The Shadowmage Trilogy (Twilight of Kerberos: The Shadowmage Books) (94 page)

Growling, as much in rage as pain, Alhmanic swung wildly with his staff, forcing the man to keep his distance.

“Get him, you bloody fools!” Alhmanic shouted to the soldiers who still ringed them.

That seemed to jerk them back to awareness and, as one, they levelled their spears and swords and took a pace inwards, drawing the ring tighter.

The man flicked a hand towards Alhmanic. A jet of flame erupted from his open palm, forcing Alhmanic to dive to the ground again to avoid having his face burned off. He looked up in time to see the man crouch briefly before leaping up with incredible agility, somersaulting through the air, over the heads of the soldiers.

One proved quicker than the rest, and a spear was thrust upwards, catching the flying man in the torso. Alhmanic grinned as he saw the escape curtailed, and the man fell to the ground a short distance away. Several soldiers started to move towards the fallen man, but Alhmanic got back on to his feet and pushed past them all, wanting to deliver the final blow and claim his prize at long last.

Groaning and spitting blood, the man was clearly hurt, and Alhmanic summoned his will, focussing the power of the staff.

Before the spell could be unleashed, there was another rush of air and the earth exploded around him, great clods of mud and rock thrown into the air as something very heavy and very dense smacked into it. Alhmanic stumbled under the assault, and he turned to see, floating high in the air behind him, the dark woman, her face a perfect picture of hate and vengeance.

She snarled as she reached up and seemed to grasp the air above her head with her right hand. Then she cast forward, as though throwing a stone. She repeated the gesture with her left hand, then back to her right, over and over.

The effect was devastating. With each gesture, a bolt of invisible energy struck the earth, felling soldiers and raising small craters. One soldier fell next to Alhmanic and, as he tried to regain his footing, another blast caught him squarely in the chest, shattering his ribs and hammering him to a bloody pulp. He did not even have time to scream.

Alhmanic crawled away, desperate to escape, knowing he could not repel spells of that magnitude – not forever. One would finally get past his defences, and that would be the end of him.

As quickly as it had started, the magical assault ceased, and Alhmanic looked back to see the woman floating gently to the ground, her eyes fixed firmly on him. For the first time in a very, very long time, Alhmanic felt true fear grip his stomach in an icy clasp.

He stood, bracing himself with his staff and taking assurance from its solid construction, as the woman walked towards him.

“The Preacher Divine,” she said softly. “This will be a distinct pleasure.”

“Who are you, lady?”

“Your death!”

She raised her hands to summon another spell, and Alhmanic matched the movement with his own staff, hoping to deflect whatever arcane energies were thrown at him.

A sudden cry and rush of movement diverted the attention of them both, and Alhmanic felt his mouth open in surprise as he saw his sergeant rushing the woman, sword drawn and with three men behind him. He also saw the contempt on the woman’s face as she prepared to redirect her spell to wipe the sergeant and his men off the face of the earth. Seeing his opportunity, Alhmanic shouted a word of prayer as he extended his staff and unleashed an explosive bolt of magical power.

The spell was a powerful one, and Alhmanic felt his staff grow cold and weak in his hands as it expended its reserve of energy. The rolling ball of fire that struck the woman exploded to engulf both her and the sergeant.

Alhmanic did not wait to see more. He turned, and ran.

T
HERE WAS NO
sun at dawn, just a lightening of the usual grey, cloud-bearing skies. They revealed a sight of devastation. Bodies were strewn everywhere, and had already begun to attract carrion birds who circled under the grey clouds. Craters of all sizes had been cast in vast swathes across the area. It was carnage. But Alhmanic alone had survived, no doubt another sign of the divine providence that guided his life.

Alhmanic had retreated into the darkness outside the camp, and he lay still as he heard his men dying, sliced apart by the man of shadows or blasted by the spells of the dark woman.

He felt no shame in this. His mission was of importance to the Anointed Lord, may her valour shine across the world, and, as he was obviously the only one who could fulfil it, his survival was paramount.

The deaths of his men did present certain problems, however. There was little chance he could retrieve the artefact from those... thieves without an army at his back. As they already had the artefact in their possession and were gaining a lead that was extending even now, due to the horses they had stolen after the battle, he could not return to Scholten to pick up more soldiers.

Especially as Klaus would be there to witness his lack of success.

No, this would take a great deal of thought and cunning.

At least he still had his staff and, after its extended use that night, it had just begun to regain its energies. Even now, it quietly hummed in his hands, reacting to the presence of the elven artefact in the surface world. That meant he could track it, pursue the thieves and visit vengeance upon them for their intervention in his affairs.

Just who were they, though? Agents of Pontaine? That seemed possible, as the staff felt as though it wanted to pull him south, and Turnitia – curse that city – was the only settlement of any real note in that direction.

Were they Shadowmages, he wondered. If so, that raised a lot more questions than it answered.

Sighing, he got back to his feet and started looking for a horse, hoping to find one that had not stampeded right across the Anclas Territories in terror during the battle.

He could not fail, Alhmanic told himself. That could not be permitted. The Anointed Lord, praise be to the light she brings, had put her trust in him and he desperately needed to prove he was not to be found wanting.

The consequences for failing in that duty were likely to be dire in the extreme.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

G
RIPPING HIS SIDE
as another ache of pain washed over him, Lucius found himself coming to truly hate the Anclas Territories. Their route back to Turnitia saw them pass the same miserable hamlets, the same derelict farms and face the same relentless rain.

It had not been helped by the wound he had taken at the elven ruins, a savage spear thrust that had torn open the side of his leather jerkin and grazed a couple of ribs. The cut had been shallow enough but had bled profusely until Adrianna had helped him bind it. She had not been gentle, and he still winced when he remembered her pulling the dressing across his chest.

She had now taken to riding to one side and a little behind him, out of sight unless he turned round, and this had begun to prey on his mind in the days since they had fought the Vos soldiers. Lucius had to admit that she had probably saved his life after he had been surrounded and faced the Preacher Divine, but he had seen the look on her face as she tore apart their force, the hatred and pure exaltation as the magic flowed through her. That was the old Adrianna he had seen for a moment there, the one who had killed so many people and destroyed a sizeable portion of Turnitia.

He could only hope such fury was reserved for those born in the Vos Empire.

Time had been wasted at the site of the ruins while Adrianna scoured the area for the Preacher Divine as dawn threatened to break. Neither of them had seen him since their last confrontation and both were convinced he still lived. Which meant he could still cause trouble for them.

“We should detour,” Adrianna said. “I know some places where we can stay, completely undisturbed.”

Lucius knew where this was going. Every evening during their journey home to Turnitia, Adrianna had quizzed him on the Guardian Starlight and had cast various spells in an attempt to crack its secrets. Though she had tried to hide it, he guessed she had learned nothing more about the artefact, and that had frustrated her hugely.

A frustrated Adrianna was not his ideal travelling companion, so he tried a little levity.

“Our guilds won’t last long without us,” Lucius said. “We should get back and see if either of us still have a guildhouse standing.”

“The Anointed Lord take the guilds. You know we have more important things to do.”

“We’ve already agreed. This rod goes back to the baron, to fulfil my commission. What happens to it after that is up to you two. As you said, he is likely to negotiate.”

Lucius did not think that was true, not for an elven artefact the baron had gone to a lot of trouble to secure, but anything that kept Adrianna’s attention on the future rather than on him right now had to be a good thing.

“We still have a few evenings before we get back to the city,” he said when she did not respond. “Plenty of time for you to examine it.”

It then occurred to him that Adrianna had not actually touched the Guardian Starlight yet, seeming to have been content to leave it in Lucius’ possession. Why, he could not say.

Throughout the long afternoon, they travelled across the wet landscape in silence, and the worries Lucius had began to multiply. He had always intended to hand over the artefact to the baron as he had promised. The favours to the thieves’ guild were substantial and, more than that, he wanted the prestige, the reputation that came from having unearthed such a treasure.

Now he began to wonder whether he should not just hand it over to Adrianna. In the short term, certainly, it would be the safe thing to do in terms of his own personal safety. He might even make some sort of ally out of her, and he thought back to the times when he could work alongside the Shadowmage without being in constant fear for his own life. That seemed so long ago.

There were two problems with that course of action, three if you counted the fact that Lucius would never feel safe around Adrianna, no matter what favours he did for her. She had always treated him as a witless fool, and he saw no reason that would change any time soon.

First, he had precious few ideas what the Guardian Starlight was capable of, only that it obviously contained some very deep magics. If Adrianna, already the most powerful Shadowmage in Turnitia, managed to unlock those secrets, she might literally be capable of anything. That was a deeply troubling thought.

The second was getting to be a greater issue. As soon as he had seen the Guardian Starlight, Lucius had faced the deep-rooted feeling that it was his – as in, it actually belonged to him, personally.

As they had ridden away from the ruins, that feeling had grown ever stronger, day by day, hour by hour.

Lucius no longer knew whether he could give it up, even if he wanted to.

E
YES CLOSED,
A
DRIANNA
lay on her side, her head leaning on a balled fist. Ignoring the grunts of pain from Lucius as he redressed his wound and the sound of faint raindrops pattering on their simple canvas shelter, her mind was wide open as she felt the raw power of the Guardian Starlight.

It was a puzzle, a true conundrum, and she found herself revelling in it. So far it had resisted all her attempts to break into its mysteries but once she got it back to her guild, the combined might of all her Shadowmages would surely pry it open. For now, she found herself content to simply float upon the arcane power that washed over her like gentle waves lapping at the shore of a quiet lake.

The Guardian Starlight was also having an effect on Lucius, she could see. Up to now, he had been decisive in his intentions to hand it over to the baron as he had promised, but she could now tell he was beginning to see this might be a waste. That would play into her hands, for there was no way he could hope to learn more about the artefact without her help. In time, he would
have
to come to her.

That opened more questions about Lucius himself, of course. The Guardian Starlight was inert in her magical caress, but it positively overflowed with energy whenever Lucius reached down to his belt and touched it. Just what was the connection there? Neither she nor that fool of a Pontaine wizard, or the Preacher Divine for that matter, had been able to enter the elven ruins to retrieve the artefact, but Lucius had walked into them as if he had been all but invited.