Ward Against Disaster (Entangled Teen) (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer)

by Melanie Card

  She eased him back to the floor and brushed a hand over his cheek, smearing blood across it. The necromancer’s source of power. Ward hadn’t thought he was a very powerful necromancer—which she knew now with certainty wasn’t true—but with all the blood spilled during the battle and Diestro’s curse, there was enough for even the weakest necromancer to cast something.

  Ward’s words from that morning raced through her. He’d been drawing an octagon and goddess-eyes on the executioner’s platform, determined to do whatever it took to banish an angry rith—a rith that had turned out to be Diestro’s curse. He’d said, Anyone can cast magic with enough blood.

  Blood filled the small bathing pool beside her. It slicked the floor, wept from corpses, and gathered in the bottoms of the other pools.

  Anyone could cast anything. And there was nothing more powerful—or more dangerous—than human blood.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  She could fix this.

  Or fix it enough for Ward to make it right once his soul had returned to his body.

  She grabbed the back of Ward’s shirt and dragged him to the shallow pool of blood. She would have preferred a more delicate means of moving him, but with only being able to use one hand, dragging was the best she could manage.

  Back on the executioner’s platform, when Ward had wanted more power he’d taken an anchor, a sun-moon pendant, and submerged it in blood. He’d said immersing the anchor and using his own blood to lock in the power of the other blood ensured greater strength and control over the magic.

  She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat but couldn’t. She had to focus. Beyond everything else, that was what really mattered—the will and intent of the spell caster. Even she knew enough about magic for that.

  She had to want it. And she did, with all of her being.

  If she could just get him back, everything would be all right.

  She pricked her finger, squeezing out three drops into the pool. Whatever magic her blood contained would control the magic in the pool.

  It had to.

  Lightning snapped across her skin, just like it did when Ward cast something. No, not quite like Ward. This felt different. It felt closer, more intimate, as if it were a part of her. It burned into her, capturing her breath and soul.

  With a sudden rush, power surged through her. Goddess, with this she could do anything, make anyone do anything. This was what necromancers feared. It was intoxicating, whispering promises. She could have whatever she wanted. It was there, ready for her to take.

  But all she wanted was Ward.

  The magic whirled around her, crackling, flashing, blinding.

  Anything she wanted.

  “I just want Ward.” Tears burned her eyes. She grabbed Ward under his armpits—grinding her teeth against the agony in her wrist—and hauled him into the pool.

  Blood lapped up his chest, hit his wound where Remy had stabbed him in the chest, and another rush of magic raced over her.

  Goddess, it was glorious. It pounded through her, leaving her gasping and trembling. More, she wanted more.

  No. Concentrate. Focus on what is needed. Ward. She wanted Ward back.

  The power leapt over her hands still holding him partially submerged in the blood.

  She needed Ward’s soul back in his body, and she needed him to stay.

  Magic surged through her, growing into a vortex threatening to consume her.

  Hold on. She could do this. She had to do this.

  She grabbed at the power, focusing it, forcing it into Ward’s body. More magic raced around her. It swept in from everywhere. The mountain pressed around her, heaving with power woven into the witch-stone lining Dulthyne’s passages and chambers. Power scurried in the veins of spiders and rats, and walked the streets of the city above in the people. All those people, all that magic waiting to be claimed.

  No.

  She gritted her teeth.

  Bring. Ward. Back.

  What she was doing defied the Goddess’s sacred laws. Even if Ward hadn’t talked about it, she knew this was wrong—even to her, who used to kill people for a living. But she had to bring him back and she couldn’t risk anyone stopping her.

  She concentrated, prayed, and begged. Now. Now. He has to come back now.

  The magic roared, and she couldn’t catch her breath.

  She could sense that half a dozen people were approaching along the main passage to the large arch on the other side of the room. Powerful people. She could feel the magic crackling from them. They were strong enough to stop her. The people drew closer. Fast. They were running, racing toward her.

  She couldn’t fail. Not at this. Please. Ward. Come back. Come back to me.

  The people ran through the doorway, led by Nazarius. The magic from the blood exploded, with a final, burning glorious blast.

  Then quiet.

  She felt like her ears were stuffed with wool. Her whole body felt heavy and drained. It seared from the inside out as if she’d torn something from herself and burned it up.

  Someone gasped. She tried to focus on the sound, figure out which of the men in the doorway had breathed, but none of the men had their mouths open and they stood too far away for her to have heard a gasp.

  Nazarius raced up the stairs between the fourth and fifth tier toward her.

  She jerked her attention down. Ward stared up at her, his dark eyes dazed, his expression stunned.

  Oh, Goddess. Thank you, Goddess.

  His eyes widened, and he grabbed at his shirt, ripping it open. The edges of the gaping wound in his chest started sealing shut, leaving an angry red slash. He pressed his palms to it, trembling in her grip. “What have you done?”

  “You’re back.” Now they could be together. Now they could—

  He wrenched away from her. “What have you done?”

  “I—” This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. “Ward.”

  Nazarius dashed up the stairs toward them. “Celia?”

  This was all wrong. Ward was supposed to be happy to be back with her. He was supposed to be grateful.

  “What’s going on?” Nazarius asked.

  Ward clambered from the pool to his hands and knees, panting and shaking and dripping dark, viscous blood. “She— Goddess, Celia.”

  “I had to do something.” She hugged her broken wrist to her chest. Her insides twisted and ached. She wasn’t supposed to still feel empty.

  “But not this,” one of the other men said. He stood on the next tier down. He was tall and thin. Even though wrinkles lined his face, his features were sculpted like nobility, like Ward’s.

  “Grandfather?” Ward gasped.

  Celia dragged her gaze back to Ward. “That’s your grandfather?”

  “That’s one of the most powerful Necromancer Elders in the Union?” Nazarius asked.

  “That thing is not my grandson.” Ward’s grandfather jerked up his hand, and a blast of magic roared toward them, shimmering like a heat wave on a summer afternoon.

  Ward yanked himself in front of Celia but the magic pounded over them, tearing at her soul, wrenching it from her body. Ice swept in and blackness billowed at the edge of her senses. She was going to pass out. She ground her teeth, fighting it. She couldn’t lose consciousness. Ward was in danger—that much was clear. She had to protect him, convince him what she’d done was right, and she could only do that when they were safe.

  She grabbed for Ward, to drag him…where? She had no idea. But he yanked around with a yell. His magic erupted across her senses, setting her skin on fire and blazing across her vision. His grandfather’s magic parted, blasting on either side of her. Her soul jerked into place, and the wave hurtled back at Ward’s grandfather and the other men. It slammed into them and they dropped, unconscious.

  Ward sagged to his knees, gasping and clutching the now pale slash on his chest.

  “What in the Goddess’s name is going on?” Nazarius asked.

  Something clicked behind her.
A door, hidden in the wall, opened, and a man, nondescript in every way, stood in the entrance.

  Nazarius straightened and his hands dropped to the hilts of his weapons at his hips. “Seer.”

  “Ward’s reverse wake won’t keep them unconscious for long. You have to go. Now.” The man stepped aside, motioning for them to enter. “Grab Ward and let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with anyone,” Celia said. Not when she didn’t have any idea who he was or what was going on.

  “Ward’s an abomination now. Those necromancers have sworn an oath to destroy the likes of him.” The man narrowed his eyes, and they filled with a cold intensity. “You risked your soul to bring him back. In the very least, get him to safety.”

  Ward’s grandfather moaned and started to move.

  Goddess, be damned. There were too many of them for her to fight, and she wasn’t much of a match for anyone with her broken wrist. “Fine. But betray me, and I’ll kill you.”

  The man chuckled. “You can try.” She swore she’d heard that laugh before.

  Ward’s grandfather groaned again.

  Nazarius grabbed Ward and hauled him to his feet. Celia grabbed a dagger lying at her feet, and they raced into the hidden passage. Someone yelled behind her, and the crackle of magic snapped across her skin. Another wave of power swept toward them. The man yanked the door closed, and the magic exploded against it. The door rattled in its frame, and light even shot around its edges.

  “That door isn’t going to hold them,” Nazarius said.

  The man cocked his head to the side and offered a wicked smile as if he was having far too much fun for the situation. “Then I suggest we run.”

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  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Liz Pelletier and the team at Entangled Publishing for their continued belief in Ward and Celia, as well as a big thank you to my parents for their encouragement.

  To J. Gunnar Grey, I cannot express how grateful I am for your friendship and support.

  And last, but not least, to my husband for always encouraging me to follow my dreams. Thank you.

  About the Author

  Melanie has always been drawn to storytelling and can’t remember a time when she wasn’t creating a story in her head. Her early stories were adventures with fairies and dragons and sword swinging princesses. Today she continues to spin tales of magic in lands near and far, while her cat sits on the edge of her desk and supervises. When she’s not writing, you can find her pretending to be other people with her local community theatre groups.

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  Other books by Melanie Card…

  Ward Against Death

  Ward Against Darkness

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