Shield of Winter Page 21

  Devon tried to summon the strength to go to his friend, but the two Stalkers only held him tighter as Quinn advanced on Kellian.

  “Bastard innkeeper, I’ll see you bleed for that,” he shouted, drawing his sabre with his left hand.

  Kellian tried to scramble back, but Quinn’s boot crashed down on his injured leg, forcing a scream from him. Surging forward, Devon fought to reach the man, but a third Stalker stepped in and slammed a fist into his face. He sagged in the men’s grip, the red flaring again, filling his vision. Blood pounded in his ears, but over it he heard another scream. Fear for his friend rose within him, but it was too late now. His strength had already fled, and with a cry, Devon felt himself falling away.

  Chapter 34

  When the light finally died away, Alana found herself lying sprawled alongside the throne. Groaning, she forced herself to sit up, but a thousand flashing lights danced across her vision, and she slumped back to the ground. A harsh ringing in her ears drowned out all other noise—then with a sharp pop, sound returned.

  Screams echoed through the throne room. Her vision cleared, revealing men scattered across the marble floors, their bodies blackened, their plated armour now twisted and misshapen. The sight of their scorched skin and torn bodies made Alana’s stomach swirl, and rolling onto her side, she vomited. Silence settled like a blanket around her as the last screams died away.

  Looking at herself, Alana was surprised to find her own body free of marks. She guessed her lack of armour or sword had saved her from…whatever it was that had struck them. Even so, she ached with the force of being picked up and hurled across the room. Across from her, black smoke still clung to the dais, but it was beginning to clear now, revealing the twisted remains of the golden throne.

  And the Tsar still standing atop the stairs, staring down at the open doors.

  Her head pounding, Alana followed her father’s gaze and saw an old man striding towards the dais. His blue eyes shone with power, though his face was wrinkled and bleached white hair hung down around his shoulders. In his hands, lightning crackled.

  “Eric,” the Tsar’s voice whispered across the room. “So good to see you again. I’m sorry to see the years have not been kind.”

  Silently, the old man continued his advance, the lightning growing in his hands. Her father laughed, and with a roar, Eric threw out an arm. A bolt of lightning flashed across the throne room, crackling as it went.

  Her father lifted a hand, and the lightning froze mid-air, the sound of its thunder still booming off the walls. With a flick of his finger, the Tsar sent it careening up into the ceiling. White light flashed as it struck, almost blinding Alana.

  “So you removed the bracelets,” the Tsar said conversationally as he started down the steps of the dais. “Fortunately, you are not the only Sky Magicker in my…service.”

  Baring his teeth, the newcomer spread his arms. A roar came from the windows high above as they shattered inwards. Alana threw herself face first on the ground as glass crashed down around her.

  In the middle of the room, her father laughed as the howling wind encircled him. “Have we not had this fight before, old man?” he shouted.

  Alana watched in astonishment as ice grew around her father, stretching up from the marble floors. The harsh crack of splitting stone rang out, while amidst the ice, her father continued to smile, even as his breath misted before him. He lifted his hand, and fire appeared in his palm, growing and swelling, then rushing out to consume the ice. With a flick of his fingers, he sent the flames rushing towards his foe.

  Moving with an agility that belayed his age, the old man hurled himself aside. Behind him, a column of marble was engulfed by the fire, its heat washing across the room to even where Alana lay. Surging back to his feet, the old man drew a sword and rushed at the Tsar.

  Her father laughed again. She watched with a sinking heart as the Tsar allowed the intruder to close in on him. Then with a sudden decisiveness, he pointed a finger. Nothing appeared to happen, but the old man came to an abrupt halt, as though held by some invisible force. Sword raised above his head, he glared at the Tsar.

  The Tsar gently lifted his hand, and still frozen in place, the old man rose slowly into the air.

  “Ah, Eric, why in the Three Nations did you come here?” he asked of the prone Magicker. “You could not defeat me in your prime, what hope do you have now?”

  Electricity crackled in the old man’s hands. With a boom, it shot towards the Tsar. Cursing, her father thrust out a fist, and the bolt shattered into a thousand sparks. But the distraction had freed the old man from his power, and dropping lightly to the ground, the intruder hurled his blade at the Tsar.

  Alana gasped as it flew for her father’s face, her soul divided between hope and horror, but at the last second it halted mid-air. The Tsar stared at the blade a moment, his face darkening, then sent it spinning off into the corner with a flick of his finger.

  Only a few feet separated the Magickers now, and they stood facing each other, their twin blue eyes shimmering with unrestrained power. Neither was willing to give ground.

  “You know I couldn’t walk away,” the old man said suddenly. “That I couldn’t let you live, not after what you did.”

  Her father sighed. As he spread his hands, the power in his eyes faded. “What would you have me say, Eric? I cannot change the past. I am sorry your son had to die, but he had something I needed.”

  There was pain in the old man’s eyes as he looked at Alana’s father. “He was your friend,” he said. “How could you do it?”

  “My friend?” Her father seemed puzzled. “Yes, I suppose it might have looked that way. But no, Calybe was never my friend, no more than you or your sister were. You were Gods, Eric, compared to the rest of us mere mortals.

  “You were family, Theo,” the old man whispered.

  “Family?” There was anger in the Tsar’s voice now. “Maybe in name, but I was never family to you, never a part of your plans. Not like Calybe. No, I was just Theo, the magicless, the mortal, forever despised for my weakness.”

  “We loved you, Theo, Enala loved you,” Eric replied. “How could you have betrayed her, betrayed us?”

  “Betrayed you?” Her father shook his head. “All I have ever done is try to live up to your examples. I have sacrificed everything for the greater good. And I am so close now.”

  “If your idea of the greater good is locking away hundreds of innocent Magickers, I pity you,” Eric replied.

  The Tsar spread his hands. “Are you so blinded by hate, Eric, that you cannot see it? Surely even in your black cell, you have heard. For the first time in a thousand years, the Three Nations are truly at peace. There is no war, no great destruction between nations or Gods. Even the scourge of magic will soon be consigned to the pages of history.”

  “Except for your own,” Eric said.

  “No,” the Tsar responded, “when I am done, not even my own power will remain. I will draw the magic from the land, so there will never again be Gods or Magickers to bring bloody slaughter to the Three Nations. Surely, you of all people understand the pain magic has brought to this world.”

  Eric laughed. “You must have truly lost your mind, Theo, if you think the genocide of Magickers will be the end of magic.”

  “Of course not.” The Tsar smiled. “I have found another way, one that requires no more to die.” His voice dropped a notch. “I am close, Eric, so close now. Your son’s sacrifice will not be in vain—if only you could set aside your hatred, you would see it. With your help, we could finally rid this world of magic’s curse.”

  “I will never help you, Theo. And I am done talking!”

  With the words, Eric sent a lightning bolt arcing for her father. But the Tsar was ready, and his hands swept out to freeze the blue fire in place. The crackling of lightning hissed through the throne room as he sent it ricocheting backwards. Thunder crashed as it struck the old man in the chest and hurled him across the room.

  “V
ery well, Eric.” The Tsar’s words boomed over the thunder as he advanced on the fallen man. “Then death it shall be.”

  He raised a hand, but before he could summon his magic, the sharp squeal of hinges carried across the room. The Tsar swung around, and Alana watched in shock as Quinn and a troop of Stalkers led Kellian and Devon inside.

  Quinn paused in the entranceway as he saw the destruction the two Magickers had wrought on the throne room. The bodies of the guards still lay in scattered piles, and fire and lightning had left blackened scorch marks on the walls. In several places, the carpets and curtains were smouldering. Swallowing visibly, Quinn led his men between the bodies to where the Tsar stood.

  “I found them trying to escape, your majesty,” he said. “Someone must have helped them and the old man escape their cell.

  “Obviously,” the Tsar answered. Turning, he smiled at the old man. “So after all this time, that was to be your final achievement, Eric? Your life thrown away as a distraction, so two mortals could escape me.” He shook his head. “How low you have fallen, that you could not even do that.”

  Chapter 35

  Devon staggered to a stop in the entrance to the throne room and stared at the chaos within. He had seen battle Magickers in action during the civil war, but never before had he seen so much carnage in one setting. The men lying scattered across the marble floors had never known what hit them, and stomach surging, he forced himself to look away.

  His heart sank as he saw the old man on his knees, the towering figure of the Tsar standing over him. He quickly averted his gaze, sensing that even to look into the ruler’s eyes was to risk annihilation, and found Alana standing nearby. The breath caught in his throat, and he saw an awful sadness cross her face. Her lips parted, and for a moment it seemed she would speak.

  “I had intended to interrogate you later, Devon, Kellian.”

  Devon swung around as the Tsar spoke from nearby, and froze as he found the man’s face just a few inches from his own. Despite standing almost a foot taller, Devon took an involuntary step back. Fear flared in his chest and he longed for the feel of kanker in his hand. The hammer had broken the Tsar’s enchantment on the bracelets—did that mean Enala was wrong, that the ancient weapon could defeat the man himself?

  Seeing his fear, the Tsar laughed. “It is good to finally meet you, Devon,” he said, advancing on him. Devon tried to retreat, but the Tsar’s hand rose, and suddenly it felt as though a vice had closed around his neck. Choking, Devon clawed at his throat, but there was nothing there to dislodge.

  “Thrice you have defied me,” the Tsar continued, his eyes hardening. “But no longer.”

  Devon gasped as the invisible force hauled him into the air, the vice tightening. His legs kicked out, finding only empty space. Darkness swirled at the edges of his vision as he watched a cold smile spread across the ruler’s face.

  “I forgave you the first deviance, when you spurned my service. But the kidnapping of my son and daughter, the attempted escape, the freeing of a dangerous Magicker, these transgressions I cannot ignore.”

  The Tsar gave a contemptuous flick of his hand. A force like a stampeding horse struck Devon in the chest, driving the last breath from his lungs and sending him sprawling across the ground. He came to rest near the old man.

  Beside him, Eric was struggling to his feet. Blue lightning crackled in his fingers, but the Tsar swung on him before it could be released.

  “Enough!”

  With the Tsar’s roar, the lightning died in Eric’s fingers. Now it was the old man’s turn to rise ponderously from the ground. He hung, suspended there, as the Tsar turned his attention back to Devon.

  “Before I kill you, hammerman, I would like to know where my son is. I had thought the Northland Queen an intelligent woman, but now I learn she is sending assassins behind my back. Who knows what she might do with my dear Braidon.”

  Looking into the man’s icy eyes, Devon’s courage withered. A shudder swept through him, and he tried to look away, but he was trapped now. He was about to blurt out everything he knew about Enala and the Queen and Braidon, when the young boy’s face flickered into his mind. He saw again the innocent smile, the sparkling intelligence behind his blue eyes, so like his father’s. Yet that was all the two shared. In that moment, Devon knew he would do everything in his power to keep the boy from the Tsar.

  Devon climbed to his feet. “He is safe from you, monster. I will not betray him.”

  “Devon…” Alana’s voice came from behind him.

  “You will tell me, hammerman,” the Tsar interrupted.

  With his words, he opened his hands, and a trickle of flame seeped from his fingers. Before Devon could throw himself back, they wrapped around his legs, burning through his leather leggings, searing his flesh. Pain unlike anything Devon had experienced rippled through his body, and he screamed. He tried to flee, to move, but the invisible force had him again, holding him to the fire.

  As suddenly as the flames had begun, they died away. Cold spread down his legs, almost as painful, and Devon watched as his melted flesh knitted itself back together again. Sobbing despite himself, he slumped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Soft footsteps approached.

  “I will give you one last chance,” the Tsar whispered. “Next time, I’ll leave you a cripple.”

  His vision blurring, Devon looked up into the frigid eyes. “Go to hell!”

  “I don’t think that I will,” the Tsar replied, smiling, “but you may go in my place.”

  He drew the sword at his waist. For half an instant, Devon thought he saw light flickering in the steel blade, but when he blinked, it had vanished. In its place, he saw his own haggard face reflected there, his unkempt beard and bloodshot eyes, the bruises and cuts. Still on his knees, he looked like a broken man. Looking up at the most powerful man in the Three Nations, he tried to find the strength to stand.

  “I have always preferred the sword, you know,” the Tsar said. He twirled the blade in his hand before pointed it down at Devon. “After all, that was all I had, in the beginning. The strength of my sword arm, the speed and quickness of my mind. I was like you, hammerman, a warrior born in a Magicker’s world. It pleased me to see the magicless advance ahead of those like Quinn. I am afraid you will not live to see it, but one day soon, men like yourself will rule this world.”

  “You and I are nothing alike,” Devon croaked, “I never wished to rule anyone.”

  The Tsar chuckled. “Yes, perhaps you are right. Watching you during the war, I thought you were a strong man. But you didn’t have what it took. There was a weakness in you.”

  “How is it weakness to refuse to kill the innocent?”

  “Innocent?” The Tsar seemed genuinely puzzled. “Were the Trolans innocent when they sent their soldiers into our lands, breaking the peace I had built so carefully? Were they innocent when they attacked our border towns, slaughtering hundreds?”

  “You slaughtered thousands!” Devon spat.

  “And saved tens of thousands,” the Tsar said.

  Anger fed strength to Devon’s limbs. Despite the pain of his burns, he climbed slowly to his feet. “You’re a coward,” he snapped. “Men like you will always take the easy path, justify anything if it means you can hold onto power. But you’re just like the Magickers you so despise, hiding behind your magic. If you truly wish to be mortal again, put kanker in my hands, and I’ll show you what death feels like.”

  To his surprise, the Tsar laughed. “Ah, you do not disappoint, Devon!” he said. “And another time, I might have granted you your wish. But there is much to do now, and I have no time to play your games. Still though, I must thank you for your part in the excitement. It has been a long time since anyone put up such a fight.”

  Devon watched, unable to move, as the Tsar’s sword rose, then arced towards his face.

  “No!”

  Suddenly Alana was between them, sword in hand. Steel rang out as the blades met, echoing loudly in the cavernou
s room.

  Chapter 36

  Alana stared up at her father, the sword she’d taken from a fallen guard still vibrating from the deflected blow. Standing there, she could scarcely believe what she’d just done. She saw the same shock reflected in her father’s eyes, but it quickly retreated, giving way to rage. His lips tightened.

  “Daughter,” he hissed. “Get out of my way.”

  “Alana, what are you doing?” Quinn’s voice carried from across the hall.

  Ignoring him, she turned the full force of her glare on the Tsar. She knew all it would take was an instant, a second’s hesitation, and he would overwhelm her as he had before.

  “I won’t let you hurt him,” she heard herself saying.

  The Tsar shook his head. “It seems I underestimated your newfound weakness, daughter,” he murmured. “Could it be you care for this fool?”

  “It is not weakness to care for others,” she replied, though her voice was wavering now.

  “Is it not?” the Tsar asked. “Is that why these new-found friends of yours lie defeated around me? Why you find yourself standing alone?”

  “It is a different kind of strength.”

  Her father laughed. “I see. Well, it will matter naught. I will burn it all from you, and start anew. Perhaps then I will finally have a daughter worthy of my empire.”

  Alana shivered, the sabre wavering in her hand. With his words, it felt as though a cold hand had reached into her chest and torn out her heart. Looking into his eyes, she could see the truth there, that he would not hesitate to obliterate her, to remake her in a fresh image.

  As she had with the teacher, Krista.