Wings of Nestor (30 page)

The king batted his attack away with the staff, laughing at his threat. Something exploded through the room, rattling the chandeliers. All eight of Alcander’s attackers had now joined with the eight already on Kiora and Emane. She had put up a substantial shield of her own to block the incoming volley.

“I sincerely doubt I will pay for anything, my boy.”

“I am
not
your boy.”

Aimon’s guards tossed another shield to protect the king as Drustan’s toxic spit spattered across it. The king’s nostrils flared, jerking his head toward one of his personal guards. “Deal with that.” The guard peeled away, running in Drustan’s direction. “I will face my nephew alone.” The other guards stepped back as Alcander began to circle his uncle. “This was a foolish plan, Alcander. Locking the only hope of your pathetic rebel group in a room where you are clearly outnumbered.” He glanced over his shoulder at Kiora. Alcander took advantage of his cockiness. He called wind to sweep his uncle’s feet out from underneath him and then leaped forward, magic flying from his fingers. A guard easily flung Alcander back, sending him rolling across the floor.

Oh, yes—his uncle would deal with his nephew alone. As long as his nephew didn’t gain the advantage.

Aimon snarled as he got up. Using the same move Alcander had already witnessed, he flicked his finger, sending the staff flying toward Alcander. Alcander kept his feet on the floor, arching backwards until he was nearly upside down. The staff hurtled forward, coming to a stop with the tip pressed against his throat. It wiggled, fighting against the sender. Alcander whipped his hand around to seize it, but his uncle called it back before he could grasp it.

“It won’t kill me.” Alcander smiled, straightening. “It knows the rightful king.”

“There are ways around that.” Aimon swung his arm in an arc, the staff whistling through the air. “It may not obey my magic, but it will have little choice when directed by my arm. I will kill you, just as I did its last master.” At Alcander’s lack of reaction, he inclined his chin. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Alcander grunted, throwing out a rippling wave of magic that wrapped itself around his uncle, squeezing tightly as it cut off his air. Aimon struggled for breath before pushing out his own counter spell, splitting Alcander’s magic down the middle.

***

THE TAVEANS HAD BACKED Kiora and Emane against the wall. The attacks were constant, forcing her to put all her energy into the shield. She didn’t know what to do—too strong of a hit and she would bring the roof down, too weak and she would leave them vulnerable to attacks slipping through her shield.

“We have to help Alcander,” Kiora said. “He has to get the staff so he can open the door. We are wasting time.”

Emane looked at the shield, colored with enemy magic. “I don’t know that wasting time is how I would describe this.”

She huffed in aggravation.

“Maybe try something else?”

“You are so helpful.” A guard tried to make his way around the side of the shield. She pushed as much magic as she could safely put into a shot. He screamed as his arm bent backwards at the elbow.

The magic on the shield in front of her eased up enough to allow a glimpse at the rest of the battle. Drustan had sunk his teeth through a Tavean and Lomay had advanced to within a few feet of the throne. Alcander was running up a wall as his uncle fired at him, and then disappeared as the fountain blocked Kiora’s view.

“Water,” she whispered. A sick, twisted idea came to her mind, one that would never have occurred to her a month ago. “Emane, we need to get rid of those guards around Alcander.” She summoned his bow. “I will keep these out of the way and shield you. Can you take them out?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I will open a hole when you’re ready.” Closing her eyes, she pulled all her focus into the moment. She needed to hold the shield while mentally reaching out to the fountains—calling the water up. What she was about to attempt was already making her sick, but it would work. It was similar to what she had done on her way to see the dragons—a water-bubble. Only these would not be acting as shields—just the opposite.

“I’m ready.”

“One…second,” she grunted, pulling thirteen water bubbles forward.

Each swirling bubble spun over their attackers, enveloping them in a watery tomb. Most struggled, flipping and turning within the bubble to free themselves—without success.

One Tavean was able to control water, and with Kiora’s focus in so many places, he easily swiped his away and then moved to free the Tavean next to him.

“A little help,” Kiora gasped. She was trying to hold both the shield and the water-bubbles against attack. Kiora opened a small hole in the shield. Emane fired. The arrow sank into the Tavean’s chest and his thread silenced.

Turning back to his original target, Emane aimed for one of the king’s personal guards. The first one dropped. Emane had already loosed his second arrow before any of them realized what had happened. The second guard fell just as the third got a shield up. Alcander used the distraction to leap at the king, grabbing the staff from his hand and sprinting toward the throne. The staff flared to life under his touch, reflected bits of blue light spinning around the room.

The king threw a rolling ball of magic at Alcander’s back. Kiora screamed. Her shield faltered as she struggled to hold the water-bubbles.

Drustan leaped over his attackers, throwing himself between Alcander and the king, taking the full brunt of Aimon’s attack. He grunted, falling backwards. The magic had been potent. It penetrated the armor Drustan had concocted and blood rolled down his chest.

“Mother of Creators!” Emane swore, rising to his feet. “I have to heal him before he can go.” He threw his bow and arrow over his shoulder, held up his shield, and took off across the room.

“Emane!” Kiora yelled. It was no use—he was not stopping. She dropped her shield, focusing all her energy into holding the water-bubbles. The threads within began to fall silent. She couldn’t look at their faces. She just held it in agony, waiting for the last one to die.

A loud thudding at the doors announced that time was running out.

Alcander pushed the throne off its pedestal. He touched the staff to the trap door and it clicked, unlocking. Alcander grabbed the handle, tugging. The door resisted. Alcander glanced over his shoulder before throwing his weight into it and straining backwards. Finally, with a squeal, the trapdoor relented and he jerked it the rest of the way open.

“Lomay!” Alcander shouted.

***

“RUNNING AWAY ALREADY, ALCANDER?” The king’s mocking voice sounded through the throne room.

Alcander turned. A pile of bodies surrounded Lomay. He stepped over one to hurry toward the door. Emane was sprinting toward Drustan, his shield over his head, as the king’s only surviving guard lobbed a shot in his direction.

And then he saw what Kiora was doing. She was surrounded by lifeless bodies floating eerily within watery balls. His heart broke. Not for the victims, but for the pain he knew she was surely feeling. He had felt her pain once when they had joined minds. And may the Creators help him—he didn’t want to feel it now.

Oh, Kiora.

She slowly raised her head. Even at a distance, the sorrow in her eyes was clear. Alcander felt the last two threads she had contained fall silent. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head away, releasing the water. The traitors thudded to the floor as water splashed down and rushed across the tiles.

Bile rose in the back of his throat. Not because of the loss of life—the traitors had surely killed hundreds themselves—but for the look of pain and weariness in Kiora’s eyes.

A shot from the lone guard hit the top of Emane’s shield and rebounded. The force sent Emane spinning across the floor.

Alcander turned to his uncle, the staff in his hand. “You think you can fight me, Uncle? Now that I have this?” He pointed the staff at the last remaining guard and blue magic blasted across the space, cutting straight through the shield and knocking him unconscious. “This will do more for me than it ever did for you.”

Emane must have healed Drustan because Alcander saw him shifting and following Lomay down the shaft.

Alcander extended his staff. “You murdered my father, my mother, and my sisters. You have taken my kingdom and turned my people evil. You will pay for your crimes.”

He willed his uncle’s death and the staff responded, blue magic crossing the distance. His uncle extended both hands and a shield flashed out, brilliantly bright, reaching nearly to the chandeliers.

Alcander frowned when his uncle began to laugh. “Not all of us need a staff. There are other ways.”

Alcander swore. With the guards dead, the channeled magic had transferred to Aimon.

Kiora fired a shot that sizzled on Aimon’s shield. His uncle yelled out, whirling to face her just as the top half of one of the doors shattered. The bottom half held, keeping the waiting army out, but allowing a volley of potent magic to come flying over the top. Kiora was forced to abandon her attack on the king and shield the room from the incoming attack.

***

EMANE LEAPED CLEAR OF the storm of magic flying between Alcander and Aimon. Alcander twisted through the air, matched by his uncle in speed and height. The magical attacks from outside the door were increasing, and the impact against Kiora’s shield was shaking the chandeliers. Kiora was using her other hand in an attempt to magically reinforce the door.

As Alcander spun through the air, the king managed to connect a shot to his shoulder. It sent him sprawling. The staff clattered across the floor toward his uncle.

Aimon let out a sick chuckle as he bent to pick it up. Emane took advantage of his distraction. Running toward the king, he pulled his sword, slashing it down the king’s forearm.

The king jerked back. The staff dropped out of his wounded hand, rolling across the floor. His face twisted into a mask of hate, his lips pulling up into a snarl before flinging Emane across the room.

Emane felt himself being picked up by more power than he’d ever felt. He was too high and going too fast. His heart lodged in his throat and he braced for impact. He saw the empty stone fountain a second before he crashed into it. There was a blinding pain in his back and then nothing. He slumped forward, his face pressing against the cold, wet tile, unable to move. He tried to jerk his arm out from underneath him, but couldn’t. All he could do was watch as Alcander yelled, charging the king, grabbing the staff as he went.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Prisoners

DRUSTAN AND LOMAY MADE their way down the stone stairway leading beneath the castle. Lomay bubbled them as they approached threads.

“You’ve been very quiet as of late,” Drustan said as they turned right at a “T.”

“I thought that would please you.”

“Did you? And what would give you that idea?”

“Your feelings toward me have not always been the best, Drustan.” Lomay grunted in exhaustion as he felt his way down the wall. He had already used so much magic, he opted to skip the magical light.

“Here, let me lead.” Drustan moved to the front, shifting his eyes to ones that were better at night vision. “Regardless, you have chosen an interesting time to go quiet, with so much at stake.”

“You said you would support her.”

“And I will. But your input may be necessary.”

“I truly hope not.”

Drustan paused at another fork, feeling for threads before turning left. “You are an ancient one, Lomay. Your purpose is to guide.”

“I may not always be here to guide. The Solus needs to make choices on her own. It does no one any good for me to coddle her.”

“Coddle.” Drustan snorted. “Not exactly the word I would use in the current scenario…” He trailed off as the hallway opened into a giant room with low ceilings. Rows of barred cages ran the length, filled with Taveans who were slumped against the sides of their cages. Their heads were down, each looking utterly hopeless.

There were four guards around the room, sipping the magic out of the prisoners and feeding it upstairs as well as to the security system the castle had employed.

Lomay looked around the room thoughtfully. “The guards need to be taken out at the same time or they might kill the prisoners before we can get to them. Any chance that delightfully creative mind of yours has a shifting solution?”

Drustan grinned. “Just keep me in the bubble.”

Moving out of the doorway, Drustan began to shift—four octopus limbs grew from his torso. They grew longer until a huge barbed tip appeared at the end of each one. The appendages snaked across the room toward the unaware guards, Lomay’s bubble expanding with him. Drustan positioned a barbed tip over each of the guards’ hearts, plunging them in simultaneously. The guards stiffened without a sound before falling over dead.

“Why do most Shifters lack your imagination?” Lomay asked as he dropped the bubble and hurried over to the first cage, magically bursting the lock.

“We are purists. I was raised to imitate life in its purest form. A few thousand years locked away in Meros gave me a lot of time to play and to work past the ridiculous ideals of our ancestors.” He shifted into a long, thin, wingless dragon.

Lomay eyed him curiously before opening the door to the first cage and moving on to the next.

“I will never fit through the halls with wings,” Drustan explained. “I will add them later.” Looking at the Taveans still huddling in their cages, he said, “Do you want out of here or not? Get on!” This seemed to snap them out of the trance they were in and they stumbled toward him.

He raced through the hall, his back full of Taveans. Their magic had been drained to nothing. Drustan pitied them as he leaped out from the tunnels.

“Hurry,” Lomay urged, concealing them all. “I am worried about leaving the others there alone. We only have so much time before the absence of magic is discovered.”

***

THE MAGIC FROM ALCANDER’S scepter tore through the king’s shield as if it wasn’t there. The blast caught him on the leg and he limped backwards, glaring toward the open door beneath the throne.