by Layton Green
“The crown? The head of Tobar?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
The queen’s eyes narrowed.
Adaira squeezed Val’s hand, a signal to keep his cool. As much as it infuriated him, he knew that respectfully answering the matriarch’s questions was the best way to help his friends.
“I destroyed the crown with Spirit Fire,” he lied. “We were trapped. It was the only way I could think of to return.”
“Trapped where?”
“I don’t really know. Another dimension, maybe.” He gave a very abbreviated account of their exploits, feeling as if Dida and Rucker’s lives were slipping through his fingers.
The queen showed no emotion during the story. “Why, then, was another dimension not created when you left? As it was the previous time?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because I targeted the crown directly.”
The queen compressed her shriveled lips. “How did you arrive here? Bypass our wards?”
“There was a flash of light when the crown exploded, and this was the last place I thought of.”
The queen paced back and forth, tapping the scepter against her hand. Synne’s eye was dripping blood, Dida was barely breathing, and Val wanted to scream his frustration. He took a deep breath through his nose and gripped Adaira’s hand even harder.
Cyrus took a moment to step towards Val and whisper, “My brother?”
Val gave a grim shake of his head. “I’m sorry. But we sent the demon lord who killed him back to hell.”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then clasped Val by the arm. “You wore the gray robe well.”
Cyrus retreated, and the queen stopped pacing a foot away from Val. “The head of Tobar? As per our agreement?”
“In the final battle, I was forced to,” he swallowed, “kill him with Spirit Fire. It was the only way to reach the crown.” Val locked gazes with the frost-colored orbs of the queen, letting her see into his soul and glimpse the pain and dark deeds for herself. “I didn’t realize the crown would explode. I did what I must, your Majesty.”
“He speaks the truth,” Adaira said. “I bore witness myself.”
The queen rested her gaze on Adaira for a long time, no doubt weighing the truth of her words and the political implications of her decision. Finally she turned back to Val, her eyes boring into his, challenging him to flinch. The shallow rasp of Dida’s labored breathing was the only sound in the room.
Head held high, Val returned the queen’s stare until she gave a slow nod and turned to one of the Wizard Guard. “Bring the Spirit Mirror to the Gem Room. Summon Lord Alistair. And alert the cuerpomancer that her services are needed.”
Just before midnight on the third day after they arrived, Val left his quarters in the visitor’s wing—he was no longer under personal guard, though still within the highly fortified walls of the castle—and padded down the hall to Adaira’s bedchamber. The next day an airship was scheduled to fly them back to New Victoria. Val did not know why Lord Alistair had not arranged a portal, at least for Adaira.
To teach her a lesson? Or because it was not feasible to teleport others in such a manner, even for a spirit mage? He had no idea, and was once again reminded of how little he knew of this world.
He knocked softly on the door and wondered if Adaira was still awake. They had not spent a moment alone since their arrival. Debriefings and visits to the infirmary had taken up most of their time.
It had been close, but Dida had finally pulled through and regained consciousness. He would remain under the cuerpomancer’s care for a while longer, but he had acknowledged Val’s presence with a lopsided smile.
After Rucker regained consciousness, the hardened warrior refused all services from the cuerpomancer, instead asking that his fifteen-year-old niece in Londyn be healed instead. She had contracted a devastating wasting disease and the family could not afford the treatment.
The queen ordered the cuerpomancer to help the niece and asked Rucker to join her personal guard. With a twirl of his new axe, he refused her request, grunted his goodbyes, and stomped out of the keep.
The cuerpomancer had only been able to treat Synne’s wounds and clean the empty socket. She could not replace the lost orb. The young warrior-mage adopted a silver eye patch instead, one that matched the new belt she would one day earn after her reinstatement—on order of the queen—into the academy of the majitsu.
Adaira opened the door in a blue nightgown. He stood before her in silence, knowing exactly what he wanted but also knowing what he still had to do.
What kind of future could they possibly have?
She gave him a challenging stare in return. Yet behind the pride, he saw eyes full of love, a look that said she would do anything for him—anything, that was, except trust him.
Not until he trusted her.
“I have two brothers,” Val said.
She gave him a puzzled look.
He took a deep breath, not prepared to tell her everything but hoping it was enough, knowing his half-truths might come back to haunt him one day. On the other hand, if she trusted him, it could expedite matters. “They haven’t taken the Oaths.”
After a moment, she said, “Why not?”
What Val said next was as far as he was prepared to go, and even that was risky. “Our father was a gypsy. Our mother was not.”
She took her bottom lip between her teeth, taking it all in. “That’s why your family lived so far north.”
He didn’t answer, let her draw her own conclusions.
“You’re worried someone will find out and use your brothers against you,” she said. “You know you’re bound to be successful, maybe even part of the Conclave one day. You don’t want to jeopardize their safety.”
Again, he let his silence speak.
She reached up and gently cupped his face. “I’m not my father.”
“I know.”
“I’ll never breathe a word.”
Val flashed a half-playful, half-serious smirk. “If I thought you would, I never would have told you.”
She gave a soft smile in return. A sign that she understood what it had cost him to confide in her, and that he had only gone halfway. No names, no place of residence.
But he had told her.
“I’d like very much to meet them one day,” she said.
“I’d like that, too.”
She closed the door and removed her azantite necklace. As far as they knew, the necklace only lashed out against those who grabbed her in anger, but best not to take chances. After setting it on the bedside table, she took him by the hand and led him to the four-poster bed. Her voice was husky when she spoke. “Kiss me, Valjean.”
-47-
Will raced into the mostly rebuilt town square, Mala and Tamás right behind him. High winds heralding a thunderstorm had rolled in, though the rain had held off. The night air was pregnant with unseen currents, the squall whipping into Will’s face.
A huge crowd of people were gathered near the central fountain. Tamás had erected an open-air canvas pavilion to house the Coffer of Devla so everyone could stroll by and enjoy the sight of the legendary artifact. A pair of local wizards and four armed men stood by, a guard Tamás kept posted day and night.
As Will neared the pavilion, he saw the azantite coffer resting on a brick platform. The ancient relic always seemed the focal point of attention in the square, no matter what else was going on.
Glow orbs hanging in the corners of the pavilion illuminated a surprising scene. The lid of the coffer was hinged open and Caleb was standing right beside it, holding a black traveling cloak with silver stitching. Waves of heat lightning flashed in the sky above Will as Caleb bent over the coffer, examining the inside of the chest. The gathered people were staring at him with rapt expressions, though they had created a wide berth around the pavilion, as if afraid to stand too close.
Looking bemused by the whole scene, Marguerite stood beside her new husband, holding Luca by the h
and. The boy was looking at Caleb with serious eyes, as if he knew something of grave import had just occurred.
“He’s the Templar!” someone cried. “The prophecy is fulfilled! A true cleric has returned to the land!”
Murmurs of growing excitement rippled through the crowd as Will and Mala entered the pavilion. Tamás remained on the perimeter, dazed, looking back and forth between Caleb and the coffer.
Will leaned over to peer inside. The coffer was empty, an interior of smooth dark wood. “Caleb? What happened?”
His brother looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Luca couldn’t sleep, so we took a walk to show him the courtyard. I realized none of us had tried to open the chest yet, because why would we? Luca tried, and then Marguerite, and nothing happened. Just for kicks, I put my hand on it, but before I could even lift the lid, it popped open by itself. There wasn’t anything inside except this cloak. I’ve no idea why—”
Will cringed as a deafening clap of thunder interrupted his brother. Twin flashes of lightning tore through the canvas roof of the pavilion, striking the two wizard guards in the chest. Both of them, a man and a woman, died on impact.
The screams of bystanders pierced the air. The lightning strike caused the roof of the pavilion to burst into flame, and people stumbled over their neighbors to flee, pushing and shoving to escape whatever power from on high had slain the two wizards.
Stunned, Will turned and saw three people who had appeared out of nowhere standing at the edge of the pavilion. One was a tall, bald, older man in a high-collared cloak. An orange, star-shaped pendant flashed at his throat. Just behind him stood a man and a woman wearing black robes cinched with silver belts.
Majitsu.
And a wizard.
The wind keened overhead. As another peal of thunder shook the ground, the wizard raised his hands and whisked away the burning roof of the pavilion, then sent twin bolts of lightning sizzling through the four armed guards.
“Lord Alistair sends greetings,” the wizard said calmly.
“Electromancer,” Mala breathed. “By the Queen.”
“Enough!” Tamás roared.
The wizard gave the revolutionary a lazy glance and sent him, along with everyone nearby, tumbling away in a fierce gale.
The electromancer noticed that only Mala and Will, who was holding Zariduke in front of them both, had escaped the blast. The wizard’s eyes widened. “Spiritscourge? The gypsy wench kept that from us. A boon indeed!”
Gypsy wench, Will repeated, as the Congregation wizard flicked his eyes towards Mateo, who was struggling to stand. Flashing in the center of his cousin’s chest, born proudly in commemoration, was Selina’s copper necklace.
And then, remembering her last words, Will understood. During the journey, Selina must have spied on them for Lord Alistair, through the necklace.
Why? he whispered to himself. Had it all been an act?
He didn’t think so. He remembered the conversation when she had told him about her daughter, who was studying at the Abbey. Selina had seemed so sad, as if there was a story untold, and Will guessed the Congregation had threatened her daughter if she didn’t spy for them.
None of that mattered now. The damage had been done. Keeping an eye on Will, the electromancer walked towards Caleb and the coffer. Will ran to help but the two majitsu cut him off, forcing him to adopt a defensive posture.
“Call the other mages!” Will shouted to Tamás.
“They are coming,” he shouted back, though his voice was laced with uncertainty. They’re coming, Tamás’s tone implied, but even if they arrive in time, they may not be able to touch a Congregation electromancer during a lightning storm.
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Painfully out of Will’s control. He knew he was no match for both majitsu at the same time, and Mala was little help against them. He couldn’t protect his brother and his new family. Rage bubbled inside him as the Congregation wizard strode towards Caleb and said, “You’ll be coming with us.”
“No!” Marguerite shrieked. In one smooth motion, she dropped Luca’s hand and stepped in front of Caleb, then threw a dagger that bounced off an invisible wizard shield in front of the amused electromancer.
The wizard raised his hands. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, sparks trailing in the air around him, power leeched from the storm. Luca cringed and hugged Marguerite around the waist. Caleb reached for them, trying to pull them back, but before he could grab them, the wizard sent a bolt of lightning lancing into Marguerite.
Both she and Luca seized up as the electricity tore through them. The boy dropped without a sound, but Marguerite managed a prolonged scream before she fell and convulsed on the ground, her hair and clothing smoking.
As his loved ones twitched and lay still, slain almost instantly, Caleb stared down at them as if dazed, his face caught in an almost quizzical expression. Then a spasm passed through him, as swift and sure as the lightning bolt that had seized Marguerite and Luca. Caleb balled his fists and roared, a cry of rage and pain so intense it left a brand on Will’s soul, a white-hot stain of emotion. As his brother staggered back against the coffer, the electromancer released another bolt. This time the lightning arced straight into Caleb’s chest, yet instead of killing him, the bolt pulsed and bounced off his brother, returning to strike the electromancer.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed the Coffer of Devla glowing softly with a multihued spectrum of colors, a rainbow of illumination that spread to envelop his brother. Snarling, Caleb raised his fists and stalked forward, causing the strange radiance to disappear when he lost contact with the coffer. But the electromancer had already fallen, struck dead by the reversal of his spell.
The two majitsu rushed Will. Before they reached him, the male screamed as a cat o’ nine tails lashed into his back, the hardened azantite tips tearing deep into his skin. Mala hit him again before he could recover, the wicked barbs ripping out his throat and piercing his heart. Will had no idea how the weapon had pierced the warrior-mage’s defenses.
“Feel the sting of Magelasher,” Mala said, her words coated with vengeful satisfaction.
Will turned on the final invader and thrust straight for her gut. At the last moment, the majitsu spun away from the blade and sent a back elbow slamming into Will’s sternum, doubling him over. Next, she shot a palm at Will’s heart that he deflected with the side edge of Zariduke. Her hand dripping blood, the majitsu leapt at Will, fists and feet flying, forcing him backwards.
Another strike from Magelasher caught her in the side, ripping out a hunk of flesh. Stumbling, the majitsu managed to avoid Mala’s next blow, but Will ran her through from behind. The warrior-mage stiffened and died on the blade. Will kicked her to the ground.
Caleb howled and fell between Marguerite and Luca’s charred bodies, weeping as Will rushed to him. Caleb pushed him away and reached for the coffer, opening it as if trying to summon its magic. He closed his eyes, whispered a prayer too low for Will to hear, and opened them again.
Marguerite and Luca lay unchanged on the ground.
“Do something!” Caleb screamed as he picked up Luca’s body and raised him to the sky. “If You exist, bring them back to me!” Will watched in horror as spittle flew from his brother’s mouth. “Damn You, do something!!”
“The coffer!” someone yelled.
Will whipped his head around to see a wisp of a man hovering over the chest. He had a ferret-like face and was holding a shiny platinum bag that looked similar to the one Mala had used to ferry the artifact out of the tomb. The sack that held far more than it could possibly fit.
As Will watched in shock, the man stretched the mouth of the bag to fit over the coffer and, once the artifact disappeared inside, he pulled the drawstring tight.
Besides Caleb, who didn’t even look up, Tamás was closest. He yelled as he sprinted towards the thief, followed by Will and Mala. Before they could reach him, the man threw a crystal sphere on the ground he had concealed in his oth
er hand. The glass shattered and a portal opened in midair, revealing a dystopian cityscape of soot-blackened buildings, cracked arches, and a nest of crooked alleyways. The thief jumped through, and the portal closed as Tamás made a futile grab for his shirt.
Reeling, unable to process everything that had happened, Will sank to his knees as Caleb rocked on the ground beside him, inconsolable, moaning the names of his loved ones.
-48-
The evening after his return to New Victoria, Val eased into a soft leather chair as Lord Alistair poured them both a glass of granth. The Chief Thaumaturge’s study in his St. Charles mansion was opulent beyond belief, full of stunning original art, glass cases housing bottles of rare liquors, and period furniture that reeked of wealth and privilege. A three-dimensional painting of the New Victoria Wizard District hung above the alabaster fireplace, and as Val stared at the piece, he realized he could actually shift the perspective of the painting with his mind and view the spires from different angles. Amazing.
The encounter did not intimidate Val. As powerful as Lord Alistair was, Val had risen to the top of one of New York City’s most prestigious law firms on his own merit, navigating the hierarchy of the firm and some of the world’s most influential business leaders along the way. He had studied at the Abbey, completed the Planewalk, and faced off against a demon lord.
Val was comfortable with power.
What unnerved him were the stakes.
Would Lord Alistair send him back to prison? Execute him? Banish him? Word had probably spread that he and Adaira had become an item. How would the Chief Thaumaturge react?
With a neutral expression, Lord Alistair handed Val a glass. “Granth from the Isles of Minos Krinn. The finest in the world, according to some.”
Val accepted the offer and clinked his glass lightly against Lord Alistair’s. “To your daughter,” Val said.
“Yes,” he murmured, as he took a seat.
“I never intended for her to go.”
“I know that. She is quite willful, and now that she is of age . . .” Lord Alistair gave a shrug at the universal inability of fathers to control their daughters’ behavior.