by Jo Spurrier
‘No, it’s not a game. There are bad men looking for us, and if they come in here, they’re going to hurt your mama. Do you understand? They’re going to hit her and make her cry, and they’ll take her away from you and you’ll never see her again.’
The girl began to weep, tears spilling down her face, and turned towards Marima.
‘You’re scaring her!’ Marima said, her voice quavering, near to tears herself. Cam took hold of her arm, pulling her back. ‘Leave them be,’ he murmured.
Rasten took hold of the girl’s chin to make her face him again. ‘No, don’t cry. Don’t be scared, be mad. You can stop them. You won’t let them hurt your mama, you can keep her safe. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Here, when you get mad, do you ever feel your power getting hot and tight inside you? Do you feel it pop and sizzle like bacon in a pan?’
Silent tears still spilling, the little girl nodded.
‘Good. I want you to think about that now. Think about how mad you’ll be if the bad men come in here and hurt your mama. Think about how mad you are at them for keeping you locked down here in the dark, away from your other mamas and papas and your sibs. It was mean of them to put your mama in chains and lock you up when you’ve done nothing wrong. Doesn’t it make you angry?’
The girl nodded again. Her tears had faded now, and her face was growing red, her frown deepening.
‘So what are you going to do when they come through that door? What would you do if you saw a nasty hairy spider creeping up on your mama?’
‘I hate spiders!’
‘You do? Me too. So would you put on your biggest boots and squish it?’
‘Yes!’
‘Alright. When these bad men come through the door, I want you to get as mad as you can and when you’re so mad you feel like you’re going to burst, squish them, just like spiders. Can you do that for your mama?’
Ricca bit her lip, and looked up at her mother.
Cam squeezed her arm. ‘Talk to her,’ he urged.
Marima was shaking under his hand. ‘You can do it, sweetheart. You know how you have bad dreams, and make things burn? It’s just like that, baby. You can do it, and then we can go home.’
Rasten released Ricca’s shoulder, and as she ran to her mother, throwing her arms around her legs, he stood up and turned to Cam. ‘It’ll take a few minutes for her to get her power up. Just worry about keeping yourself alive. Let them get to Marima. The more scared the little one is, the faster she’ll blow her top.’
‘What about the Akharians?’ Cam said.
Rasten glanced towards the door, and the sigil in drying blood he’d smeared on the flagstones. ‘They’ll be marked as they come through. When she kills them, the power will come to me. I just … I hope it’s enough. Look, don’t wait for me. As soon as the Wolf men are down, take these two and run for the upper levels. Sirri’s heading for the main gate, and if I fall, she’ll know and she’ll come smashing in to find you. Stick with the girl — she’ll keep you safe.’
Rasten turned his back on the king and walked away, heading to the other chamber.
He willed himself to calmness, drawing steady, even breaths, keeping his mind only in the moment. Since Kell died, it often seemed he’d forgotten the skills that had kept him alive so long. He’d forgotten how to keep what he felt from showing on his face, how to make people believe he was loyal or subservient or fearless …
But this. This he hadn’t forgotten. He still knew how to focus on this one moment in time, to stay calm and still, even though he knew the pain was coming.
He felt Sierra turn his way with a sudden crackle of energy. Rasten? What’s going on?
Don’t worry, he told her. It’ll be alright. I won’t make the same mistake again.
I’ve got some power locked away. I think it’s enough to keep me on my feet, and with the burns the men have endured to feed me, I’ll be alright. You can have the rest.
No. You’ll need it. If these mages take me down you’ll have to break through to find the king.
By the Black Sun, Rasten —
You know you can’t hold it back, Sirri. Fires Below, have you forgotten already? It was the first thing Kell set out to break in you … we trained you to surrender every scrap of power, and it takes more than a short year to undo that kind of conditioning. Trust me on this. If you give me your power, I’ll take it all … and I’ll be cursed if I hurt you again.
Rasten, you cannot sacrifice yourself. I forbid it!
Oh, I’ll fight for my life, Sirri. I always have. But I’m outmatched, and there’s no source here to feed from. I’ll do my best, Sirri, but you have to be ready to step in when I fall.
They were close, now. He could feel them, filled with power, but clamping down tight to keep it from spilling. He drew up his own power and spun it into a shield which he wrapped tight around him and then headed for the door that would take him to them. The girl was primed to attack whoever entered the room, and while she could deal with ordinary soldiers, a pair of Akharian Battle-Mages would crush her.
He slipped through the door, closed it behind him and then fused it shut with a touch of power. Anything to slow them down a moment longer.
He leant against it, drawing a deep breath, just as two men entered from the far end.
He recognised their faces. They’d been there when Pelloras examined Cam’s deserted cell. The only light came from the shields, Rasten’s tinted with red and touched with flame, while the Akharians’ were colourless veils of white mist, like a haze of fog in early morning air.
Rasten made himself smile, and waited.
Marima held her daughter close while Ricca turned her tearful face up to them. ‘Where’s he going?’ Marima said, fear in her voice.
Cam didn’t know how to answer. Could Rasten face Battle-Mages in his current state? He’d killed Akharian mages in the west, but that was when he was whole and unwounded and the mages were those left after the best had been sent to Ricalan. These mages would be weary after the battle and the march, but they’d be the best the empire had to offer — only the cream of the Mage Corps would have been sent to confront Sierra in Lathayan.
When the battle began, he felt it, for a tremor ran through the fort itself, through the walls and the floor and the vaulted roof. A moment later there came a roar of sheer noise, a sound like a raging storm.
Over the dreadful, deafening sound of it, he never heard the soldiers coming. All at once, they were simply there, streaming in through the doorway, armed with swords and shields.
Cam hastily stepped away from Marima and the girl, snatching for his sword and dagger. His palm felt slick with sweat against the leather hilt.
Ricca took one look at the men and wailed, burying her face in her mother’s legs. Marima stooped to pick the girl up, her face pale and fearful as she backed away.
The men swiftly spread out to surround Cam, and one of them stepped forward. Cam vaguely recognised the fellow and guessed he must have seen him in Dremman’s retinue. ‘Now look here, lad,’ the soldier said, ‘there’s no need for this. Just set down your sword and come quietly. Don’t frighten the little girl any more than she already is. Come with us and we’ll get you out of here before those cursed Akharians find you. Maybe we can make a deal with your folk back in Lathayan, and end this peaceful, like. But you must know the only cursed way you’re getting out of here alive is in our hands.’
The noise was unending, pervasive. It filled his head, made it hard to think. ‘How big a fool do you think I am?’ Cam demanded. ‘I’ve heard more than I care to of your clan’s wretched lies.’ But the cursed fellow had a point — there were a dozen of them. He was hopelessly outnumbered.
By stepping away from Marima and Ricca to draw his sword, he’d moved away from the wall, and with a swift glance around, Cam saw the men had encircled him. Until now, they’d paid Marima and the child little notice, but Marima saw the situation as clearly as he did and tried to move closer to him.
The nearest man
caught her by the arm. ‘No you don’t, lass. Keep well out of it, or you and your little one are going to get hurt.’
Ricca had her face buried in Marima’s shoulder, but at those words, her head snapped up and her eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t you hurt my mama!’ she shrieked.
Cam felt the touch of steel against his neck, and froze. Another hand seized his arm, and he didn’t resist as they pried the sword from his grip.
The soldier ignored Ricca’s protest. Marima had been slightly built in the first place, and the months of prison rations had left her frail and thin. She tried to pull back, and when she didn’t come with him, the soldier simply yanked her off her feet, setting her stumbling over the flagstones with a yelp of pain.
‘DON’T YOU HURT MY MAMA!’ Ricca screamed, a piercing shriek like a spear through the head. Cam winced and clapped his hands over his ears out of instinct. The hands clutching his arm fell away, too — he wasn’t the only one driven to protect his hearing.
The soldier who’d grabbed Marima stumbled back, as though the force of that cry had thrown him away from her. Marima fell to her knees, pulled off balance, and Ricca squirmed out of her arms and advanced on the fellow, her tiny brows knotted with anger and her face dark with fury. ‘YOU LEAVE US ALONE!’ she shouted.
At once, the air had grown thick and syrupy, as dense as tar. He couldn’t move — he was held in place, like an insect trapped in amber.
As he watched, some massive, unseen force slammed the soldier into the floor, like an invisible boulder smashing down upon him. What was left was little more than gory shreds, his sword broken into splinters.
The men, as one, turned to her. Those who hadn’t dropped their swords tried to raise them, but they were moving slowly, so slowly. The air was full of darting sparks, like fireflies, and from the corner of his eye Cam saw a lick of flame, reaching across the floor like a snake.
Marima scrambled up — she was the only one not caught in the tar-thick field of power. She darted between the frozen men and caught Cam by the arm.
The moment she touched him, the thick, frozen air released him. He snatched for his fallen sword and let Marima pull him away as Ricca hammered another soldier into the ground, and then another and another.
Marima turned to him with tears streaking through the grime on her face. ‘My little girl! My baby! How can she do this?’
Cam remembered how he’d felt, that night long ago when he’d watched Sierra tear apart a detachment of his brother’s men. He wrapped an arm around Marima’s shoulders. ‘She’s still your baby. She’s just willing to do whatever it takes to protect her mama.’
When the strike came, it was swift and brutal, a force like a thousand hammers on his shields, like a mountain pounding on his back and neck and head. The pressure was immense, the heat … he was roasting alive.
The Akharian mages advanced on him, hidden behind shields so thick they were all but opaque. But the way they moved, the caution with which they drew near …
They were afraid of him.
If he’d had the breath to spare, Rasten would have laughed. They were afraid of him! He’d tricked them once, and now they were anticipating another feint, another dodge.
Well, they’d get a surprise, alright. He had no strength to fight them, and once his shields gave out their attack would crush him like a bug. All he could do was try to hold out … hold out long enough to let little Ricca deal with the Wolf men so that the king could get away.
He could hold on. It was the one useful skill Kell had taught him. He could last until the very end of his strength. They’d have to work for it, and they’d never dare leave him alive behind them, not after seeing for themselves the havoc he could wreak.
When the first of the men died in the room behind him the power came like a breath of life, a snatched gulp of cool, clean air. It was followed by another, and another, sweet rivulets of power that helped push away the relentless heat and the roar of the Akharians’ attack. It gave him room to breathe, let him lift his head from the tuck he’d been forced into as his shield gave way under the blows.
But then it ended, petering out. The men were dead.
It came as a relief. There had been no guarantee that the girl would unlock her powers — she was very young for it. His power hadn’t manifested until he was twice her age. But Cam could slip away now, climb the last few levels and find Sierra. He just had to keep these two occupied a little longer.
Inside his head, Sierra was shouting, raging at him, but Rasten walled her out. Forgive me, Sirri. I do love you, though I know I haven’t shown it the way a man should. But I have a debt to pay …
Isidro stared at the stones Nirveli had pressed into his hand. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What are these for?’
She gave him an incredulous look. ‘Don’t you know what they are?’ At his blank expression, she threw her hands up with a gesture of frustration. ‘By all the Gods, you’re surrounded by treasures and you have no idea! Here,’ she wrapped both her hands around his, ‘I’ll show you.’
Sierra pressed her palms to her forehead and screamed at him. RASTEN! You son of a bitch! Tigers take you, I know you can hear me!
Her horse danced beneath her, made nervous by the power rippling over her skin, as well as the smoke in the air and the sound of axes thudding into the stout wooden doors. Within the stables, the shouts and cries of the trapped men were faint compared to the crackling of the flames.
The gates of the fortress had been left ajar, just wide enough for a man to slip through. They’d wasted precious moments watching thick black smoke rise behind the walls while Ardamon sent men in to scout it out.
The two Akharians had simply forced the Wolf garrison into the stables and sealed them in there before putting the moss-chinked logs and tarred shingles to the torch.
Did they know she was here? Perhaps they cared more about revenging themselves upon the Wolf Clan than feeding her power. Or maybe they meant to delay her, either in waiting for the flames to reach them, or in making them stop to break the men loose.
There had been no question whether to free them. Ardamon’s men had been kith and kin of the Wolf soldiers not so long ago, and there was a world of difference between facing former allies on a battlefield and letting them be burned alive.
As the door gave way to splinters and the terrified shouts of the trapped men gave way to cries of relief, Sierra squeezed her eyes shut, forbidding herself from thinking of the power she could have raised. Her stomach twisted within her at the thought. She’d watched folk burned alive, she’d felt the echoes of their agony, turned dim by the flush of power that came with it. She never wanted to feel it again … but what if it made the difference in getting Cam out alive or finding his body in the rubble? What if it made the difference in pulling Rasten out alive?
The smoke was suffocating her. There was too much to think about, too many questions, not enough answers, and not enough power! Rasten! she cried again, pleading with him to answer.
Then, there came a humming in her head, and she smelled the ocean. Sirri?
Isidro! You have to help me, I can’t reach him! The Akharians have him down and I don’t know where Cam is, I don’t know if he’s alright, and I don’t have enough power to reach him. She was burning through it, no matter how hard she willed herself to be calm. What do I do? Help me!
Sirri, slow down, I can barely understand you. Take a deep breath, keep breathing. I have power, Nirveli showed me a way. Can you feed it to him?
I can’t! He’s locked me out! I can’t break through his shields, I never could.
She felt him take a deep breath. Alright. Hold on, let me try.
Isidro closed his eyes and reached for Rasten. The path was blocked by a sheer wall, as smooth and sheer as wind-polished ice. No matter. They parted before him like ringmail splitting open under a bodkin. It was a question of strength, he realised in a flash of inspiration. Rasten and Sierra were both immensely strong, their power reaching above his by orders o
f magnitude. Their shields were a fortress, built of massive walls capable of withstanding the pounding of catapults, but the coarse and heavy cords of power they used couldn’t keep out the fine, sharp strands of energy he could form. Was this Kell’s secret? Had he begun as a minor mage, refused entry to the military corps, only to grow dissatisfied with academia when it failed to satisfy his hunger for pain and humiliation? Not now, Isidro told himself. Time to think on that question later.
He pushed through the shields, and found himself pressed against stone, unable to move, struggling to breathe.
He felt Rasten’s surprise. I-Isidro?
I’ve brought you power, Isidro said, and relaxed his controls on the store he held. It flooded through him like liquid fire, like lightning collared and tamed.
But what about Sirri? She needs it.
She’s fine for the moment. Take it, Rasten, get on your feet and fight. There are two more Akharian mages between you and her, don’t leave her to face them alone. She needs you, the king needs you.
He felt Rasten draw a deep breath, and then he snatched at the power with a force Isidro couldn’t resist. At once, the pressure eased as his shields pushed the Akharian attack back. More! Rasten said. I need more!
Isidro opened his eyes to find two more stones in his hand. Delphine and Nirveli were prying stones from the Akharian chain and piling them up in front of him, while more soldiers brought in hacked up lengths of it. There were already a dozen stones piled into the basket at his feet. It’s coming.
Chapter 22
Ricca crouched on her heels, her arms wrapped around her head. Marima seemed frozen to the spot, gaping in horror at the slaughter.
The noise from the next chamber was immense still, like the roar of a waterfall mingled with the ravenous crackle of a raging fire. There was heat, too, like the pervasive warmth of a forge. What in the hells was going on back there? Cam had no way to know, and even less of an idea of how he could help.
Sheathing his sword, Cam stepped across the bloody smear that had once been a man, and scooped Ricca up. She tensed against him, lifting her head to regard him with a baleful glare. ‘Hush now,’ he told her, ‘I’m your friend, you remember me, don’t you? And here’s your mama, safe and sound.’
