Lord Of The Freeborn (Book 7) (7 page)

“You’ll have to kill me first,” he said.

“That can be arranged,” Hezarin replied, casting magic at him.

“Darien!” Garrick said, throwing the dregs of his life force into a shield around his friend.

The impact sent a curtain of sparks dancing across the grounds.

Hezarin yelled, and pointed a finger at Ashgood.

The man died before he knew what was coming.

Darien glared at Garrick and pushed against the barrier.

“Let me out,” he said.

“I can’t let you die for me,” Garrick replied.

He stood alone and exposed as Hezarin turned like a black widow at the end of her web.

“Protect your friend while you can, Garrick. Funnel your power to him as you will. But I will kill him after I’m through with you.”

A fist of power crashed into Garrick’s chest. He fell against an open wagon, and reached desperately to the wooden wheel to keep himself upright.

“Braxidane!” he yelled. “Braxidane!”

“My brother cannot help you,” she said. “I’ve played his own game against him and cut deals with half the powers in Existence. He cannot come to Adruin now and expect to live.”

Garrick tried to breathe, but drew little value. His vision danced red. She was playing with him, now. She could kill him any time she wanted.

“Why do you care about this place?” he was finally able to whisper.

“Once you’re gone, Garrick, I won’t care about it at all. Neither will anyone else in Existence. I may just raze it when I’m done.”

Garrick’s stomach clenched.

Magic wafted above Hezarin as she moved toward him.

He reached for his link, reached for life force, reached for anything that would give him strength. But he was done. There was truly nothing there but his hunger, and that hunger rose inside him in ways that were all too familiar. He felt it filling him, felt it giving him its ugly power.

In the distance, Ellesadil stirred like a man coming off a three-day drunk.

Fire flared from Hezarin’s fingertips.

Garrick drew on his hunger to pull a shield over him. Rather than deflect the planewalker’s magic, the hunger absorbed it as a sponge takes on water. The heat was intense, and when it was done a thick smell of singed oil lingered.

The planewalker gave a smile of victory.

Magical residue burned around her.

“You are nearing your rage,” she said.

Her expression told him she knew everything about him, how when the hunger-rage hit he would be uncontrollable. And he knew now that when that happened she would merely step aside and let him do her damage for her.

He had only one choice.

Retreat into Existence.

It would mean abandoning his friends to Hezarin’s whim, leaving them defenseless. What would they think of him when they saw him leave?

It didn’t matter.

He understood the trade-off, a few lives here for hundreds or thousands there, and he knew what he needed to do. It was the only option that would keep the city of Dorfort alive

Garrick pulled his link, and at the same time let his darkness out to drink the life force of guards and mages alike. He felt them as he used them. Their desires were pristine, their fears powerful. He searched until he found a portal.

The gate to Existence was easier to open this time, and easier to approach. His hunger wailed as he leveraged it. It raged. It screamed. It beat its writhing essence against Garrick’s chest at the unfairness of his ploy.

But Garrick stepped into the portal.

The door closed, and then there was only the flow.

Hezarin, too, wailed.

Anger scoured every part of her being. Raw, bitter anger. Anger of passion. Anger of betrayal.

Where had Garrick gone?

The truth dawned a moment later.

There was really only one place he could have gone. Of course. And she wasn’t going to follow him there. Not, yet, anyway.

She felt movement in the web of magic she had laid behind her. It was Darien, sword drawn. Her spell work was quick and clean. She wrapped her senses around him, and squeezed.

His motion came to a halt, his blade remaining suspended in the air.

Then she smiled as a new thought struck her, a thought so gorgeous as to send a shiver of anticipation across her shoulders.

Chapter 13

Will raised himself from the hallway.

The blast missed him, but it had destroyed much of Garrick’s chamber and it had thrown him clear across the room. The stone here was cold, and his cheek throbbed where he had crashed to the ground. He saw the nearly full moon through the blast hole as it hung like white fire over the horizon.

He crawled to the edge of the room and peered out over the manor yard. Wild odors came from below, blood, and honey and the thick, electric smell of lightning after a storm.

“Get inside Karl,” a woman’s voice yelled.

“Wallace!” another said.

A door slammed, and window shutters squealed shut. Footsteps scuffled, and the metallic jangle of the guard seemed to come from all directions at once.

He grabbed an exposed rafter and swung to land on the walkway around the government center’s wall. Then he stared over the railing.

Garrick was nowhere to be seen.

Hezarin stood before Darien. Her voice rang with a sorcerous tone.

Darien stood artificially still, his blade poised as if in mid slash.

Knowing only that something was terribly wrong, Will scooped together wet snow. It was too cold for a proper snowball, and his fingers were quickly numb, but it came out solid enough that he could unloose the white missile toward her. It struck the sorceress in the small of the back just as her magic was about to be released.

She gave a startled jump.

Darien fell to the ground, and began to crawl toward her.

The woman’s gaze raised, black like coal. She swept her hand toward Darien, and he drew still once again.

Will ducked under the railing, and tried to ignore the fear that was crawling like serpents up his arms and his legs. He began to shiver. He had to move or he would be a goner. He kept down, but scrabbled in a direction that brought him closer to Darien.

“Leave this city, now.”

Will grimaced.

It was Ellesadil’s voice. He had gathered himself, and was now standing his ground. Ellesadil was a fine statesman, but this work called for a swordsman or a mage, and the lord was neither of these.

“Are you serious?” Hezarin replied.

“Guards, to my side!” Ellesadil called, but there was no apparent response.

The coppery smell of blood grew bolder, and Will could easily imagine the sorceress’s magic circling her head like poison.

Garrick would be back, he thought.

His master wouldn’t leave them here alone.

Will believed that with all his heart. He had believed in his superior from the first day they had met, back when Garrick had promised to keep Kalomar from harm. Garrick had spoken to him like an adult, then, and had come back to save him. Garrick had come to get him when he was caught by Ettril. Garrick had given him everything he had today.

And if there was one thing Will was certain of, it was that Garrick would come back again—and that when he came back, he would save the day.

Will just had to keep the sorceress occupied until that could happen.

Will just had to give him time.

The walkway here was leeward, and had no snow nearby, but a row of icicles hung from the cover above him. He leaped and grabbed one, but his action shook three others loose and a crystalline shower clattered down on him. Only his immediate dive and scramble around the corner saved him from the ball of flames that erupted where he had stood.

He jumped to his feet and rained icicles like daggers down on the sorceress. They missed, but they gave him a moment to dive away from his place, and by the time she twisted from them and spoke her spell, he had ducked behind a different railing.

Still, if the stone had been only half as thick, he would surely have been killed.

Will fell to his stomach and wormed his way toward a guard outpost where a blade and bow were propped against the wall.

It was cold.

So very, very cold.

But if he could get to those weapons, perhaps he could make something else happen. If he could get to them, perhaps he could give Garrick just a little more time.

Hezarin looked at the smoldering remains of the guard post and pursed her lips.

That should do it for the boy.

She turned her attention back to Darien, twisting her magic and feeling him struggle against his restraints.

In short, jerky motions, she stood him up.

His blade felt cold against her spell. Its magic repelled other magics, but it had never faced a casting as powerful as hers.

Darien fought against her commands, but his muscles cramped and his skin felt on fire. His stride came in jerky motions, every move hard and painful, every step tearing muscle against bone. He panted with the struggle, bitter air scoring his lungs. He was losing, though, and as he grew exhausted, his body followed her commands more easily.

He should have known better than to come back, but Ashgood had said the city was in danger and he couldn’t have lived with himself if he hadn’t returned. Now, Ashgood himself was dead, the Freeborn order destroyed, and the courtyard commanded by this Koradictine sorceress.

And Garrick, of course, was gone.

Hezarin watched as Ellesadil approached.

His thick cape was blackened with mud, and he held his sword in both hands.

“You’ve had your warnings,” he said, his words emitting clouds of frosty breath.

With a rolling of her hand, Hezarin turned Darien toward the lord. His sword was raised, gleaming with streaks of magenta that seemed to intensify with each of his strides.

“No!” Darien groaned. “No!”

His sword flashed toward Ellesadil.

Ellesadil’s eyes grew wide and he raised his blade to counter. Blue sparks flew as steel clashed on steel.

“What are you doing, Darien?”

“Argghhhh!” Darien replied.

Hezarin spun him around, and he realized he was positioned perfectly to guide a sword’s slash straight into the lord’s exposed belly. Darien pulled up so hard he thought his muscles may well have stripped off bone. His hands twisted and the blade’s edge rose enough that the flat of the sword struck the lord with a thud. Ellesadil grunted and fell to one knee.

Hezarin laughed at Darien’s struggles.

He was like a fish on the line, his runs against her force providing her a thrill, the silver flashing of his scales showing as she pulled him through dark water.

“You can’t save your lord for long, Darien,” she said as she twisted his body around.

Darien had no strength left.

The sword dangled now from one hand.

The lord lay on the ground, trying to claw his way to the building, his breath obviously gone, his face red with defeat.

Darien caught the lord in two strides, and pushed Ellesadil over with a muddy boot so that he lay defenseless in the muck.

Damn Garrick! Darien had trusted the god-touched mage, and the coward had abandoned him again. This time Darien would pay for his faith in a way more gruesome than he could possibly imagine.

Tears of humiliation glittered in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said to Ellesadil. “I am so sorry.”

Hezarin laughed harder.

He fought her with everything he could muster. His muscles ripped. Starburst patterns of pain exploded in his head. But it was no use. The glint of Darien’s sword flashed off Lord Ellesadil’s face as he raised it above his shoulders.

Will’s bare fingers burned against the cold floor of the walkway. He reached up for the bow, and grabbed a handful of arrows. The wood was heavy and stiff. His teeth chattered and his body shook with uncontrollable spasms.

He bent the bow under his arm to string it.

His fingers barely worked, but he managed somehow. He picked an arrow and nocked the bolt against the gut. It took him three tries to get a firm grip, but when it was finally there, he stood up and took a quick aim.

The scene below nearly stole his breath.

Darien pounded the flat of his blade into Ellesadil’s ribcage, and the lord fell to the ground. Hezarin laughed and spoke, but the wind carried her words away.

Darien prepared for what would surely be a killing blow.

Will trembled. The wind bit at his cheeks and stabbed dry daggers into his eyes. He pulled the bow as far as he could. His aim jittered. Clenching his jaw, he lined up his target and let fly.

The arrow buried itself in Hezarin’s shoulder.

She screamed a wild banshee’s scream, and even from this distance her eyes now locked onto Will’s.

Her hand went to her shoulder, her magic melting the shaft and absorbing it into herself. Darien fell to his knees first, then he pitched sideways into the snow, his sword tip embedding itself before Ellesadil’s feet.

She turned her magic on Will, then.

Gory beasts sprung from the walls around him and from the floor below, monsters whose skin ran with venomous ichor and whose distended jaws clacked with serrated fangs. Wind raged. Will grabbed the bow and whacked the closest creature over top of its head. The weapon splintered, but the monster moved back, giving Will the opening he needed to leap to the top of the city wall and tightrope away.