“Xenon! Listen to me! Lower your weapon—you can’t…”
The Wolfsman Lor grabbed for Ticastasy’s arm, but Thealos was quicker, the Oath magic sensing the intent an instant before. Slipping between them, he was jerked forward as Xenon snatched him instead. He pried Xenon’s fingers from his shirt as a howl of battle cries split the quiet of the air.
Two Wolfsmen rushed the Sorian.
A throb of foulness thickened and both men went down, as if clubbed in the head by an unseen staff. Mage advanced, holding the burning sphere in front of him, spreading its cloak of horrible blackness across the park, replacing the crisp smell of grass with an overwhelming stench.
“I didn’t, Quickfellow. I swear I didn’t!” Stasy grabbed his shirt from behind, and he turned to look at her. Her brown eyes swam with fear and panic.
“Run you fools!” Xenon shouted. He raised his leaf-blade and twirled in the air, scything the blade like a whirlwind, aiming for the Sorian’s neck.
Xenon’s body hit something solid mid-air and he rolled off it, landing crookedly. He tried to lift himself up as the Sorian approached and the orb flared. His body skidded across the grass and slammed into the rim of the well. The last of the quaere struck from behind, his blade sparking as it struck some unseen barrier. Mage cocked his head and the Wolfsman hurtled into the air like a child’s kite, higher and higher, before arcing and slamming onto the ground.
A shock and boom erupted in the skies, followed by popping thunder. The smell of dead things permeated the air and Mage straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared distantly.
“I swear, Quickfellow,” Stasy whispered, clutching his arm, tears in her eyes. “I swear it! I didn’t betray you.”
Mage turned to them both.
Something heavy and black struck Thealos like a pallet and he went down in a heap. It smothered him like a wall of churning waves, pressing him into the grass as if it would crush him into the tunnels below. His ears rang, his vision blackened, but he could still sense. The Oath magic kept part of him awake, though he realized he should not be.
He sensed the presence of soldiers enter the park from the manor house. The Deathbane they carried invaded his senses, shrieking at him to flee. His arms and legs were too weighed down to move, his lungs screamed for air.
“Collect their weapons and take them below to the dungeons. Except the girl. Bring her to Tsyrke right away. There are more intruders in the city tonight. Warn him.”
*
Exeres paced in the small room and the walls seemed to press in on him. Something was happening beyond. He felt the warding over the city unravel like torn threads. A compulsion throbbed beneath his skin. He had to make it outside. Something was coming.
She was coming.
Anticipation sizzled in his skin and he hated the feelings it brought with it. Curiosity—shame—loathing—desire. Miestri was coming into Landmoor to face her age-old fellow traveler. The world rocked on its hinges. He could feel it brooding in the air like a tempest. A clash of wills. When it was over, there would be one less Sorian.
He bit his lip, wishing they would kill each other. It shocked him how, with disdain, Mage had sentenced Sol-don-Orai to its ashes. How he referenced the Druid god Achrolese with contempt. The spur of a memory pricked at him of the night in Castun when he thought he would die. Standing before the Bandit army, he had prayed to Achrolese. Mage had answered, as if he were the Druid long dead.
Was Achrolese a Sorian too? Were all the Druid gods? Were they Sorian who had fallen or who had given up their positions, refusing to leach the Life magic out of others? Refusing to play the sons and daughters of the world as pawns?
No, he did not believe that the great Achrolese was like Mage and Miestri. They may have shared the same powers at first, but there were bounds set—proprieties to be upheld. The deep traditions had been passed down the Druid priesthood for millennia. That was the order Exeres followed. Not these twisted aberrations reborn through countless generations of blood.
Yet part of him, a small insignificant part of him, a little speck of him, felt sorry for the old man. Landmoor was not a great palace. The valley of Dos-Aralon carried no significance in the world. It would be the graveyard of another doomed effort, yet hopefully it would not end as catastrophically as Sol-don-Orai. Hopefully.
Exeres turned as the door opened and Mage entered. “The warding is breached. I felt it rip.”
Mage eyed him, his whole body seemed weighed with stones. “She’s sending the little Shae against me.” He chuckled and winced. “She’s trying to pin me down here. To weaken me before she comes herself.”