Mage Bond, page 31
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” All this time, Martin thought himself alone, then reluctantly accepted Dmitri as a teacher. Having a grandfather might have been an enormous comfort.
Dmitri swept out a hand, indicating the camp. “Would you willingly bring your only grandchild into this?”
“Probably not.”
“You look a lot like your mother, you know.”
“But didn’t she look like you and Xariel?”
“There you go again. I believe I mentioned before that she altered her appearance. That was no mere illusion. She changed how she looked magically. Her child resembled the form she took.”
Some things Martin’s brain was too muzzy to contemplate. Maybe later. If he survived. “Too complicated.”
“Quite. If we win tomorrow, I’ll explain until you understand. For tonight? Sleep.”
Martin didn’t remember entering his one-person tent, climbing under the covers of his pallet, or falling asleep.
He awoke to trumpet blasts.
Chapter Forty-three
Once again, Martin dressed in the black leather of the guardians, hair pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck. Commander Enys approached, leading Martin’s favorite mare.
Martin stroked the mare’s velvet nose. She snuffled warm breath over his fingers. He’d love to have… an apple appeared in his palm, promptly claimed by the mare.
Enys either didn’t see or had his mind on other things.
Martin continued petting the mare while she enjoyed her snack. “I appreciate the gesture, Enys, but I’m no longer a member of the city guard.”
“In this, you are the brightest and best of us. The other guards agreed last night. We’d be honored to have you join us again on this day, if none other.” Enys handed over the reins and pinned a captain’s badge to Martin’s tunic. “You, better than any, know what we face. These others, with their strange appearance, I know nothing of. It’s you I trust completely. You, the guards follow.”
“Don’t let that prejudice you against the others. I trust Fa… Dmitri with my life. He, Xariel, and Garamel have a truce. I may not trust the other two, but I trust Dmitri. Today, we succeed or fail together.”
“I am not too certain of Garamel, though I find no quarrel with Xariel, even if he does look like he needs a few good meals and time in the sun. Do you think he likes redheads?”
Now was not the time to tell Enys, “That’s my grandfather you’re talking about.” “Don’t let Garamel’s appearance fool you. I’ve worked hard to understand that their realm is different from ours. What’s normal there may not be normal here.” Thousands of realms, thousands of beings that could be friend or foe. The more Martin knew of them, the better. “They’ve agreed to work with us. We can’t afford to turn away any allies.”
Enys waved a hand. “No, his appearance doesn’t bother me… much. The wily bastard cheats at cards.” Turning on his heel, he added, “When this is over, Esmerla expects you at the house for dinner.”
Martin exaggerated a put-upon sigh. “Who is she this time?” Would the man ever give up his persistent matchmaking?
Commander Enys glanced back over his shoulder. “No niece this time. I’m told you are to bring your own mate. You should have said something. I’d have stopped throwing female relatives at you.” Enys flashed a quick grin and waggled his brows. “I’ve got a nephew if you’re ever interested.” He strolled off without another word.
He knew? Enys knew? Apparently, he thought nothing of Martin’s relationship with Peter.
A half-hour later, Martin sat on his mare at the head of the E’Skaara contingent, Garamel and Garamel’s bond mate on Martin’s left, Xariel and Dmitri on his right. He’d wrap his head around the fact that they were his grandfathers later.
If he survived.
Dmitri pulled his horse alongside Martin’s. “The first groups have left the lower city, each headed by a mage. Even now, the second wave should be entering the caverns.”
“What of the dem—” Martin must learn not to refer to allies as demons but as Dreckons.
“They creep in the shadows, undetected. Thomoth underestimated all the individual realms it plundered. While each failed on their own, we might stand a chance with our combined forces.”
Where was Peter? Was he safe? Martin couldn’t sense him but somehow knew he wasn’t dead or in mortal danger.
How could there be two from his world if Peter wasn’t here?
“Go. Confer with the city guards. We shall meet you after.” Dmitri dropped back, letting Martin ride on alone. The soldiers knew him. Many had served under him. Hopefully, they would again.
Martin left his horse at the garrison, pausing to slip a priest’s hassock over his leathers. He met Dmitri, Xariel, and several other brown-clad guardians at the edge of the upper city.
Thomoth would be watching and on guard. Had it fully awakened yet? Would the runes hold, entrapping their enemy?
They entered the Father’s temple, moving down and down to the caverns.
Dmitri took the lead. “I had Gaveth ensure the passage remained open. I’m counting on Thomoth’s magical barrier’s inability to seep underground. If not, we proceed directly to phase two.”
Though the guardians’ eyes let them see in darkness, they conjured multicolored mage lights for the nonmagicals in the ranks.
Xariel strode behind. The significance wasn’t lost on Martin. One grandfather to the front, the other to the rear. Xariel had only just met him recently, so of course, he’d treat Martin like a toddler. Then again, given the guardians’ long lives, that was probably what he appeared.
How long would magery extend Martin’s own seasons, providing he didn’t die today?
Screams came from behind them.
Martin whirled. “What’s happening?”
A bloodied young mage broke through, running for Dmitri. “It’s a slaughter!”
They turned and ran back the way they’d come, through the caverns and temple. The dazzling sunlight nearly blinded Martin as they emerged from the darkness.
Still dressed in finery and temple clothing, men and women hacked at any perceived enemy within range with knives, swords, and even broken bottles. They stared with blank, unseeing eyes.
“What the fates is wrong with them?” Martin shouted, sword drawn and dagger in hand.
Xariel sucked in a breath. “They’re possessed. Thomoth is sacrificing its own followers.”
A woman in gossamer fell into a fountain. Her red blood spread out through the water.
The guards approached, led by the commander. Still, the novices fought. None wore armor. Many traipsed across the bloody ground on bare feet.
The guards looked to the commander for guidance. The first novice to reach the line didn’t hesitate, taking full advantage of the guard’s indecision. A golden candlestick struck the guard’s temple, delivering a death blow.
The next guard struck the boy down—a boy who couldn’t have seen sixteen summers.
The guards stormed the grounds, the magical barrier keeping them in the gardens but letting the novices out of the temple.
Was Cere among them? Martin searched faces. In the melee, who could tell?
More and more novices poured forth. Two grabbed Martin, tugging him toward the misty veil. He struck. Both fell. Without pausing to check for injuries, he surged forward, mages at his side.
“It’s animating too many bodies to sustain for long,” Dmitri shouted, back against the garden wall, Xariel a dark shadow beside him. All the guardians wore their robes, with weightier matters to use their magic on to maintain a proper glamour.
“Watch for me.” Martin separated his mind from his body. The barrier didn’t stop him. Up stairs, down corridors, he searched. Where was Cere?
With a yank, he returned to himself.
“That’s not safe,” Xariel snapped.
Bodies littered the once-beautiful gardens. Blood stained the water in the fountains. The faces of the dead were unfamiliar to Martin. He closed his eyes, reaching out for Peter. There! Finally! Peter appeared as a murky dream shape on the edge of Martin’s senses.
Martin could easily pull strength from his lover, but no, he wouldn’t.
Take it, he heard in his head. If this doesn’t work, I won’t need it anyway. You must tire Thomoth if we’re to have a chance.
Dmitri dropped a hand to Martin’s shoulder. “Take it. That’s his part in this war. Providing you with strength.”
Martin drew, only intending to take a bit. Once he opened the connection with Peter, power slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. In the blink of an eye, he went from exhausted to invigorated, having removed the magic dampening amulet..
Guardian, gatekeeper, champion, solace. Card images flashed through Martin’s mind, similar to cards he’d read with Peter what seemed a lifetime ago. He pushed past the gray mist with renewed determination, bringing the guardians with him.
Step by step, Dmitri climbed to the main chapel, Martin close on his heels. The once-beautiful building now appeared sinister, a heavy weight of vileness permeating the air.
Priests and Chosen stood in their path, eyes eerily blank. Unlike those outside, these attackers carried swords.
“We’ve got this!” Gaveth cried. He and the Father’s other priests broke off, engaging with the Lady’s faithful.
Dmitri, Xariel, and Martin pushed forward. The moment they breeched the sanctuary, all outside sounds faded.
“Thomoth! We’ve no wish for any more loss of life,” Dmitri shouted into the eerie silence. Nothing. Then…
The barely audible click of heels on marble, the rustle of clothing. Tap, tap, tap, someone approached. They emerged from their hiding place.
Cere. Dressed in the same clothing he’d worn to the Choosing, only stained and dirty, golden skin showing through tears in the fabric. Cere would be beside himself if he knew how he looked. He opened his mouth, but another’s voice emerged. “I see, hunter, that you know who I am.”
Martin stepped out of the shadows. “Let him go. He’s merely a novice. What good could he possibly be to you?”
“He is my vessel. Allowing me to speak to you. You know you cannot defeat me. Yours isn’t the first world I’ve fed upon.”
“No, you go where you will, leaving death and destruction in your wake,” Dmitri snarled. Even through the heavy cassock, Martin sensed muscles bunched for launch.
Xariel stopped Dmitri with a hand to the shoulder. “That’s what it wants, to pick us off one by one. We need you to stay with us.”
“Your followers know who you are now, Thomoth. What you are.” Martin stepped away, drawing Cere’s attention, giving Dmitri time to compose himself. “They no longer worship you.”
“Like I care what the weaker races think. However, you’ve destroyed my conduits, how I channel the magic from this world into myself.”
Good! The runes worked.
Thomoth continued, “This body will have to do, though I’m afraid there will be nothing but ashes when I’m done.”
Martin bit back the pain of those words. Cere didn’t deserve this. None of the temple dwellers did. “Then what?”
“Then I consume what’s left of the magic of this place and leave.”
“The people here are innocent. Why destroy them?”
Thomoth laughed, a grotesque sound coming from a sweet young man of easy smiles and trilling laughter. “When I dictated the killing of mages and drew their power for myself, your people were all too happy to comply. They loved that I gave them a reason to destroy who they’d long envied. So they are complicit in the ruining of their own world. As has been the case on any world to which I traveled. I found no need to conquer, just divide the people and let them do the work.”
“You killed the mages. My parents. Many others.”
“Have you not seen your own kind kill each other when food is in short supply or over some petty bickering? Do you not look out for yourselves?” The mocking tones didn’t match Cere’s peaceful expression.
Martin struggled to accept that this being only looked like Cere. Did Cere still exist? “You kill entire worlds.”
“Do you not sit down and dine on animal flesh? Wear their skins as clothing?” The thing wearing Cere’s body sneered. “Why should I care about your kind?”
Now! Peter shouted in Martin’s mind.
Martin kept Thomoth’s attention, channeling magic through his connection with his lover. He met Thomoth’s gaze and looked his enemy in the eyes. Raw hatred and fury, things he’d never expected to see in Cere, and something he hoped to never see again.
It took effort to strike the image of a friend. Every attack would tear at Martin’s soul. He launched a ball of mage fire and ducked behind a statue. The stone shattered with return fire.
Lying flat on the marble floor, Martin watched in horror as Cere hurled a fireball toward Dmitri. Xariel lunged, knocking Dmitri to the floor. The flames roared over their heads.
“Ah, little mortals. You can’t expect to defeat me.” Not-Cere’s voice held a touch of strain. Could this magic-eating monster tire?
In his mind, Martin focused on Peter. Nothing. No! He should be safe, wherever he hid. Pain sliced up Martin’s arm. He rolled behind an urn. Water! He overshot and deluged himself with water. The fire went out. The pain remained.
No time for a healing spell now.
Thomoth lobbed raw power. A column cracked, sending marble crashing to the floor. Dmitri barely missed a cornice aimed at his head. For one moment, he lost his balance. Thomoth took advantage, slamming Dmitri against the wall with another blast of power.
Xariel and Martin attacked at once, from two directions. Thomoth easily blocked them both, a sneer on Cere’s lips. Dmitri recovered, joining them, throwing everything they had at the creature.
Was Thomoth’s power unending? All Martin’s concentration centered on the enemy. No time to search for Peter or consider what happened outside.
This being destroyed world after world, defeated thousands of mages. Who was Martin to think he stood a chance?
Martin heard a child’s voice. “I want to fight To-moff!”
A voice from long ago answered, “I believe you would. There are always two.”
On the edges of Martin’s perception, Peter sent strength. Martin stood before Thomoth and screamed out his rage, his pain, releasing a barrage of energy with the sound. Thomoth fell backwards, the fireball in his hands bouncing off the ceiling in a shower of sparks.
Martin ducked behind a shattered column, peering out from behind his shelter. A blast of yellow fire engulfed Xariel. His scream rent the quiet as he writhed in agony.
Dmitri lunged at Xariel, shoving power toward Thomoth.
And joined Xariel in flames.
What to do? What to do? An image popped into Martin’s head of a villager dousing a fire with snow. He channeled energy, focusing on cold, snow, a fire going out, and threw out his hands. The shot encased both of Martin’s grandfathers in ice. For one moment, time stopped. Xariel and Dmitri faced each other, light and dark, good and evil, frozen.
But weren’t those relative terms?
The ice melted in a whoosh of water cascading across polished marble. Xariel and Dmitri dropped to the floor.
Xariel lay motionless, Dmitri panting beside him.
Still, Thomoth came.
Garamel stomped into the sanctuary, along with his bond mate. Thomoth hurled a fireball. The two Dreckons glowed, the glow gradually fading as they absorbed the magic. Garamel grinned. “Thank you. What a lovely meal.” He approached, nothing but teeth and claws for weapons. Did he plan to kill Cere’s body?
Thomoth grinned. “Your race never learned, did they?” This time, instead of shooting a fireball, Thomoth made a “come here” motion with his hand. Garamel screeched. Golden light poured from him. His mate grabbed hold, only to join in the screaming. What was Thomoth doing to them?
In the midst of their agony, Martin swore he saw the pair smile.
“Stop!” Martin stepped out from behind his column. “Let them go!” The golden light stopped. Garamel and the other Dreckon fell to the floor, eyes closed. Were they dead? No time left to check now.
Martin raised a hand. Nothing. Panic caught him in an iron grasp, crushing the air from his lungs. “I’m sorry, Peter,” he whispered. No, he was sorry, Petran. How foolish they’d been to think they could match Thomoth, who’d already defeated so many others before.
Thomoth’s laugh raised goosebumps on Martin’s skin as Thomoth raised his hand. Nothing happened. The laughter stopped. Thomoth tried again. Had Garamel somehow tainted the creature’s magic?
Through billowing smoke, a figure emerged. No!
Peter strode into the temple. Not the humble man Martin knew, but head held high and steps sure.
“You! You are not wanted here!” Thomoth shrieked.
Peter opened his mouth, but another’s voice emerged. “You were warned.”
What! Had the monster taken hold of Peter? Another monster? Were there two? “There are always two,” he heard in his mother’s voice, as clearly as though she stood beside him. Two monsters as well as two heroes?
“It is time for you to return. With me.” Peter extended a hand.
Thomoth threw his hand forward. Flames shot toward Peter.
“No!” Martin charged, throwing himself in front of his lover. A primitive part of his brain cried, Pain!
Nothing but a pair of strong arms. Martin glanced up into a well-loved face.
One side of Peter’s mouth quirked up. “Ah, mortal. How brave and foolish. Thomoth cannot hurt me. Nor I, them.” One hand firmly on each shoulder, the being who looked like Peter effortlessly placed Martin to the side.
Hey! No pain. Martin spared a brief moment to rub his upper arm. No burns! And he felt energized.
But wait! Peter approached Thomoth. “No, Peter, stop!”
“Time to come home,” Peter said.
Thomoth backed away. “No! You cannot take me back. I have the magic of a dozen realms.”
“Had,” Peter said, smile bittersweet. “While your level of power would kill a mortal, divided between the mage-born…”
