Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) (29 page)

Bayan’s wind disc arced wide, then it veered down into the valley north of campus, chased by three dozen determined swords. He twitched to the right at the sight of an old, broken statue: he’d reached the ruins of the second iteration of the Duelist Academy.

His Earth magic showed him several hollows under the ground—ancient cellars, perhaps. He parted the soil, shrank his wind disc, dropped through into a dusty hollow, and closed two strides of earth over his head in the space of a heartbeat. Dozens of dull thuds told him the flying swords had finally been thwarted.

He created a small flame in the air, and its light fell on broken, dusty beams, a toppled bookshelf, and a single, abandoned book, half buried in dust and rubble. A dark doorway framed by faded red bricks led into the buried ruins. He stepped to the threshold, drawn by a pull he couldn’t explain. The darkness gave way to his small flame, but he neither saw nor sensed anything aside from ancient dust and dry wood.

Yet the shouting emptiness remained. With focus reminiscent of straining to hear a distant voice from beyond a hill, Bayan felt the edges of it—a small area on the floor near the far wall—and defined it by what and where it was not.

Is someone down here? Is that magic? Leave it to the Corona to pop out of the ground like mushrooms.
Bayan stood in the doorway, tensed, full of his own heartbeat. His mind told him he was standing in front of a roaring fire, or perhaps a blast of icy wind, yet to his eyes, all was still and calm.

The strangeness didn’t seem to react to his presence, even when he gently aimed various magics at it.
Perhaps it’s some kind of forgotten weapon
. Bayan tried to infuse it with each element in turn, then with anima. The force across the room seemed to respond to the anima, and Bayan felt a jolt of surprise. Had it once been alive? Did it still live? He recalled what Kiwani had told him about the being in the Shadow Canyons. This hollow power didn’t seem anywhere near as powerful as that mad sint had been—and a sint it was, he was sure of that.

An idea struck, and before he could change his mind, Bayan cast the bonding spell. Sensations, spell fragments, and shards of thought that repeated in a loop overwhelmed Bayan's mind. He staggered backward, tripped over a beam, and crashed onto the debris-strewn floor, clutching his head.

Stupid… Too much… Must break the spell—

Hail, stranger.
The mental greeting was more conceptual than literal. Bayan’s confusion parted, leaving him gasping, his mind a calm island surrounded by a fog that whirled so fast it blurred.

Hail… friend.
Individual words came slowly.
I mean you no harm.
Outside his tense focus, other thoughts scrambled across Bayan’s mind:
What did I think I was doing, poking at strange things in dusty cellars? There’s a battle on the mountain right now! I should be there for my friends.

Faint alarm colored the presence in his mind.
The Tuathi invade once again? We should rise. Our duty is clear.

No, not the Tuathi.
Coronàles
, from the east. They bring steel and powerful magic.… Who is
we?

Our spirits rest, for we have no desire for eternity. Yet we do not fade. We have mastered too much for the world to let us go.

Masters. Master Duelists. In cellars?
They must have perished fighting for the survival of the young Waarden Empire. Bayan regained his feet and stepped back into the doorway. “I believe the Academy has need of your assistance, Master Duelist.”

Give me a form, young Master, and I shall serve. We all shall serve.

Stymied for a moment, Bayan worried about limiting the master spirit’s ability by choosing too concrete a form. He opted for a green globe reminiscent of swamp light, a common enough sight in the wet areas of Balanganam. Other spirits pushed forward, somehow alerted to his presence amongst them. One by one, then five by five and ten by ten, spirits took gaseous form. In one great rush, they all blinked out, but Bayan was reassured of their continued existence by the bond between him and the first spirit. That one was leading the others across the valley, toward the tunnel to the cliffside campus road.

I’d better catch up.
Bayan parted the earth and wafted upward. Before he gave chase to the dead masters, thirty-odd gleaming steel swords caught his eye, embedded in the ground. With a smirk, Bayan used Earth magic to jerk them free, then made a protective hood for his wind disc and studded it with the swords. As he zipped after the distant green glows, his anticipation mixed with fear and wonder. Would Master spirits still possess the power to touch the world?

Screams echoed off the cliffs as Bayan approached. Bursts of Flame and Shock mixed with ripples in the air that simply
swallowed
steelwielders whole. As the eerie green glow swarmed up the switchbacks toward the campus proper, Bayan shuddered and followed.
They have power enough for this battle. Now that they’re awake, though, will they want to sleep again so soon?

***

“No, Dakila, you don’t understand. Your men are here to keep you alive in case you need to depotioneer witten Oost. I’m here to keep
them
alive. And you. And even him, sints help me.” Eward huffed in frustration, eyeing the burly warrior.

Dakila rolled his shoulders. “If you say. I still think we’d be of good use against those steelwielders. They’re just men with swords. No magic.”

Eward scanned the sky, then checked each of his hexlings. Neither magic nor man approached. “I doubt you’d fare much better against them, either. Their swords are steel, an alloy stronger than your iron.”

Dakila’s hand worked at crushing the hilt of his sword. “Do their hearts beat liquid gold instead of common blood as well? For Bhattara’s sake, Eward, we are being wasted here!”

One of Eward’s hexlings shrilled an alarm, then another and another. Eward spun, flinging spells, and shot into the sky, leaving the conversation unfinished.
Sints will, we have time to finish it later.
Corona casters descended from above, swirling around him with their invisible airborne spells then darting down toward the structure.

They’ve found us. They must know of the emperor’s contingent plan.

But the enemy did not attack. They swooped off into the sky, disappearing around nearby cliffs. Puzzled, Eward stopped his wind disc in midair. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He glanced overhead, but no volcano poured down on him.

It opened below him. As lava spread across the grass, burning it to ash, Eward slammed a crevasse between it and the building, and the liquid stone poured into the gap. The portal winked out. A few moments later, it opened on the far side of Ignaas’s office, and its lava seeped out again. Eward managed to create another gap to swallow the lava and shove his Flame-and-Earth hex avatar through the portal before it shut.

“You want to sing for the enemy? Try singing with a mouthful of lava.” Eward let his distant avatar explode before the traitorous singer beyond could open another portal to threaten Dakila and his men. Eward didn’t give a copper ducat that witten Oost was threatened. It rankled that somehow, at least a few singers had managed to turn coat without the First Singer or anyone else noticing. But he had no copper ducats for them either.

***

From Tarin’s perspective high over the eastern edge of campus, the Wood arena was the last building that hadn’t either been destroyed or clambered off its foundation to do battle at Warmaster Langlaren’s—or Taban’s—behest. Most landmarks, even the seemingly permanent tunnels and valleys, had changed, moved, or been transmuted into something unrecognizable. A long spine of enormous granite crystals bifurcated the eastern third of the campus. Several areas smoked or burned outright from portal contact with volcanoes, and many other campus features had collapsed, transmuted, or been blown apart. Someone—whether duelist or Corona caster, Tarin couldn’t tell—had peeled a strip of stone from the top of the tunnel to the girls’ barracks, leaving the pathway inside exposed to the brightening sky.

Sints and terrors, what a mess.
At least a lighter sky made the enemy casters easier to spot. They had realized that detail shortly after Tarin had etched a Corona caster’s shadow onto the cliff behind him with a fireball. Now the Corona’s magic folk lurked in cliff shadows or darted across the ground. Their attacks had fallen off noticeably, yet pockets of intense conflict still raged around Tarin. She took a few deep breaths and nodded. At least Kipri was safe in the caverns.

An arrow of roaring flame as wide as her entire duel den almost knocked her off her wind disc as it shot past her into the sky. Tarin spun and dived, spells at the ready. No one outdid the Mistress of Flame with Flame magic. But she spotted no battle. The fiery rocket had risen from within solid rock. As she arced around its slag-lined exit hole, it became obvious the blast had come from deep within the caverns.

Kipri!

Tarin landed prone atop the wind disc and steered it through the broad, straight tunnel, throwing Wind and Water spells around her to fend off the heat remaining in the stone. As she approached the nether caverns, distorted, chaotic sounds met her ears. Battle had commenced, and only Flame Instructor Takozen stood between the enemy and hundreds of Peace Villagers and newniks. And Kipri.

As she swirled downward, she reached into a pocket for the small vial Odjin had prepared.
Water magic.
Sure an’ he’s gone and given the Mistress of Flame
Water
magic.
Although, when she considered the limited amount of air in the caverns, she had to admit Flame magic probably wasn’t a good idea.

She took a gulp from the vial, swished the salty mixture around her teeth, and spat it to the side. It coalesced into a vortex of water that washed down the tunnel around her, gaining in strength, sound, and foaminess. As she burst through the mouth of Takozen’s alarm tunnel and into the cavern, her water peeled away and coated the perfect arch of the songwork dome, slithering toward the floor.

A portal opened on the left side, and dozens of steelwielders poured through, hacking and slashing. Takozen stood atop Ignaas’s old throne and hurled all manner of Flame spells as close as he dared to his own people. Many moved slowly due to injury, and several others didn’t move at all, trampled by those who had nowhere to flee.

Tarin couldn’t see Kipri anywhere.

She twisted some of her water down and froze it across the portal, trapping three or four soldiers in the ice. Takozen glanced up and waved in greeting, his smile bright against his dark, sunburnt skin. Tarin waved back, then zoomed toward the center of the fight.

A large wedge of ice led the way as she plowed through the second row of steelwielders. Clunks and snaps followed in her wake: helmet collisions, broken limbs, debladed swords. Tarin spun and crouched as her wind disc continued away toward the far wall. She blew a scalding cloud of steam through the swiftly narrowing gap in the enemy ranks, followed by a waterfall, which she froze in place as it drenched the enemies’ feet.

A cry arose from the villagers, and they raised fists and makeshift weapons to rush the flailing soldiers. A brazen few even picked up discarded steel swords. But Tarin wasn’t going to let anyone steal glory from the Mistress of Flame. She spun down and dismounted in front of the mob, raising her arms. “No, stop! If you must take up arms, then I have failed. Just as it is your duty and your privilege to cook, or build, or transport goods, it is my duty and my privilege to defend you. Though the battle still rages on high, we havena forgotten you down here.”

Tarin finally spotted Kipri by his height and deep red wig. Much of her tension drained away, replaced by tingling confidence. “I will spend every last drop of my blood in your defense if I must. Thankfully, today that wasna necessary.” Her smile blazed at Kipri, and she felt the heat in his returned gaze. Gasps peppered the crowd, and Tarin knew the work her Flame hexlings had crafted behind her had finally become visible. Without turning to see the black scorch marks around the steelwielders’ eye sockets, she gave the crowd a bow, saluted Takozen, and flew over the slumping enemy corpses and back up the scorched tunnel.

***

Calder released his feet from the stone, hopped adisc, and flashed toward the helpless singers. As he approached, the air seemed to move toward the portal of its own accord, dragging him ever faster. Singers disappeared through the ring of light, their screams cutting off as they crossed the threshold. He had lost sight of Tala, though he spotted Liselot, who clung with each arm to another singer, grasping one by the forearm and the other by the back of his tunic. Calder angled toward them and gathered them onto his wind disc, then veered into the less dangerous air currents behind a nearby rock spire before landing.

He steadied the First Singer, who gasped in the strong breeze. The other two singers leaned on each other and rested against the stone’s base. “What’s happening? Where does that portal lead?”

Liselot shook her head. “Somewhere I’ve never seen. It seems to have neither gravity nor air. Please, save my singers! I’ve lost so many.”

Calder’s teeth threatened to shatter from the tension in his jaw. He jammed a finger toward the airborne portal. “It seems you have traitors singing for the Corona. Where are they, to sing a portal from such a place?”