Breaking Ties (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

James

December 20, 6:13 pm

“You're a son of a bitch, you know that?”

I'm on my back, knocked there by a magical strike for the fourteenth time in the last half-hour. Tyras, Ras, whatever he is, is thirty feet away, his arm sheathed in flame. Usually when you take a fireball to the chest, it should kill you. And, normally, I'd think that a wall of ice would be a fantastic way to prevent such a fate, but instead I…

A few minutes ago I'd looked across the room, at a spot on the carpet near a scorch mark from a previous attack, and shouted, “
There
.” Within the space of a blink, I was there. After that I was subsequently knocked on my ass by an unseen force. And that's why I'm currently on my back.

“You should have gone behind me, above me, out of my line of sight. Despite our power we are human and limited by our human sense—”

“
There.
” I'm behind him. “
For—
”I sink to my knees.

Getting kicked in the bollocks will do that to a man.

“Unless of course your opponent openly challenges you to—”

I glare at him and say, “
Force.
”

Tyras flies through the air, not of his own volition, his back colliding with a wall, followed by him falling on his face. Pain can be inspiring, you know.

“Something I learned from a Coyote? Never monologue or gloat when you're in melee range.” Seriously, Spence lost so many characters in Dungeons & Dragons to smartass remarks.

Tyras grunts, trying to get up, but he stumbles, crying out in pain. “You broke something.” Weakly, he gestures me over.

“Like I'm going over there so you can hit me with something else.”

He grins then grimaces. “I would applaud your distrust, but a Keth cannot heal himself with magic. And curse the Mad One for decreeing it.” He beckons me over again. “Please, I give you my word the lesson is over for now.”

So I stagger over to him, because I'm still recovering from pain too. I kneel next to the fallen Keth and place my hand on his shoulder. “
Tyras, you is no hurt fix heal now yes.
”

I can feel the spell work, but Tyras blinks at me in shock. “By the Throne, you are
terrible
at this.”

“I only had a teacher for six months, and he wanted me to figure out my own style.”

He nods and sits with his back to the wall, catching his breath. I sit next to him. “The Recluse, who freed us all from the Storm God's wrath.”

I nod. “Killed Zeus or something, I never got the details, other than the other gods being pissed about it.”

“When he usurped the throne from the Sculptor, yes.” He glances at me. “Your mentor prevented an alliance between his predecessor and Zeus. The world would be covered by an ongoing storm, reigniting Zeus's influence, and the Sculptor would use his army of golems to maintain control over humanity. For the Recluse's trouble, he was marked for death by the gods.” Tyras sighs, rubbing his collarbone. “Not to claim that he was saintly. He made
many
foolish mistakes, not the least of which was stealing from
my
hoard.” His eyes flash serpentine for a second until he settles himself. “Would you attempt that feeble restorative again?”

“If we're in a different realm, why do all the decrees still apply?”

“They apply to existence itself. The Mad One decreed no sorcerer could heal themselves with magic, to prevent his enemies from waving off his attacks. His student, the Usurper, quickly took advantage.” He winces as he tries to move his arm. “Surely there is something in that foolish fantasy of yours that allows one to heal another.”

“For priests, yeah. Mages aren't so much with the healing in that game.”

He rolls his eyes. “I have never taken a student so devoted to his khrazet.” He exhales through his teeth. “What is the name of magic?”

“Sigil.” Thank God there's no confusion about that, never a good thing when there is.

“And who named it so?”

“I did.”

He literally growls. “Then. Speak. It.”

“There's a difference between naming a language and being flu—”

“
No there is not,
” he roars. “Not for us! Stop thinking like a…
human
. You have taken the throne. Now sit upon it and declare your will before someone decides you're not worthy.”

“
I WANT TO GO HOME!
”

I can feel the energy building, swirling, chaotic and emotional, and crackling with electricity, but it's mine and from my will. I send it at whatever barrier is between this realm and the world I know, the energy like sharp claws tearing at the fabric between them and…

Then nothing happens.

And Tyras laughs. Then he laughs louder, occasionally sputtering from grunts of pain. “You stupid boy, you've caught yourself in your own trap.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your decree. The world can have only one Ra'keth. It would appear by coming to this realm, you've taken a Ra'keth out of the world, so another must rise to take the Throne.” He keeps laughing. “Now…now your own decree won't allow you to return!”

I blink at him. “There's another Ra'keth already?”

“The poor fool might not even know of their fate or, well, lack of one now.”

“Don't you guys automatically know when there's a new Ra'keth? Isn't that supposed to be a dragon's job?”

“We have apparently not found him yet.” Tyras shows his teeth, which look sharper than before. “Or someone is not sharing.”

“I thought dragons knew what all the other ones did.”

“That is as it
should
be, but the clans are not always cooperative when attempting to gain my favor. There is a new Ra'keth, for better or worse, and you will not be allowed back until they are dead. By your hand.”

I grit my teeth, try the working again, to no avail—several more times, in fact, to Tyras's amusement. After the tenth try I kick the wall, which only serves to aggravate me further. “I'm not going to kill someone.”

“You've already killed three Ra'keth.”

“
Two.
I did
not
kill Cale—”

“So it's not beneath you. How many people do you think perished during your last escapade? When you decided that the Snow Clan could work magic if they saw fit? I thank you for not informing them of that. Balance is difficult enough among the clans.”

“I was possessed! I didn't cause that storm.”

“What of the storm before that? Where you usurped the Frozen River? Are your hands truly so clean? Innocents have died by your hand so you could secure the throne, for you to…what? Hide?
Cower?
” He gets up from his seated position, a little wobbly, but his gait much surer. “You ended the world.”

“It had to be done! The tapestry of
existence
was coming apart.”

“Because you condensed the Fates into one entity.”

I fold my arms. “It was screwed up before that.”

“Though it might've survived a few decades longer.”

“Your council
asked me
to end the world. Well, Jutte did. She even phrased it as a humble request.” I lean against the wall I'd previously kicked. “It had to be done or it would've been the end of everything.”

“Exactly. We are
sorcerers
. Apart from humanity. We must ignore their rules occasionally if we are to do what must be done. This new Ra'keth, do you believe that he or she is prepared for the responsibility that has just been put upon them? Imagine if some corrupting influence got to them first. By the Throne, James,
take responsibility
.”

“So I'm supposed to kill some random person because of that?”

“If it keeps things in balance?” He nods simply. “Yes.”

I shake my head. “Even if I was willing to do that, it's a moot point. I can't go back anyway, remember?”

His eyes flash serpentine. “
You
cannot, no.”

“Go back as a dragon?” Well, it does make sense that dragons could enter and exit this realm, considering that it was made for them in the first place. But if that's true…

Oh damn it all.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, sigh. “I could've turned into a dragon and left anytime I wanted, couldn't I?”

“I'm deeply surprised the idea didn't occur to you sooner. Then again, intelligence strangely has never been a requirement for the Keth. At least not anymore, it would seem.” He looks toward the windows. “It is truly a shame, James. Your struggles with khrazet, your reluctance to be the Ra'keth the world needs, your weak focus, reliance on fragile alliances and the ignorance of the mythics, connections to the dreambloods and…” he visibly shudders, “…
Coyotes
.”

“Well, right now, I'm all you've got.”

Nearly ten seconds pass before he answers, a time he spends taking deep, focused breaths. “Respectfully, I decline your response.”

A flash of light later, the Dragon King has taken his place, his voice low and booming. “I have decided that you are not worthy of the throne, and your blunder has afforded me the opportunity to correct this. As I doubt you will find the new Ra'keth before I do, and your obstinacy has left me no choice, I will assume the throne once more.”

Oh shit.

“You can't do that!”

But he's already vanished through the wall, and I'm left here alone.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, that son of a bitch has got to die.”

“My liege?”

When I turn to face the voice, Coda is standing there looking rather agitated. Ozzie is behind her.

“This…
person
wishes an audience. Shall I kill him?”

“No!” I wave her off. “Let him go, Coda. Come over here, Ozzie.” Ozzie closes the distance between us, and I hug him a couple seconds. “Okay, however you got here? I need you to go back with me.”

The Dwarf puts his hands on my shoulders. “James, you need to listen to me.”

“Ozzie, we have to go
now
. That guy's going to kill someone who'll have no idea why.”

“James. I'm here to give you something. If I don't give it to you, and you don't accept it, there's a good chance that girl will kill me where I stand.” He takes a step back, kneels, unclips a short rod from his belt and bows his head as he offers it up to me. “The House of Bremenschmeid offers this unworthy trinket in the hope it pleases the Lightning Rod.”

I take the rod, examining it, noticing all the Sigil engravings, the delicately crafted head of the staff, the little nub of a button. I press it, and the rod extends out almost instantly to six feet in length with an audible
shick
!

“Ozzie, if I didn't have to go kill somebody right now I would take the appropriate time to tell you how cool this thing is and…”

It's odd how clear my head is while I'm holding this thing. I can feel, actually
feel
my will coursing through the metal, like it's an extension of my body. The Sigil glows gently in pulses, in rhythm with my heartbeat.

“And…this is mine.”

Ozzie nods. “Well, yeah, I made it for you.” He takes a step back as electricity starts to race along the length of the staff. “James? Are you all right? Your eyes are…black.”

I gaze at the staff, the runes, etchings and Sigil glowing a bright blue. The words flow so easily, my memory catching them, tongue shaping them with ease. The air reverberates, the sound echoing like thunder. “
I name you Sigil, for you are mine.
”

Even Coda steps back at the spectacle, which ends almost as soon as it began. The staff snaps back to rod-size with a thought, and I hold it in my hands, dark veins along my skin receding as the power fades. Ozzie takes a breath, settling himself. “James? You okay?”

I keep looking at the rod, turning it over and over again in my hands. “I… Yeah. I think I've got a new focus.” My previous one is currently in Tartarus where I left it. In the Usurper's chest. When I look up at the Dwarf, his hands are wringing slowly. “Relax, Ozzie. I love it, thank you.”

He nods.

“So, I'm going to have to turn into a dragon so I can go after the Ra'saar. You want a ride?” I give a warning glance to Coda, just in case she has an issue with me hunting down her boss. “This going to be a problem, Coda?”

“I am your servant, my liege.” It's not even said through gritted teeth.

Ozzie, on the other hand, still looks a bit flustered.

“Oz, c'mon, it'll be okay.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah. I'm uh…I'm okay.” He meets my eyes for a second then averts his gaze. “Let's, um, let's get out of here.”

I have to figure that watching a sorcerer claim an early Christmas gift as his magical focus can be a little rattling, so I let it go and take the Snow Dragon's form. I lower my head, hoping he'll get the idea, as my voice is remarkably loud in this form. A minute later I feel a weight on my neck and hear, “I'm on.”

My left foreleg feels a bit off, and when I lift it for inspection, I find it encased in a Fae-steel vambrace covered in Sigil. My focus auto-adapts to my form—excellent. I'll have to show the dreamblood, er, Ozzie, my appreciation later.

I summon my will, the vambrace sparking as I breathe a blast of cold air at the wall, thick wintry clouds obscuring the barrier. With a flap of my wings, I leap through the clouds, the wall not even there anymore, only a tingle as I cross the border between realms to return home.

I may not know where the new Ra'keth is, but it shouldn't be too difficult to follow after Tyras, wherever he's going. After that? I stop him, somehow, and figure out what to do with the new Sorcerer King.