Baslyn cried out as the beam struck against his body, crackling through it like electricity. His hands gripped the wand, fighting to regain the power, to launch it back at Bran, but it was already too late. Baslyn screamed as the energy crawled up his body, gathering around him, swirling through his skin, moving faster, growing louder. The noise grew stronger and stronger, screaming like a jet, burning as Bran felt the blade still underneath his skin.
And then, Baslyn cried out once more, and something within him released with a giant roar. It came out in a wave, colored in blacks and purples, rushing in all directions from the center of the wand. The force of it threw Bran and Baslyn apart, the blade flying from the cut in Bran’s chest, his fingers scraping across the rooftop as the power pushed at him like a tempest.
Bran shouted, though he couldn’t hear his own voice over the sound of the rushing power. He dug his fingers into the thin roof ledge, but they did nothing against the onslaught, and he felt his knees go over the edge, and he shouted as he felt himself begin to fall…
Suddenly, a hand caught with his.
He looked up. It was Astara.
"Hold on, Bran!" she shouted. She pulled at his arm, his body hitting against the rooftop, a splash of rainwater going around him as his fingers touched with the solid stone again. And in a moment, all was still.
Chapter 35
Clarence
The rain beat against Bran’s back as he fell onto the roof, struggling to breathe, and Astara fell next to him, holding him up. He felt his hand become wet with his own blood. But he was alive, and in the grip of his other hand, he felt the necklace. The way he held it caused the side to catch the moonlight once more. The name Hambric glowed with such brilliance it was a spotlight, a beam into the night that seemed to spell victory.
"You almost died!" Astara said, and she held him tightly, and he didn’t let go. Water from the rain fell into his eyes, and he saw the body of Baslyn, lying motionless, all power gone. His wand was lying next to him, and he did not move.
"Is he dead?" Bran said, rising weakly to his feet. He looked down at Baslyn’s body. Blood was gathering next to it on the rooftop. Bran could only stare at it and hold the wound in his chest, bloodying his shirt, but the cut of it never deep enough to kill him.
"Shambles saved us…" Astara gasped.
"Shambles!" Bran said in a low voice, and he dashed for the broken window. Astara was a step behind him, and Bran saw Shambles’s body in the middle of the office floor. For a moment,
Bran thought he was dead, but when he came in, Shambles moved his arm.
"You’re still alive!" Bran burst, rushing to his side. Blood stained Shambles’s skin, and as Bran moved him, his eyes looked blank and empty, just a hint of life left behind them.
"Hambric…" Shambles hissed in a low voice, rasping with what little strength he had left. Bran tried to lift him, but as he looked into his eyes, he saw that Shambles had been weeping.
"I have failed…" Shambles whispered. Bran stopped, aghast. He looked at Shambles’s twisted face, and all of a sudden, every bit of fear that Bran had once had for Shambles disappeared, and in that same instant was replaced with shame for every inch of his tortured body and mind. It came as a rush upon Bran as he realized it, looking at Shambles crying into his hands.
"No, Shambles," Bran said, his voice filled with disbelief. "You came back to save us."
Slowly Shambles looked into Bran’s eyes, and Bran saw they were glimmering with tears. Bran touched Shambles’s shoulder to help him up, his skin like sandpaper.
"We’ve got to leave before Elspeth and the men come back," Bran pleaded. But Shambles only shook his head, and he nodded forward, almost as if he wasn’t going to speak. But then, slowly, he reached into the folds of his rags, and he pulled his closed fist out.
"Look," he hissed, opening his shaking hand. Inside was the note with Bran’s name, just the same as before, with the tear along the bottom and the handwriting from his mother.
"You still have it," Bran said with shock, and Shambles nodded, then he reached into his rags again, and pulled something else out. It was the second slip of paper, from Mr. Swinehic. Bran looked at both of them, and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, for Shambles had slipped his hand away once more. Very slowly, he pulled what was in his hand toward the first two slips of paper, trembling as he did, and Bran looked at what he was holding.
It was another scrap of paper, crinkled and dirty, with writing. As Shambles moved it toward the others, Bran realized what it was. It was the third piece of the note.
"It wasss with me, and it tore when we fell at the houssse…" Shambles hissed slowly, showing Bran the bottom pieces. Bran looked close at it, the pieces together like a small puzzle in Shambles’s hand. And he read the page, all three parts now put together.
Bran Hambric, born June 17
To: Clarence
Meet me at midnight in Dunce to pick up Bran. Since I
cannot save him, you must do it for me; and in return
your promise will have been kept, for saving the life of a
Hambric I value more than my own.
Emry Hambric
And above the last name of his mother was scrawled the simple shape of a moon, the same shape of his necklace as if it was part of her signature.
"Ssshe gave it to me," Shambles said. "It was her promissse, if I would protect you."
He pointed to the pieces. "Ssshe wrote the letter, then tore my name off the top after, just in cassse they read it. And when you ran into me, it ripped the sssecond piece in half."
Shambles bent forward. "And when ssshe left you, she mussst have written your name on the piece, becaussse it was all ssshe had."
Shambles shook his head, coughing.
Bran saw something on his wrist: the bracelet with the green stone, still glowing, silently torturing Shambles’s mind.
"Quick, the knife!" Bran said, and Astara grabbed it from the floor. With one slice, Bran tore the bracelet from his wrist. Shambles took a sudden breath, and in a second the cloud behind his eyes seemed to subside. His gaze slowly came to focus, and it rested upon something in Bran’s fist. Shambles reached toward it.
"The necklace…" Shambles said, and he touched it. The second his finger rubbed against it, Bran saw something come into his eyes, as if finally he had awakened from a long sleep.
"It was hersss," Shambles said, "before ssshe left."
Shambles caressed the edges of it, his rough fingers brushing against the soft beauty of the pendant, his broken and cracked claws sliding against the smooth surface. The muscles on his shoulders tightened, and strength seemed to return to his soul.
"Let usss leave thisss place," Shambles hissed.
But suddenly, a shadow fell on them all. Bran looked up to the windows, and outlined in the light of the moon was the shape of a man. Bran and Astara froze.
"A Drimra is not easily killed," he heard Baslyn choke. Baslyn moved his hand, and in an instant, Bran saw what he was holding. He didn’t have a chance to move before he heard a click, and then a beep from each of the explosives. Baslyn dropped the remote.
"Forty seconds," Baslyn seethed. "No one goes through that door.
Shambles was suddenly stumbling to his feet. Baslyn clenched his teeth when he saw him, but in his weakness lost his balance, falling to the floor as pain overtook his body. He fumbled with the pistol, but before Bran could react, Astara jerked Adi’s wand out. Baslyn let out a shot, but Astara swung the wand to the side, the bullet torn in half and slamming into a shelf of glass cups, shattering them everywhere. They dove behind the desk, and Bran heard the timer beep.
"How do we get out of here?" Bran shouted, hearing another shot over their heads.
"The stairsss!" Shambles hissed, grabbing their arms and lunging toward the door. Baslyn picked himself up, shooting as they came from behind the desk, but too weak to aim. He stumbled forward to catch them, and the timer gave a beep:
twenty seconds!
They burst through the doors, running toward the hall on the end. It was open, and Bran heard Baslyn behind them in an instant. He shot again, spraying plaster from the wall.
"Thisss way!" Shambles coughed, his voice filled with pain he could not mask as his steps became weaker. He stopped in the final doorway and pushed Bran forward, but Bran refused to leave him, pulling on Shamble’s arm.
"The door’s just ahead, hurry!" Bran shouted.
The creature struggled again to push him forward, but Bran managed to pull Shambles so that he leaned on his shoulder, and he could drag his weakening steps closer to the fire escape. He heard Baslyn behind them but could not look back.
He heard another shot, but only pulled harder on Shambles, drawing closer to the exit, with Astara helping on the other side. The creature was heavy and weak, but they struggled on. The timer beeped again, and finally he could see the door.
"Almost there!" Bran said. Seeing the door in sight seemed to give Shambles a burst of strength, because he was on his feet again, no longer using Bran as a support, but dragging him forward, faster, as the countdown reached ten seconds. They slammed into the wall beside it, and Shambles grabbed the handle, wrenching the metal door open.
"Quick!" he hissed, and before they could do anything, he pushed Astara through and Bran behind her. Shambles’s move was so sudden Bran didn’t have a chance to catch his balance, and he stumbled and fell as his feet hit the concrete steps, sliding and hitting his head at the bottom. He spun, dazed but ready to run down the steps, but when he looked up, Shambles was still standing in the doorway.
"Come on!" Bran shouted. But Shambles only stared at him silently.
Bran stopped.
He saw Baslyn, coming behind Shambles; he saw the rage, the hate in Baslyn’s eyes, ready to kill them, ready to stop them from escaping, as the seconds on the timer counted down…
And suddenly, Bran knew what was happening.
"Don’t do it," he whispered, but Shambles took a deep breath, and with one last, pained look, the creature smiled, with tears clouding his eyes and his form framed in the doorway. And then Shambles spun, slammed the door shut, and held it closed so Baslyn could not get through.
"Shambles!" Bran shouted, but in the same instant, the timer reached zero.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. All at once, the explosives went off, and Astara pulled him down the steps as a burst of fire erupted above them.
Joris was standing next to the van in front of Farfield Tower when suddenly there was a shattering explosion that shook the ground beneath his feet. He placed his hand against the van for balance, screams coming from people and alarms going off. He looked up and saw flames blasting out the windows on the top floor, shrapnel flying through the air.
"The deal
has
changed, Baslyn," Joris said lowly, and in his hands, he clutched battery cells for two pairs of magecuffs. Elspeth saw it, though showed no remorse.
"So he was a fool after all," she said.
Then, Joris heard something hit the ground, and he turned and saw that one of the bald men had fallen to the pavement. His face had gone a deathly white. The second bald man collapsed next to the first, the blood seeming to drain from his skin.
"Baslyn is dead," Elspeth said to Joris. "Shambles died with him."
"And so it ends," Joris said, taking a step away.
The bald men were motionless, their eyes staring straight into the night sky. As Joris stared, it was as if decay invaded the bodies, so that the bald men suddenly began to crumble, until their bones were all that were left…and within a minute, nothing but their coats and wands. Elspeth lifted her gaze, her face showing no emotion.
"It’s not over yet," she said.
She turned for the van.
"We are leaving this place," she said. "There has been a change of plans."
He heard her slam the door to the van but couldn’t bring himself to leave yet, and so he stood there, staring at the fires and watching them burn.
As Astara pulled Bran down the stairs, everything seemed to be a blur around him. He felt his feet moving down the steps, hitting against each one, the small bulbs over his head lighting the way as they rushed down each floor. He was breathing heavily, his mind clouded, and when they came to another level, Astara pulled him around the corner and down the next flight, until they finally came to the bottom and a thick metal door.
They burst through and stumbled into a crowd of people running by. Bran heard screams and shouts all around him. He fell against the wall, trying to catch his breath, holding the wound in his side. Police pushed past them into the stairway they had just come through.
"The whole top floor is gone!" someone shouted, rushing by. There were men and women all dressed up, looking very frightened, and police running through the front doors.
"Was anyone on that floor?" Bran heard a woman shout. She had a badge and was looking through the crowds of people. A police officer pulled on the woman’s arm.
"Anyone who was on that floor is dead now," he said to her.
In an instant, Bran felt as if a final weight had been taken from his shoulders, and he was just noticing it for the first time. He felt as if he had lost something very close to him, something he had held to all his life, though removing it was like taking a thorn from his heart. It was as if the final imprint of Baslyn on his soul had been wiped away forever.
"Shambles…" Astara said, and her voice was filled with remorse. At first, he didn’t know what to say. There were so many mixed emotions in his heart: so much joy, and yet, so much pain.
"He kept his promise," Bran finally said. "And now, he’s finally free."
The word seemed to ring in Bran’s ears:
free.
That was how he felt. That was the strange, elusive feeling that he suddenly recognized. For as he stood there, looking at Astara, he realized that somehow they had both survived. And now, Baslyn was gone.