric smooth. “Such absolutes are ultimately a waste of time, Stam, and will be for as long as man is unable to read the future. The situation has decidedly changed. If we do not act now, before the meeting with this stranger, our hand will be forced, and we will lose control of years of planning. The most likely outcome will be one of her choosing. This is our land, not hers, and whatever she promises, she has to keep her own interests closest to her heart. As do we.”
He brushed past, opening the door to the hallway. “I’ll see you after last bell.”
Aponden watched him go. I could have stopped him. Folly curse me, I can’t tell whether I should have! Despite the barbaric nature of his plan…it might be our only hope for success.
~~~
Salvor watched Geret bolt away from the safety of the pod to help Kemsil. He bared his teeth as an Enforcer brought his sword back for a passing swing at Geret’s torso. Salvor flicked his own sword upward, then caught its blade in his bare hand. He threw it hard. It spun through the air, flashing in the yellow light. The sword came to a stop embedded in the Enforcer’s skull just as Geret ran past the man. The prince waved a hand in acknowledgement without even looking over.
“Now who’s arrogant?” Salvor growled.
“Geret, down!” Narjin called, just as Geret reached Kemsil. The prince sprawled over Kemsil, while protecting his own head. Salvor watched the Scion woman unleash a wave of blue heat on the Enforcer who had attacked Kemsil. Even at his distance, Salvor’s nose rebelled at the scorched stench.
Geret grabbed handfuls of Kemsil’s shirt and pants, hefting the groaning man onto his shoulders. He and Narjin ran for an empty chamber. Sa
lvor retrieved his sword, then angled to meet them there, and together they laid Kemsil down.
“What about the Circuit?” he asked Geret.
“That Enforcer had picked it up. I think Narjin broke it. The orange glass was cracked.”
“Folly,” Salvor muttered, as Narjin tried to stop Kemsil from bleeding to death by wrapping her detached sleeve tightly around his stump.
“You can’t sear it with your fire?” Geret asked, hands bloody as he assisted her.
“No, I’m only trained for offense. I’d blow what’s left of his arm all over the walls,” she muttered.
Salvor looked up at a growing crackling noise. The bald man who had tortured him had just stepped through the puzzle door. From his spread fingertips, crackling black energy sucked the light from around him, cloaking him in an ominous shadow that began creeping across the room. “Folly! We’re out of time.”
Seeing Ruel mere steps away, he grabbed the pirate and pressed him into the pod. “Narjin, get these three out of here. I’ll get Rhona.”
Narjin nodded. With a flash of light, its occupants vanished.
Over half the Scions had retreated and vanished, leaving a dozen or so on their feet. Rhona was at the other end of the line, in a pocket of heavy fighting, clearly enjoying herself.
Salvor grabbed the nearest Scion by the collar and shouted into his ear, “Meena’s grand-daughter is under attack; help me get her to safety!”
Nohm nodded, putting a hand on Salvor’s shoulder. “I’ll give us the illusion of Enforcers to our enemy’s eyes, but we must hurry.” he said into the man’s ear, letting Salvor lead the way to Rhona.
They reached Rhona, who was whirling a blade in each hand. Salvor grabbed her shoulder and jerked her away from her dying opponent.
“Rhona! Quit showing off!”
She flashed a dimple at him. “You’re no fun at all!”
He glowered at her and pointed across the chamber. “You see the deathstorm our old friend is bringing?” The black lightning sparked across the ceiling and wove between the Enforcers and cultists; even they seemed afraid to touch it.
Rhona paled. “Him again. Like a bad gipp.”
“We must hurry!” Nohm urged. “The Scion line is about to disappear, and the room’s spelled to implode in self-defense.”
“With us in it?” Salvor asked.
A sonorous voice boomed through the room. “Your doom is upon you, Scions,” Bailik intoned. The yellow light in the center of the room began flashing.
Nohm pointed at it. “If we don’t get out, yes.”
The Scion line broke, and everyone rushed toward the pods. Only a short while had passed since they’d entered this enormous room, yet the floor was littered with bodies, most of them wearing black. The cultists and Enforcers still standing began to pull back toward the puzzle door, avoiding the thick, crackling tendrils of lightning that filled the room. A few of the slowest Scions fell shrieking to the floor as lightning struck them from behind.
Nohm shoved Rhona and Salvor into an empty pod and instructed them to put their hands on the pillar.
“Hold onto your hair, outlanders,” he said, touching the pillar. “We need a pit stop before we reach the Emerald. This is going to be a blas—”
A black bolt of magic wormed along the ceiling and into the pod. It struck down at Nohm before the Scion could react, exploding his torso all over Rhona. A heartbeat later, the pod activated, and everything vanished in a white blaze of power.
~~~
Bailik had full confidence in his Enforcers’ ability to hack, blast, and slash their way to victory over the Scions. However, he had no intention of letting them ruin his carefully constructed plan. No longer did he believe that the recovery of the thief’s key was his ticket to stealing the leadership of Dzur i’Oth from Onix Oolat’s wrinkled brown hands. Today, he would use Oolat’s paranoia against him, and wrench control of the cult from him in full sight of dozens of witnesses.
Still, he had to keep up appearances. He flicked his black lightning, and it struck a few of the fleeing Scions. They blew apart messily, including one or two in the chambers, and he grinned at the resultant screams of horror. That’s the trouble with getting attached to people, he thought as he strode past the Enforcers. They detach so easily.
The yellow light began to flash, and his eyes widened. Self-destruct implosion spells were thought to have been eradicated two generations ago. For the Scions to be using them again…
Behind him, his borrowed minions cried out and began crowding through the puzzle door, trampling the still-cooling embers of the fire as they fled for their lives.
Bailik approached the blinking light. No. I will not go like this. He reached his hands toward the yellow light, bared his teeth and let loose the power of his newest magic. It was weak because it was not his own, but decades of experience with shifting ability from one gift to another allowed him to bolster its effects. Sweat beaded on his brow as he strove to render inert all the magic that had been poured into the light.
The light winked out.
Bailik huffed an exhausted laugh, panting, and wiped his brow on his sleeve. Relief swirled through him, followed quickly by the thrill of anticipation. Now, not only had he spared his own life, but he’d preserved the pods and their magical traces for further examination. It would be a simple matter to determine which one the thief had used, and where it had transported her.
Pulling on another stolen magic, he created a small fiery globe near his head, lighting the chamber once more. Boots clunking across the stone floor, he began to approach the thief’s pod.
One last step, and five spots of hot agony burst upon his chest as his flesh was pierced by the silvery claws of the Hand of Power. Bailik slapped away his master’s metallic gauntlet, leaving deep slices in his own skin. His fiery globe guttered, nearly extinguishing itself as he struggled to focus. He staggered a short distance away, panting, and slammed his new magic against Oolat. The man didn’t seem to notice.
“Bailik. Your actions betray you.”
“Dragonscat. You wouldn’t be here, on my raid, unless you were paranoid enough to think I’d done something to merit my death.”
Oolat stared at him for a long moment. Bailik realized he’d spoken his true feelings to his master for the first time in his life. He smiled; a breathless chuckle escaped his lips. Freedom of speech was a heady drug.
“What have you done, Bailik?” Oolat made no move to attack.
The rents in his flesh stung and throbbed; Bailik focused the small amount of healing he had, beginning to repair the wounds. “I’ve made myself anew, Master. Though I should stop calling you that now. You’re nothing but a crazy old man whose foolish games have prevented Dzur i’Oth from reaching its glorious potential. That stops now.”
Oolat flung his arms at Bailik. But that was all that happened. Bailik crowed with laughter.
The old man tried his magic again.
“You should stop now,” Bailik told him. “You look pathetic.”
With a flick of his finger, Bailik sent a shock wave toward Oolat. The old man was hurled across the length of the room, skidding to a halt near a row of pods.
With a jolt, Bailik recalled why the Scion he’d killed for this power had been considered a dud: his magic had a frightfully small range. Trying to look vengeful rather than concerned, he stalked across the floor toward Oolat, who was just picking himself up off the floor.
He never made it. An invisible force grasped his torso and held him in place.
“That’s close enough, I think.” Oolat dusted his dark robes, then crossed his arms. “Dzur i’Oth thanks you for your years of service, Bailik. Your gifts will continue to bring us glory. But you are no longer required.”
The force that gripped Bailik tilted suddenly, and his head cracked against the red stone floor. He thought that was the end of him until he regained consciousness to find Oolat kneeling beside him in the light of a dozen white hovering orbs, his silvered hand r
esting over the half-mended cuts on Bailik’s chest.
Oolat’s white eyes glimmered with their reflections. “Your death has always been mine to give,” he said, sliding his claws through Bailik’s flesh, gently grasping his beating heart.
“You’re a f-fool,” Bailik stammered, jaw trembling in pain. “You will bring the end of Dzur i’Oth.”
Oolat’s lip curled. His silvery hand clenched, shredding Bailik’s heart into fleshy ribbons.
In the grip of final agony, Bailik saw the world fade from his sight.
~~~
Oolat stood over the corpse, letting the blood pool around his boots. Better that it waste in here than for anyone else to share in its gifts. He lapped some of the fluid off his silvered palm, then sighed in satisfaction.
“M-master?” came a tremulous voice from the puzzle door.
Oolat’s head whipped around. Several of the spellcasters and Enforcers who had been assigned to Bailik had returned. Had witnessed. He turned to face them, and they dropped to the floor and prostrated themselves in obeisance.
Oolat bade them all enter, made sure every single one of them was present. Once they were assembled and waiting before him, he reversed what Bailik had done to the self-destruct spell, then vanished before their eyes.
Reappearing outside in the shade of the nearby trees, Oolat watched as the hidden chamber of the Scion stronghold imploded, taking all evidence of Oolat’s weakness with it. It wasn’t an unalloyed victory, he had to admit. The thief was still free, for the moment, and he didn’t know where she’d gone. Yet. But his vision for Shanal’s future required a single, driving force.
And there was no way that he would ever allow that driving force to belong to anyone else.
Chapter Twenty-two
Rhona staggered back against the pod’s wall, drenched with red. “Gods…gods…what…” she stammered, looking at her once-light-blue sleeves, now soaked with little bits of Nohm.
“Folly’s pisspot,” Salvor swore, whipping his tunic off and wiping her face and arms clean, trying to stand between her and the half-a-corpse that had made the trip with them.
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