Dreams of Darkness Rising (66 page)

“This isn’t a fight for today, Emelia. One day this country will answer for its crimes, for the evil beneath its gilded skin.”

The rain came down harder as they took cover on the vast steps of the library. As foreigners they were not permitted entrance and had left Jem to research Emelia’s description of the vision of Ssinthor. The two slumped back against a wide pillar, avoiding the gaze of the dour guard at the door. A light crossbow was slung over his shoulder.

The revered library was situated five minutes short of the gate between the New and Old Quarters. Its grandiose frontage, all pillars and colonnades, were very Eerian in character and this had not alleviated Emelia’s mood.

 “You seem more preoccupied since we’ve arrived here,” Kervin said. “Is it the ashes or...?”

Emelia shook her head. “No, it’s not that...not especially. When we met, at Master Ten’s sanctuary, I told you about my dreams. Well I’ve dreamt about this place, this city.”

“I’d guess it wasn’t a happy dream?”

“No...not in the slightest. It’s been in my mind since Bulia. I’m running from something terrible, running down the purple stone streets and then...”

“Go on.”

“Then I am killed, by Orla and Marthir. It’s so vivid.”

Kervin scratched his beard and attempted a smile. “I used to believe dreams meant something—now I am not so sure. I don’t seem to have dreams anymore, not since Erturia. Perhaps your dream is just a way for your mind to exorcise its worries—it has been a tense journey to get here and you’ve been exhausted by Master Ten’s teachings.”

Across the square was the principle temple of the New Quarter. Emelia had not seen its like before. It had a large central circular building, the rotunda, topped with a magnificent copper dome that was slick with the hammering rain. From the central temple eight chapels branched out like spokes, symbolic of the rays of the sun, each ending in a tower topped with a smaller onion dome.

Atop the central dome Emelia had noticed a large glass prism, mounted on a bronze support. Eager to take her mind off the ashes of burnt witches and the talk of nightmares, she pointed to the glass.

“What’s the purpose of the glass above the dome?”

“It’s to reflect the sunbeam that shines down from the Great Temple atop the pinnacle. It catches the sun’s rays on mid-summer and from this temple it splits out to eight other temples around the city, lighting up lenses on their roofs. They may be murdering sods but they can put on a good display.”

Emelia tied back her wet hair. “I wonder how close I could get to breaking the thing before they caught me?”

“Emelia—I…”

“A jest, honestly, though it would be fun.”

The two stood in silence as the rain bounced off the cobbles of the wide square. The Goldorians in the open were scuttling for cover. A pack lay at their feet on the steps, holding a pair of hidden swords—Jem had been as cautious as ever.

“I’m glad you’re coming with us Kervin,” Emelia said, her cheeks starting to burn.

“I’m glad. That you’re glad that is,” Kervin said. “After all I can’t let Jem and Hunor keep you all to themselves.”

Emelia felt fluttering in her stomach. Her heart was thumping hard. She turned to face him, looking up into his craggy face. His beard was damp from the rain.

Kervin was red-faced as he moved down a step and turned to face her, his back to the square. He slowly and tentatively placed his hand on her hip. A tingle went through her at his light touch. He eased towards her, his lips parting.

Her heart roared like a waterfall in her ears as she leant to kiss him.

The warm, aching, joyous feeling in her chest instantly changed to ice as, over his shoulder, she saw a dark figure in the rain.

“Down!”

She wrenched Kervin roughly onto the steps. A blast of ebony magic crackled though the air, clipping Kervin’s shoulder before striking the guard by the entrance.

The guard wailed as the black sorcery enveloped his head and chest, steaming horribly as his flesh melted like wax. Kervin gasped in pain as the oily mass ate into his shoulder.

Emelia sprang down the stairs, drawing the sword she had concealed in the pack. She missed the balance of the Eerian weapon she had used these past few years. The Dark-mage stood at the base of the stairs, his serrated sword in his hand.

“Good evening, little serving girl. I have thought of you long and hard this last month, as the agony of my severed arm regenerating tested my resolve to its limits.”

“We’ll see how swiftly you grow your head back,” Emelia said and leapt to attack.

The sorcerer stepped back and parried; the clatter of steel rang out in the wet square. Rain was thundering around them as they fenced.

“Utrok is not so easily parted from his head. And first you have to catch me.”

Utrok stepped back into the shadows of the square and melted away. Emelia cursed, the rain running down her face. Anger pulsed in her, red hot and invigorating. Damn the Dark-mage. A beautiful moment ruined.

Through the haze of the rain she saw Utrok appear under a street lamp across the square, before a row of houses. He gave a wave with his twisted arm and strode into the alley between the buildings.

Emelia ran across the square. It was obvious that a trap was being laid but at least the obscurity of the alley would allow her to use Wild-magic. She allowed her mind to feel the magical strands of the Web around her whilst she sprinted. The tingle of power gave her a sense of intense pleasure.

On the steps of the library, Kervin rose.

“Emelia, wait for me, don’t be…”

 The black magic ran harmlessly from his shoulder, leaving only a mild redness in its wake. He tugged loose the second sword and grabbed the dead guard’s crossbow before bounding down the steps. Screams erupted behind him as one of the few city folk out in the rain spotted the guard’s corpse.

***

Emelia’s temper was dwindling in the cool rain as it ran in tiny rivulets down her shoulders. She eased out her mind as Mek-ik-Ten had taught her, trying to sense the contours of the alley as she advanced down it, probing for permutations in the Web.

The alley was narrow, filthy and dark and she tried not to reminisce about the similar alley that four years ago she had stumbled down, when first she had met Utrok as a girl.

A motion to her left made her jump and she whirled, sword poised. A terrified beggar was crammed in the corner, as if pressing himself against the stone of the building would somehow make him less noticeable to Emelia.

“A man. Pale skin, black hair. Have you seen him?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly and replied in Goldorian, snot and tears caking his cheeks. She continued her advance, treading lightly and precisely.

Should I go back for Kervin and Jem? she considered.

No, this Dark-mage has brought the fight to you. Show them what you can do
, Emebaka urged.
They will no longer treat you as such a child
.

By Torik, I was about to kiss him, she thought as she came to the end of the alley. What if Jem had come out? He’s been so aloof this past two weeks but now I can see him starting to become his old self again. What would he have said?

Emelia!
Emebaka barked.
Stop this distraction or they will be kissing you in an open coffin. Find the mage before he finds you
.

The alley had emerged into a courtyard, bordered by tall buildings. Light streamed from a sole streetlamp. An old fountain was in the centre of the yard, its cracked statue of the sun god Mortis no longer spouting water. A blossom tree had shed petals like tears into the brackish water of the fountain.

Utrok stood next to the tree, bathed in shadow.

“Our third encounter, Emelia. Now you no longer have the element of surprise. This time we know all about you.”

“Really? You don’t know enough to stay away after I’d sliced your arm off, Utrok,” she said, stepping closer.

“It would seem, by the vagaries of the irritating god Engin, that you have become an object of interest for the Darkmaster and that you and that group of fools possess the blue crystal,” he said, his features dark in the shadows. His voice came from all around her.

She stepped closer, focusing her magic on a shielding spell. The air around her shimmered and the rain drops bent around her mystic defence in their course to the cobbles. He knew of the crystal: well that linked him with Vildor then. What was their plot, their plan?

“Whatever Vildor is planning he’ll have a few surprises coming his way. Why don’t you tuck your tail between your legs and scamper back to tell him that, eh?”

“Return without you and the blue crystal? How would I ever gain the Gift? You are my opportunity. Such a bitter irony, fitting of Beeros herself.”

“Well, here’s a gift to keep you going.”

She lunged, her sword slicing towards the dark mage whilst she widened the mystic shield to guard her from counter-assault.

The steel cut through Utrok’s body with such ease that Emelia felt a knot of pain in her arm. He melted like ice in a furnace: it was a trick.

Cold hands grasped her shoulders from behind and she heard the chilling voice in her ears whisper, “This is called Ingor’s caress. This is for my arm.”

It was as if every nerve in her body was being pulled out and dipped in boiling oil. She convulsed in agony, arms spasming as her sword span away with a clatter. Her legs buckled under her and with a crack her head struck the cobbles. Intense white light exploded in her head and a sickening ringing dominated her hearing.

Emelia, fight it, get up! GET UP!
Emebaka screamed.
You stupid girl, you walked into his trap. Stupid. Idiotic. Get up.

Emelia tried to reply, tried to pull it together, but everything seemed muffled.

Awareness came surging back along with thudding pain in her face. Wet cobbles occupied her vision, blood in her mouth and nose. Her arms and legs were aching like she had run twenty miles but, thank Torik, they worked. She tried to get up but a boot stomped onto her shoulder with a crack and she slipped again.

Get away, phase shift through the cobbles, flee this monster
, Emebaka screeched. Emelia tried to concentrate to cast the spell but the pain in her head and shoulder was so intense she couldn’t.

Utrok grabbed her wet hair and hauled her off her knees. She cried in pain, her hands scrabbling against his firm grip. His face leered in her vision. His features were gaunt, his skin a horrid pale colour, the hue of curdled milk. She could feel the unholy magic from his opal, searing through his robes.

“It is a tragedy I can not kill you, you little whore.”

The darkness was sliding over his shoulders and beginning to cover Emelia. Torik preserve me, he’s going to take me, Emelia thought torpidly. Jem, Kervin, where are you? I’m so, so sorry.

A quarrel sprouted from Utrok’s shoulder with a spatter of blood. Utrok gasped in pain and dropped Emelia. She fell heavily against the side of the fountain.

Kervin had entered the courtyard, crossbow cranked and a second quarrel loaded. He let fly the quarrel as Utrok cast his spell. A surge of green light exploded from his hand towards Kervin.

The attacks hit simultaneously. Utrok span with the force of the bolt punching through his hip. The emerald magic flared as it struck Kervin, erupting into a ball of flame. Kervin was lifted from his feet, smoke belching from his tunic, and smashed into the side of the building.

Utrok was swift as Kervin staggered to his feet, his chest smoking. The sorcerer flung both arms forth and the shadow flowed from his robes like a dark serpent. The black torrent writhed across the courtyard and caught Kervin off-balance. It flowed over his arms and chest and slammed him back against the wet stone. His face strained as he tried to break free of the mystical bonds.

Utrok snapped the quarrel shaft first from his pelvis then second from his shoulder, whilst keeping the steady stream of shadow flowing from one hand. Emelia saw blood wet his black robes.

“I shall rip out your heart and devour it before this woman you seek to save,” Utrok said, walking towards Kervin.

Emelia tried to focus past the pain. Her sword was on the cobbles. She attempted to stumble forwards yet ten feet may as well have been ten miles the way her legs wobbled.

“I very much doubt that,” a voice calmly said.

A feeling of warm reassurance came into Emelia, as if the dawn’s chorus of birds were calling in her chest. Jem strode from the alley, the air crackling around him. Rain was turning to steam as magic surged like a tidal wave out of him.

A sheet of flame erupted across the courtyard, illuminating the square as if it were midday. The magical fire sliced through the shadow bond that flowed from Utrok and the black magic dissipated. Utrok hissed in hatred and leapt back, shielding his eyes.

“Pyrokinesis. The mind fire. It took me a long while to study that trick. As I recall Dark-mages covet shadows and not light,” Jem said.

“You are correct, Wild-mage,” Utrok said. “Yet I have more tricks than just shadow. This one is called Beeros’ kiss.”

Utrok grasped Emelia’s scalp.

Her mind lit up like a bonfire. It was as if every thought she had ever had suddenly vied for attention, like a crowd of needy children. A thousand images were bouncing around her head with every blink of her eyes. She could hear Emebaka scream as she was buried under an avalanche of thoughts.

The agony of her limbs forgotten Emelia leapt to the rim of the fountain, her eyes as wide and round as the moon. Insanity propelled her through the air towards the wall of fire and with a cry Jem dispersed the spell. The courtyard plunged once more into relative gloom.

Emelia sprinted past Jem and straight through the wall of a house, her slender form passing through the solid stone as if it were a piece of cloud.

“A tough choice, gents,” Utrok said with a cackle. “Do you pursue your sorceress, gripped by madness in this city of witch burners? Or do you chase me to my appointment with the crystal and your midget monk?”

With a chilling laugh the Dark-mage melted into the shadows.