Legacy of Kings (46 page)

He turned toward an opening at the far end of the chamber and gestured for her to follow him. It was then that she felt a sudden shiver along her spine. Something in the chamber had shifted. A silent, secret, metaphysical
something
. She could not even say where that knowledge came from, but she knew her own instincts enough to trust it.

Had Lazaroth returned?

The concept that he might be in the room even now, watching her, made a wave of sickness come over her. Fear and shame and loathing churned in her gut, and for a moment it was all she could do not to vomit. And in that moment she hated herself for feeling that way, for being so weak, almost as much as she hated him.

Hated
her.

She put a hand on his Ramirus’ shoulder. He was startled when she did so; Magisters didn’t usually touch one another. But it gave her a connection whereby she could channel a message to him without need for speech.

Lazaroth is here,
she thought to him.

He nodded almost imperceptibly to indicate that he’d gotten the message. He did not look around the room in a physical sense, but she was sure that he was doing so via sorcery, trying to pick up any clue as to Lazaroth’s location. It was a hopeless task. Even Kamala couldn’t have picked Lazaroth out in this big empty space, devoid of any landmarks to focus on. And Ramirus had no experience whatsoever in dealing with a queen’s power.

Her one consolation was that she was pretty sure Lazaroth did not want Colivar dead, which took a number of things off the table. But it still left a lot of unpleasant options. Kamala strained her senses to the utmost as she and Ramirus hurried across the room, trying to catch any whiff of sorcerous intentions, any change in the metaphysical balance of the space surrounding them—

Suddenly sorcery blazed up directly in front of them. The light of it was blinding to Kamala, and she shielded her eyes with one hand as she cursed the sensitivity of her Sight, expecting that at any moment that Lazaroth would strike at them.

But he did not.

The light faded. Her eyes adjusted.

The exit was gone.

They turned about quickly, to see what had become of the other doorways. All gone. The rock had healed over all of them, like flesh closing over a wound. Sandstone stripes coursed across the walls in fluid perfection, as if men had never sliced through them. Even Kamala’s Sight could not pick out the place where the doors had once been. It was as if she and Ramirus were standing in a chamber that had never had—and never would have—exits.

Instinctively they moved to the nearest wall and put their backs to it. One less direction to worry about.
You can cut off a Magister’s head with a single sword stroke,
Ethanus had taught Kamala,
so long as he does not see it coming.
Wasn’t that how Kostas had died? Facing off against anyone other than Lazaroth, they would not be in such danger. His sorcery would be visible, even if his person was not, and that would give them at least a moment’s warning if he launched an aggressive spell at them.

But the power of a Souleater queen changed that equation completely. And Ramirus didn’t know about it. He’d be watching for conventional warning signs. Conventional sorcery.

We have to get out of here,
Kamala thought desperately.

Sorcery was beginning to shimmer about the walls and ceiling of the chamber. She saw Ramirus furrow his brow as he bound enough athra to read its purpose . . . and he drew in a sharp breath as he did so. She looked upward and did the same.

The chamber was being sealed off. Not impermeably—no Magister could cut himself off from the outside world entirely, lest he lose his connection to his consort—but with a barrier no transportation spell would be able to pass through. Lazaroth was making sure they would have no avenue of escape before taking further action.

They could not afford to be trapped here.

Shutting her eyes, Kamala reached out to the barrier with all her power. Ramirus was attempting to break through the thing by sheer force, and for a moment she joined her sorcery to his, to help him. It was important that Lazaroth think they were both thoroughly engaged in that effort, so that he did not question what else she might be doing. And then—quietly, carefully—she disengaged from Ramirus’ sorcery. Slipping tendrils of her own power through the weakest points in the barrier, she extended them into the layers of sandstone beyond. A plan was beginning to take shape in her mind, and she desperately tried to remember everything Ethanus had ever taught her about the mechanics of sorcery. Particularly about how quickly it worked. You could only wield sorcery as quickly as you could summon forth athra from your soul and mold into the proper shape, but a spell that was crafted in advance, and required only a trigger to set it in motion, might be all but instantaneous in its action. Yes?

Pray that I am remembering correctly,
she thought to her distant mentor.
Or else your prize student may soon be no more than a messy splotch on the ground.

Trusting to Ramirus’ defensive efforts to keep Lazaroth distracted, she began to transform the rock surrounding them. She left the inner surface of the chamber walls untouched, so that the change would not be visible to Lazaroth, but she transformed everything beyond that. Sandstone into sulfur—into charcoal—into saltpeter. It seemed she could feel the weight of the rock pressing down on the chamber now, no different in volume than what it had been before, but infinitely more volatile in potential.

And then, trembling with anticipation, she returned her awareness to her body. Ramirus had failed to break through the barrier, and it was nearly complete now; as soon as it was done she had no doubt that the next phase of Lazaroth’s assault would begin. She reached out and grasped Ramirus’ arm, holding onto him tightly so that even if everything went to hell in a handbasket, they would not get separated. He looked at her in surprise.

“Transport us,” she whispered fiercely. Praying to all the gods that he would trust her and just do it.

For a moment he stared into her eyes, and apparently whatever he saw there satisfied him. Grimly he nodded and proceeded to summon the power that would be needed. As his sorcery took shape around them, she saw that he understood her intent, for he did not attempt to fashion a portal in front of them, that they might step into—the normal configuration—but rather to conjure one right where they were standing. The risk of that was immense in this place—any flaw in such a spell would kill them all—but if Lazaroth’s barrier faltered for even an instant, they would be in motion before he could repair it.

“Keep trying,” she whispered. Squeezing his arm tightly. “Keep trying!” She hoped it would sound to Lazaroth as if she were merely desperate and was urging Ramirus to try to force his way through the barrier by brute force. Good. Good. The more he thought he understood what they were doing, the less likely he was to realize what she really had planned.

Muttering a prayer under her breath, she reached out with her power again, into the rock she had transformed, and sparked a fire in its depths.

With a deafening roar the walls of the chamber exploded: ceiling, walls, and floor, all shattered in an instant. There was no way any sorcerer could respond to such a thing in time to save himself.

Unless a portal was already in motion.

Lazaroth’s spell had been anchored to the rock walls, and as they shattered, so did his barrier. Even as an avalanche of rock rushed at them from all sides, the portal that Ramirus had conjured lurched into activity, severing them from their current location and sending them—where? What arrival point had Ramirus chosen? As Kamala felt the sickening wrench of power, she realized that she didn’t know. And didn’t care. Rocks pelted the three of them even as they began to vanish, and it seemed the whole world went mad in that instant, as they were transported—

Somewhere.

Chapter 26

T

HE TRANSPORT spell manifested with a deafening crack, vomiting the three of them out upon a gritty sandstone surface. Debris spewed forth as Ramirus and Kamala stumbled through the doorway between
here
and
there,
Kamala falling to her knees as they landed, Ramirus nearly dropping Colivar. Shards of rock followed them, hurtling like crossbow bolts on all sides—and then suddenly ceased to fly, as the portal vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

And then there was silence.

With a grunt, Ramirus lowered Colivar to the ground. Several rocks had struck him during their exit, and thin lines of blood were trickling down from his forehead. He raised a hand to the wounds, healing and cleaning them with a touch, then did the same for his abraded palm. Kamala checked her own body for damage, repairing what was necessary. It was clear from the nature and the number of their wounds that the three of them had barely made it out in time.

“You certainly don’t do things by halves,” Ramirus muttered.

Blinking her eyes against the sudden intensity of full sunlight, Kamala saw that they were now atop a narrow mesa, formed of the same reddish stone as Tefilat itself. A sigil had been carved into its surface, presumably as a focus for transport. For all his concerns about conjuring a portal in Tefilat, Ramirus had apparently prepared an escape route in advance. In the distance Kamala could see a plume of dust rising, and she guessed that it was coming from Tefilat . . . or what remained of Tefilat. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her feet, and she could hear a sound like an explosion in the distance. A new plume of dust gushed up into the air, spreading out over the desert. Collateral damage from her assault, no doubt; the weakened cliff face was giving way piece by piece, as each collapse triggered a new one. There would be little left of Tefilat once it was all over.

Ramirus knelt down by Colivar’s side. If he had hoped that getting him out of Tefilat would improve his condition, it was clear that was not going to happen. The black-haired Magister lay still, insensate, his eyes gazing into nothingness. Periodically they shifted focus, as if he were struggling to see something clearly, but whatever he was focusing on was invisible to Kamala. His face and chest had been protected from the explosion by his position over Ramirus’ shoulder, but thin rivulets of blood trickled out from under where he lay. How strange it was, to see such an ancient and powerful creature rendered as helpless as a newborn child. How unnerving.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kamala asked.

“Some sort of containment spell,” he said, a grave expression on his face. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Rising up from her knees, trying to clear her head enough to walk steadily, she came over to join him.

Ramirus had his hand on Colivar’s chest, and it was clear he was summoning power. She watched with her Sight as tendrils of sorcery, refined and delicate, began to explore Colivar’s body. She tried to still the queasy feeling she got as she watched, remembering the feel of Ramirus’ sorcery invading her own person. No sorcerer capable of resisting would ever allow another to do such a thing to him. But Colivar was helpless now, much as she had been back then. Gods help him if Ramirus took advantage of that, as he had with her.

As last the Magister sat back on his heels, his white brow furrowed in thought.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s a barrier between Colivar and the outside world. Not like the one that Lazaroth was trying to conjure, which would block only a particular type of spell; this one was meant to block them all. An impermeable shell through which no sorcery can penetrate.” He gazed down at his rival with a strange expression on his face. Pity? “Obviously, it was not entirely successful, or he would no longer be alive.”

For a Magister to be cut off from the outside world meant being cut off from his consort. From the very source of his life. A witch could exist in such a state, but a sorcerer could not. Kamala’s skin crawled just thinking about it. “You think they were trying to kill him?”

“No. I think they wanted to neutralize his sorcery so that they could take him prisoner. I’m guessing that he’s been fighting it ever since, struggling to keep at least a minimal conduit open. Like a drowning man struggling for air . . . .“

The words trailed off into silence. Why? He had talked to her in Tefilat about her calling in his Oath. Only a Magister could do that. So he knew what she was now, and discussing such sensitive matters should not be an issue. Did he still have doubts? Or was he just having problems internalizing the fact that the woman he was talking to was one of his own kind?

Looking down at Colivar’s prone form, the red dust of Tefilat turning the sky to blood behind him, Kamala thought,
We’re past the point of playing this game.

“If he loses contact with his consort,” she said, “he’ll die. So no doubt he’s shut down all outside awareness, to focus on the internal struggle. It’s what I would do.” She met Ramirus’ eyes defiantly.
I am what I am. Come to terms with it.
“So the question is, can the spell be removed from him?”

Ramirus hesitated. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t appear to be an external conjuration, as one would expect. Rather, it seems to bear his own resonance, which makes no sense at all. Why would a man do such a thing to himself?”

“Lazaroth told me that Siderea wove the trap from the substance of his own body, whatever that means. He said that no one could banish it without killing him.”

“Aye. It appears to be part of him, not something separate. How that was managed I have no idea. ‘His own body?’ Colivar isn’t the sort to leave parts of himself lying around.” Lips tight, he shook his head; it clearly frustrated him to have gone through so much effort recovering Colivar and still be unable to free him. “I see no way to remove it from him. And I don’t think I can get into his mind to gather information. Even if I could break through by sheer force . . . “ Though he did not complete the sentence, Kamala knew what he was thinking. Any act that might distract Colivar from his immediate struggle for survival might prove fatal to him. His tie to his consort was a thin, fraying thread right now. They dared not do anything that would stress that connection further . . . and attempting to break into his mind would certainly do that.