by Beth Alvarez
“If those expected aren't here already, they will be shortly,” Anaide said as she released the power and let the Calling fade.
Edagan sniffed. “I'm sure you haven't memorized everyone who's a part of this.”
“Only the Masters. Magelings aren't my problem.” Anaide glanced up as the Masters she'd summoned moved toward her.
Nondar mentally counted them, his lips pressing tight with his frown. “Yes, that's all of them.”
“Then we begin now.” Edagan raised her hands overhead and clapped once before snaring the flow of energy in the disrupted air. She spun it into a rippling, shimmering shield and spread it with her arms. Anaide caught the edge of it and twisted the flows farther, pushing a thread of energy toward Nondar so he could do the same. One by one, the gathered Masters caught hold of the barrier, spinning it out and pushing it farther with their own energies. Nondar pushed as far as he could reach. Alone, a mage could hope to create enough of a shield to encircle maybe a half-dozen people. Together, they'd have to shield hundreds.
“Push the others out!” Anaide shouted. Several blue-robed magelings broke away from her group to seize magic of their own. They wove the flows together into a force that shoved the unwelcome Masters beyond the edge of the shield.
That's it, then, Nondar thought. Now we've made our enemies.
“Traitors!” someone screamed from the other side of the shield as they brought the barrier to the ground. “Rebels!”
Without warning, a gout of flame impacted the shield. The barrier rippled, but held fast.
“Well, look who it is,” Edagan murmured. “Can't say I'm surprised.”
Alira ran down the steps, shouting orders to the Masters outside the shield's wall. They moved into formation and lashed out against the barrier with controlled bursts of magic.
Nondar set the flow of the shield's energy into a cycle. It would consume all its given power and spin itself out soon enough, especially with how large the shield had grown, but it didn't need to hold for long. Mages all across the crowd followed his lead. Some of the magelings had even joined the effort, though most looked too frightened to move.
He waited until he felt his last ties to the shield give way to the loop, then raised his hands. His power freed, he traced the shape of the Gate and bordered it with his own energy to form the crackling, lightning edge of the would-be portal. Anaide joined first and the rest of the Masters followed, lending their strength in a unified wave.
White-hot streaks sizzled from edge to edge across the opening Gate and blossomed into a portal that led to the courtyard of Ilmenhith's palace. The image wavered, and for a moment Nondar thought they'd opened it too wide. Then the ripple stilled and the portal anchored itself to the ground.
“Stop them!” Alira screeched as she threw her magic against the barrier, searching desperately for the looping power that sustained it. “Untie the flows! Do something!”
“Let them go,” the Archmage barked behind her.
Nondar's head turned. Envesi stood in the doorway, her white hair and robes lashing in the wind their Gate had created.
Alira grew pale as she turned to face the older woman, but the Archmage's eyes weighed heavy on the Gate. “If they're that eager to escape, then they are of no further use to us.”
“But—” Alira started, but the frosty look Envesi gave her made her jaw clamp shut.
“Everyone, move through the Gate!” Anaide ordered. The mages beneath the shield snapped to attention. The magelings went first, funneled into the Gate by the Masters behind them. Edagan and Nondar posted themselves at the back of the group as a handful of other Masters drew the shield close to their heels. The barrier shrank as the crowd moved into the palace courtyard.
Nondar kept one hand outstretched toward the portal he supported, and the other clutched his cane in a white-knuckled grip. Between the cost of the shield, sustaining the Gate, and moving forward, it was all he could do just to walk.
“Keep it up, old man,” Edagan said. He half expected her to offer her arm. To his relief, the insult didn't come. One after another, the mages passed through the Gate, the shield and Gate both dwindling with the crowd.
“How can you let them leave?” Alira cried. Nondar turned his head and strained to listen over the Gate’s powerful hum.
“Foolish child.” Envesi gave the younger woman a dark look, though a smile wreathed itself upon her features. “They're more useful to us there than they are here.”
Alira's mouth fell open.
Brow furrowed, Nondar tore his eyes away. The last of the Masters moved through the portal. Anaide paused to look back. Then the three Masters of affinity crossed into Ilmenhith, and the Gate and shield shattered into a haze of shimmering white motes.
Without any clouds to obscure it, the deep blue that stretched overhead from horizon to horizon felt like it could swallow the world whole. The clear weather put everyone in good spirits. The fifty-something men at Daemon's back laughed, and even the horse he led pranced. He didn't like to ride when his men were without mounts of their own, a preference the bay gelding didn't seem to mind. He would have left the animal in the safety of the ruins if there weren't appearances to keep. Horses were too valuable for average expeditions, but if luck held, this wouldn't be average.
They'd left the ruins early that morning and pushed northwest. It took them closer to Ilmenhith than Daemon liked, but it would be worth it. The location he'd selected was important for his intentions. Today, they carried news, and its delivery was every bit as important as the trade they hoped to accomplish.
Dealings with Relythes had gone better than expected. The treaty signing had been fast, simple, and painless. The new alliance recognized the ruin-folk as their own faction and granted them sovereignty over their new land, small as the sliver may be. Lumia signed with minimal complaint, then the Gate-stone carried both of them home. She had rejoined the festivities in Core. Daemon threw himself into his work instead.
He'd never excelled at self-discipline. Most of the time, his position sheltered him from the repercussions of his rash behavior. This time, he didn't think the repercussions could be avoided.
Nor did he think he wanted them to.
But his role came with responsibilities and obligations. No matter what he wanted, that didn't change. Giving in to a moment's impulse had been a mistake. He'd worked too hard, too long, to make such mistakes. If he was to unify Elenhiise under one banner, it could not happen again. He didn't dare return to Firal for the lessons he'd grown to treasure, not after what he'd done. And so he worked.
Negotiations with the last village had gone well, but the ruin-folk hadn't held their own territory then. It had been violence, not respect, that convinced the village to cooperate. Daemon anticipated more trouble this time, though he hadn't shared that concern with his men. Barter was less important than letting word of their newfound power permeate the island, so even if negotiation went nowhere, they would still accomplish something.
It was a simple proclamation. We are here. The island will not be taken from us. A brazen warning from people so small, but it made things clear, and King Kifelethelas would hear it most clearly of all.
I will be recognized.
The shrill cry of a warning bugle cut through his thoughts.
Daemon spat a curse as a fleet of horsemen with blue and silver banners crested the western horizon. Riders from Ilmenhith. What were they doing here? They'd ventured northwest, but not that close. Behind him, weapons rasped as they left their sheaths. Daemon cursed again. “Hold your positions!” The riders did not slow. “Brace and prepare for potential combat!”
Shouts of compliance echoed from the men behind him. He'd brought few soldiers; too many would have given the impression of an invading army. Now it seemed they hadn't escaped that interpretation. Horses surged toward them in numbers so great, they couldn't hope to withstand a skirmish.
“I think we've been mistaken for eastern raiders,” Davan said at his side.
Daem
on grimaced behind his mask and released his horse's reins. “I get the feeling they're not coming to negotiate.” He positioned himself in the center of their shallow formation and grasped the hilt of the sword strapped at his side. “We are not enemies. Remain defensive. We wait for them to make the first move. The moment they draw weapons, retreat.”
At the head of the oncoming cavalry, a knight shouted, his words lost in the hoof beats of his army. Tension mounted.
In fluid synchronicity, each of the horsemen drew their swords.
Daemon drew his own. “Go!”
The wave of the king's cavalry crashed down on them. Daemon braced himself and his sword rang against the lead knight's blade. He staggered as he deflected the strike.
Beside him, Davan defended against another blow.
“Take the horse!” Daemon ordered. “Break past them and get back to the ruins!” Blight it all, why hadn't he thought to bring the Gate-stone? He couldn't focus now to open a Gate without its aid.
Davan seized the reins and spun to lead the retreat.
Half the army swept around them. The horses outpaced Daemon's fleeing men easily and spiraled them back into the group. Eldani in armor dismounted and pressed forward with weapons bared.
Something was wrong. Kifel was a patient, lenient king. His armies never bore such force against simple raiders.
Daemon held his sword at his side and raised his other hand, palm out, clawed fingers spread. “Stop this!”
A soldier advanced on him instead.
The tip of Daemon's sword raked through the dirt as he brought it up to meet his opponent in combat. His men clustered behind him and readied their weapons for battle. Loyal, every one of them. Daemon cursed them for it as battle erupted around him.
No negotiation. No warning. Just war. Daemon gritted his teeth and pushed his enemy back with a flurry of blows. He was not as experienced as Kifel's cavalry, but he was just as skilled, and he had more than just his sword.
The soldier's swing went wide. Daemon swept forward and drove his blade into the man's chest, the soldier's death cry lost in the rage of sudden battle. Blood spattered silver armor and dusty ground as Daemon freed his sword.
Steel against steel created a chaotic melody that reverberated in his head. His breath burned in his chest as he heaved his sword overhead to meet a charging rider. The blade plunged between plates of armor in the horseman's side and drove him from the saddle, the man dead before he ever hit the ground. Only vaguely was Daemon aware of his band dissolving around him. He didn't see Davan or his horse. Silently, he prayed it meant the captain had gotten away.
Concentrate. Firal's lessons echoed in his mind. Bodies fell, the glimmer of life energy within them fading. Power burned in the air and earth around him. Magic was his only hope to save his men. Daemon tried to shut out the noise and reach for it.
“What are you doing here?”
The familiar voice shattered his concentration and the flows of power slipped away. Daemon held his sword, ready to strike. He didn't remember raising it. Beside him, an Eldani soldier cast his helmet aside.
“I could ask you the same thing!” Daemon spun to deflect a blade.
Vahn knocked an Underling to the ground without killing him. “Stop!” He raised a hand in vain attempt to stop the onslaught. “Weapons down!”
No one listened. His lips moving with an unheard curse, Vahn pressed back to back with Daemon and parried another attack.
“Why aren't you in Ilmenhith?” Daemon barely caught a strike from the side. Their swords clashed hard enough to send a shock up his arms, but his strength won out, and the weapon spun from his opponent's hands.
“We carry orders to mages on the border. One of the scouts saw you and thought you were raiders.” Vahn grimaced and jerked an elbow into Daemon's back when another Underling came at him.
They spun together and Daemon held out a hand. The Underling soldier froze, eyes wide with confusion.
“Stop fighting and retreat!” Daemon snapped. “Vahn, can't you stop them?”
“I'm trying! Take off your mask!”
Something flashed past him and Daemon flinched. Arrows. The last thing they needed.
“Stop!” Vahn shouted. This time, he turned toward his commanding officer, arms raised, beseeching. “We've made a mistake!”
The whistle of a blade didn't register until a moment too late. The impact against his shoulder knocked Daemon to the ground. Vibrations rang through his armor and turned his limbs to jelly. All but paralyzed, he thrust his hands against the dirt and rolled to his back just as the blade struck the ground where he'd been. He deflected a second strike with his gauntlet. Sparks flared and dimmed his vision. Pain burned in his arm. He planted a foot in the stomach of his attacker and knocked the man off balance just long enough to get to his feet.
“Watch out!” Vahn cried behind him.
Daemon spun and an armored fist plowed into his steel mask. He stumbled backwards, struggling to regain his balance. The sparks still danced in his eyes, dark spots that swirled across his vision. Blinded, he couldn't defend. Searing pain exploded in his side. He staggered. The knight swept his legs out from underneath him and he went down hard.
Stars flashed and swirled around the distorted image of the knight above him, who shook black blood from his sword and stepped over Daemon's body to continue the fight.
Numbly, Daemon's hand found its way to his side, to the break in his armor and the wound beneath. Warm ichor seeped into his gauntlet. Pain throbbed with each beat of his heart. His breath quickened and he struggled to roll onto his side. Agony shot through him, blurring his vision even more, fading the screams and shouting voices to a dull hum in his head. He tried to find his feet. His legs failed beneath him.
“Stop trying to move, you bloody idiot!” Vahn pushed him back into the dirt.
Daemon choked back a cry and gasped for breath. Sweat rolled down his brow behind his mask, though an icy chill washed over him.
Vahn tore a piece from his tunic and stuffed the cloth into the break in Daemon's armor. “Hold still. I'll get you out of here.”
His breath grew labored, his mouth dry. Daemon’s words failed him as his head sank to the earth.
“You hear me?” Vahn said. “Just hold on.”
Daemon swallowed, and the world faded to black.
Firal blinked and brushed dirt from her hands as Tobias called her name again. Children did not often visit the garden above Core, despite her insistence the sun would do them good.
“I'm here.” She pushed herself up from the warm earth. The weather had been strangely pleasant after Daemon's grand announcement, as if the island itself rejoiced at the news. A number of people sat under the serpent's-tongue trees, building high-wheeled wagons to transport things through the ruins and into their new territory. But the children, it seemed, preferred to play near the underground river.
Tobias stopped on the garden path, a look of bewilderment on his face. He braced his hands against his knees and panted. “Miss Firal, you have to come right now!”
“Come where?” She wiped her hands on her apron as she met him on the wide pathway. “What's the matter?”
“Mama said there was a big fight and soldiers got hurt. You have to come right away!” Tobias wiped his brow and wrung the hem of his shirt between his hands.
Firal frowned. Soldiers had been posted on their new land just the night before, after Lumia returned from negotiations. Surely there hadn't been a conflict already. “Catch your breath, then you go find your mother and keep out of trouble. I'll see to this right away.” She patted his head as she walked past, keeping her pace as even as she could until she passed out of the child's view. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten the boy, but if Minna sent him all the way to the gardens to retrieve her, it had to be severe. When she no longer felt Tobias's eyes on her back, she sprinted ahead.
Anxious voices flowed up the inverted tower, drawing her toward the avenue that led to her infirmar
y. A handful of men clustered outside her door, Minna beside them. Dark droplets marked the floor of the long corridor. When she saw them, she lifted her skirts above her ankles and ran. The men at her door parted to let her past.
One rough-hewn table had been dragged to the center of the room. The prone form upon it made her heart skip a beat.
“Daemon,” Firal breathed. Of all the people it could have been, she'd never expected him.
Black ichor flowed from the gaps in his armor, dripping from the side of the table to pool on the floor. A handful of soldiers stood around him, holding him down, though he did not move. Her eyes flicked to one of the men at the head of the table. “What happened?”
Minna's husband stepped forward from the group, twisting one of his gloves in his hands. “Sword to the side. Don't know how bad it is, seemed unwise to play medic when we're not. We were out to negotiate trade with another village. The Eldani king's men caught us by surprise. They initiated battle. They've never done that before. He ordered us to run, but he didn't try to get away, himself.”
Firal hurried to her washbasin and lathered her hands and arms. She tried to put on the cool, collected front she knew a medic ought to wear, but fear knotted her middle and churned it with ice. Her hands shook. “Minna,” she called, willing herself to focus. “Run a knife over a flame and get the antiseptics.”
“Yes, Miss.” Minna fetched a satchel from where it hung on the wall and spilled its contents across a counter.
Drying her arms on a clean towel, Firal tried to collect herself. “Unfasten his armor. His breastplate needs to come off, now.”
Davan made quick work of the latches and straps she wouldn't have found on her own. When the breastplate came away, Daemon groaned.
Her stomach lurched at the sight of the black blood pooled inside his armor. “How long has he been bleeding?”
“I don't know, Miss,” Davan said apologetically. “We got him here as fast as we could. If not for that Eldani boy that helped us, we'd not have gotten him out of the skirmish at all.”
