Blademage Adept (The Blademage Saga Book 3) (30 page)

A Movement rune stirred in Kevon’s mind, and the Fire rune flared to unbearable brilliance. Kevon smashed his forehead into the damp sand, unable to handle the intensity of the nearby spell. The magic waned, and Kevon saw Pholos doubled over in pain, clawing at his face.

“What was…” The whisper had barely escaped Kevon’s lips when he saw it. The streaking glob of molten sand struck the Imperial ship, Carlo’s ship, broadside near the mainmast. Flashes of light peppered the side of the stricken ship seconds before Kevon could hear the explosions of the barrels of cannon powder from the hold.

The magic began building again, as cries of alarm began sounding from the camp.

Rolling away from the accumulating power, Kevon stumbled to his feet, and staggered into the sea. He could see tiny figures leaping from the sinking wreckage of the Imperial ship, and longboats moving from Yusa’s ship to recover the swimmers.

Insulated somewhat by his contact with the sea, Kevon turned as he felt another release of Fire magic. Pholos crouched near the crest of the hill, just out of view of where Holten had been. Smoke and steam hissed from where the misfired projectile had landed, near the shoreline where Kevon stood.

Magic built from two other sources near the camp. Magi were on the move, circling away from the shore, taking cover behind the hills and boulders further inland. Elven hunters stalked close, loosing arrows to no apparent effect, rolling away from lesser splashes of lobbed fire.

A familiar feeling spell began to take form. Kevon and Pholos locked eyes, each remembering the last time they had worked that particular flavor of magic. Holten was transforming himself into living fire.

Kevon looked at the blade at his side for a moment, but the sea called to him. Memories of training on other shores echoed through his mind, and runes formed. Concealment. Enhancement. Water. Movement. Kevon isolated his focus, brushing aside the mental tickle of the opposing Fire magic building around Holten, emanating from the portal.

The spell deepened. The Water rune glowed deeper than the others as the sea rose around Kevon, surging forward, circling around Pholos. The water deepened, rising to just below the crest of the hill. Kevon’s efforts to conceal the spell became more taxing as it expanded, his magical reserves draining swiftly. The balance of building power and waning control tipped, and Kevon forced the wave over the hill toward Holten and the portal.

A flash of steam, and a shriek of pain sent Kevon scrambling ashore, dodging the muddy torrent that washed back down to the sea from above. He crested the hill, and charged down to where Pholos had fallen to his knees.

“Darkness…” Holten whispered, lips trembling, eyes rolling back in his head.

Kevon gagged at the sight of what remained of his former Master. Half of the Master Mage had been extinguished, washed away. What remained when the spell ended was wavy, distorted, incomplete. The menacing distortions that Holten had given himself in his fire-form were not fully corrected with the spell’s sudden cancellation. A jagged line from his left shoulder to right hip was where he ended, warped bits of skin and bone kept his insides from spilling out, in some places.

“The Darkness… is… coming…” A last, ragged rattle shook Holten’s body, his face curled into a final, hideous grin.

Kevon kicked at the remains, making sure there was nothing left in the devious Wizard’s body. “Martin,” he growled, leaping over the twisted remains, running toward camp.

The Elven hunters stood down immediately, calling out to the rest of the camp’s defenders.

“Alma!” Kevon shouted, running to the center of camp. “Alma!”

“She and Martin fled when the fighting began,” one of the Magi pointed further down the coastline toward the cliffs that led up to the Highplain.

“He brought Holten here to attack us!” Kevon yelled, barreling past the stunned Mage. “He has my sister!”

The Mage and two Hunters chased after Kevon as the others started crewing rowboats to rescue survivors from Carlo’s ship. Kevon cut through the rest of the camp, angling toward the rising cliffs at top speed.

“Let her go, traitor!” Kevon called into the shadows of the jagged depression he’d tracked Martin and Alma to.

“You’re the one that betrayed us!” Martin cried, stepping out into the dying rays of sunlight, holding a struggling Alma at knifepoint. “After all he taught you… All he gave us…”

“It was difficult for me, when I found out what he really was…” Kevon stepped closer, circling slowly to get a better view. “Now that he’s gone…”

“He told me the truth of what you were, before he set out to hunt you down.” Martin shifted his grip, keeping the knife at Alma’s throat, fumbling in his pocket with his other hand. “I stayed my hand at his request, he always thought you might be saved. Now…”

“There is nowhere for you to go,” Kevon took another slow step toward Martin. “Release her. It’s the only way you get to live.”

Martin manipulated the wooden trinket he’d located with his left hand, tightening his grip around Alma as he did so. “You won’t get away with this so easily. “You’ll…”

Kevon felt the shift in magic as he heard the pieces of the wooden device
click
into place.

“You’ll pay for murdering the Master.”

Sensing her moment of opportunity, Alma used the seconds after Martin’s perceived victory to grab the hand holding the knife, and pry it from her neck.

“Not so easy,” Martin remarked, tightening his left arm around her neck, keeping the knife poised in the hand Alma held away and down, at arm’s length.

“You’ve lost,” Kevon shook his head. “The elves can react to any move you could try with lethal bow-fire.”

“Wait…” Martin’s grip slackened. “It doesn’t have to end like this…”

Kevon felt the Dark magic before he saw the portal begin to open.

“Ahh. It may, after all…” Martin smiled at the visible reactions of Kevon and the other bystanders, and squeezed Alma’s neck tighter in the crook of his arm. He shook his knife-hand free of hers as her breath rattled in her throat. Her other empty hand flew reflexively to Martin’s arm, tapping at it and pulling feebly as her strength waned.

“No, don’t fall,” he cautioned, pressing the knife-tip into her ribcage. “Just a little further…”

Two menacing figures leaped through the portal before it finished expanding. Curved sickle-arms and segmented black chitin armor flashed with muted glimmers in the evening light.

The portal’s expansion stopped, and through it stepped a slim, middle aged man in a tailored black suit. “Something merits breaking my rapport with…” The newcomer peered around Martin to the forces gathering around.

“Master Holten has been…”

“Defeated by this rabble, I’m sure,” the man interrupted Martin’s explanation. Responding to his swift gesture, the two Obsidian Reapers slid past where Martin held Alma, chittering their menace to those standing before them. The new Mage’s face twisted in disgust. “Flee, fool.”

Shielded from the archers and Magi by the creatures of darkness, Martin hauled Alma backward past the newcomer, into the writhing vileness of the portal.

“One of you would be Holten’s student?”

“And his executioner,” Kevon added, conjuring up a fistful of flames. “I’d be pleased to serve you in that capacity.”

“Perhaps,” the Mage laughed. “Should we meet again...” He gave a mock bow from the cover of his dark retainers, and stepped backward into the liquid gloom. The portal squelched closed, and brightened out of existence.

Freed from the influence of their master, the terrors that remained leapt into action.

Kevon loosed a blast of fire at the whirling figure that charged him, and tumbled to the side as the flame slid off his attacker without effect.

The focused jet of fire that Pholos directed at the other horror caught an exposed shoulder joint, and the chitin flared and popped, the menacing limb spinning free of its body to glance off the thick armor of one of the Dwarven Stoneguard.

More dwarves scrambled to the forefront, past Kevon and Pholos. Elven arrows and bolts from Imperial crossbows peppered the attackers, fracturing a section of armor here, piercing a vulnerable joint elsewhere.

“Blind them!” Kevon shouted, remembering Carlo’s account of his run-in with the beasts. “Their eyes are up top!” He turned to where the archers still angled for shots at their adversaries, and covered his eyes for a moment.

I hope they figure that out,
Kevon thought as he turned back and began his spell. The power built, unconcealed. Kevon could feel the Light energy coursing through him, and the other Magi responded, offering their own power in kind. Kevon embraced it, his concentration faltering only slightly in the deepening evening.

Unable to hold the magic any longer, Kevon released it just behind the line of dwarves that stood axe to scythe with the nightmarish creatures birthed from the darkness itself. The wash of light poured through his closed eyelids, searing the negative of the scene before him into his spirit. He staggered, blinking away the twisted tapestry that overrode his mind.

Leaping backward, crashing into each other in the confines of the narrow space they’d been pushed back into, the creatures spun, lashing out with back legs and awkward slashes of their scythes, with the sight that remained to them.

Kevon reached deep, and detonated a weaker flash of light, hoping to disable the beasts even further. The spell was not strong enough to pierce the afterimage from the previous attempt, and the power fled from any further attempt Kevon made to bend it to his will. He dashed past Pholos toward the line of Stoneguard at the front, and drew his blade. He skidded to a stop and leaned back to dodge a backhanded swing of one of the reaper’s scythe arms, then lurched forward and to the right to sidestep a kick and aim a cut at an exposed knee-joint. The blade bit deep, and a flying wedge of carapace, a spray of ichor preceded its wobbling retreat.

The Dwarven line split, hemming in the one-armed reaper on the right, sliding by on the left to pursue the limping one to the back of the depression. The dwarves called back and forth in their native tongue more than Kevon had heard before, coordinating the unnaturally solid defense of the Stoneguard front ranks with timed incursions by the Dwarven regulars. The reaper on the left had spiderweb cracks in its chitin surrounding the charred arm-socket, and two deep gashes where Dwarven axes had struck true.

As the line surrounding it tightened, the one-armed reaper seemed to wilt, it’s body jangling back and forth on unsteady legs, slumping ever closer to the inevitable final rest upon the sand. The dwarves quieted, advancing as one to finish their flagging adversary.

The reaper sprang over the Dwarven line, cartwheeling outward nearly to the archers, single scythe flashing in the Mage-fire that swung to bear on it. Pholos let loose a focused inferno that funneled into the beast’s chattering maw as it landed, twisting and flailing.

Kevon turned and continued after the limping one, hoping its wound would prevent a similar maneuver. Feeling the rhythm, the ebb and flow of the Dwarven attack and defense, Kevon inserted himself into the line. After a few miscues, he blended his strikes seamlessly with the rest of the Dwarven regulars, and in a few short minutes, the heavily wounded beast fell to a Stoneguard’s savage counterstroke.

“Finish it!” Kevon shouted, making crosswise slashing motions with his sword to convey his point to the dwarves. He spun to run back toward the open beach, and the remainder of the battle.

The knot of fighters was untangling, a lone Stoneguard kicked at the mangled carcass, lecturing in his native tongue. As the Imperial soldiers and elves cleared the area, Kevon spotted Pholos.

Kevon knelt by the still form of his friend.
Not the first time I’ve lost you,
he thought, looking at the rust-colored rivulets that led away from the body.
But there’s no escaping it this time. No portal into the realm of Fire to flee the destruction I’ve brought down upon you.

“Where is the Commander?” Carlo’s second in command demanded of Kevon as he brushed closed the eyes of the slain Mage, and stood. “How can such a thing have happened?”

“Focus on the survivors,” Kevon answered, pointing out to sea. “Save who we can.”

Epilogue

“Come with me,” Alanna insisted. “You haven’t slept since we returned from the Highplain.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kevon argued, shaking his head. “There are still some things I need to figure out.”

“You know where I’ll be.” Alanna’s fingers slid off of Kevon’s, and she retreated into the stairwell that led to the cabins below.

Kevon climbed the stairs to the aft deck, and sat down beside Carlo. “Your men are adjusting well to the ship?”

“The surviving crew is working well with Yusa’s,” Carlo agreed. “The soldiers are feeling cramped, getting restless. Given the circumstances, I don’t blame them.” He motioned over his shoulder to the aft railing, where Rhysabeth-Dane sat reading, nestled behind the shoulder, under the wing of her sleeping griffin.

“Once they find the rhythm, they’ll settle in,” Kevon chuckled. “Constantly hauling in fishing nets should help with that.” He shaded his eyes and looked up at the handful of Unbound circling the ship.

“What about you?” Carlo asked. “You haven’t really talked much about what happened.”

“I couldn’t…” Kevon shook his head. “I couldn’t open a passage to the Plane of Fire like Pholos could, even to travel so short a distance back up to the Highplain. I’m outmatched in the only realm I could open a portal to.
He could control reapers.
It’s a wonder he didn’t return with more to finish the job.”

“You sure you didn’t recognize him?”

“I’ve been through it in my mind for the last two weeks,” Kevon sighed. “I’d never seen him before, and there is nothing he did that connects him to anyone…”

“We’ll find him. We’ll get her back.”

“The mission…”

“Which one?” Carlo asked. “Translating the book for Alacrit? Rubbing elbows with the gods? Tracking down your former Master?” Carlo squinted. “Oh, right. You don’t have to worry about that one any more. Should free up some time for this other fellow.”