by Todd Herzman
Marius, a few steps behind the two adults, stopped walking. The monk and the seeker didn’t notice. He waited for them to walk farther before turning around. He could see the shadows for what they were now, as they’d gotten closer.
He walked to them, breathing gulps of chilly night air. His body shook, his mind rebelled, but he was doing the right thing. The thralls were after him. If whatever blood mage controlled them captured Marius, they wouldn’t need Peiter and Lilah. If he sacrificed himself, the monk and the seeker would be safe. There was no running from this fight.
And with them behind him—he glanced back, they hadn’t noticed he was missing—Marius could use his powers without worrying about hurting them.
The shadows turned to shapes, men and women bearing axes, swords and spears. The fear came then. Be brave, he thought. Like everyone always tells me to be.
Brave when his mother died. Brave when his father died. Brave when his brother was taken, when his sister left. He didn’t want anyone close to him to have to die again. He would be brave before that happened—he would be brave to stop it happening.
The fear turned to anger. Anger at whoever commanded these people to come after him—was it the same blood mage who’d taken his brother? Were they here, somewhere in the trees, watching and waiting to see what would happen?
He could sense his power inside. It mingled with his anger. Bubbling up, ready to be used. He needed another outburst. He needed one so strong that all the blood mage’s toys would be broken.
Marius stopped, his feet kicking up dust. He unslung his pack and let it fall to the ground. The thralls were forty then thirty then twenty feet away.
He drew on his powers and thrust his hands out at the nearest attackers.
Bones cracked.
Chapter 40
Ruben
Ruben gently kicked Alyssa’s leg. She lay on the ground, the rise and fall of her chest the only indicator that she still lived. He’d gone too far this time, he knew it, he felt it. He didn’t care.
Her blood flowed within him. It filled a well deep inside, making his own power stronger. And another well appeared. When he closed his eyes, he could see it. Alyssa’s power. His mind grew stronger, too. And his senses. His body. His muscles. He clenched a fist, watched the knuckles go white on his hand, felt his nails dig into his palm and a drop of blood trickle down his wrist.
Drinking from Alyssa had brought him more strength than he’d ever thought he could possess. Ruben closed his eyes and touched the new well. He’d taken enough of her blood to use her powers this time. He imagined himself different, imagined himself to look like the man he hated most in the world.
When he opened his eyes, he looked down at his new body. He now wore a black suit and shiny leather boots—at least, it looked like he did. And he knew, if he saw himself in a mirror, he’d see Malarin’s face staring back.
Ruben, in the guise of the blood mage who kept his betrothed captive, bent down and ripped a chain from Alyssa’s wrist. He pulled the key from it, then tossed the chain to the ground.
The castle was quiet. It was always quiet, but now the night had taken hold it was eerily quiet. Ruben locked the door to the garden behind him. The gardeners would be out by the morning. If Alyssa woke before then she could deal with being locked somewhere for a change.
Ruben stepped through the silent halls. He lit his hands aflame. Light flickered off the walls. A part of him knew being locked up hadn’t been Alyssa’s fault, but he didn’t want to think about the person whose fault it was.
My grandfather. He shook his head, trying to get his mind away from that. He didn’t want to think about the God King. Didn’t want to think about the life his mother must have had before meeting his father, the life she’d never told them about.
He turned a corner and wished he had a map. So many halls, so many doors. They all looked the same. He kept expecting to come across a guard, a servant, someone.
There’s a meteorite heading toward the world. That was another thing he didn’t want to think about, another thing he tried to shake from his mind. He hadn’t escaped the gardens because he wanted to kill the God King. He believed what the man—his grandfather—had seen. How else could someone become so crazy? Do so many horrible things? The fate of the world would hang heavy on anyone’s shoulders.
Ruben wasn’t going to stop him or try and break his little empire. All he wanted was to escape and save his betrothed. Assuming he could find her.
She won’t like what I’ve become to save her.
He turned another corner and stopped short. The hallways were beginning to look different. Had he been here before? Was this close to the God King’s throne room, where he and the other thralls had been taken their first day on the island? If it was, he should avoid it. He’d taken the guise of Malarin because he’d assumed the blood mage could walk freely within the castle and without, but the last thing he wanted was to run into Renial—he doubted a simple glamour would be enough to fool him. Besides, what if Malarin was supposed to be an ocean away?
Ruben sighed. He should avoid it, but he knew there was a way out from the throne room’s doors. He walked toward where he thought it would be and hoped his disguise would be enough.
He spotted light up ahead, candles flickering from around a corner. Ruben extinguished the flames in his hand and approached the corner quietly. He peered around it and saw two large double doors. The doors were solid wood and stretched to the top of the high ceiling. He’d passed through them before, twice. Two guards stood by them. Would the God King be up at this time of night? Did gods sleep? Not that he was truly a god…
The guards hadn’t spotted him yet, but the hallway they stood in was the one he needed to get through. Ruben looked down at himself. He still wore Malarin’s clothes. Even his hands looked different. They appeared smooth. He ran a finger across the opposite palm. He still felt the callouses there, the ones built up from holding the hammer, from years of forging. But his skin looked pristine.
There’s nothing to be afraid of, he told himself. You are Malarin, powerful blood mage. They will not deny you passage through this hall.
Ruben stood straight, pulling his shoulders back. He remembered the expression the blood mage always wore—a kind of sneering superiority—and did his best to wear it. He turned the corner as confidently as he could manage. He didn’t look at the guards—Malarin wouldn’t bother giving them a sideways glance—but he saw them turn their heads in his peripheral vision. Saw them stare at him as he walked, his shoes soft on the hard floor. They looked him up and down.
Ruben passed by them, no longer able to see what they were doing. He let out a silent sigh. The next corner was maybe ten steps away, after that, it wasn’t too far to the castle’s exit. He was going to—
‘Wait,’ a voice said behind him.
Ruben stopped. His instincts told him to run, but what would Malarin’s instincts be? He scowled and turned around.
The guards walked toward him. The one closest spoke, a small smile creeping up the sides of his lips. ‘Nice try, Alyssa.’ He took Ruben by the arm in a far-too-familiar way. ‘You know Malarin’s nowhere near the castle tonight.’ He tried to lead Ruben back, but Ruben shoved his arm away. The guard narrowed his eyes. ‘Alyssa?’
‘Do I look like Alyssa, you fool?’ Ruben snapped.
The other guard gripped his hilt, ready to draw, and joined his partner.
‘I am Lord Malarin, and the God King will have your heads for treating me this way.’
The guards exchanged a glance, serious expressions on their faces, then the first guard chuckled. Ruben stepped back as the guard stared him down.
‘I knew you weren’t Malarin the second you walked through this hall.’ The guard stepped forward, looking at Ruben’s boots—Malarin’s boots. ‘Malarin’s shoes don’t fall so softly on the ground. The noise was all wrong. And the way you walk?’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t get me started on your perfo
rmance.’
The guard lunged forward and grabbed Ruben’s arm again. The second guard joined in, grabbing the other arm. They lead him back up the hall.
‘Honestly, woman, I don’t know why you bother trying to escape this place anymo—’
Fire burst from Ruben’s hands, his palms facing the guards on either side of him. Their grips fell away as they screamed. They both stepped back. Ruben was free to run. He looked from one guard to the other—if the guards lived, the alarm would sound before he made it out of the castle grounds. Everything would be locked down, and his disguise would be more useless than it already was.
Ruben faced the first guard, the only one who’d spoken. He shot flames—blinding light—into the man’s eyes. As the guard’s hands sprang up to hold his melting face, Ruben grabbed the hilt of his sword. He kicked the guard forward, the sword coming free as the man bashed into the wall. Ruben turned. The strength of his swing doubled from the blood he’d taken, he slashed at the other guard’s neck—the first bit of exposed skin he could see.
Then he spun back. The first guard still clutched his eyes. Ruben thrust the blade through the gaps in his armour. It stuck in the man’s side. Ruben’s heart thumped hard. He could hear his own pulse in his ears. He wondered if the blood he heard was his own or Alyssa’s.
Red poured from the guards as they died on the ground. Ruben looked between them. A part of him felt guilt. Remorse. Disgust at what he’d done. Another part screamed in his mind. Run!
Ruben fled down the corridor, leaving the slayed guards behind. The Malarin disguise was no good, so as he strode down the hall, he summoned Alyssa’s power again—still feeling the reserve within. He hadn’t created a bloodlock with Alyssa—he didn’t know how—so he couldn’t refill the reserve without taking more of her blood. He only had enough to use her power one more time.
Malarin had been questioned by a lowly guard. Apparently, Alyssa was the type to try to sneak out. There was no time to ponder why she would want to escape. He could take the guise of a guard, but a guard might be stopped by anyone he passed. There was only one person in the castle he knew no one would question.
Ruben stopped in the middle of the hall. He put his back to the wall and closed his eyes. Drawing a deep breath, he concentrated on the power within. He imagined the person he wanted to be.
He felt the shift, like a shimmer in the air. A wave of energy washed over him. He looked down at his hands once more. His sleeves were still black, but the material was different. There was a ring on his left hand, a blood coloured gem. Ruben touched it, reflexively, but only felt his finger—the ring wasn’t really there, of course. Just as the black cloak wasn’t really draped over his shoulders or fastened with a silver clasp at his neck.
The halls were still quiet. Ruben adjusted his walk as he stepped down them, though he doubted anyone would question the God King’s gait. Alyssa may have been game enough to impersonate Malarin, but Ruben doubted she’d impersonate her god. He didn’t encounter another soul after he’d killed the guards at the doors to Renial’s throne. The halls seemed like the same ones he’d tread through when he was shackled and chained. He stayed his course until he turned the final corner.
He felt a soft breeze. The night air drifting in from outside the castle. It brought the scent of woodsmoke from fireplaces working in the cold night. He wondered what the city would look like, smoke pouring from chimneys packed close together.
Ruben saw the gate, the courtyard beyond. Did the God King ever walk through here of an evening? There would be guards by that gate, standing outside it on either side. He remembered glancing up at them as he was ushered through. They held spears. If they attacked Ruben, they wouldn’t have to draw their weapons as the other guards had.
His shoes barely made a noise as he approached the gate. He would never have thought the sounds his shoes made would give him away. But he wasn’t Malarin. This time, he was Renial.
They would let him through.
He was almost to the gate when the thought occurred to him. How long will this glamour last?
Ruben stopped. He glanced at the guards, their job was looking out, not looking in. I could kill them with their backs to me, shoot fire and run as the flames melted their skin. He pushed the thought away. Despite what he’d done, he wasn’t a murderer. He would only kill if he had to.
‘Open the gate.’ Ruben made his voice deep. Or tried to. His words escaped in a growl.
The guards spun in unison. It looked as if they were about to point their spears at him. They froze and pulled back when they realised who they faced. Their heads dropped. The guard on Ruben’s right rushed forward and undid the lock. Neither spoke or looked at him as the gates creaked open.
Ruben walked through the courtyard, breathed in the night air, practically sauntering down the walkway. He grinned. There were two more guards at the outer gate and, looking as he did, he wouldn’t have a problem getting past them.
What he wasn’t sure of was how to find Taya. First he needed to find Malarin and wherever the man kept his thralls. Ruben imagined they were on some estate somewhere, his servants working the fields, or cooking and bringing the bastard his meals. Anger boiled in Ruben as he thought about these things. He inhaled deep and tried to centre himself.
He’d almost escaped. If he could do that, he could save Taya. And if he could save Taya, he could get them out of this wretched place—this place that was turning him into something he didn’t want to be.
Ruben was perhaps twenty steps from the outer gate when the air shimmered. A wave washed over him, almost as it had when he’d put on the glamour. He looked down at his hands—
The bloodred ring was gone. His palms were calloused again.
The glamour had worn off.
Chapter 41
Ella
Ella watched as the Serpentine burned.
‘Reena!’ She sprang forward, ready to run down the beach and scream from the shore.
Aralia’s hand shot out to stop her. ‘Steady yourself. The enemy is on the beach.’ Aralia looked to the left of them. Three men stood on the sand. One carried a bow, another a long chain with a blade at its end. The last stood impassive in the middle, a mute look of boredom on his face.
The blood mage. Ella felt the power emanating from him, felt the strength. It was darker than what she’d felt before.
The first man raised his bow. Aralia stomped her foot forward and snapped out her hands. A crack of lightning hit just above the man’s head—he was protected, like the other thralls had been.
He fired off a shot.
Ella moved instinctively, raising her hands in defence she jumped in front of Aralia. Ella crossed her arms in front of her, palms facing inward as if she were blocking a kick. A burst of flame shot forth—from her arms this time, not her palms.
The arrow’s shaft burned away before it could reach its target, and all that was left was the arrowhead, which fell to the sand.
The bowman didn’t waste time watching where his arrow fell, he already had the next one nocked. The other man sprinted forward, his chain rattling in the air as he spun it overhead, the blade whistling in an arc.
A bolt of lightning cracked at the bowman, striking uselessly.
Ella’s focus shifted to the man with the chain closing in fast. She stepped forward as Aralia had, letting her lead foot drop and thrusting her arms at the chain-wielder. Sparks and flames shot out, contacting the man’s defensive layer of magic.
Lightning struck twice more, and in her peripheral vision Ella saw the bowman collapse just as something whistled by. Aralia gasped behind her. Ella spun around. The witch clutched her side. The arrow stuck through her waist and out her back. Aralia fell to her knees as Ella rushed to her.
‘Leave me!’ the witch screamed through pained breaths.
Steps thudded from behind. A chain rattled. Ella dived to the side. The man’s three-pointed blade sunk into the sand where she’d just been.
Ella sprang back up as the man swung his chain again.
The blood mage stood in the background. It had taken two bolts of Aralia’s lightning to get through the shield the blood mage used to protect his thralls, and another bolt to down them—Ella had hit the chain-blade man once already.
She reached inside, begging for light, and light emerged from her outstretched palm. Her powers came more naturally now, almost instinctively. The fear, the adrenaline—the anger. It made her volatile—her powers wanted to come out.
The man’s eyes closed, his steps faltered. Ella called fire next. She heard Aralia’s groans of pain but forced herself not to look as she brought the flames forth, commanding them to engulf her attacker.
The flames hit the protective layer. The man was still blinded by the light she’d sent—whatever magic the blood mage used didn’t seem to protect the man’s eyes. He swung his chain wildly. Ella called on her magic once more, hoping to launch a bolt of lightning akin to Aralia’s.
Sparks started in her hands, shot halfway toward the stumbling man, then withered and fell short. Ella touched the reserve within herself and found it drained. Her body grew tired. The fear she’d been pushing away took over.
But the man still couldn’t see.
Ella remembered the dagger at her belt. Aralia collapsed to the ground, no longer able to kneel. Ella drew the dagger, ducked forward under wild swings of the chain, the three-pointed blade whispering a handbreadth from her head. She got in close and sunk the dagger into his chest—or tried to. The point of the blade hit hard bone. Ella stabbed at him again, but the man—blind or not—knew she was there now. He grabbed for her and found her shoulders. In a second, he wrapped the chain around her.
The man breathed hard as he moved. All Ella saw was his rotting teeth, her senses overwhelmed by his foul breath. The chain bound her arms to her waist. The man’s eyes opened again, blinking hard. He smiled at her and began wrapping the chain around her neck.
Ella writhed and fought at her bindings. She gnashed her teeth, trying to get close enough to bite the man’s arms. She tried to call on her powers but each time she did she was met with nothing but an empty pit inside.
