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Chapter Twenty

Rae lunged for the nearest weapon—which just happened to be a wide-bore pistol in the possession of a young guard standing at attention, just beyond the door to Rae’s room. The boy was facing the high mage, his arm held in quivering salute. Rae shouldered past Estev and wrapped his fingers around the pistol’s smooth stock, jerking the weapon free of its holster. Estev grabbed at Rae’s wrist. Rae twisted out of the man’s grip and backed away, kicking the door shut as he backpedaled. The guard’s strangled cry drew the attention of the rest of the room. The door banged open, Clev’s puckered face snarling when he saw the pistol in Rae’s hands.

“Thought you’d be clever, lad?” the guard barked. He pulled his own pistol from the brace across his chest and pointed it at Rae, thumbing the hammer to full-cock. “Look what clever’s going to get you!”

“What the hell are you doing, boy? You’ll get us both killed,” Estev snapped. He turned to the guards, holding his arms as wide as the shackles would allow, effectively blocking the door while also giving the impression of surrender. “Gentlefolk, surely we can talk through this simple misunderstanding. The boy means no harm.”

“He has a pistol!” Temet shouted, his voice cracking. The young officer stepped in front of the high mage. “My lord, get back. We’ll deal with the bastard!”

The high mage ignored him. He brushed through the tightly packed guards, his eyes locked firmly on Rae.

“You have failed, child. Failed utterly,” he said as he drew closer. “Your interference has cost you your life, and the lives of those you love. Return the blade to our care, and you will be given a peaceful death.”

Estev drew himself up. He stared at the approaching high mage.

“Whatever this boy’s crime, I hardly think it justifies—”

“Silence!” The high mage swept his arm forward, sending a wave of force through the air. It swept aside the few guards still between him and the door. One man hit the wall awkwardly, cracked, and slid to the floor, eyes staring at nothing. Clev went to one knee, then turned to stare at his fallen brother. He shot Temet a hard look.

“I think we’re going to need to see your orders, sir,” Temet said, with a surprising amount of authority. Clev stood and put himself in the mouth of the door, the pistol suddenly pointed at the placid brass face of the isolation suit. The high mage turned to look at them. He cocked his head like a curious insect.

“My orders. Yes. You shall.” He placed a suited glove against Temet’s chest and twisted.

“No!” Rae shouted, lunging forward, the pistol in his hand forgotten. “Don’t! Don’t let him touch you!”

It was too late. The boy’s chest was already turning black, his armor splintering as inky darkness filled it. Temet’s eyes went wide. His chest caved in like a pillar of salt against the tide. Ribs appeared through the crumbling flesh, and then the shriveled pit of his heart. Temet fell backward, mouth twisted in a silent scream.

Rae sighted his pistol and fired. Yellow flame and smoke erupted from the barrel, the bang deafening. Rae’s fist collapsed under the recoil, and the pistol tumbled to the floor. The shot punched a hole in the wall over the mage’s head.

The room fell into madness. Soldiers scrambled for weapons, another flintlock went off, another soldier screamed as the high mage turned against him. Clev stood still, staring down at Temet’s rapidly disintegrating body, hands held out as if to catch the boy’s drifting ashes. A third weapon discharged, shaking Clev out of his stupor.

“Full alert!” he shouted, loudly enough that his voice would surely carry outside the shed. “Breach alarm! Sound the—”

Clev fell silent. His mouth yawned open, and a bubble of swirling flames burst from his lips. He stared at the burning tendril in horror as his lips burned away, leaving only teeth and ash. His screams joined with the roaring elemental flame. He fell to the floor.

Estev slammed the door to the supply closet shut and whirled on Rae.

“What have you done to draw the attention of a high mage?” he demanded. Rae stood staring at the closed door, his mind numb. The sounds of fighting and dying and horror filled his head. Estev stepped forward and slapped Rae full across the face. “No more stories about your father! Who are you?”

“Nobody, I swear it,” Rae said. His whole face stung.

“Nobodies do not draw the attention of murderous high mages,” Estev growled. “Who was your father? What did he do to you?”

“Tren Kelthannis. He was . . .” Rae blinked, trying to get his head around rapidly developing events. “He was court mage to Baron Hadroy, but he—”

“Order and Ash!” Estev shouted. He bent down clumsily and picked up the pistol, turned it around to wield it like a club. “I need to get these damned shackles off. The justicars will be here soon, but by the sounds of that . . .” Another crash outside, and then silence. Estev flinched. “We don’t have the time to wait for them.”

Despite the earthbound chains on his wrists, Rae swore he could feel his storm mote. Tentatively, he reached for the spirit. Power thrilled through Rae’s blood, sending his heart pumping. He looked at Estev’s shackles. For some reason, Rae could see the wraithlock on the man’s bindings. It looked like a ghostly wheel, fog wisping off the gray metal of its spokes. Rae reached up and spun it. His fingers burned as he touched the ghostly metal, but the wheel turned. The shackles snapped open.

Estev’s eyes nearly came out of his head. The rune-etched chains slipped free of his hands. Rae could feel the man’s power swell in the room, like a torch sparking to flame. Estev looked at him with shock.

“Well, you’re certainly turning out to be the kind of dangerous friend I feared you might be,” Estev said. “Good thing we met. Good for all of us.”

“How did I . . . ? I don’t understand,” Rae said.

“We’ll have to have a conversation about this later. For now—”

A final crash came from the outer room. Two footsteps, then the door to the room started to creak open. Estev gestured toward it, grasping swirling light in his hand and drawing it up from the ground. The dead, brown wood of the door turned white, then green. Bark shuffled across the suddenly living wood, swallowing the planks and melting into the floor. The door sprouted new growth. Roots burst from the base of the door, digging through the floor, creaking as they swelled. Branches shot out of the frame, twining around the wall and bursting through the ceiling. Leaves, glossy and green, blossomed like fireworks across the door.

On the other side of the door, the gentlest curse. Blackened veins of rot started working through the new canopy. Leaves wilted, and green bark curled away from fresh wood. The wood turned soft and gray.

“That won’t hold him for long, whatever the hell he is,” Estev said. He grabbed Rae and spun him around, pointing to the opposite wall. “A shadow gate, if you please. Or did your father not get that far?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rae said.

“Really? Interesting. You’re something of an enigma, young friend. Very well.” Estev’s form rippled and changed. His placid face developed fae-like features, from wide, glossy deer eyes to a pair of velveteen antlers sprouting from his forehead. He gestured to the back wall, and Rae noticed that his fingers were melting together, forming three stubby digits instead of five, and his nails were dark and glittering. “Then let me handle it.”

The newly formed tree behind them cracked open with a thunderous sound. Rotten splinters of gray wood tumbled into the tiny room, shattering as they hit the ground.

Estev seized something midair, something that wasn’t there at all, and yanked. The lifebinder grew. Stubby antlers became a fine rack of bright bone, etched with runes of the realm of Life. His shoulders swelled with muscle. Estev’s legs twisted, the knees reversing, his boots dissolving into hooves. He still wore the same fine clothes, but they draped over a demi-human, more buck than man, more spirit than mortal. He huffed, and the air filled with the sharp musk of his breath.

Rae took a step back. Estev was twice as tall as Rae, the curling rack of his antlers scraping loudly against the ceiling. The transformed mage braced himself, then charged at the back wall of the building, striking it with the iron hard horns of his rack. The thick wood, designed to hold up against stonestorms and the incursions of Chaos, splintered, but did not give. He retreated, gathered himself, and then thundered forward again. The wall came down, taking a good portion of the roof with it. Shingles rained down, shattering across Estev’s massive shoulders. Rae covered his face, his eyes stinging in the rising cloud of dust. When he looked up, the creature that was Estev stood to its full height, looking around the camp.

If the inside of the building had been madness, outside was a warzone. Troops streamed toward the supply shed. Civilians, either refugees recently rescued from the wastelands or criminals picked up at the same time, gawked at Estev’s massive form, and the destruction he left in his wake. The grounds of the camp were thick with the remnants of the stonestorm, a thick covering of grit and gravel that crunched underfoot. Estev looked back at Rae.

“Find your sister. Run. I will draw them away and return to you later,” he said. His voice was thick, as though he were drunk or mad.

“How will you find us?” Rae asked.

“You smell like death,” Estev said, then turned and bounded off. He jumped to the top of a nearby building, leapt to the base of the windship spire, then howled at the sky. Every head and weapon turned toward him. Then he vaulted to the ground and disappeared in the direction of the orderwall, and the wastelands beyond.

Rae cast around the chaotic scene, looking for his sister, or some clue as to what was going on.

Behind him, the door to their little room cracked open a little wider. The high mage’s brass-gloved hand pushed through. That was all the motivation Rae needed. He turned and ran across the open field of the encampment.

A siren started overhead. Sergeants barked orders at startled underlings. Civilians screamed. Chaos rippled through the ordered ranks of the guards. Caeris emerged from a nearby building, the saltire wings of her angel just barely visible as she skated across the ground. She was directing a squad of justicar-initiates to the chase.

Behind her, Lalette and Mahk appeared from the same building. They were still chained together, along with half a dozen other prisoners. A pair of guards was rushing them across the courtyard toward a larger building with bars on its windows. A third guard hustled after, carrying the trunk from the windship on his back.

The sword, Rae thought. I have to save it!

He ran toward his sister, waving his arms. La saw him and jerked to a stop. The guards tried pulling her forward, but once Mahk added his weight, the whole procession came to a halt.

“Rae! What the hell did you do?” La shouted over the din.

“The high mage! The high mage is here!” he answered. La’s creased her brow, trying to make sense of his words. That was when Caeris noticed them.

“You! What are you doing unattended?” the justicar yelled. “Arrest that ’binder!”

Several of the guards streaming past slowed, turning to look at Rae. One of them tried to grab him, but he twisted free and kept running toward his sister.

“La! The high mage!” he shouted again. “Run!”

The supply shed exploded behind him. A column of flames pierced the roof, carrying the high mage at its pinnacle. He dropped to the ground, and a burning squall line of roiling cinders washed away from the impact point, knocking down soldiers and civilians alike. It traveled twenty feet before dissipating. Caeris turned her attention in that direction, just as the high mage stepped clear of the wreckage and raised his hands into the air. The ground underfoot dissolved into swirling ash and shadows. A halo of sizzling darkness wreathed his hands. He drew a black, crooked sword into the world. Everything bent toward it, like a lodestone, the air itself shifting and groaning under the pressure of that sword’s unnatural shape.

“To Fulcrum! To Order!” Caeris screamed. She drew her blade out of her soul, the song of its glittering rings becoming dissonant as they traveled across the courtyard. The single sword became two in her hands, then her two arms became four, each wielding an identical blade of burning light. She flew across the courtyard. “Chaos in our midst! Fulcrum stands!”

The high mage raised a hand and gestured toward the sailing form of the justicar. From halfway across the yard, he seized her, fingers squeezing down. She stopped midair. The high mage drew his arm back, then smashed it toward the ground at his feet. Caeris crashed to the ground like a felled eagle, golden feathers flying. The shock wave rolled through the earth, knocking many to their knees. Not Rae. Rae kept running, his eyes on Lalette.

His sister finally understood. She spoke to Mahk, then pulled the chain around her wrists tight, jerking the lead guard off his feet. The man was staring at the fight in the center of the courtyard and never saw La coming. She clubbed him in the back of the head, then started going through his pockets. The other guard rushed her, but Mahk was there. One fist to the gut and the guard crumpled. The last guard, still struggling under the weight of his burden, took a tentative step away. Rae barreled into him at full tilt.

The trunk went flying. It broke open as it struck the ground, spilling its contents across the hard-packed ground. Rae shoved the guard away and scrambled to the broken crate, rifling through the fallen goods. Knives, weapons, money pouches, a complicated letter box . . . but not the sword. It was too large to be lost in the detritus, but Rae upended the container and rummaged through it. It wasn’t here. Where the hell had it . . . 

Rae’s spirit thrummed. He could feel the cold ice of the sword, almost as if it were in his hand, though he couldn’t see it. He looked around. There. The guard who had been carrying the chest had it strapped to the inside of his coat. Rae reached toward it, but when he opened his mouth, a different voice spoke through him.

—do not take it from me, the voice said. Rae lurched forward, as though drawn down a hill by his own staggering weight. His hand moved toward the sword. The guard scrambled back, crab-walking away from Rae. The man’s face was twisted in horror. The voice came again. i must have it. i must.

Rae felt his soul ripple. A strand of force traveled down his arm and carried his hand into the air. He saw a shadow, his own shadow, leave his body and reach into the guard’s chest. The man started screaming. Rae was screaming, too, but nothing came out of his mouth. No sound. Just the dry rasp of the voice, and blinding pain in his eye.

The guard’s soul fell out of his body. His spirit stared up at his own body, his lips screaming, his arms twitching. The spirit stared at Rae in horror as it slowly dissolved. The guard slumped to the ground, smoke wisping from charred eyes and blackened teeth.

“No!” Rae shouted. “I’m not a murderer! I’m not—”

—you must help me. i am falling into the darkness, the voice answered. you can help me. retrieve the sword. they must not find it.

Crying, Rae fumbled the sword out of the guard’s coat. The hilt was as cold as frostbite, and the cracked mosaic that ran the length of the blade pulsed malevolently. A short stack of gold coins tumbled out of the guard’s coat as well, and a handful of precious gems, all probably stolen from the chest. thief, the voice echoed through Rae’s skull. the death he deserved.

“Rae, get moving!” La shouted. Still crying, Rae turned around. She and Mahk stood over the unconscious guards, having freed themselves from their chains. The rest of the prisoners scrambled for the key Lalette had discarded. Around them, the courtyard was falling into chaos.

Rae shook himself, flipped the torn remnants of the guard’s coat over the glowing blade, and joined his sister. What is happening to me? His head was still buzzing with the dry crackle of the mysterious voice. What am I becoming?

The fight at the center of the courtyard was turning apocalyptic. It wasn’t an even match. Caeris, the justicar with the four-fold angel, was losing ground with each strike. The high mage wielded greater power, and used it casually, battering the justicar away. He held the crooked black length of his sword to one side, not even bringing it into the fight. With his other hand, the mage struck with lashes of Chaos and sudden spikes of fire, knocking the justicar off her feet. Who was this, that he would kill guards of the Iron College and fight a justicar? Fiendbinder. The title came to Rae’s head unbidden. The horror of that thought flooded his system.

“The light never dies!” Caeris howled. She was torn up, bleeding from a dozen wounds and burning her angel bright. The spirit of Order was barely tethered to the justicar’s soul anymore. It jerked free of her form, dragging Caeris around like a burden as it threw itself into the fight. It seemed as though the angel wanted the high mage dead more than it wanted to keep the justicar alive.

While the justicar fought with four swords of burning light, the high mage did battle with nothing more than sharp gestures and disdain. Pillars of swirling flame erupted from the ground at his will. Caeris was hopelessly outmatched. And yet she fought on. The justicar-initiates and other guards cowered at the courtyard’s edge.

“Come, child,” the high mage purred. “You have struggled long enough. Give up the fight. Give up your precious Order. Everything falls apart, in the end.”

“Never! Fulcrum stands! Order holds! I will—”

The high mage gestured with his spiritblade, a single downward chop that cut a gap in the sky. A spinning wheel of black-flecked fire spun out of the blade. It rolled at the justicar, roaring like a thousand forges, the air around it distorted with heat, burning up the ground as it crossed the courtyard. Caeris dropped to the earth like a thunderbolt, grounding the first of her four swords with a flash of light, then the second, and third, and final, all in quick succession. The blades merged back into a single weapon of shining light that flared into a column of divine radiance. Spinning firestorm and heavenly spear collided. The sound washed across the camp, silencing everything, destroying thought.

When the tumult cleared, Rae blinked his eyes and stared at the justicar. Caeris stood wavering in the center of the courtyard. Her mouth worked silently, gasping for breath. Blood formed along her lips, spilled down her chin. She dropped her blade. It lay sizzling on the dry ground, burning the dust. The high mage (Fiendbinder! Rae’s mind shouted) lifted his cupped hands to the sky. Caeris rose, dragged higher by her skull. Her feet left the ground, kicking helplessly at open air, her hands struggling to find the grip on her head. Her eyes were wide open in shock or pain or delirium. Tears of pitch streamed down her face.

She was dying.

“We have to help her,” Rae said.

“Like hell,” La answered. “We’re leaving.”

“A solid idea, but first . . .” Estev said, suddenly behind them. The lifebinder was kneeling beside the scattered contents of the trunk. His fae-form was gone. His clothes were tattered, and his once neat hair bristled with leaves and sticks, but otherwise he looked perfectly normal. Estev removed a narrow box from the trunk and set it on his lap. “Ah, here it is.”

“What are you doing?” Rae shouted. “Do something! She’s going to—”

“Yes, yes, I know. So anxious, the young. She wanted to put you in jail, you know. Don’t ask me why I’m bothering to do this.” He opened the box and withdrew a long, narrow dueling pistol. It was the most ornate firearm Rae had ever seen. Estev loaded it with a ball, primed the pan, then closed the box and stood up. A very practiced motion, as though he had done this a thousand times. “Close your heart, stormbinder. Or whatever the hell you are.”

The sound of the shot was deafening. Rae’s soul flinched away, the voice screaming in his head. The muzzle flash sparkled like a comet trail in the sky, every color and none. And then there was silence.

The high mage looked down at the hole in his isolation suit. Caeris dropped to the ground like a puppet cut from her strings. The justicar-initiates scrambled forward, lifting her ruined body and rushing for cover. The high mage ignored them. It put a finger to the hole, then looked up at Estev. Even through the suit’s mask, recognition crossed the mage’s face.

“There,” Estev said. “Unbinding shot. Damned thing cost me a year’s wages, but that should put an end to—”

A howling sound whistled out of the punctured suit. It sounded like a tornado at first, and then grew. The suit fractured, spiderweb lines of failure traveling across the gilded surface, like cracks in a frozen pond. Estev creased his brow, lowering the weapon. The high mage threw his head back, though whether it was in pain or ecstasy, Rae couldn’t tell. The suit fractured into a million pieces.

Darkness stepped through.

Rae had a brief view of a human body, fragmented, hanging like a jigsaw puzzle in midair, limned by the swirling darkness. The man’s terrified face stared at Estev, mouth open, flesh crisscrossed with harsh scars.

Rae knew that face. He had seen it. Where—

The high mage’s body was quickly eclipsed by the shadows. A demon rose from the shell of the isolation suit. Its barbed flesh, like a wicker man of black thorns and burning cinder, ascended. Slick wings stretched from cramped shoulders, flapping strongly through the air, blowing a hell-wind across the crowded courtyard. The demon’s face was like a battering ram, bristling with scars and shining thorns. It flexed its arms and let loose a primal howl.

“Ah, well. I see,” Estev said calmly. He returned the pistol to its box, then tucked the box into his coat. He turned to Rae. “I believe a hasty retreat is in order.”


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