Mother of All

by Jenna Glass

  From the sounds of it, it was already too late for her to flee up the main staircase—there was muffled shouting coming from what sounded like just above—but there was a secret passageway the men could send her through. She eyed the entrance to that passageway—visible to her Mindseye because of the elements in its concealment spell—longingly. Perhaps the men were so focused on the advancing threat that they wouldn’t notice her opening that door and slipping through to hide on the other side until the fighting was over.

  Kailee shook her head, letting go of the pleasant fantasy of flight. She firmly believed her decision to wait here and take advantage of her unique abilities to sabotage Draios’s spell was the right one, no matter how terrified she might be. So she hunkered down, making herself as small as possible, and mouthed the words to a prayer.

  The shouting from above cut off abruptly.

  The men in the passageway prepared their swords and shields for battle, spreading out as much as possible in the confined space. Kailee saw shield spells being activated, as well as enchantments on swords and knives. A man in the far corner from where Kailee crouched readied a crossbow bolt and aimed it at the opening of the stairwell. She tried to read the spell contained in the bolt, for many of its elements were neuter and within her ability to see, but she was still too inexperienced a spell crafter to guess exactly its purpose. The room fairly bristled with magic, the elements so thick in the armor and weapons that Kailee could see even the smallest details, like concentrations of gems in sword hilts.

  Kailee stifled a scream when the crossbow let loose, the bolt flying through the air at an impossible-to-follow speed. All around her, the soldiers in Alys’s retinue let loose a battle cry so loud she had to cover her ears. Several men entered through the doorway swinging swords and were met with Alys’s retinue, but then something strange happened.

  Kailee’s mouth dropped open as she watched Alys’s soldiers swinging their swords at empty air. She quickly realized that they had to be fighting illusions, that Draios had sent his magical doubles out of the stairway ahead of him.

  Into the confusion, she saw more auras of real men—armed with real, spelled weapons—jump into the fray. The air filled with screams and shouts and the smell of fresh blood.

  The screams took on a new, added edge of terror when someone else stepped out of the stairwell.

  Kailee could not see the man, of course, but she was instantly aware that there was something very, very wrong with his aura. Most living beings, be they human or animal, were surrounded by a thick aura of Rho that made them look almost like they were glowing. Sometimes, those auras of Rho were interrupted by clusters of other elements—magic items, packed with enough elements to make them visible and noticeable even within the sea of free elements that floated in the air this close to the Well. But the aura she saw now, the one that seemed to strike terror into the hearts of the brave men who’d volunteered to stand between the enemy and Aaltah’s most precious jewel, was not like any ordinary aura.

  There was a thin, man-shaped aura of Rho, but that Rho reminded Kailee of the moldering, moth-eaten gown she had once discovered in an attic when she’d been exploring as a child. She remembered touching the gown and recognizing the smooth slide of silk, but then finding holes and loose threads, and patches that seemed to slough away at even the most delicate brush of her fingers. And that was how Delnamal’s—who else could have an aura that looked so damaged and unwholesome?—aura appeared to Kailee’s Mindseye.

  The aura was so horrifyingly wrong that Kailee wanted very much to look away, but she forced herself not to. She kept staring at it, wondering if those patches and holes were actually made up of the Kai that supposedly clung to him. Kailee had found herself to be fairly gifted at magic, but she was nothing like Alys or Tynthanal, who each had the unique ability to see elements that were not of their gender. If there was Kai surrounding Delnamal, it was masculine Kai, and therefore not something she could see.

  What she could see were the magic items he carried with him. Because she could see only the neuter elements from the spells—and maybe not even all of those—she could not begin to guess their purposes, except that she very much doubted any of them was benevolent.

  Delnamal stepped into the room, holding out his hand and just standing there, as if he had no fear whatsoever that he would be hurt. As she watched, a spelled crossbow bolt fired by one of Alys’s retinue hit him square in the chest, but he didn’t even flinch.

  Thanks to her always-open Mindseye, Kailee was the only one in the room who knew when the real Draios entered the antechamber: his was the only aura that entered the room, and then stepped nimbly to the side instead of wading into the fight. Apparently he was content to let his men fight and die for him while he hovered in the back, safe behind his wall of illusions.

  Kailee tore her eyes away from Delnamal and scanned Draios’s aura, her eyes assessing each spell she could see attached to him. He had something that even with her novice eye she could recognize as a standard—if very powerful—shield spell. She also detected what she suspected was a Kai shield spell. Then there was one other spell that appeared to be contained in some item he wore pinned to his shoulder.

  Kailee was certain there were many elements in that particular spell that were masculine and beyond her ability to see. She was also certain that spell was powered by masculine Kai, and that it was the spell that powered his doubles.

  Perhaps it wasn’t reasonable to feel so certain. After all, she was basing that assessment on one of the few neuter elements she could see in that spell. However, that neuter element was Lix, which she knew was associated with spells of camouflage. In fact, Lix was the element that powered the more traditional—and far less powerful—Trapper spell on which the Women’s Well version was based. If she could sneak up to Draios and remove the Lix from his spell, his illusions would vanish.

  Shaking with nerves, wishing she could stop her ears so that she did not have to hear the screams and cries of the wounded and dying, she pressed her back to the wall and slid along it toward Draios, skirting past a pair of men hacking at each other with spelled swords.

  Just as she moved past, one of the men scored a devastating hit. Something hot and sticky splashed against Kailee’s neck and chest, and her feet froze beneath her, her breath suddenly coming in panicked gasps. She closed her eyes and pressed harder against the wall, wishing she could sink through it and escape, wishing she had never come down here in the first place. She had consoled herself that her lack of physical eyesight would inure her to much of the horror of battle, but she’d been terribly wrong.

  Raising her hands to her ears, she tried to drown out the screams of men who were wounded and dying and terrified. The blood on her skin felt like it was scalding her, and she shuddered in horror and revulsion as she felt a trickle running down into her cleavage. She clapped a hand over her mouth, afraid she might vomit. A soft whimper escaped her throat, but the sounds of fighting drowned it out.

  She was past the fighting now, but only because there were so few men left standing. If she could pull herself together enough to move, she could reach Draios’s side in about a dozen steps.

  “This is getting tiresome,” Delnamal said as Kailee stood plastered to the wall, still unable to leave its false security.

  She saw his hand reach up into the aura that surrounded him, disappearing into one of the blank patches where no Rho was visible. Then he fed something into one of his magic items.

  “Don’t!” Draios shouted suddenly, but he was too late.

  Kailee could not see the spell as it flew, but she could both see and hear its devastating effects. The antechamber filled with shrieks of pain, and all the fighting forms went still. Then, the aura of Rho that had surrounded each man dissipated, and she heard the thud of heavily armored men hitting the stone floor.

  “You’ve killed all our own men!” Draios protes
ted, with all the emotion of a whiny child deprived of a toy. If he was horrified by what Delnamal had just done, it didn’t show in his voice. Although Kailee couldn’t see his illusionary doubles, she could hear them, and the chorus of identical voices coming from all through the corridor and echoing off the walls raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Against the wall, Kailee shook her head, hyperventilating once more as she realized Delnamal had just cast a Kai spell that had killed every soldier in the room. It was sheer luck that she herself had edged past the fighting men and had not been in the path of Delnamal’s spell. Oona had spoken of her husband as a man much mistreated and misunderstood, but any man who would do what he had just done was nothing but a monster.

  “We don’t need them anymore,” Delnamal said with such callous indifference that Kailee almost let loose a gasp of indignation.

  “Maybe you don’t,” Draios retorted, “but how am I supposed to get out of here when you and all my men are dead?”

  “Trust me,” Delnamal said. “When I’ve undone the Curse, there will be so much chaos no one will glance at you twice as you make your way back to the ships. Now let’s get on with this, shall we? Stay behind me in case we discover any surprises waiting in the Well chamber.”

  Kailee willed herself to dash across the short space separating her from Draios and deactivate his doubling spell as she had originally planned, but she couldn’t force her shaking limbs to move. She stood there helpless and quivering as Delnamal opened the door to the Well chamber and stepped through, with Draios right on his heels.

  She forced out a shuddering breath, realizing deactivating Draios’s spell was no longer of any great importance. Her goal had been to make it easier for one of the soldiers to locate and kill him. But now all the soldiers—including Draios’s—were dead. She was useless here.

  But something still wasn’t right with Delnamal’s supposed plans. They all knew Delnamal’s purpose for coming to the Well was not to sacrifice his life. He had consoled Draios over the loss of his soldiers by claiming Draios could escape the palace in the chaos that came when the Blessing was reversed, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. So what, exactly, was the plan? Delnamal must have some reason to think he and Draios could escape—even without the aid of the men he had just so recklessly killed.

  Perhaps it was a form of hubris for Kailee to think that she might have a chance to stop the plan, whatever it was. Perhaps she was being reckless and foolish for not leaving now when she had the chance. But something about that Well chamber…called to her. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow the thought of turning away felt wrong in some fundamental way.

  Still shaking and sick, stumbling slightly as if drunk, Kailee stepped forward away from the wall.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Corlin felt a moment of guilty relief when the enemy forces converged on the opposite side of the harbor. Not because he thought it would save him or his fellow cadets from having to fight, but because it would delay the onset of that fighting. Funny how when they were waiting for the attack, he’d decided waiting was the worst part and now he would like nothing better than to have to wait some more.

  As soon as it became clear that the attackers were heading to the other side of the harbor, Captain Norlix had given the command to march. At first, they had done so cautiously, concerned that the first attack might be a feint, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t.

  Captain Norlix broke them into squads, ordering each squad to stay together as they ran toward the battle. Suddenly, all the long, agonizing runs they’d been forced to endure during training became something to be thankful for, rather than to curse, for the distance measured in miles. Captain Norlix and his veterans set the pace, keeping it as fast as possible without his men being completely worn out by the time they reached the combat zone.

  Even from a distance, Corlin could tell the battle was going badly, for the fighting had already surged past the first barricade before his company had crossed half the distance. He was sure he wasn’t the only one suffering from the sinking feeling that they were too late to be of any substantial use. They would fight, and many would die, but they would be like small, yappy dogs nipping at the heels of horses who could easily outpace them.

  Corlin wanted to stay near Rafetyn, but Norlix assigned them to different squads. He hoped the archers could hang back from the hand fighting, for he didn’t like his friend’s chances if he had to draw his sword.

  They did not get all the way across the harbor before they encountered the first resistance, for Delnamal and Draios had left men behind to guard their flank. Corlin, near the back of the pack with the rest of the younger cadets, heard the fighting begin long before he was able to see anything. His heart pounding with fear and exertion, he drew his sword as the cacophony of battle reached his ears. Men were shouting and screaming, both with battle-lust and pain, and the clash of swords was deafening. The steady drizzle made everything slippery, and more than once Corlin thought he might drop his sword or that his feet might skid out from under him.

  The orderly squads dissolved into chaos as the fighting began in earnest. Corlin gripped his sword more tightly as he found himself standing just behind Cadet Nandar. Nandar let loose a deep-throated roar as he threw himself at a Khalpari soldier, covered in blood, who came into range. The man managed a parry, but he was already wounded and Nandar finished him off with a second strike.

  And then there was no more time to think or notice what was happening to his fellows, for a man whose face was hidden behind a grimacing helmet swung a battle-ax at him.

  Corlin had never fought with axes before—only swords—so he had no well-ingrained habits to fall back on. Not knowing if even a spelled sword would be strong enough to take a blow from an ax, instinct told him to dodge instead of parry. His heel caught against the leg of a fallen comrade, and he let out a cry of dismay as he fell.

  The fall surprised the brute with the ax as much as it did Corlin, and the ax passed harmlessly through the space where his neck used to be. He hit the ground with a loud clang, dropping his sword. The ax-man swung again, and Corlin rolled frantically to the right, where his sword had fallen. The ax missed his neck by a fraction of an inch, but caught his helmet at just the right angle to drag it off his head. His flailing hand found his sword, and when the ax came for him again, the sword bit deeply into his attacker’s wrist, right at the join between his armor and his gauntlet.

  It was a blow born more of luck than skill, but his instructors always taught that the more skilled you were, the luckier you became.

  The brute hollered as his blood splashed bright, and his injured hand loosed its grip on the ax. He tried another swing with his left, but the ax was too heavy to be wielded effectively one-handed, and his aim was off.

  Corlin was bringing his sword up under the blow, aiming for another vulnerable joint in the armor, when his attacker suddenly screamed in agony, the point of a sword emerging from the center of his chest in a shower of blood.

  Panting and uncomprehending, Corlin watched the ax-man fall dead to the ground. Then he saw Cadet Justal, his eyes alight with battle fury, standing behind the dead man with a bloody sword.

  When Justal caught sight of Corlin, he made a sound of disgust. “Damn. I thought I was saving somebody important,” he sneered, even as he practically strutted with pride. Why he was so proud of having run a man through from behind, Corlin didn’t know. Nor could he understand the mindset of someone so stupid he would stand on a battlefield—with men fighting and screaming and dying all around him—and gloat about it.

  “Look out!” Corlin yelled, seeing another soldier flying toward them, sword raised high.

  Justal hesitated a moment, as if suspecting Corlin of some dirty trick. As if they were still just sparring with wooden swords, hoping to earn the praise of their commander, rather than fighting for their lives. By the
time he started turning, it was too late.

  The only thing that saved Justal from an instant death blow was the spell on his chest plate, which was apparently stronger than the spell on the sword. The sword bounced off, but the soldier was obviously prepared for the possibility, turning the sword in mid-swing and redirecting it to Justal’s massive thigh.

  The armor on his thigh was not as strongly spelled, and the sword sank in. Still on the ground, Corlin saw Justal’s eyes roll up into the back of his head, and the cadet went down hard, with blood pouring from the wound. The soldier matter-of-factly went for a killing blow, and Corlin got his sword in the way just in time.

  With a grunt of what sounded like nothing more urgent than annoyance, the soldier turned away from Justal and concentrated his attack on Corlin.

  Corlin knew at once that he was in big trouble. The grace of this man’s movements, the effortlessness of his swings, said he was a way more experienced swordsman than Corlin. And Corlin was still on the ground. He tried to get up, but his foot slipped in blood.

  The swordsman swung at him, and though Corlin executed a correct—if clumsy—parry, his awkward position meant his sword slowed and changed the swing but didn’t stop it. The point of the sword sliced through the left side of his face from cheek to forehead. His left eye went completely dark, and he felt the hot wash of blood that drenched his cheek, even as the pain seemed strangely distant.

  Everything seemed to slow down as he watched the soldier jab downward with his sword. He was too slow with pain and shock to block the blow, and he felt the sharp stab of the blade finding the vulnerable spot on his side right above his hip where his chest plate ended.

  The next blow might very well have finished him, had not Justal at that moment regained consciousness and grabbed the soldier’s leg, setting him off balance. It was just a momentary distraction, for the soldier easily shook him off. Corlin saw his death in the soldier’s eyes as the sword swung his way once more. He tried to parry, but his own sword suddenly felt unbearably heavy. The soldier made a sudden gurgling, gasping sound, the sword falling from his hand. Corlin blinked frantically, his vision now so dark and blurry it took him a moment to register the arrow that was sticking out of the soldier’s throat. The man fell heavily, landing on Corlin’s legs.