The seekers took off into the night sky. The first pair tried biting into Wasp-Wren, but her exoskeleton was too tough. That was shame, really. Skull seekers have pointed teeth that drip with poison.
The other pair went after Shujaa. As they closed in, their attack arcs became jagged and random. When they were within arm’s length, the two went berserk and started attacking each other. Evidently, Shujaa’s power of disorientation worked on my spells. This wasn’t good.
The seekers I’d sent after Shujaa began cackling maniacally as they bit into each other’s vapor trails. This was worse. I crossed my fingers.
Please, let them be immune to their own poison. I’d never tested the spell to see what would happen if the skull seekers attacked each other.
Wasp-Wren swooped in close to Shujaa, and her two skull seekers followed. Soon, they too were happily chomping into each other’s vapor trails.
Then they stopped.
I was about to cheer. Hopefully, this meant they’d recovered from Shujaa’s disorientation magick and were ready to fight again. The four skull seekers shivered in midair for a moment. After that, they imploded in a spray of blue smoke.
By the gods. I’d never had a spell go wrong like that before.
I still had some power left in me, but not enough for a major casting like skull seekers. I’d have to go with some traditional fireball spells. I focused the power I had left into my hand until my bones shone brightly again.
“Show my strength
Focus my ire
Smite my enemies
Bring me fire.”
Another haze of blue smoke appeared on my palm. It quickly solidified into an orb of blue flame. With my right hand, I pushed the sphere toward its intended target. Shot after shot went at Wasp-Wren or Shujaa. None hit their mark. Wasp-Wren was too speedy in the air; she easily dodged each volley. Shujaa hardly seemed to notice the fireball hitting him. His armor was simply that good. All that happened was that the metal glowed purple for a moment or two. I’m not sure I even left a bruise.
After each missed fireball, Wasp-Wren flew at me again. Her goal was clear: she was trying to herd me toward Shujaa. All I needed was to get closer to that man’s sphere of disorientation, and I was done for. I gave up on the fireballs and cast almost every other spell I could think of.
Spine ripper ghosts.
Skeletal servants.
Bone bombs.
I even tried a transporter spell, wondering if I could just send Wasp-Wren and Shujaa away. True, it was a long shot. Most mages learned how to block these early on. But at this point? I was panting with exhaustion and ready to try anything. Except giving up, of course.
Suddenly a figure in a long cloak walked onto the hillside. The hood was pulled down, so I couldn’t see their face.
“It is I, Petra, come to help Elea.”
But it wasn’t Petra. It was Philippe doing his very best impression of an old lady speaking. I sped to his side and hissed at him in a voice only Philippe would hear.
“You’re not helping me,” I whispered. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“On the contrary, dearie.” Philippe raised his cloak-covered arm toward Shujaa and Wasp-Wren, who had actually stopped advancing toward me.
I blinked.
Stared.
Blinked again.
Philippe was right. The threat of Petra really had ceased our battle completely, and this meant two things. First, Shujaa and Wasp-Wren were afraid of Petra. And second, Philippe was going to be completely impossible for at least a week, considering how his non-magick trick was working. In fact, Wren had transformed back into her human self.
Still, I didn’t have anything else that had worked so well. I had no choice but to play along. “You’ve pushed your luck,” I said to Wren and Shujaa. “Now Petra is here, and you know what that means.”
Shujaa’s deep voice sounded from under his helm. “You’re going to accept your role as Tsarina with her aid.”
It wasn’t exactly what that meant, but at that moment, red mist began to appear around Shujaa’s and Wren’s feet. The haze grew larger.
They were casting transporter spells.
Leaving.
I couldn’t believe it. Shujaa thinks I’m about to be Tsarina, so he leaves the field of battle. Is he leaving to plan an attack on my people? Or is he pleased that I’m supposedly ruling the Necromancers? I didn’t understand what was happening in my own world. A weight of worry settled onto my shoulders.
Petra always said that knowing the politics of the magickal world was like wielding fire. People who didn’t understand how to handle it got themselves burned. I’d made it through this battle safely enough, but next time? Unless I understood more about what was happening, I was certain to get burned. Badly.
Chapter Six
I slowly turned about, surveying the ruined hilltop. Bits of wooden tables and smashed produce were everywhere. Moonbeams shifted across the torn-up green. Wren and Shujaa had just transported away.
Philippe pulled his robes over his head, hood first. He turned to me and grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “Wasn’t I wonderful?”
“If I say yes, will you drop the subject forever?”
“Heavens, no. We need to find a bard. Someone should write a song about me.” He made a dramatic show of looking left and right. “Where’s a wandering minstrel when you need one?”
“Where did you get that cloak?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“No, I really do.”
“The young widow Buckens doesn’t live far from here. She and I have a, uh, friendship where I sometimes dress up as—”
“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.”
“Thought you would.” He propped his right leg up onto an overturned wooden box and leaned his elbow onto his knee. It was a pose appropriate for the statue he was no doubt imagining someone carving of him. “Would you like to hear the full tale? I’ll leave out the adult parts for your virginal ears.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“Anything happen lately I should know about?”
There was no question what he was referring to. I had never slept with a man. Once, I thought it might happen with Rowan, but he turned me down. In retrospect, he was about to get engaged to Amelia, so I appreciated his discretion. Since then, men had certainly shown their interest, including Philippe. But the time was never right.
It most certainly was not because I was still waiting to see if Rowan would somehow come back into my life. That door was closed. Completely.
Most days it was, anyway.
I realized Philippe had been staring at me for a while now. “What were you saying?” I asked.
“I’ll take that as yes in the ‘still a virgin’ column.” He fixed the lapels of his longcoat. “Let’s get back to my story. As I was saying, your enemies appeared, and I did the gentlemanly thing by making sure everyone was evacuated.”
“Thank you.”
“I returned to find you casting all sorts of interesting things, but I must say, the fight seem rather lopsided with two on one.”
“I would have killed them both eventually.”
“Of course, but I figured it might help things along if the opposition thought it was an even match of two on two.” He arched his hand over his eyes, like a sea captain searching for land. “So I visited yon widow and asked her for a cloak. She was very obliging, and so I donned said garment, returned here, and singlehandedly scared away the fearsome mages.”
I’d correct him about the singlehandedly part, but there really was no point. I never won verbal battles with Philippe. “You should get a statue made in your honor.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” He winked. “But in all seriousness, you need to talk to Rowan.”
I worked hard not to gasp. “Absolutely not.”
“Please. I saw what that brute was wearing. Purple armor. Now, blue Necromancer power plus red Creation Caster magick equals
purple hybrid magick. That suit of armor glowed when your fireballs slammed into it. That means it’s not just a pile of metal, it’s one of your Necromancer totems. And only one person can make Necromancer totems that hold hybrid magick. Viktor.”
My eyes widened. “So you knew why I was having trouble in the fight, and yet you still came back?”
“I did. You’d have flattened them easily if it hadn’t been for whatever Viktor put in that armor.”
“There’s more to Shujaa as well. Every Changed One gets their natural Caster magick focused into a single set of spells. For Wren, it’s wasps. For Shujaa, he confounds anyone who gets near him. At first, I thought the man was invisible.”
Philippe took his leg down from the box and folded his arms over his chest. I knew the man well enough to know what that meant. Philippe was done playing around, and I should take the rest of his words seriously. “When it comes to hybrid magick and Viktor, only one person can fight it. Two, actually. You and Rowan.”
I laced my fingers behind my neck. “That won’t be easy.”
“True enough. But I’ll be there. I need to visit Nyum-bum.”
“The Caster realm is called Nyumbani, Philippe.”
“That’s what I said. In any case, it’s beyond time for me to check on my sister.”
My mind reeled through different options here. Was there any way of stopping Shujaa without involving Rowan? I couldn’t think of anything.
Philippe gave me a roguish grin. “Believe me, I don’t relish saying this. He’s the only impediment to my stealing your heart.”
I couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Serves me right for trying to win against you in an argument. I suppose I’ll have to go.”
“Excellent. I knew I’d win in the end.”
“But I must see Petra first.” After all, she was trying to manage the thousands of Necromancers who see me as their Tsarina. I couldn’t go to Nyumbani without letting her know, face-to-face.
Philippe paused. “Does that mean you’ll cast a transport spell right now?”
“I’ll try.” I rubbed my neck and even that movement was an effort. What a battle. Every muscle in my body felt drained.
“You look horrible.” Philippe narrowed his eyes. “Get a good night’s sleep and transport in the morning.”
I let out a long breath. “Maybe you’re right. Transport spells are tricky even when I’m well rested. But right now? I’m so tired I could curl up on the burned-out grass and take a nap. Plus, it gives me a chance to say goodbye to Sam and Mabel. I have a farewell gift for them, you know.”
Philippe’s gaze became fixed on something over my shoulder. “On second thought, it might be better for you to transport right now.”
“Why’s that?”
He tapped his square chin. “I’ve got an idea. How about you take my word on something for once? Transport, my dear.” His snarky grin looked forced.
Something is wrong.
The smart thing to do would be to cast my spell. But I didn’t. Instead, I turned around to follow Philippe’s line of sight. My mouth fell open in shock and horror.
The darkened countryside was alight with torches. And farmers, let’s not forget those. There must have been thousands of them, carrying pitchforks and clubs. Their angry shouts echoed in the air. Even from a distance, the chants of “Kill the witch!” were clearly audible. At the front of the mob was a figure with yellow-blond hair who looked a lot like Wyatt.
By the Sire of Souls. My own neighbors were racing here to kill me.
I gripped Philippe’s arm. “You have to get out of here.”
“Moi? They aren’t after me, Elea.” He picked up a burned-out torch from the ground. “I can easily blend in as one of the crowd. Grr.”
“Right.” I pressed my palms to my eyes. It didn’t seem possible: being murdered by Wyatt. Yes, the fact that I just finished flattening this hill with magick didn’t help any, but I doubted my neighbors would have gone for their pitchforks without his inspiration.
“They’re moving quickly.” Philippe’s eyes glinted with determination. “You better cast that spell.”
I nodded, raised my left hand, and reached out with my mage senses for Necromancer power. The surrounding area was completely drained. I’d used up too much energy in my last fight. The roar of the crowd grew louder. They were getting closer. Bands of worry tightened around my chest.
Closing my eyes, I reached out farther in search of magick. The mob’s roars grew into ear-piercing shrieks. The ground trembled with their footsteps.
At last, I found a well of magick. There was a small quarry on the far side of the Dunkel lands. The stones there held the perfect kind of energy for my needs. Thank the Sire. Pulling that power into my body, I focused the magick into my left arm. The bones in my hand quickly glowed blue as I spoke the incantation.
“In mountains of snow
By forests of ice
Take me to my Cloister
My heart’s paradise”
Energy tore through my veins. My limbs felt ripped in every direction at once. A blue haze formed around my feet. The spell began.
The mob crested the hill where I stood. From the corner of my eye, I saw a group of girls break off from the crowd to surround Philippe. Unbelievable, the power that man had over women.
Well, most women anyway.
All the other faces were twisted with rage, and none more so than Wyatt’s. As the spell took hold, I took care to blow him a kiss. He grimaced with rage as he leapt for me, torch in hand. Darkness enveloped me just as his fingertips brushed my throat.
Another failed attempt from Wyatt.
Normally, transport spells hurt like anything. But this time? Seeing Wyatt so enraged seemed to lessen my pain. The next thing I knew, I was back in the familiar surroundings of the office for Petra, my Mother Superior at the Zelle Cloister. The place appeared unchanged. It was still a cave-like room hollowed out from a mountainside.
Petra sat at her massive wooden desk, scribbling away on parchment with a quill. As always, she looked rickety with age. Her dark mage robes contrasted with her pale, lined face, and long white hair. As my spell completed, she looked up. There was the barest widening in her eyes as she saw me appear.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” Her voice warbled.
“I would have warned you of my visit, but there wasn’t time.”
“Not to worry. You’re welcome to barge into my office unannounced whenever you wish.” The barest glimmer of laughter shone in her eyes for a second or two. For Petra, that was as good as a belly laugh.
I soaked in every line of her familiar face. Images and happy memories flickered through my mind, like practicing incantations together, singing vespers with the other Sisters, and searching through spell parchments in the library. Every impulse inside me wanted to run up and embrace her. But as soon as the emotion filled my heart, I felt ashamed. Petra spent five long years teaching me to lose all my emotional ties, like a true Necromancer. I’d only been gone from the Cloister for less than a year. Already, I was out of control.
With a force of will, I made sure my face became a mask of calm. “It is good to see you, Mother Superior.”
She set her pen down. “And you as well, Elea.” She focused on the door and raised her voice. “I know you’re all out there, listening at keyholes.”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Who is?”
“Everyone,” answered Petra. “All the Necromancers you raised from the dead. They’ve been haunting my doorway, waiting for the big moment when you’d deign to visit me. And they are listening to every word we speak right now.”
“You don’t ward the door?”
Petra lifted her shoulder. It was the barest of movements. “Why ruin their hopes of being the first to catch your visit?”
Her words sent a chill down my spine. It was strange to think of people waiting for me to appear. “What do you wish to do?” I asked.
“Why, let them in for a moment, of course
.” She rapped on her desk with her bony knuckles. “Well, she has transported here last. You might as well enter.”
At those words, the door to Petra’s study flung open and a half-dozen Necromancers sped into the stone office. All wore the long black robes typical of our order. However, each of their faces had the image of a skull embedded on their skin. It was a kind of tattoo that showed the bones beneath their flesh. And it was the unmistakable sign that these were some of the Necromancers I’d raised from the dead.
A sheen of sweat broke out on my skin. Sure, I knew that I’d brought people back to life, but I’d only seen these folks from a distance, say through a window or across a darkened battlefield. Back then, they were only a blank-faced mob. Up close, I couldn’t help but soak in the differences. A young girl with a dimpled smile. An older man whose nose had been broken. A teenage boy with a face flushed with excitement. Each had their own history that had brought them to this point. All of them looked at me with such hope. The question was out there but not spoken.
Are you here to be our Tsarina at last?
A long silence followed. I felt as if I should say something, but I couldn’t think what. My mind was stuck on a single thought: I’d brought these people back to life. It was overwhelming. And even more amazing, these were just six of the thousands I’d affected. How many stories did they have? What did they really want from me?
Petra gestured between us. “Tsarina, I’d like you to meet some of your loyal subjects.”
I was about to say, I’m not their Tsarina. Before the words could cross my lips, the six Necromancers fell to their knees and spoke in unison.
“Greetings, Tsarina.”
“Hello.” I was amazed at how calm my voice sounded.
A young girl looked up. “May the other Necromancers enter?”
“Others?” I was glad my voice still sounded so calm.
She gestured to the opened doorway. My breath caught. The outer hall was packed with more mages. There were so many more faces, and all of them were filled with hope that I’d lead them.
I shook my head. “Another time perhaps. I’m here to speak with Mother Superior.”
Cherished Page 5
