Witch-born

by A. J. Maguire

  Shoving himself away from the wall, Dorian tore around the corner and charged the closest guard. Seven strides later he had to duck as the man fired at him. Another two steps and Dorian caught him by the lapels, dragging his Talent into a quick turn and tossing the guard toward his companions. Two more shots fired. One bullet made its mark in the airborne man, the other zinged off to the left, ricocheting away from one of the marbled pillars.

  The guard crashed into two of his friends with enough force to slam all three bodies into the door. The remaining guard, whether by calculating the odds or just out of general self-preservation, disarmed himself and made a quick retreat.

  Without further preamble Dorian rushed through the doors, sword drawn and at the ready.

  Only what he saw in the center of the hall was so horrifying that he tripped to a stop. The Dellidus creature had Magic Himself in one hand and the Vicaress in the other. With a not-quite human snarl it flicked its wrist, snapping Reonne's neck in an unnatural angle and flinging her aside. At its feet Elsie struggle onto her side, wheezing.

  His Talent still could not sense her.

  But she was right there, alive.

  Her body turned just-so and he spotted the tell-tale punctures in her side. Understanding hit him fast. Dorian shouted something unintelligible, drew his pistol and fired. The shot hit the Dellidus at the base of the spine, in a spot where both creature and man fused together.

  It cried out and whipped around to face him, only partially distracted from Magic.

  Unsheathing his sword, Dorian dropped his pistol and took a slow breath. He saw Elsie's arm arch high and swing but couldn't wait to see what weapon she had used. Whatever it was struck the creature just above the right knee, causing it to scream again. The Dellidus turned and kicked her, sending her body sliding several feet away.

  Dorian used the moment to bend time, swing hard and fast at its side but to no avail. The creature retreated to the House Seat so fast that Dorian could barely see the movement. A hard knot formed in his chest as he realized he couldn't win.

  Winslow skid through the door, halting just beside him with a gasp of terror. Bart and Rorant followed, wearing identical expressions of disbelief and appall. The Dellidus screamed at them in a shrill mix of man and creature, plunging its free hand into Magic's side. Something moved in the House Seat just beside the creature. Reluctantly glancing away from the spectacle Dorian recognized the blonde sweep of Leona's hair. The girl was inching off the seat, her body trembling as she tried to stay inconspicuous.

  The Dellidus didn't notice her. It began to draw on Magic with earnest, too focused on its goal to care about her. With a sound like a thousand deep drums all struck at once the creature found the core of Magic. The floor tilted beneath them, sending Dorian to his knees. A moment later he felt it.

  Wracking pain coursed through his body, and he struggled to breathe. He'd felt the draw of the Dellidus before but this was different. As the creature took from Magic, it took from all of the Talented in the room. Dorian imagined every noble in Magnellum was suffering under the pull of the Dellidus, opening all of the Civilized Lands to attack from the Wild. In the breathless seconds that followed he forced himself back to his feet. Bart and Winslow had both fallen under the onslaught of physical pain, the sight of them writhing on the ground incensed Dorian further. But it was the sight of his father, braced against the doorframe, gasping, that fully undid him.

  Winslow was closest. Reaching aside, Dorian grabbed Winslow's pistol and raised it, praying it was loaded. Relying on his natural ability rather than his Talent he had to squint to see the Dellidus more clearly. Pain was fogging his senses, blurring the scene in front of him but he managed to squeeze the trigger.

  He'd aimed for the base of the neck.

  The bullet struck the Dellidus a fraction higher with no effect. Dorian doubled over in pain again, fending off the wave of nausea that assailed him from the action. He felt heavy, as though several tons of sand had been dropped onto his body. Through the haze of agony he spotted Callen Beroe as the Hemic Knight charged in through the private stair beside the dais. The knight took in the situation within a heartbeat and advanced on the Dellidus. Fates bless the man, he was the only one in the room with the capability of fighting the creature.

  Callen's sword raked up the creature's side, cutting from the hip straight to the armpit. The Dellidus shrieked in pain and released Magic. The wards riddled across Magic's body went alight, glowing brighter and brighter until finally the man dissolved, leaving behind only the mundane garments that had swathed him and a fine, golden mist that began to swirl through the room. The pain ended just before the Dellidus launched at Callen, howling in outrage.

  Bartholomew was the first among them to gather his senses. Propelling himself forward with whatever meager Talent had been left behind; he reached Callen before the Dellidus and struck out with his sword. To his horror, the Dellidus bent time. Everything distorted as it caught Bartholomew by the face, talons sinking through skull and jawbone, and then it half-turned, flinging Bart's body at them with a spurt of it's stolen Talent. Winslow abandoned his own advance to catch Bartholomew, the brunt of the throw tossing them both to the ground. They slid four feet away and into the base of a marble pillar.

  Rorant was next, just a step faster than Dorian in the charge against the creature. They attacked together, Dorian's swing was low while his father went high. The Dellidus beat off Dorian's sword, sending it flying to the left and managed to swivel away from the downswing of Rorant's blade. This left Dorian in the way of strike, forcing him to duck and weave, diving after his lost sword.

  By the time he'd gathered his blade, Callen had attacked. The Hemic Knight struck the creature again, this time in the left thigh, and was rewarded with a backhand that sent him soaring away from the fight. Leona screamed and ran after him. Rorant took the opportunity, shooting at it with an accuracy that struck the creature directly in the chest. It took one step back, glared at its chest and screamed back at him. Dorian found his feet, lifted his sword and lost all pity for the man once called Brochan Delgora-Fie. The sounds emanating from the Dellidus were pure Wild. Brochan Delgora was dead. Elsie would have to understand that.

  It struck out at Rorant, catching the man at the hip and raking its talons diagonally toward the opposite shoulder. Dorian saw it, felt his heart stagger, and charged. He reached the Dellidus before his father hit the ground, thrusting his sword into the solid torso. The blade pierced through, jutting out of the creatures back as it screamed in that voice comprised of the Wild and the man. Dorian shouldn't have hesitated but he did. The Dellidus growled, grabbing the hilt of his sword and snapping the blade in two. Before he'd registered what was happening the creature shoved the broken haft at him.

  His Talent reacted, swerving his body to avoid the blow, but it was too late. The severed blade cut deep into his right shoulder, tearing muscle, skin, and tendons until it encountered bone and snagged to a stop. His fingers went numb, but he managed to block the second attack thrown at his midsection and tried to retreat. Only his body was shocked by the wound, slowing him down, and he felt the curl of reptilian fingers around his neck just before he was slammed into something solid.

  For a moment, as the room began to swim with the pain and the dazzle of lights settled behind his eyes, Dorian thought there was a flash from Elsie's position. Still vying for breath he focused on it, desperately grasping at the Dellidus' wrist in a vain attempt to gather air. A harsh glow formed at her right hand, flinting the remnants of mist into sudden light. He felt her Talent surging to life even as his own began to fail.

  If he could have, Dorian would have smiled.

  ***

  There was chaos around her, chaos inside her, chaos lurking beyond the Salt Pillars. Elsie felt it all like the crescendo of a symphony, different notes played all at once, striking a sort of disjointed harmony in her core. Her right arm began to sting as though she'd slept on it wrong and the blood was returning to th
e limb. A thousand little needles prodding her under the skin, she thought.

  But the pain gave her a focus.

  Elsie began to sort through the bedlam. She became aware of every Pillar in Delgora. They glistened in sunlight and power, flaring to life in a blinding sort of way. The secrets of every prior House Witch overwhelmed her, fusing to her consciousness in the space of a breath and she could feel Magic's presence at her side. Fate was nearby too, silent as She watched the proceedings.

  There was no time for Elsie to dwell on confusion. Her Talent had been revived, Magic was not dead - though she knew she had seen him vanish under the Dellidus. She thought he ought to be dead, and then she shoved the matter aside. He was Magic, not mere man. He had called himself the god of the Witch-Born. It didn't matter how he was alive.

  The Braziers burst into flame, and Elsie opened her eyes.

  She assessed the situation as she pushed herself to her feet. The powdery mist that Magic the man had left behind had drifted to her arm, sticking to her skin with calm, cooling sensation. Winslow and Bart were in the far corner. Winslow was beginning to move, slowly and painfully. Rorant Orzebet was half on the dais, one foot dangling over the edge in his unconscious state. Leona and Callen Beroe huddled under a window to her right, the Hemic Knight looking battered and bruised and incapable of standing. And the Dellidus was choking Dorian to death right beside the House Seat.

  Elsie lifted her skirts, unfastened the garter-garrote from her thigh and pulled it taut. Dorian's magic waned under the pull of the Dellidus, she felt it. She could sense every Witch-Born in the room, knew their Talents were nearly spent; all but hers, which flourished under the golden blaze of the braziers.

  She reached the Dellidus without time to think of what she was about to do. Leaping onto its back she yanked the garrote tight around her father's throat. It jerked in surprise and released its hold on Dorian, who staggered to the ground and sucked in a wheezy breath. Her knees pressed hard into the creature's spine and she arched back, feeling the tear of her cord through its neck. Anything soft was cut through in moments.

  Closing her eyes, Elsie tried hard not to think of whom she was killing, but it was impossible. It bucked underneath her, swinging around to try to dislodge her, and all she could think of was her father. Her body was shoved up against the back of the house seat, sharp edges digging into her skin, and still she didn't let go. A moment later the Dellidus realized its host was dead and the struggle abruptly ceased. They fell to the floor with a dull sounding thud.

  Elsie opened her eyes to the bloody mess, releasing the cord and shoving herself away from the body. A screeching, unnatural sound filled the hall as the creature detached from her father. Without the protection of Brochan's Talent, the Dellidus began to writhe under the weight of the Warding Pillars. Its length curled, spiraled, undulating with pain. The end of its tail made a violent flick through the air, snapping just an inch from her foot.

  She could have watched it wither and die, but her gaze caught her father's dead form. If she hadn't known who he was she wouldn't have recognized the desolate shell before her. But she did know. Somewhere in the recesses of her memory she could see his face as he ought to have been. Eyes to match her own, crinkled at the edges with a laughing smile, ageless because his true life had been cut short. Fury fueled her forward and she ignored Dorian's hoarse voice calling her to stop. It was dangerous, she knew. If the creature bit her then the battle would begin again, but it deserved worse than a death via the Pillars. It deserved every ounce of her wrath.

  The serpent spiraled back as though to bite her. Elsie moved with her magic, evading the lash of body and teeth. Crushing its neck under her foot she endured the cry it made with a slight flinch. Stooping down, she gripped its head with her right hand, dragging it up into the air as she stood again. She held it there a moment, tightening her fingers until she felt the ooze of blood under her thumb.

  "Smite."

  Elsie whispered the command but her voice was carried with her magic, echoing through the great hall. There was no cryptic word for the spell, no need for a concentration circle and no hesitation. The dust that had fused to her arm made pinpricks of light against her skin, each one brilliant and harsh. She felt every individual fleck as it lit up scorch into her forearm. The Dellidus began to flake away in her hand, scales falling off into nothing, sinew and bone melting to the floor until her hand was empty.

  Elsie waited then, panting from the exertion of magic as the light in her arm began to fade. It subdued itself in fractions, each bit of dust freckling her skin like so many sparkling jewels. She was aware of Dorian's move to her side and caught the frown of concern. This was a significant issue, the diamond dust on her skin, but neither of them knew what it meant. He touched her shoulder, their Talents meshing together as they assessed the damage on each other.

  Satisfied that he was healthy and whole, she turned to view the room. Daylight hit the high windows of the great hall, spreading golden light into the devastation that littered the floor. Debris from various broken bits of masonry crunched underfoot as Elsie followed Dorian to his father. The man was alive but weak, bloody gouges in his chest that made her wince in spite of herself.

  "Father?"

  Rorant smiled against the pain, "Oh, not to worry. I'll heal myself presently. Just trying to breathe is all."

  Further away, Winslow cradled Bartholomew in his arms, murmuring comfort to his friend. Dorian glanced at her before crossing the room and crouching beside him. Their voices carried to her as she knelt next to Rorant. The older man fought his way into a sitting position, watching the scene on the other end of the hall.

  "Is he dead?" Dorian choked on the words.

  "No," Winslow's fingers tightened on his friend. "No he's slightly alive. I just ... I can't heal him."

  Dorian's shoulders relaxed a fraction. His hand shook as he reached out, pressing his palm to Bartholomew's chest. For a moment, everything was quiet. And then the brazier's fire turned from gold to alizarin to white and the glitter of salt began to twinkle in the air. The salt stood suspended above them, reflecting the light of the midday sun through the room like so many thousands of crystals with such brilliance that she had to squint. The salt made a quick retreat back to his hand, streaking through the air and bunching together until it looked as though he were holding a star. There was no draw on her Talent, which was surprising given what happened next.

  Bartholomew jerked once, body convulsing for a moment before he groaned with pain. "Mother, Maiden, and Crone," he said.

  Winslow breathed a tense, emotional laugh.

  .

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Dorian found her in the topmost tower of Delgora manor, standing beside the window and staring at her arm. The reddish tint of sunset made the ruby gown she wore look as though it were on fire. He paused in the doorway, content to watch her until she noticed him. Truth be told, he knew better than to startle the woman. She was likely still armed despite the fact that the battle was long since over. That and he wasn't certain what he intended to say.

  Although Reonne was dead, the Dellidus with her, it had cost all of Magnellum the price of Magic, or at least Magic's physical form. It was confounding to think that their god had known exactly how it would end - or at the very least suspected it. There were further complications in the jeweled tattoos now residing in Elsie's arm. Though she didn't speak of it, he knew that there was a sort of disjointed communion between herself and the speckles, as though what was left of Magic's core had simply transferred and was speaking to her in quiet, unfathomable terms.

  The Council would fight for dominion over her. There was simply too much power represented in the strange sight. For a brief moment he worried about that. But then she sighed, set her shoulders and looked out the window. Something in that small movement told him that she would not cow to them, which gave him some hope.

  "Hello, Dorian," she said.

  Walking up behind her, he slid an arm arou
nd her waist and pulled her against his chest. "I'd ask what you were thinking about but I'm fairly certain I could guess it."

  She hummed an ambiguous response.

  "I imagine you've never had to deal with the Council before?" It was an inane question, but he knew he had to break into the conversation somehow.

  "Oh, absolutely, they made regular visits to the jungle to visit with me. Every now and then they'd help when I was stealing some poor miner's silver."

  Dorian snorted a laugh. "All right, you've made your point."

  Elsie settled back against his chest and sighed. "Do you know? I somehow prefer stealing and confronting the Bedim to the thought of the Council."

  "That's because you've got great instincts. The Council is about as pleasant as having your toenails removed, slowly."

  It was her turn to laugh, "How graphic of you."

  "Yes, well, speaking of your instincts, I think it is time to finish our conversation." Dorian gave her waist a squeeze and kissed the top of her head.

  "We've had many conversations, Lord Feverrette."

  "I'm sure you remember."

  "Could it be the one about how arrogant and stubborn you are?"

  He faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Or the one about how we should completely strike green from your wardrobe?"

  Dorian let her go. Elsie turned to face him with an irreverent grin, her caramel eyes catching the last rays of the sun coming through the dormer windows. For a moment he just watched her, struggling between mirth and the desire to kiss her senseless. Then she reached out and took his hand, twining their fingers in a comfortable and casual move. He felt her Talent purring under her skin, sensed his own rising to meet it.