Trail Of The Torean (Book 2) (15 page)

A large white shape circled ghostlike in the dark currents. The outline of a fish emerged—rounded with fins that flowed and teeth that jutted at bold angles. Garrick waited for it to rip at his flesh, then noticed a familiar glint in the fish’s green eye.

Braxidane,
he thought.
I hope you are pleased.

His pain faded, and he found himself suspended before the planewalker, still wrapped in chains. The water felt heavy in his lungs, but somehow his heart still beat.

Is this what you wanted,
the fish said. Braxidane’s voice had the same sticky-sweet tone as it had before.

Are you having fun?
Garrick replied.

The fish smiled.

You are the one fighting your nature, Garrick.

I’ve done what I felt was best.

You accepted my offer, Garrick, you agreed to its responsibilities. If you fight your nature, you are most certainly not doing what is best.

I didn’t understand.

Yet, still you agreed.

Arianna was dying.

A natural consequence of such a terrifying fall, don’t you think?

Garrick was silent. Braxidane’s gills pumped madly.

Actions and consequences, Garrick. That is all there is. I told you that the first time we spoke.

Garrick grimaced.

You cannot fight the nature of your power.

I don’t accept that.

You must.

I would rather die.

Even knowing your friend will die, also?
Braxidane said.

A feeling of connection came to him, then. His life force had mingled with Darien’s. If Garrick died, a part of Darien would die, also.

No, Garrick,
the planewalker said.
It’s not your connection that will kill him—Darien will not live because the orders’ armies are simply too powerful. He cannot make it out of Arderveer alive if you are not there to help him.

Damn you, Braxidane.

If you want to die, so be it. But if you want to live, you must accept your powers.

Then what?

Then you will find true balance.

That’s not what I mean, and you know it. What’s in this for you, Braxidane? What am I missing?

The fish floated before him, its mouth working in grotesque sucking motions.

There are struggles occurring, Garrick—struggles outside your ability to comprehend.

What does that mean?

It means that I need someone like you.

Garrick fumed.

You’re playing with me.

No, Garrick. It is you who are playing with me. I have held my end of the bargain. You are truly my apprentice, and I have served as your true superior. But I own your magic. You cannot change that unless I desire it.

Understanding dawned upon Garrick.

You’ve already triggered my powers. That’s why my sorcery is stronger than any apprentice’s.

Braxidane laughed, bubbles rising.

That was one of the responsibilities
I
accepted.

The answer settled over Garrick’s mind.

He had not defeated Braxidane after all. He didn’t know if it was even possible to defeat Braxidane anymore. But he felt his connection to Darien, and he thought about the slaves of Arderveer and the people of Adruin. Was it all scripted? All foretold? Did they all have to suffer as they were?

Time passes, Garrick. Will you live or will you die?

I’ll live,
he said, though he could not fully say why.

Go, then,
Braxidane said.
Finish your job.

And as the planewalker swam away with the swirl of a cold fin, the chains fell from around Garrick’s body, sinking away into the expansive darkness below.

Chapter 25

Garrick broke the surface with the sound of a boiling rush.

His first breath was like a birthing.

He coughed water as he rose through the shaft that ran through Arderveer’s heart, his blood warming his body and making his fingers ache. Magelight made the shaft’s opening look like a full moon above. The odor of sorcery grew stronger as he flew upward. The sensation of battle came from everywhere.

Garrick came to the shaft’s opening and stopped there, floating like a ghost in mid-air as he surveyed the mayhem around him.

Swordplay rang out in the enclosed space.

Life force hung in a dense haze.

He absorbed that life force like a sponge takes on water, feeling stronger and more alive each moment. This was his destiny, he thought. This was who he was.

The desert knights had fallen back to defend the central chamber, and mages of the orders pressed in upon them. A few of Takril’s apprentices stood among them, drained and clearly ready for it all to be over.

It was clear that Takril would lose his city today.

Garrick looked for Darien, but could not find him.

Darien wouldn’t leave without his father’s sword. If he was to be found anywhere, it would be at the weaponry.

A Lectodinian mage noticed Garrick and sent a blue bolt his way. Garrick set a gate, and his life force rose to flick the bolt toward a Koradictine, who then died in mid-spell.

Actions and consequences,
he thought as he stripped the sorcerer’s life force.

Had he actually said that, or had he merely heard Braxidane’s voice?

Did it matter?

He clenched his fists.

Yes,
he thought.
It mattered to him.

He didn’t care what his agreement had included. He would do his job. He would fill his commitment, and nothing more. And it mattered to him whether this thought came from Braxidane or if it came from himself.

Voices rose as Garrick stepped onto the blood-slicked floor.

Life force raged inside him.

He concentrated on his link, and a stream of flame poured from his palm to destroy three Koradictines.

Spell work raged through his mind. He drank from a never-ending stream of life force, eating souls and funneling energy back into his already bloated magic, redoubling his power as he cast more and more into the fray. He felt invincible. As he cast his magic, Garrick strode unerringly toward the weaponry, life force burning like fire inside him. With each step he threw his shoulders back farther and the set of his jaw became more firm. The battle raged around him, but Garrick became an island of calm that moved down the hallway at his own steady pace.

The conveyor belt was shredded, rollers crushed and splintered.

Smoke hung in the corridor.

A man groaned.

Two Lectodinians blocked his way. He wrapped magestuff around their necks and lifted them so they dangled with their hands clutching at their throats. He pushed them until they were over the shaft, then dropped them into their own free-fall.

Actions and consequences,
he thought once again, and this time he knew those words were his own.

Dim magelight flickered in the hallway. An explosion roared ahead of him from where the stables were. The armory was nearby.

Panicked horses screamed, confirming he was drawing near

He turned a corner to the stable room and caught the sharp, lemony scent of Lectodinian magic.

Darien was trapped along a wall. His clothes were tattered and sweat-drenched. One leg was stained crimson. His dark hair glistened in the magelight, and his face was covered with grime. He held his father’s sword, though. The blade glimmered red and purple in the dim light.

Two Koradictine mages occupied stalls halfway down the stables. Garrick watched as they counted in unison, then stepped into the open to cast their spell.

Before they could finish, Garrick raised an arm and spoke a word of power. Flames poured from his hand, forking in midair, each tongue taking a mage in the back. The entire chamber shook with an explosion, and Garrick took a moment to breathe in their lives.

“Garrick!” Darien said when it was over. “I didn’t expect to see
you
again.”

“It appears you’re not going to be that lucky,” Garrick replied.

“We’ve got to get out of the city,” Darien said. “And we’ve got to get out now.”

As if on cue, another explosion shook the floor.

Darien limped forward.

“I’ll take care of that,” Garrick said.

“I think we should hold off on any more of your help until I understand what it’s going to cost.”

“It’s too late to get skittish on me now, Darien.”

“I’ll be fine.” Darien put weight on his bad leg and nearly fell over. Then he looked at Garrick. “All right,” he finally said. “Do it.”

Garrick bent to his task. The wound knit quickly.

“I’ve got no words for this,” Darien said.

“Proof that there’s a first time for everything,” Garrick replied.

He went to the stall to get Kalomar.

“What are you doing?” Darien called. “The animals will slow us down here, and they’re liable to get hurt in the corridors.”

“Perhaps,” Garrick said, loosening the reins that held Kalomar to the stall. “But I gave my word I would take care of this one, and I don’t relish the idea of walking across the entire desert on foot, either.”

An explosion rumbled in the hallway, and the ceiling gave a sharp crack.

The horse was shaking, terrified.

Garrick calmed the animal by speaking gentle words and running a hand over his back. He slipped a saddle over the animal’s back, and hitched up the girth. Then he slipped a bit into Kalomar’s mouth.

Behind him, Darien prepared his own horse.

“You, too, are unwise, eh?”

“Two horses are no worse than one.”

The floor shook again, this time from an explosion deep in the bowels of the city. The orders’ forces were many, and, despite Garrick’s terrible toll, they were advancing quickly through the city.

Garrick mounted Kalomar and waited for Darien.

Once his friend was ready, the pair ducked low to avoid the tunnel’s ceiling and rode into the battle-torn hallway.

Chapter 26

The exit loomed ahead, with two mercenary soldiers standing guard.

Darien took one.

Garrick cut his way through the other.

He drank their life forces, but his blood rush had quieted and he found these more difficult to absorb than previous ones had been.

A dagger flashed by to his left.

He set his links and poured a prismatic rainbow of destruction over soldiers who remained between them and the exit to the city. The knowledge that he was a full mage made him feel different, now. He was confident. He was capable.

“Go, Darien!” he yelled as the corridor sloped toward the surface.

Darien’s horse was fresher, and ran ahead. But Kalomar pinned his ears back and his muscles moved with fluid grace. The passage was tight and so low that Garrick had to press against Kalomar’s neck to avoid crashing into the ceiling. He leaned into a turn as the path corkscrewed upward.

The horses surged as they reached the ramp.

The air grew warmer here, and a single shaft of afternoon sun angled a dusty beam into the tunnel. Two soldiers and a Koradictine mage blocked the final way out.

Darien cut one soldier down before he could react.

The other fell back, waving his sword ineffectually.

Garrick flung raw power, and the mage died with his spell still on his lips.

They burst into the open desert with a blaze of speed. For a moment Garrick was blinded by the sun, and followed Darien by sense of sound only. Dry heat scorched his lungs. He trusted Darien—he realized that fully, and he realized also that the fact he could actually trust someone here amid the chaos of Arderveer’s fall was a remarkable thing in itself.

Darien turned, and Garrick spurred Kalomar to follow.

They raced through a line of soldiers before any could react.

Garrick’s vision returned well enough that he could make out the spires of two tents that rose from the horizon, one blood red, the other deep blue.

Four riders rode hard toward them, their swords glittering in the bright sun, more coming along behind.

“How do we get out of here?” Darien called.