“I have to stop this.”
“Are you crazy?” she growled.
“You know that woman,” Sienna said, sounding surprised.
But I couldn’t tell them, I couldn’t risk someone hearing us, even though no one was paying us any mind.
Despite the sergeant’s admonitions, all the guards were turned to face the dais, watching the spectacle, not standing straight at all. Many had even lifted up their visors. Some had dropped their spears.
This included the sergeant himself, who’d carried no spear but had dropped his helm and now stood in the middle of the rolled-out carpet, gaping.
I guess he hadn’t expected this. Or maybe didn’t believe it, not quite fully. There were a lot of those.
Even with the fact of the divines existing, I myself had only half-believed the gods ever really had. Until now.
Until my wife was the one they were ascending, using to bring one of those gods of myth back.
A priest at the edge of the dais stepped out of line and began walking toward the seven surrounding Lyra.
I expected them to expand their circle to allow him to join, but none moved.
He drew an ornate blade from his belt, and I watched in confusion as he raised it and then stabbed it into the back of one of the seven.
There were quiet gasps from the audience, but otherwise, nothing happened. The priest didn’t seem to notice the blade now sticking out from his back.
The backstabbing priest pulled the blade from the first priest and moved to the next in the circle, once again stabbing his blade into the other man.
No response.
He stabbed his blade into a third, the one reading from that scroll.
This time, there was a response.
The chanting stumbled, grew out of sync, and the priest ceased his reading to scream in pain.
The two other stabbed priests collapsed, the magic that had been pouring out of them cutting off entirely.
Orathar turned his attention to them, tearing his eyes from the floating goddess.
“Traitor!” he roared, and it didn’t need to be amplified for everyone to hear it.
He made a gesture and the traitor priest began floating up into the air, dropping his blade.
The four remaining priests were still in a now-partial circle around Lyra, pouring their magic into her. They seemed oblivious to the fact that three of their number had fallen, though their chanting was now more out of sync than ever.
Orathar spun the priest in the air with his magic, facing him toward him. “Dagen, what have you—”
But then another priest from the other side of the platform lunged forward and stabbed one of the remaining four priests in the back, then quickly withdrew the blade and sliced it across the three remaining’s necks.
“No!” Orathar bellowed.
He let go of the priest that he had floating in the air and dove for my wife, who now herself fell, the bright magic covering her body dulling.
He caught her limp form before it crashed to the dais.
Then the priest who’d attacked the remaining four stabbed Orathar, but was blown backward by an electric pulse of magic.
When this attacker landed, his body was smoking, already burned to charcoal.
What in the bloody gods was going on?
Orathar straightened, clutching Lyra to him and glaring down at the burnt corpse. “Form again. We must not—”
But he didn’t get to finish as the remaining priests started fighting each other, stabbing their blades into guts and backs and necks.
“No!” he shouted. He looked around. “Breakers!”
At first nothing happened, everyone was so stunned.
Then two of the guards who had been patrolling the perimeter of the arena came running.
But not before one of the guards in our line lifted his spear and launched it at Orathar.
Launched it at my wife.
The high priest was facing to the side, watching the Breakers approach, and so didn’t see the spear flying for him. It might hit him, kill him, and that would be all right.
But it also might hit Lyra.
“Look out!” I cried, which drew his attention just as the spear was about to strike.
He roared and a blast wave of fire expanded out from him, incinerating the spear.
Then he looked at the guard who had thrown it. “Take him,” he ordered.
When the city guards made no move to obey, the Honor Guard knights began moving toward him.
“Stop!” Orathar ordered them. “Stay away. Guard the carriage.”
Reluctantly they obeyed. It must have been hard. Their prime directive was to guard the priests, and now the only one left alive, the highest among all priests, was telling them not to.
A few of the normal city guards finally snapped into action and grabbed the guard who’d thrown the spear before he could get away. Though it didn’t look like he was trying to.
“There must be a Whisperer here.” Orathar looked at the guard sergeant, still standing stupidly in the center of the rug leading to the dais, helm forgotten at his feet. “Find him.”
“But… Your Grace. Whisperers? There’s no—” Before he could finish a sword was run through his chest and he fell to his knees, staring wide-eyed at the point sticking out of his sternum.
“No!” Orathar roared. The Breakers had arrived, but stood there as dumbly as the sergeant had, looking around helplessly.
The man who had stabbed the sergeant pulled the sword out, then looked down in confusion at the body.
“Dad!” someone cried, and the young guard who’d given Vi the spear dropped her own, running to the sergeant. She yanked her helmet off and tossed it aside, cradling the sergeant’s head in her lap. “Dad!” she cried again. Then she looked up at the other guards. “Someone help!”
The one who had stabbed her father made to help, but she drew her father’s sword and swung it at him. “Stay away!”
He held up his hands, bloody sword in one of them. “I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t know…” He looked around, seeming lost.
A different guard came to help. It was the one with the red crescent on his helm. Foscer. He said something to the girl, then lifted the sergeant and made for the gate the children had been playing near, the sergeant’s daughter following like a lost pup.
I noticed the children were gone, as were the ones who’d been guarding them. The king and queen had disappeared as well, along with their court, plates of food spilled on the floor, bottles of wine knocked over and spilling blood-red liquid, a mirror of that which now covered the dais.
There was panic in the seats all around and above us, and many looked to have fled from the stadium. Many more still stayed and watched.
“Where is the Whisperer?” Orathar asked the Breakers.
They’d taken off their helmets, and so I saw that neither was the one we had followed.
“There’s too much magic here,” one of them said. He was a young human male with medium-length brown hair and a scar across his eye.
“Find him,” Orathar ordered. “Break him. Then bring him to me.” He grabbed the dropped scroll, which despite lying in a puddle of blood had absorbed none of it, then strode down the dais steps with it and my wife.
One of the Breakers moved out of his way, but the one didn’t with the scar didn’t, instead drawing his sword and lunging for Orathar.
Orathar’s hands were full, so he had to drop the scroll or my wife to respond.
He chose the scroll, throwing out his now-free hand, gripping Lyra’s body to himself with only one large arm, and threw a blast of fire at the Breaker.
But the Breaker was ready, and twisted this, throwing it back at Orathar.
The high priest stumbled back in shock. He clearly didn’t expect the Breaker to be so powerful.
The other Breaker now stepped in to intervene, but the guard who had stabbed the sergeant launched his sword at him, spearing the man through his neck.
&n
bsp; “Should’ve kept your guard up when a Whisperer’s about,” the scarred Breaker said to the other as blood poured down his front and back, then continued on to Orathar.
The guard who had thrown the sword was frozen in place, looking more confused than ever.
Orathar hurled another blast of magic at the Breaker but it was deflected right back at him. He spun away, shielding Lyra.
The Breaker charged and slammed his sword down into Orathar’s armored back. Unlike the priest whose charred corpse lay on the steps, he was able to Break this protection magic, be unaffected by it, and thus stab his sword through.
The high priest dropped Lyra and spun, flinging out his fist, but just missing connecting with the Breaker.
He spun to face him, his face a grimace of anger or pain, it was impossible to say which, and went for Agormonn’s black sword, then stopped himself.
He couldn’t use his weapons against the Breaker, for they were powerful artifacts, and who knew what a Breaker as strong as this one could do with that kind of magic.
The Breaker attacked again, but Orathar caught the blade in one large gauntleted fist. He yanked and the Breaker let himself be pulled, then released the sword, dashing in for the black one on Orathar’s belt.
“No!” Orathar shouted, just as the Breaker got his hand on it. Orathar grabbed him to pull him off, but it was too late.
There was a resounding shockwave as the Breaker twisted the magic in that ancient artifact and the two were blown toward the dais, the high priest crashing into the steps, the Breaker rolling onto the dais itself, tumbling through the pools of the priests’ spilled blood.
And leaving my unconscious wife unguarded in the middle of the silver rug.
Without thinking I dropped my spear and rushed forward as the two opponents got warily to their feet.
I swiped up the spell scroll as I passed it, then reached the body of my wife and picked her limp form up in my arms.
And then I fled.
Fled to the only way I could think of to get out of here alive.
The Honor Guard knights had been waiting by the carriage but when they saw me approaching they assumed I was with them and opened the door for me.
Sienna and Vi had followed without me needing to tell them to.
The carriage was empty, and I put the naked body of my wife inside, handing Sienna the scroll. “Get in,” I told her and Vi.
Then I closed the door and climbed onto the perch next to the driver.
“What are you—” he began.
“I’m getting Lyra to safety.”
He studied me. “How do you know her name?”
“I’m a plant by the high priest to make sure there were no plots against her.”
“Didn’t do a very good job.”
“My job is to get her somewhere safe. Let me do mine, and you go do yours. Go help Orathar.”
When he didn’t at first move, I said, “Now!”
“He told us to stay here.”
“And now I’m telling you otherwise. And as the only other priest here, you will listen to me.”
“You’re… a priest?”
“Yes, now go.”
He scoffed. “You expect me to—”
“Svothin valo hathon.” To gods, there is no death. A phrase in the old language only a priest and the Honor Guard would know. Or a king whose regent was the high priest.
It was a phrase which hadn’t had much meaning to me in the past, though now the words felt ominous.
“Of course Your Grace. My apologies,” he said, his attitude gone, his demeanor subservient. He scrambled down. “On me!” he ordered the others, and went to help.
I was likely sending them to their deaths, but right now I didn’t care.
I got the horses moving and pointed back toward the coliseum entrance.
As we were passing through it, I turned to check on the high priest.
And saw a knight crawling toward me on top of the carriage.
Damn. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?
I grabbed for my sword and stood to stab it into the knight.
“Wait!” he said, holding up his hand.
But the voice was female.
She removed her helmet.
“Trin?”
She scrambled the rest of the way over the carriage into the seat beside me.
I looked back at the coliseum we’d just exited.
Instead of helping Orathar, the knights and the city guard were fighting each other, not one side against the other, but a free-for-all.
I could just see Orathar and the Breaker still going at it on the dais among the bloody corpses of the priests.
Whoever that Breaker was, he was powerful to be able to stand up against the high priest for this long.
“That’s you?” I asked Trin. “You’re doing all of that?”
She nodded.
Of course. She was the only Whisperer here—perhaps the only one left in the world. And this was why.
This was why Whisperers were killed. One person alone had caused all of this. Taken out priests and guards and even Breakers. And now one of her enthralled was in a showdown with the high priest. If even he could be taken by surprise by one of them, what hope did the rest of us have against such a foe?
But this Whisperer was no foe. Not to me.
“I saw him on my way to the warden’s,” she said. “It jogged my memory. It was him. After all this time looking, I just stumbled upon him.” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “So I enthralled one of the guards and took their place. I was waiting until he was alone, but then we came here. And… I had to improvise.”
“He’s the one who…”
“Yes, who killed my parents.”
“So it was a Breaker?”
She frowned. “What? No. The big one. They called him the high priest.”
“Orathar killed your parents?”
She nodded. “If that’s the big one’s name. He’s the one who— Look out!”
The horses dug in to a stop, turning to the side, causing the carriage to skid then catch on its wheels, sending it toppling over and throwing us from the perch.
We crashed hard into the dirt, and I heard Trin moan from somewhere nearby as the horses made sounds of agitation.
I lay there for a moment, catching my breath. Then I groaned and pushed myself up. Several paces away Trin was doing the same.
“Didn’t mean to spook you,” a voice said.
I looked up at what had caused the crash.
In front of us stood a woman. A high elf, her hair down now and blowing in the wind, her cloak flapping behind her. It was the woman we’d followed since that tavern with two names back in Silaris. It was the Breaker.
57
She held my satchel out in front of her, the one the angel had given me. Alva was bound up inside of it, only her head sticking out, a gag in her mouth.
I stared at the Breaker, gripping the hilt my sword. It was the only weapon I had against her.
The carriage door was kicked open and Vi started to crawl out.
She was partially transformed.
“Stay inside!” I ordered.
She snarled at me.
“Now Vi,” I commanded.
She actually listened, and I turned my attention back to the Breaker, who stood there, watching impassively.
“I saw what you did in there,” she told me.
I stood, drawing my sword, but she spoke again before I could charge.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m glad.”
My grip on the sword loosened and I blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Who do you think moved those bodies for you?”
I shook my head. “You? Why?”
“To help you.”
I laughed derisively. “Right. You tried to kill us.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
She gave a dismissive shake of her head. “We don’t have time. We must go. Foll
ow me.” She turned to leave.
“You’re insane if you think we’ll follow you.”
She sighed. “If you are to make it out of here alive, you will.”
“We can take care of ourselves.”
“So you say. But following me is the only way you’re going to get your little vampire friend here back.”
“Or I could kill you and take her back.”
“No you couldn’t.”
“You think I won’t kill you?”
“Oh, I think you might want to. But you can’t. You’re no match for me. Now stop wasting time. We must leave. We can’t let him get his hands on that spell or that woman again. He’s trying to resurrect the goddess, and I take it neither of us want that to happen. Leave the horses, let them think it was an ambush, and follow me. I’ll get you out of here.”
She walked away.
“Fuck.”
“You’re not really going to,” Trin said.
I watched the Breaker walk away, then looked back the way we’d come.
The carriage was too damaged to use, even if we could get it upright again. We could take the horses, but with Vi, that might not go so well, especially since they already looked spooked from the crash.
And besides, I was curious.
The Breaker stopped, looked back at us. “Oh, don’t forget the spell.” Then she walked on, supremely confident that we would follow.
And we would. “I am,” I told Trin.
“But—”
“I am,” I repeated firmly.
She shook her head, a scowl on her face. “Fine.”
I could tell she still wanted to kill the priest, but I could also tell she knew he was too powerful, and that she wouldn’t be taking him by surprise again any time soon. Maybe the Breaker she had enthralled would get lucky and win.
I doubted it.
I nodded, and went to the carriage to help the others out.
Sienna had gotten Vi calmed down, though just barely.
She held my wife in her lap.
“How is she?” I asked the dryad.
“Hard to say.”
“Were any of you hurt in the crash?” They both had their helmets off, but had no apparent injuries. The paint made it hard to tell if Lyra was hurt.
“She filled the carriage with vines when we crashed,” Vi said. “Kept us from getting thrown around.”
Curse of Magic Page 23
