“I will never see my little boy again,” she finished. “But I am proud of the man he became.”
Emily had to wipe away her tears as Sienna stepped back. The priest turned to face the coffin, chanting in a language she didn’t recognize. General Pollack waited until the priest finished, then drew his sword again and placed it on the coffin. A moment later, he bowed and strode out of the temple. Caleb and Croce followed him, bowing to the coffin before heading for the rear door. The remainder of the men followed them. Sienna waited until the last of the men had bowed before leading the women past the coffin and out into the rear garden.
I’m sorry, Emily thought, as she looked at the coffin. The empty coffin. I wish I could have brought your body home.
Frieda slipped her hand into Emily’s as they walked out into the garden. It was strange; a handful of plants had grown up around dozens of statues. A handful of men in silver uniforms milled around, carrying trays of drinks. Emily took one, and sniffed it carefully. She was no expert, but she thought there was enough alcohol in the earthen bowl to make a strong man drunk. Hopefully, no one would notice – or care – if she didn’t drink.
The wake was a strange affair. Some of the mourners were clearly grieving, others were drinking beer as though there were no tomorrow, laughing and dancing as the sun started to fall towards the horizon. She was torn between revulsion and a kind of rueful understanding that the celebration did make sense. Casper might be dead, but he’d died well. And he’d gone on to Valhalla.
Or something along the same lines, she thought. Fighting and feasting for all eternity.
She watched Caleb as yet another stranger walked up to him to express his condolences – and, perhaps, to open up discussions. Caleb was the heir now, even if he hadn’t been formally confirmed. Emily couldn’t help thinking that her boyfriend looked stressed, perhaps even on the verge of collapse. His hands shook as they held a glass. She had no idea how much he’d drunk, but it could easily be far too much. Some of the younger men were having a drinking contest…
And then she sensed the presence of…something.
She looked up as the crowd scattered, the magically-sensitive reaching for spells or ducking for cover. A man stood on top of the nearest building, a tower that was easily one of the tallest buildings on Temple Row. He was right on the edge, staring down at the crowd. And there was…something…billowing around him, a haze that touched her senses and scrambled them. Something was very wrong…
“Vesperian,” someone breathed.
And then the man jumped.
Chapter Fifteen
SOMEONE SCREAMED.
Emily barely heard it as she tried, desperately, to muster a levitation spell. It should be simplicity itself to catch Vesperian before he hit the ground and smashed himself into a pancake. She wasn’t the only sorcerer trying, either; magic boiled around the crowd, reaching towards the falling man…
…And breaking up, fading into nothingness.
She blinked in astonishment. It felt almost as though someone had wrapped a basic protective ward around Vesperian. But it was wrong ... She tried again, tightening her spell. There were so many spells trying to catch Vesperian that one of them, at least, should have worked. No protective ward should have been able to break up so many spells.
And yet, Vesperian kept falling. He hit the ground with a terrible thud.
“Justice,” someone breathed.
Emily looked up. But the rooftop was empty.
She heard the sounds of panic behind her and turned, yanking Frieda towards Caleb and his family as the crowd started to go wild. The priest shouted for order, but his words fell on deaf ears. Emily heard someone screaming that Vesperian owed him money, before the words were lost behind an incoherent sound. Outside, she heard chanting. The Hands of Justice were on the way.
Sienna cast an amplification spell. “REMAIN CALM,” she ordered. Her words had little effect. Several of the younger men were already fighting each other, although Emily had no idea why. Others tried to climb over the walls or flee back into the temple, as if they thought it would be safe. “REMAIN CALM!”
General Pollack shot Emily a relieved look as she reached them. “This isn’t good,” he said, stiffly. “We have to get back home.”
Emily nodded. A team of city guardsmen had already arrived, pushing their way into the garden, but they looked edgy. There were sorcerers in the panicking crowd, sorcerers who might blast the guardsmen at any moment. Their commander hurried his men to the body of Vesperian and surrounded it, although Emily didn’t have the slightest idea what he thought he was doing. Somehow, keeping the crime scene free of containments seemed pointless.
“It’s him,” the commander called. “Vesperian is dead!”
“Idiot,” Sienna swore.
The sound of chanting grew louder, seemingly coming from all directions. Emily glanced around, trying to determine the safest way out of the temple. She reached for her magic, preparing to teleport them home, but stopped herself abruptly. If…something…had kept a crowd of magic-users from saving a falling man, what would it do if she tried to teleport?
“Justice.” Marian sounded dazed. “I saw Justice!”
“Be quiet,” Sienna snapped.
“We have to move,” General Pollack said. His voice boomed over the crowd. “I’ll take the lead; Caleb, you and Croce bring up the rear. Don’t hesitate to use magic to clear the way if necessary.”
Emily swallowed, hard, as they hurried towards the gate. Men and women swarmed the streets, fleeing in all directions. Groups of worshippers fought, pouring out of their temples and into the fray. The Hands of Justice seemed to be stalled, but they fought with a discipline that surprised her. She hadn’t seen so much discipline from the footsoldiers she’d watched during the war. The remainder of the City Guard was nowhere to be seen.