With a Golden Sword (DFZ Changeling Book 2), page 22
“Easy,” Simon said, reaching under the gurney for the medical tape, which he used to bind the Rider’s split helmet back together over his face before the fairy’s rapidly returning magic could enthrall him for real. “Coming back from the dead is a traumatic experience. You’ve got to let it flow through you, or the pressure will make you crack.”
He wasn’t sure if the Rider heard him, but eventually his frantic hyperventilating slowed to normal gasping. He collapsed back onto the gurney next, lifting his bloody gloves to his helmet-covered face in wonder.
“I’m alive.”
His deep voice was as captivating as ever, causing Simon to lean closer before he caught himself.
“You are,” he said, taking a step back from the once again very dangerous man. “How do you feel?”
“Incredible,” Valente said, turning his cracked helmet toward Simon. “You saved me.”
“Don’t call it salvation,” Simon warned, sinking to the ground as the exhaustion of holding all that magic finally caught up with him. “If you weren’t already a monster, you’d be an abomination right now. I just infused every part of you with blood magic. You’re so stained now that even Victor would be shocked.”
“That’s not all you did,” the Rider said, his deep voice awed. “You broke it.”
“Something’s still broken?” Simon asked, pushing back up in alarm. “Where is it? I thought for sure I got all—”
“That wasn’t a complaint,” Valente said as he climbed off the gurney. “You broke my oaths.”
“Your what?”
“The knighthood oaths,” he said excitedly, grabbing Simon by the shoulders. “They’ve always been wrapped around me like a fist for years, but now—”
“You died,” Simon finished, his eyes flying wide as he realized what was happening. “You were bound to Victor unto death, and he killed you.” His face split into a grin. “He broke his own oath.”
“And you brought me back,” Valente said, his deep voice shaking with joy. “You set me free. I’m not his knight anymore!”
Simon gasped as the Rider lurched forward and crushed him in a hug. He was struggling to breathe when Valente suddenly let go and stepped back, his deep voice hesitant as he asked, “Why?”
“Because I wasn’t going to let him win,” Simon replied, reaching into the trauma kit under the gurney for a roll of gauze to bind his bleeding hands. He was still picking the piece of tape off the end when Valente fell to his knees.
“I owe you my life.”
“Get up,” Simon said irritably as he finally got the gauze unraveled. “Delighted as I am to free anyone from Victor, I didn’t do this for you. I just couldn’t stand the thought of that ass taking credit for slaying the monster he created. But things are about to get even better.”
He shot an evil smile at the glaring TV lights outside. “The Hero killed you in front of the entire world. When people see you alive again, it’ll put an enormous crack in Victor’s image. Maybe not enough to bring him down, but there’s no way it won’t hurt, and that’s good enough for me.” His smile faded as he looked down at the gauze he was wrapping around his hands. “I also did it for Lola. She cares a lot about you, and I care a lot about her.”
The Rider shifted uncomfortably. “I’d think that’d be a reason not to save me.”
“Then you know nothing,” Simon snapped. “I don’t care what you are to Lola, but I know what she is to me. The only thing I’ve ever wanted is for her to be happy. If that means dragging your soul back from the Sea of Magic with my teeth, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”
“I’m very glad you feel that way,” Valente said, lowering his head. “Thank you, Simon.”
“Stop that,” Simon grumbled, turning away. “I hate being bowed to. It makes me feel like Victor.”
“You want me to go out there and kill him?” the Rider offered, lifting his helmet eagerly. “There are no orders in my head anymore. I can probably even enthrall him now that he’s not my king.” His bloody gloves clenched into shaking fists. “I can do anything. I can finally make him pay for—”
“No,” Simon said as he finished bandaging his hands. “You might be riding high emotionally, but you were dead not two minutes ago, and your body is still a mess. You couldn’t fight the normal version of Victor right now, much less that.”
He tilted his head back toward the square where Victor was still standing with his golden sword, his body shining brighter and clearer than even the TV lights could account for.
“What’s happening?” the Rider asked, tilting his cracked helmet.
“Exactly what he planned,” Simon replied with a sigh. “He’s got the whole world believing he’s the only thing standing between them and Alberich’s Hunt. All he has to do now is win, and he’ll become the Hero for real.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what it sounds like. Humans instinctively pour magic into anything they value or fear. That’s how spirits are born. That’s how Victor made Fenrir, and now he’s doing it to himself.” Simon narrowed his eyes at the golden man in the square’s center. “He’s angling to become something no modern person has ever seen: an immortal spirit with a human’s freedom of will. Think Hercules or Maui or any other demigod, though I’m sure Victor intends to ditch the demi part.”
The Rider shifted nervously. “Can he actually do that? Become a god, I mean.”
Simon shrugged. “Magical historians are still arguing over whether transcendent humans actually existed or if they’re just stories, but if anyone can make the jump, it’s Victor. He’s been working toward this his entire life, and he’s got advantages the ancient heroes could only dream of.”
He pointed at the swarm of camera drones that was still circling Victor’s head. “There are thirty times more humans alive today than there were the last time magic flooded the world. All those people can be manipulated into pouring their magic into whatever bucket you want, given the right context. Victor already tried and failed to harness that power the night he fought Fenrir, but he’s learned from his mistakes. This time, he’s made himself the center of the story, but that just makes it easier for me to pull the rug out from under him.”
“How?” the Rider asked.
“Because he isn’t a god yet,” Simon said, pointing up at the sky full of nightmares. “He’s put himself in a catch-twenty-two. To become a god, he has to do something divine. That’s why he built an army and drugged them with his power. He can’t actually defeat Alberich’s Hunt by himself, so he’s rigged the game to make it seem like he can. All he has to do now is keep the farce up until enough people swallow his lie to actually make it real. It’s the ultimate fake-it-till-you-make-it, but the trick only works if people buy it, which is why I’m going to make sure Victor stumbles at the most critical moment.”
“How?” the Rider asked again. “Not that I doubt your skills, but what are you going to do when he’s out there and we’re in here?”
Simon fished one of the red pills out of his pocket. “I sabotaged his pills. Not enough for him to notice. They had to still work or Victor would have realized something was up too soon. I even took one in front of him to prove my version was legit, but there’s a change that Victor didn’t see.”
He rolled back his sleeve to show the Rider the new spellwork he’d tattooed onto his arm. “I added a kill switch. A hidden key tuned to my blood and my blood only. As soon as the Hunt comes down, Victor will give the word for his army to drug up, but the moment my pills go into their mouths, I’ll hit the trigger and freeze their bodies in place. Forget using blood magic. They won’t be able to blink, leaving Victor standing alone out there like an idiot.”
He rolled his sleeve back down with a smirk. “After that, the Hunt just has to do what it does best, and our Victor problem will be over.”
The Rider shook his head. “It can’t be that simple.”
“It wasn’t simple at all,” Simon snarled. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to come up with a change that Victor wouldn’t notice? If I hadn’t been his apprentice for twenty years, I never could have done it, not to mention the thousands of pills I had to make by hand.”
He whirled back to the Hero standing alone in the square. “The fact that I pulled any of this off is a miracle, but that’s what it takes to beat the miracle seller. Even with all the pills in position, though, we’re not in the clear until his mages actually take them, so if you really want to thank me for saving your life, watch my back. If I don’t get the timing exactly right on this, it’ll all come to nothing.”
The Rider nodded and stepped away, giving him his space, though what Simon really needed was a glimpse into the future. For all the effort he’d put into his kill switch, the underlying spellwork was still Victor’s. Once he froze the Hero’s Army, he’d only be able to hold them like that for a few seconds before Victor realized what was happening and reasserted control. That should still be enough time to break what was always an incredibly delicate operation and turn the tide against his cocky master, but only if Simon did it at the exact right—
A bloodcurdling screech cut through his thoughts. Up in the sky, the swirling mass of the Wild Hunt shifted like a flock of starlings and began to dive. The whole world shook with the thunder of their hooves as they poured down from the clouds, falling onto the city like a screeching ax.
It was the same sight Simon had seen on the news of the Wild Hunt’s attacks on other cities. That only made it even more terrifying, though, because he’d also seen the aftermath. The Wild Hunt didn’t just eat people’s fear. It ate their flesh and their bones, their buildings and their weapons. It destroyed for the sake of destruction, demolishing people’s sense of safety so Alberich’s court could keep feeding on their fear even after the attack was over.
That endless fear was also why the Hero had been able to rise so quickly. Alberich really had given him the perfect villain. All Victor had to do was stand firm and raise his sword against the charge, and the whole world threw their hopes like flowers at his feet.
It was happening right now as Simon watched. The moment the Hunt began its descent, Victor’s Hero flashed brighter than ever, his iconic golden sword glowing like the sun. The signal came through Simon’s earpiece at the same time, ordering the waiting army to take their pills.
“Simon,” the Rider hissed.
“Not yet.”
A muffled roar rose up as the army hidden beneath the tower’s foundations obeyed their Hero. Simon could feel the pills he’d made activating as they slid down five-thousand-eight-hundred-and-seventy-two throats, and then the floor shook under his feet as the mages began their charge. He could already see the front line coming up the ramp at the edge of the square, but he didn’t do it yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Now.
When the first red-coated soldier was nearly to the Hero and the Wild Hunt was only two dozen feet from the ground, Simon clenched the muscles beneath his new tattoo, sparking a chain reaction that spread through the blood he’d sneaked into every pill. The magic shot through the Hero’s forces like lightning, scrambling the intricate framework that allowed the amateur mages to pull on Victor’s masterful expertise. The disconnect hit them like an electric shock, stunning their nervous systems and leaving the whole army stumbling in their tracks.
Simon stumbled with them. An unwelcome surprise, but not wholly unexpected. He’d also taken the pills: once in front of Victor to prove they weren’t poison, and then several more over the following days as he tested the batches to make sure everything was perfect. He hadn’t taken one today, but a good chunk of Victor’s spell must still have been lingering in his system, because the blowback hit him like a truck. He knew the stun would only last ten seconds at best, though, so he wasn’t worried. At least, not until he looked up.
When Simon recovered enough control over his muscles to lift his head, he was no longer standing in the shattered lobby with the Rider. He was back in the red-tinged version of his old room at the mansion. Back in his death.
That wasn’t right. There was nothing about the pills or the sabotage he’d slipped into them that should kill the user. The shock of so much blood magic risked causing a hemorrhage the first time, but once they adjusted to the dosage, the pills should have made the user more resistant to death, not less. This especially applied to an actually trained blood mage like himself, but there was no denying where he was. Simon was still trying to figure out what had gone wrong when he realized he wasn’t alone.
“Hello, apprentice.”
Simon whirled around. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but nothing could stop his gasp when saw Victor standing right beside him. Not the Hero from this morning. This was the Victor of Simon’s childhood, the one from the portrait that was now hanging empty on the wall.
The shock was enough to make him stumble backward. It couldn’t be possible. This was Simon’s death. Victor had made him install that portrait when he was too young to realize he could say no, but the moment Simon had learned to fully control his magic, he’d kicked his master out. With the exception of Lola—whom he always welcomed—no one should have been able to get in here. Especially not Victor, yet there he was.
“So,” his master said, folding his hands behind his back as he looked Simon up and down, “you sabotaged my pills. I thought that was your plan when you jumped on the chore of making them, but I never did manage to find what you’d changed.” His smile widened. “It must have been very clever, but I’d expect nothing less from my best.”
“How did you get in here?” Simon demanded, grabbing Victor by the shoulders. At least, he tried to grab him. His hands had barely moved when the red thread that was still around his neck—the one that was tied to the empty portrait Victor had stepped out of—tightened like a choke chain.
“Such a disappointing question,” Victor tsked as Simon clawed at the red string cutting off his breath. “You changed my spellwork so expertly that even I couldn’t find the flaw, and yet you still haven’t realized its true purpose. Come on, Simon. I thought you were cleverer than that.”
Simon couldn’t answer with the thread crushing his windpipe, so he settled for giving Victor a murderous look, which his master apparently found hilarious.
“Don’t look so sour,” Victor said with a superior smirk. “As I told you just now in the square, I’m actually quite proud of what you’ve accomplished. Betrayal is the natural course between a blood mage and his apprentice. I’d have been gravely disappointed if you hadn’t tried to bring me down, but it was never going to work. As clever as you’ve become, you still haven’t learned to see what’s in front of your nose.”
He fished one of the red pills out of his pocket, holding it up for Simon to see.
“This pill was never a vessel to give the unworthy my power. That was just the gilding, the bait to make those idiots bite. What I really needed was for them to welcome a piece of myself into their deepest hearts, as I am now in yours.”
Simon stopped struggling against the thread to blink in shock. Of course. How could he have been so blind? The point of the pills was never the spellwork, it was the blood. Victor’s blood gobbled down by thousands of greedy idiots who coveted his power, but were too ignorant to kick him out when he made himself at home in their deaths.
“That’s right,” Victor said at his horrified look. “Every man and woman who’s taken one of my pills is having this same conversation inside their own deaths with me right now, though you’re the only one with the strength to talk back.” He reached out to touch the red noose around Simon’s neck, loosening it just a fraction. “Let’s hope you have something interesting to say.”
Simon gasped as the air rushed back into his lungs. The red thread was still tight around his neck, but it was no longer cutting off his windpipe, leaving him enough breath to snarl at his master.
“Are you insane?”
Victor rolled his eyes. “Surely you can do better than that.”
“What else is there to say?” Simon wheezed. “You’ve taken over five-thousand-eight-hundred mages who can’t even cast blood magic without you pulling their strings. Those idiots have no power to give you, and the Wild Hunt is practically on top of your head. An army with your power at least made sense, but this is madness!”
“Oh, Simon,” Victor said, shaking his head. “As always, you lack vision. Do you really think it was enough to be the leader of the army that saved humanity? Of course not. Heroes are great because they stand alone. Right now, all over the world, billions of people are wishing for me to win with all their hearts. They pray to me, beg me, put their faith in me. The Hunt hasn’t even landed yet, but I’m already a god in every way that counts save one: capacity.”
He wrapped his hand around the red thread that went to Simon’s throat. “For all my talents, my soul is still frustratingly mortal. Even with the legend of the Hero expanding my death to enormous proportions, there’s a limit to how far a human can stretch. It doesn’t matter how much magic the world pours into me if I lack a container big enough to hold it. In order to possess the power of a god, I need a vessel the size of a god’s, not a man’s. Understand?”
Simon didn’t want to flatter him by answering that, especially since it didn’t matter. Victor was too much of a braggart not to tell him, and sure enough, a few moments later, his master continued.
“As I said, there are limits to how far a human soul can stretch,” he said, pacing in front of his choking apprentice like a lecturer. “But, as I proved with Fenrir, there’s no rule you can’t break with enough magic. The problem is getting there. If I had the sort of magic Fenrir was wielding, I could do anything: expand my death into a true spirit’s vessel, make myself immortal, destroy the fairy menace, all of it. Unfortunately, actually handling that much power would have instantly shattered my mortal soul.
