Jikun’s heart dropped into his gut even as magic leapt to summon the snow about him. ‘Relstavum!’
“JIKUN! LOOK OUT!” Eldaeus screeched.
Jikun rounded and was enveloped by his companion’s horror. In the span of two heartbeats, the cloud had closed the distance to them and was now a mere fraction of a yard from crashing down upon them like an avalanche. Twisting coils of black smoke reached out greedily, red wisps like veins pulsing deep within. The symbol on Jikun’s hand split his flesh, breaking through the strain of protection and leaving him defenseless.
‘This… is it,’ he whispered to himself.
Eldaeus’ voice resounded from nearby, the final rallying cry to defend himself, to fight! “JIKUN! HELP!”
Ice crackled through the mist, forming an orb of protection around the pair. ‘It’s not enough!’ his mind screamed. And then darkness immersed them.
Utter, silent darkness.
Jikun felt a gentle tug on his vitality, then a jerk. Then his strength was being whisked away, sapping from his body like blood from a gaping wound. He could hear the ice around them crack. Why had he never honed his skill?! Now it would cost him everything! His nails tore into his palm in painful concentration, recalling the barrier he had erected to protect himself from Saebellus’ avalanche at Widow’s Peak. It felt like a millennium had passed since then. ‘This is your last chance to defeat him. Hold. HOLD!’
The darkness faded behind a flicker of red spots dancing in his eyelids. Weakness… A surge of such god-damn weakness…! “I can’t do it, Eldaeus!” he gasped.
“You do not have to,” the Faraven whispered calmly.
Jikun’s eyes opened and found that the darkness was gone. The last slivers of silver haze were vanishing into the earth, and even the furious clouds were beginning to dissipate. Sunlight was slipping in now, genuine rays of winter light dropping a pale, blue glow upon the ground beneath them.
The ice fell to water. All signs of necromancy had vanished.
They had survived, but so had Relstavum.
Jikun pressed a clenched fist against the wall of the booth beside them. “Relstavum…!”
“There is still a human there,” Eldaeus hissed with stark coherency. He was crouched on the balls of his feet, vivid hair and wide eyes peering up over the top of the booth. “He is just… standing there…!”
Jikun shoved the male down, pushing his face into the snow. “What are you doing, you imbecile?! You’re a damn hyaline in the tundra! Stay down!”
Eldaeus grunted. “At least I am not a peacock.”
Jikun shifted silently and dared to peer around the side of the weathered booth. There was a human, as Eldaeus had said. Relstavum stood at the center of Rustall, his hair whipped to disarray by the force of the wind. But he was not alone; since Jikun had seen him last, he had acquired an ally—a hulking form of a man dressed in black, and a…
Jikun’s gut dropped. And at Relstavum’s feet was a blood-red drake.
Both the human and the beast waited attentively, watching the necromancer as he took his first steps away from a fading necromantic circle—unsteadily at first, tugging the cloak about his legs free from the gnarled fabric it had become in the surges of wind.
Relstavum, even after expending so much power into a spell that had ripped the very life from the town, still stood. Unsteadily, but still, he stood.
Jikun flexed his own fingers. He could feel the weakness aching in his bones. ‘If you don’t strike a necromancer while he is vulnerable… if you lose the upper ground… you will die,’ Jikun repeated Navon’s warning in his mind.
Like any war. Like his loss at Elarium.
This was it. This was his last chance.
Jikun gave a long exhale. The man was hunched slightly, his steps slow. ‘Weak… Distracted…’ His eyes swept the expanse between them. The distance was too great after the energy he had already exerted.
His mind flicked rapidly to his own gear and he reached swiftly behind him to pull his bow free. The bowstring hung severed from the top. ‘The fight with the agretha?’ “Damn it! Eldaeus, give me your bow!” He reached over swiftly and freed the weapon from the male’s back.
Eldaeus instantly yanked it away. “No. You broke yours. This one is mine. You cannot ruin mine as well!”
“What in—give me the damn bow, you fool!” Jikun hissed, trying to wrestle the bow as quietly and subtly as he could manage behind the small, wooden shelter. “I will shoot Relstavum!” His hand landed on Eldaeus’ arm, but his attempt to freeze the male’s skin only caused his own hand to stiffen. ‘Damn, focus!’
Eldaeus clung to his weapon tightly, entirely unaware that Jikun had endeavored to strip the bow by force. His eyes were feral with irrationality. “No! I will do it! It is my bow! I can do it! You never trust me!”
Jikun clenched his teeth and narrowed his gaze, shooting the town square a swift glance. The humans were still prowling about the area. The drake had a half-eaten corpse dragging by entangled entrails on its toes. He looked back at the Faraven, his words rife with warning. “Do not miss.”
Eldaeus huffed, raising his bow. His movement was swift and smooth as he drew the arrow from his quiver and notched it in the string. “You have seen my hunting. I never miss.” And with the speed and precision of unparalleled luck, the male’s arrow loosed, hissed through the air, and punctured straight through the middle of the human’s skull.
The other human’s skull.
“Fucking Sel’ari’s cunt!” Jikun swore, watching as the massive man toppled to the snow at Relstavum’s feet. “What in Ramul are you doing?!”
Eldaeus looked affronted, clutching his bow in indignation. “What do you mean?! You said to shoot him so I did!”
“You cunt! It was that man!”
And as one, Relstavum and the drake turned toward their street.
“I feel encroaching death…” Eldaeus whispered. “Let me fight him!”
‘If you fail to take him unaware…’
Jikun’s shoulders jerked straight. He lifted his hand, preparing the water in the air for his command. ‘Navon is wrong. This is my fate.’ He forced a soft exhale. Ice rushed to leave his fingertips.
Relstavum’s voice came suddenly across the distance, strong and certain, striking the magic from Jikun’s body with a single phrase. “General Jikun,” his voice called with confidence. “I recognize your soul from Dahel.”
The color drained from Jikun’s face. If he had held some notion that he could succeed, it had vanished.
“What a chance that we should meet yet again. I admit: that was a terribly clever ploy to slip the tracking charm onto some worthless cutthroat. My men have not been able to locate you since. I did not expect such perception of the charm’s functionality. Tell me, how did you know what it was?” The human laughed, then glanced about with wry expectation. “Ah, it does not matter. It seems the end is you and I after all, General, but the result for you will be the same. Saebellus will be most disappointed to hear of your failure. He admires your… persistence… even if the others in your company failed to find the trait so charming.”
Jikun’s body tensed. He could not fail. He did not need Navon or that traitorous prince to do what he was fated to accomplish. As Darcarus had said, this was not their battle. This was his.
The necromancer’s laugh escalated across the cobbled streets, ricocheting from stone to stone. “But I must ask… where is your captain? And where is that cocky little True Blood? I expected at least one to stand by your side. How… disappointing. I could have slain three enemies of the empire at once. Had I known that your captain was bored of the challenge, I would have exerted greater efforts into assuring the Beast was constrained and here to entertain him. Alas, it yet roams free, gallivanting across the human lands, murdering and thieving in hapless villages.” He paused briefly, as though offering Jikun an opportunity to respond. When he did not, the human continued. “Your captain always enjoyed such confrontations, did he not?”<
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“He is stalling,” Eldaeus whispered, breaking the hold of the conversation. “He is weak. He had to travel deep into the gates to cast that spell. Not all of his soul has yet returned.”
“And I won’t let it,” Jikun growled solidly, drawing his blade. He stood briskly and saw the flicker of recognition in the human’s eyes just before he let his magic loose. The ice shot from the ground, a blur of pale blue that sucked the strength from Jikun in a wave of nausea.
As though toying with a small child, the necromancer’s hand extended and waved casually, tossing the drake before him as an armored shield. The ice shattered against its scales with a clang that echoed through the streets while other shards tore through the soft flesh of its belly. The final blow pierced straight through its neck and out its mouth to shower the snow in a splash of blood.
Jikun’s fingers curled. “Go!” he roared.
Eldaeus had vaulted across the ice before the word had fully left Jikun’s lips, sprinting toward the human’s haggard form with balance worthy of a Darivalian.
Relstavum let out a cry of wonder at the sight, the veins on his neck bulging with unrivaled greed. “You are them! Who are you?!”
Jikun did not pause to wonder at those words. He rushed forward, raising his hands as he did so and targeting his focus on the man’s skull, aiming for that final, solid blow that would seal both their fates. But before his magic could burst free, a tendril ripped his legs out from underneath him, slamming him backward into the stone. Jikun felt the smack of his skull against the icy cobbles, the strange dance of lights once more before his eyes. His spears sailed through the air off course and shattered uselessly into the branches of a nearby tree. The ice that was lodged in the drake’s throat—so close to Relstavum—splintered away harmlessly toward the empty sky.
Jikun shook his head dumbly, trying to push upright, but the sheer attempt to move caused his body to flop uselessly in the snow. His eyes swiveled, attempting to locate the human. And he felt the briefest flicker of hope.
Eldaeus—the persistent and maniacal Faraven—was undaunted by the power of the necromancer or the souls at his command. He dove past the drake, past the writhing wisps of necromancy. Then he was before Relstavum, slicing at the man’s massive arms and darting away like a coiled viper, ready to strike once more. Relstavum’s face had contorted in rage, the emotion greater even than his visible greed, and his mouth curled and cried out with dark and frantic words. Tendrils, still weakened from his previous spell, lashed out haphazardly for the Faraven.
Again Eldaeus danced across the necromancer’s vision, watching the flow of Relstavum’s balance as he struggled to command every spell.
The last of the haze from Relstavum’s blow was clearing from Jikun’s mind, and he heaved himself shakily to his feet. He could still feel the unnatural chill of the ice beneath his fingertips, weaker now than ever, but raw with desperation. Relstavum was distracted—he could ask for no more.
A black hand shot suddenly from the writhing smoke as Eldaeus darted in. The smoky fist curled about the flashing blades, seizing hold of the weapons and master long enough to strike. The tendrils exploded, slamming into Eldaeus’ chest.
Pain washed over the bright green eyes—an audible croak of air tore free of his lungs. His hands weakened from the swords and he flew backward from the blow, narrowly dodging the stone of a building nearby to shatter through its frost-painted window. The stalactites along the roof shook and fell free, cracking along the bank of snow.
Jikun found his voice. “Eldaeus!” he cried, but his mind recalled immediate attention to the opportunity.
Rallying his remaining strength, he felt the prickle of magic on his fingers grow into a tingling surge. Something inside him seemed to snap as the final bit of that strength rushed from him and poured into the earth, willed into a material force. A crackle resounded through the clearing as ice formed and pierced into the air…
Relstavum whirled back to Jikun in alarm, realizing too late that the Darivalian still remained. And then he froze, blinking in confusion as their eyes met.
He laughed, a single, mocking laugh. “Your soul isn’t even worth harvesting.”
Light erupted from the building where Eldaeus had sailed. Without hesitation, Relstavum pivoted from Jikun, tearing through the snow toward the Faraven beyond.
Why was he running?! Why hadn’t his magic pierced the human?!
He opened his mouth to shout and felt a gush of warmth spill down his chin. His knees buckled and he slid toward the snow, becoming abruptly aware of an excruciating pain sweeping through his chest. He looked down, pale eyes flying wide.
A spear of ice had erupted from the earth and ripped through his heart.
The sword in his hands slid from his fingertips as his head dropped to the side.
So Navon was right. ‘One soul pales beside thousands…’
If the gods had divined his survival—his place in their greater plan—he had chosen the wrong path to Saebellus’ end.
From the corner of his vision he saw Eldaeus rise from behind the glass, the symbols on his body glowing with terrifying brilliance even as the darkness of the necromantic cloud washed over him. As Relstavum stole yet another soul.
As Saebellus secured yet another victory.
The faint images of war flickered to Jikun’s mind. The burning tents. The soldiers flinging themselves before him. The screams of pain as they were cut down. Those who had died to protect their country, their families, their homes…
He was no different than Relstavum. All those lives he had stolen to save his own. He was no hero.
Jikun stared numbly ahead as he exhaled his last breath.
And after all his running, what had he died for…?
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The door burst open with a clang, smashing into the marble of the wall behind it. The density of the stone was all that prevented the tremor from quaking through the walls to reach the occupants inside. An admirable force—dangerously so—from the female that had flung it. A testament to her rage.
Ilsevel. Soft, sweet, and yet treacherously volatile.
The shadows on the wall leapt toward the intruder, their long talons reaching out as though to rip her down in their lust. “Now the rioters have attacked Lord Listaria’s home—it has gone too far! Too far!!” she cried. “How dare the rebellion make a display of my council. MY COUNCIL!”
Saebellus shifted his weight forward onto his hands, eyes rising from the male spread before him to meet those of his wife. They were as wild as her hair, as though she had just been out in the windy streets, possibly to ferry the terrified lord to safety within the palace walls. Still, as much as her beauty captivated him, Saebellus had work to finish and, once again, Ilsevel was more than ready to waste his time with the trivialities of politics.
The shadows flickered and faded once more into the darkness, keen to skirt his gaze. The darkness was still… and yet, he could feel that chill from their proximity, ever a reminder of the curse.
But it was Vale who responded to the intrusion first, his hatred for the queen an irresistible prompt toward a venomous attack. “HAH!” his captain roared. “You think that is bad?! We have a dozen rebelling cities within a few leagues of us, smashing shit every time one of our soldiers so much as looks at them! Take your complaints to your mewling City Watch. Have them deal with it… and with you.” He poked the face of the male before him, causing the bound figure to moan pitifully.
Saebellus shot Vale a sharp, warning glare, his black eyes growing as hard and cold as the marble walls that surrounded them. His captain was free to speak at will outside her presence, but he had warned the male about riling his queen.
Vale took immediate notice of the darkest corners of the room and his jaw snapped closed.
Saebellus straightened slowly, drawing himself up to a calm and collected stance, masking the emotions roiling below the surface: his temper buffeted his gut and ribs like a living thing trapped within
the cage of his breast. How many cities would rise up against him due to the meddling of the anarchists in his capital’s square?! His fist tightened, pressing into the pool of blood at the splayed male’s feet. “Do you understand why this has happened? Your rage is not going to end this uprising, Ilsevel. The Sel’vi of our nation demand that the corrupted council members be removed. The other races believe Cahsari and the council’s crimes are a ploy by the monarchy… by you… by us—to remove their racial representation—their voices. Their belief is only extenuated by the fact that the two, and only, Sel’vi of the council were noticeably absent from the list of crimes. And this includes Listaria.” He revealed only the slightest tightening of his lips as an outward gesture of his displeasure. “As long as Hadoream is free to stir dissention, these resistors of our reign will always believe they have another choice!”
But his calm exterior only launched Ilsevel into a greater fit of rage. She thundered across the marble with her tightly bound feet, her lips curled into a snarl of pure hatred. “I don’t care what they want, Saebellus! They can’t act as they please against my reign! Make an example of them!” She stopped when she reached the table and raised her hand, prepared to pound it violently against the bound male’s chest, heedless of the gaping hole in its center. “I do not care that we cannot find Hadoream! WE are the monarchy, Saebellus!!!”
Saebellus’ hand grasped her wrist in an instant. The chandelier above them began to rock, as though a breeze had penetrated the windowless room. And his fingers… his fingers applied just enough pressure to cause her to still—for the color to drain from her face in a moment of considerable fear. “You cannot kill whomever angers you, Ilsevel,” he whispered. “Hadoream’s power is balanced on the people’s fear—do they fear more what we shall do to them if they join the True Bloods, or do they fear what we shall do to them without the True Bloods? If you strike the rioters now—while no other entity exists to blame for their discontent—the whole country shall turn on us. We have no choice but to pacify them as best as we can manage until we have found the source of this rebellion—then we shall crush it and end their opposition. We find ourselves nearing the cliff… Whoever planned this has executed it quite effectively. Jikun may be dead. Relstavum may eliminate Silandrus and his Realm. But if we do not locate Hadoream soon, we will indeed lose everything to this spirit of resistance.”
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 53
