Brinelle tried to Create gravity, to bring her back to the earth, but Obsidian’s magic held firm. He snickered as he watched her. Brinelle had expected some kind of pompous speech, but Obsidian didn’t oblige. He raised his functional hand to smack her off the mountaintop. She’d fly until she left Obsidian’s bubble, and then it would be a long fall to the plains below.
He reached for her, Remnant in hand. Brinelle focused on the stone. She couldn’t let a Varyah take its magic. She had to get it back.
Fi’ar’s giant arm came at her like a mazahn.
Brinelle dropped her staff and caught his forearm just before it hit. The force of his blow drove her into the ground. The impact jarred her knees and hips, but she grit her teeth and bore the pain. At least she had something to brace against now.
Using his momentum and her own body as a fulcrum, Brinelle heaved Obsidian over and around. His dead arm flopped beneath him as he landed, the bones snapping under his massive weight. His other hand flew open as he hit the ground, and Brinelle was able to pull the Remnant from his fingers.
The blow had made him lose his concentration, and gravity returned. Brinelle scrambled away before Obsidian could stand. She had the Remnant now. Its power revived her energy and gave her hope. He couldn’t finish melding it to his dark magic now. It was hers.
Obsidian climbed to his feet, his massive frame seeming bunched with pain and hatred. He snarled at her and charged.
Brinelle backed away. She’d been so relieved to get the Remnant she’d forgotten to pick up her staff. The urn warrior was now between her and her weapon.
He didn’t deign to use magic this time. He sliced at her with his bone knife, hitting her upper arm and carving through muscle all the way to the bone. She fell back, almost dropping the Remnant as she clutched at her arm. Blood poured through her fingers. She reached for the Remnant’s magic to Create new muscle, but Obsidian cut her again and broke her concentration.
He continued his onslaught, slashing and stabbing his knife at her. She dodged what she could and deflected the rest with the Remnant. Each strike against the stone sent blades of pain and nausea through her. She was already getting dizzy from pain and loss of blood. If only she could find a moment to focus and heal herself. If only she could circle around to her staff.
Obsidian carved more cuts into her. Her forearm, inches below the first cut; her thigh; a long, oozing gash across her stomach. She was slowing with every cut, and soon she wouldn’t be able to back up any farther. The summit wasn’t all that large to begin with.
Brinelle stumbled backward and lost her balance. Luckily there was enough ground behind her so she didn’t fall off the mountain. Her breath was ragged, black spots clouding her vision. She was so dizzy she wasn’t sure if she was still upright or had fallen onto her back. The swirling colors of the portal above made bile rise in her throat.
I’m supposed to do something … focus on something …
Her thoughts were getting more scattered, fainter. Harder to understand.
She heard Windrunner calling her name. It sounded so far away.
He’s stopped attacking me. What was I supposed to do?
A bit of the Remnant’s magic trickled into her, solidifying her thoughts. Heal.
She started Creating new muscle. Obsidian kicked her, breaking her concentration.
She tried again. He kicked her again, harder.
“You damned Evantar always think you have the last laugh. Some kind of trick up your sleeve to help you win the day.”
“The only reason you’ve survived this long is because Evantar has ceased to hunt you.” Each word was a monumental feat. The Remnant’s magic was keeping her conscious, restoring her energy as fast as it was pouring out, but without concentrated healing she would lose enough blood even the Remnant couldn’t sustain her. She pressed her hand to the wounds, though she couldn’t hope to staunch all the bleeding. She tried again to heal. Obsidian knelt before her and stabbed his knife straight through her calf, pinning it to the ground. The pain shattered her concentration.
“For all your supposed strength, you always end up falling before us.”
Brinelle summoned what energy she had left to meet the urn warrior’s gaze. “If the Godspeaker had allowed it, I’d have found you and killed you years ago.”
“You’d have tried.” Obsidian kicked her again. She vomited bile. “What makes you think you’d have done any better then than you did now?”
Brinelle didn’t take the time to answer. She focused on the power of the Remnant in her hands, trying to get enough healing to keep her alive. Create new muscle. New blood. Anything to stave off the inevitable.
He didn’t kick her this time. He knelt before her, looming like a specter of Death. “You stupid knights. Always thinking you’re smarter than us. Yet you always fall into our traps.”
Brinelle tried to ignore him, but she couldn’t help flicking her eyes up to his.
Obsidian grinned. “Why do you think I left the rift open for you? Why I allowed you to Create those paths and meet me here?”
Brinelle’s blood ran cold, though that could have been blood loss rather than his words.
“I invited you here to die, Evantar. Your magic will have nowhere to go once you’re gone, and it will be mine for the taking. All the more to destroy your order with.” He laughed, the sound menacing and berating.
She pulled on the Remnant’s magic, gathering as much as she could hold, and loosed it. Creation magic rolled from her, knitting her flesh together—mostly—and giving her a boost of energy. She slammed the Remnant into Obsidian’s kneecap, shattering it. The Varyah stumbled backward, screaming and clutching his leg.
Brinelle rolled to her feet and retrieved her staff. Its magic, and the power of the Remnant, flooded her with unfathomable strength. More magic than she’d ever known was possible. With this much magic, she could do anything.
“You asked me what my Creation magic could do to an opponent. It’s true I cannot Create much that would damage you.” She stepped closer. Now it was her turn to loom over him. “But you never asked what I could Create within myself.”
Brinelle grasped her staff in one hand, the Remnant in the other. She didn’t usually have the power necessary to do these kinds of tricks. But there was a wealth of magic here. More than enough.
Create strength.
Brinelle felt power flood her body. Her muscles grew stronger than humanly possible. The five-foot-tall staff in her single hand felt as light and maneuverable as one of Fi’ar’s bone knives. She swung it a few times.
Create momentum.
Her staff accelerated, flying through her hands as if it had a life of its own. Wind blew from the speed of its passage.
Create weight.
The staff grew so heavy a normal person couldn’t have lifted it. But for the moment, Brinelle wasn’t normal.
Obsidian had managed to stagger to his feet. He held a bone knife in one hand, though with his shattered knee and dead arm he couldn’t seem to find his balance. He swayed and looked none too confident about his position.
Brinelle would fix that.
She stepped forward and swung her tree-trunk staff with blinding speed and inhuman strength. Obsidian never had a chance to dodge.
The staff didn’t send him flying. It dropped him to the ground like dead weight.
Because that’s what he was.
Brinelle released the magic and felt her body deflate. She desperately wanted to lie down and rest. Even with the magic of the Remnant giving her strength, she was ready to collapse.
The Varyah’s magic floated above his body, invisible but not ignorable. It was dark, seething, even more than Brinelle had imagined. Was this the kind of magic Windrunner had fought against? And beat? She couldn’t help but be impressed.
She took a breath of magic charged air. Being around this kind of raw, unclaimed power was dangerous. Deathly so.
She felt the change like a shock of cold water to the face. Her
magic twisted, reforming itself, and then … it was different.
30
Windrunner wanted to rush to Brinelle’s side. He’d seen her go down, seen Obsidian stalk after her. But now they’d left his line of sight and he couldn’t afford to turn away.
The Shahadán would overwhelm him if he lost control for even a heartbeat.
He was keeping them away with scare tactics and potshots, but it was the most he could do on his own. He didn’t have the strength to force them away any more, let alone Destroy them like he’d done before. Then he’d had the power of the Remnant at his back and his reserves of magic had been full.
He wasn’t even sure how he was still on his feet anymore.
More Shahadán started coming at him, drawn to the power of the Remnant. Windrunner already had too many of the monsters to deal with. Any more and he’d be overrun.
It wasn’t enough to keep them away. He had to start killing them, whether he thought he had the strength or not.
The next Shahadán to come within range got a face full of Tsenian magic. Windrunner had tried to make it potent enough to do some real damage, but the Shahadán howled and reared back with only a few handfuls of rotten flesh missing.
Windrunner cursed. He’d poured everything he had into that strike. It should have been ten times more powerful than it was.
Brinelle had better get the Remnant soon.
He tried to sneak another glance that way, but he couldn’t see anything. He could feel magic building, so he knew it wasn’t over. Brinelle and Fi’ar were both still alive.
Another Shahadán came in for a dive, and he had to turn his attention away before he could determine whether it had been Brinelle’s magic or Obsidian’s.
He shot another blast of magic at the Shahadán, but this one did even less than the one before. The Shahadán came dangerously close to Windrunner, forcing him to his knees, before pulling up and away. Windrunner willed the lingering rot away, but even that was starting to take a toll on his magic.
He wasn’t going to last until Brinelle got the Remnant.
Everything he’d set out to do—prove to the world he was a man, set right the wrongs he’d done, prove to himself he was worthy of something—it would all fail here. Because he didn’t have the strength to keep going. The Shahadán were too strong, and there were too many of them.
But he refused to go down without a fight.
Windrunner summoned whatever remained of his magic and strength. It wasn’t much. Not enough to make any difference. He couldn’t hold back, though. He would use every last bit of his energy before letting these Shahadán take him down.
I will Destroy this reality and Create another—one without you. I will mend the magic. I will fix everything.
He poured his fear and anger and disappointment into his magic, stoking the power with his emotions. The heat soared, scorching him as he held it. He knew it wouldn’t be enough, but it would be his last. His best. It was all he could ask of himself.
With the last of his energy, he flung the magic at the Shahadán. Tsenian magic ripped into the monster. It bellowed as chunks of flesh as large as houses vanished.
Windrunner was saved from falling too far. He’d already been on his knees. That blast had drained him. All his magic. All his energy. He had nothing left.
At least he’d taken one of the bastards down with him.
He expected the blow to come at any moment. A Shahadán fluke crashing atop him, like the one that had killed Brinelle. Or maybe a cloud of rot to choke on. He didn’t have anything left to stop it. He’d done all he could.
He waited.
Nothing came.
Windrunner looked up. His breath was coming easier, his heart no longer hammering in his chest. Strength was returning to his limbs, albeit not much. Enough to raise himself to his feet, but no more than that.
He looked around. Standing behind him, Brinelle held the Remnant aloft.
His heart did flips in his chest. She was radiant, blood and bruises and all. With her white Evantar staff in one hand and the Remnant in the other, she looked like a goddess of justice.
The Shahadán shied away from the light of the Remnant, but he could sense it wasn’t just the stone’s. There was something about her power that drew him to her. It gave him a sense of wholeness, of completion. Of perfection.
Tsenian magic.
How … oh. She must have been exposed to the full force of Obsidian’s Varyah power when she killed him. It must have melded with her own Creation magic, the way he’d taken in the Remnant’s power back in the Farmlands.
Brinelle looked at him and smiled. She was clearly exhausted and blood oozed from more wounds than Windrunner could count. But she practically glowed. “Now what?” she asked.
Windrunner could hardly get the word through his lips. “Tsenian?”
She nodded.
Two Tsenian. Windrunner could have cried.
“We need to Destroy the Shahadán.” He didn’t let Brinelle’s incredulous glare stop him. “Once their magic is released we need to Create a whole magic with it. It’ll be extra powerful, I know, but we have to fix this magic if we want to stop all this Destruction. So just focus on that, all right? Destroy to Create, Create to Destroy.”
He couldn’t tell if she was confused, or had just had an epiphany. Maybe both.
Windrunner took a breath. The pure Creation magic of the Remnant had given him a little strength back. He wasn’t at full power, not even close, but perhaps he could do some good with it. “Are you ready?”
Brinelle took a breath too. “Yes. I’m ready.”
He moved to stand beside her and raised his good arm. The moment his fingers touched the Remnant, he felt its magic slide through him. Rejuvenating. Encouraging.
He looked at Brinelle. He could feel her through the Remnant’s magic. Or was that their Tsenian magic? He felt a thrill at the thought. Two Tsenian. Against a horde of Shahadán.
If nothing else, it would be a hell of a fight.
“Can you make a shield around us?” Windrunner asked.
Brinelle nodded. A moment later, a shimmering dome materialized around them. It vanished from sight in an instant, but Windrunner could still feel the protective magic surrounding them.
All right. Time to work some magic.
Windrunner drew on his power, whatever was stored in his staff and whatever he could take from the Remnant, until he could barely contain it. It seemed to know what he wanted of it even as he conjured the image: Destroy the Shahadán, Create a whole magic with their power and yours.
It was as if the Remnant remembered what it was like to have complete magic and wanted it as much as Windrunner.
The Shahadán rushed at him, dozens of them slamming into Brinelle’s shield. She winced with each hit, but the magic held.
Windrunner kept channeling power. Destroy the Shahadán, Create a whole magic.
The Shahadán spewed rot and threw lightning from their tails, slammed their entire bodies into the shield, trying to get at the magic. Brinelle was forced to her knees, but she kept the shield up.
He wasn’t sure how much more he could hold. His knees were wobbling, his head swimming, his entire body aching with the effort. Too much magic all at once. He had to get rid of some, before it burned him up.
He pulled more to him.
“When I tell you, let the shield go.”
Brinelle grunted an agreement. It was the best she could do, given the strain.
More magic.
Windrunner closed his eyes, holding his hands out as if the magic were a physical burden. “I am a man with the respect to lead,” he said, drawing strength from the words. “I am a man with the strength to defend my home.”
And this time, he believed it. His father had been right. He didn’t need anyone’s approval to be a man. He just had to be one.
Time to step up and do it, then.
His eyes snapped open. “You wouldn’t let me protect my home, you bastards,” he
shouted. “But I will not let you Destroy my world!”
The shield began to waver and streams of rot started leaking through. A bolt of lightning struck the shield, cracked it, and arced down toward them. Windrunner flinched from the jolt and nearly lost control of the immense power searing him.
“Hurry, Windrunner! I cannot hold this much longer!”
“I am Tsenian Windrunner,” he cried. “I am Tsenian!”
A Shahadán bashed the shield, and he heard the magic splinter.
“Now!”
Brinelle released the shield with a groan, and Windrunner loosed the magic into the sky. A pillar of pure Tsenian magic as wide as he was tall rocketed upward, splitting a Shahadán in two and engulfing several more.
“Brinelle!”
She didn’t need any more of a hint. She threw her own Tsenian magic into the fray, and the magic exploded.
Blinding light pushed them to their knees. The howls and roars of Shahadán in agony deafened them. Windrunner clung to his staff, the Remnant, anything he could hold onto. He couldn’t reach Brinelle. He hoped she was still all right.
The light was dazzling even behind closed eyes. He kept his thoughts focused on the magic, on Destroying the Shahadán, using their power to Create a whole magic. He prayed the magics would meld the way they had in him and Brinelle.
Between the light, the heat, the surging magic, Windrunner braced himself for a catastrophic failure.
Slowly the sounds and light faded. Windrunner looked around cautiously, trying to pull some more magic together in case another Shahadán was coming to attack.
The Shahadán were gone.
Windrunner stared at the sky, empty but for the shifting colors of the portal above. The air was foul with Shahadán rot, but there was not a monster to be seen.
They’d done it.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Their Tsenian power had destroyed the Shahadán, but it hadn’t been enough to mend the magic. The dark Destruction magic of the Shahadán still lingered. It warped everything in sight, as if it was trying to consume this world. It was so dark, so thick, Windrunner choked on it.
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