Guards crept back out into the great hall like prairie dogs after a thunderstorm. Ajax was alive; he held his arm, leaned against a column, and fought off a slave offering succor. The Kynigos’ tremors had knocked over a section of wall onto the arm a screaming knight, and around him gathered Khelidon and several others. Even a few brave courtiers ventured downstairs to see what the trouble was—Jason among them. He surveyed the carnage with the look of a man who regretted every choice he had ever made.
Eris ignored them. She pressed onward to the bailey. But at the threshold from the keep, Khelidon spotted her.
“Eris! Eris! What’s happening? What the hell is going on?”
She took the first step down. Her blood ran hot. The night was cool but she felt feverish and overheated. Her muscles shook. By the time her foot found the third step, her leg gave out. She tumbled down the rest of the way, hitting her head, landing in mud on her side.
For a moment she clawed at the earth beside her. The pain of the fall was nothing compared to the swelling of the rashes on her arms and the shooting agony in her stomach. The sudden urge to vomit came again, but she was stuck on her back, unable to move—
Khelidon pulled her upright. He jumped back when he saw the glowing green regurgitation leave her lips. For a moment the stomach pain became so much worse, and she felt hives and blisters forming up her throat and in her mouth, but seconds after retching she felt much better. Her senses returned. The hideous aching in her muscles dulled to numbness.
Khelidon shook her, then faced her. “What happened?”
In the darkness he looked so much like Rook. She was reminded of how much she hated him, and of how desperately she needed to catch him.
“I exposed the Kynigos,” she slurred. Her voice was low. Her lips numb. “It left for Katharos. Your brother gives it chase.”
She couldn’t read his expression. Serious consideration.
“He said he rode for the city, and not to follow,” he said.
“I will follow.”
“Take a look in the mirror, as you so like to do. You aren’t following anyone.” He helped her up to her feet.
She pushed him away. “I will follow, and you cannot stop me.”
He grabbed her. She tried to fight back, but without magic even a crippled man was stronger than her; she was easily subdued. “I can stop you, actually. You can barely walk. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Eris’ voice iced over. “If you do not unhand me,” she said, “there will be no amount of brotherly love that will save you from me.”
She kicked against him. He kept her still for another moment. Then…he let her go. She toppled back to the ground, but she managed to climb to her feet. The courtyard around her was dark and she was disorientated; she needed a horse, Rook would have taken a horse with Aletheia, so she stumbled her way to the stables. She didn’t bother looking back at Khelidon again.
A dozen horses waited for her in stalls. Many more were missing. No one tended to them. She knew nothing at all about animals. She chose one at random, the only one that already had a saddle, and spent the next five minutes trying helplessly to scale onto its back.
She did not have the strength to lift herself so high up. But even if she had, she didn’t know how to ride a horse. The only way—
Back out into the courtyard. She stepped over the body of a dead watchman, then ascended a staircase onto the walls, resting at length every other step. She never felt her own weight to be so immense until that day. When finally at the top she propped herself against a crenulation and looked out toward the horizon.
At night the Oldwalls of Katharos were illuminated by manalights. Ancient candles that still burned, drawing their fire from the atmosphere around them. She saw them now in the distance.
Three miles. That was how far. Three miles to the city, and she had a clear line of sight.
She didn’t hesitate long enough to consider the consequences of a spell. She didn’t debate whether or not it was worth it, to use magic while in the early stages of spellsickness; nor did she wonder for long what she hoped to accomplish once she found Rook. Her mind was too single for that then. All she knew was she needed to intercept him before he got himself killed. She needed to berate him, harangue him, threaten him, then keep him safe. How—that was a question for the future.
Her veins were still overloaded with mana, even as she exhausted her Essence from overcasting. That was why each regurgitation improved her condition and softened her allergic reaction to the Aether in her veins. That gave her enough magic to cast a spell, at tremendous risk to herself.
But she didn’t care. She did it the moment she could. She used Blink: the farthest Blink of her life by a factor of a thousand, from here to the base of the Oldwalls. She erased herself in her imagination and reconstituted her body far off, funneling every ounce of energy still left in her body to this purpose, screaming in exertion, so focused on the channeling that she hardly noticed when she closed her eyes from instict. And when they opened once again, she collided face-first with a cold stone wall.
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“Miss, you’ve got to wake up! Get up, miss!”
There was screaming all around her.
“Get up!”
Hands grabbed at her arms. The rashes stung wherever he touched, but he pulled her upright, and she saw in the darkness of night a boy. Teenaged. Clawing at her.
Behind him fled crowds from out the city’s gates. Panicked. Chaos everywhere. Women caught their breaths beyond the walls. Children screamed.
Eris forgot everything. She was tired and useless and her mind foggy. She reached around herself for her things.
“My staff,” she gagged. “My orb. Where.”
“Your what?”
“My things. Where are my things.”
“You don’t have any things, miss, I found you just like this. You’ve got to get up, please, we’ve gotta go!”
She looked around again. No staff. No focus. She went to attack the boy for stealing her magic items, but as she clawed at him she remembered—she had forgotten them in her room. Both. In the moment it hadn’t even occurred to her to take—not even Rook’s sword. Rook left behind his sword, and she didn’t take it.
She was a fool.
“Let’s go—”
The boy looked into her eyes. She glared up at him, and then he saw her eyes. He yelped like she were an unexpected spider and let her go, squirming away, and just like that he sprinted off into the night.
Even drained, being a magician had some advantages. She climbed to her feet. Using the wall for support. She leaned against it and followed it around toward the gate, where screaming swarms of poorly dressed plebians rushed to escape through a narrow strait.
Purple fire consumed entire blocks of stone buildings. Harsh light and jagged shadows backlit the crowds. Eris pressed through them, walking slowly into the city; she parted the fleeing masses like a river around Telmos pessiyanua pillars. The Regal Avenue was vast and soon it broadened, so she found herself walking alone, and on the ground around her were littered bodies of countless fallen humans.
Some were dead. Incinerated, blown apart with magic missiles, turned to ash or cleaved with conjured weapons. Most others were limp but still breathing, with loved ones at their sides. She watched a girl at the side of a man with empty eyes tug at his arm, screaming at him to stand up, but no matter what she did he would not move.
Around a bend in the road. Down another block. More and more bodies.
She didn’t need to concentrate to feel the Kynigos’ presence. With her eyes opened or closed she felt it, saw it, lightning up the burning streets around her like the bright noon sun. She passed by the corpses of a dozen of the Archon’s knights. The screams quieted in the distance; they fell farther behind her as she pressed forward. The demon made its way into the city’s center. Relentlessly pursuing the scent of souls.
More fires. Fires that burned on things that shouldn’t burn—buildings of stone and marble, but which carried the purple flame as easily as wood. The noise was like standing in a fireplace. The scene like walking through a nightmare.
She walked too slowly. She tried using Blink again to traverse an open stretch of road, but her Essence gave out. It was like trying to hold a note without any air in her lungs. Her feet would have to do.
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Still no sign of Rook. Her heart picked up. A thousand beats per second.
The warmth of the Kynigos’ Essence grew with each step. It was moving slowly. Enjoying its feast. She came to a closed city gate, its colossal portcullis sealed, and right before it was a horse. A large, fast horse, tied to a post and left here.
Beyond she saw more fire. The demon had passed through this gate. Rook must have reached it and dismounted, then—perhaps with Aletheia’s help, scaled the wall. That idiot would not stop until he was dead. She grabbed the portcullis, but there was nothing to be done. She didn’t have the power to open it or Blink around it now. She was stuck. She would have to go around, to another of the city’s subgates. There wasn’t enough time for that, she knew, but she didn’t have time to waste waiting for another option either—she started off back down the road.
Off the path of destruction wrought by the Kynigos, the city was in chaos. Fear everywhere. Alarm bells ringing. No one knew what was happening, but no one was sleeping tonight. Eris didn’t know how late it was by then, at least midnight, but there was enough commotion to rival the busiest day. She pressed on through panicked crowds, until eventually she found the next gate she needed, half a mile north of where she had been stuck. Hundreds of refugees fled through this way, but once again she pressed past them. Down an alley. Up a hill. Through a street, then a courtyard, again feeling the demon’s Essence grow stronger, until…
She found herself at a raised vantage point. The dark streets below her illuminated by purple flame. And there, finally, below her, a thousand feet away, was the blinding, glowing silhouette of the Kynigos.
It had grown. Before it stood at the height of an elf, perhaps seven feet; now it was twice as tall, as tall as most of the buildings in the street. Lightning crackled from its violet mass. It hovered through the streets like a cloud of destruction.
Now its eyes were set on a tower. A watchtower with an alarm bell that rang furiously through the night. Five men with bows shot at the demon again and again, but their arrows did nothing. When it came close enough, it stopped. Surveying them. Looking up. Considering.
It raised an enormous arm into the air. Clenched its aethereal claws into a fist. Then, like tugging on an invisible string, it pulled its hand toward the ground.
The tower crumbled in an instant. The bricks at its base exploded. The five archers were crushed. The rubble from the tower destroyed every surrounding building.
The Kynigos continued on. At another building it raised its hand, setting more flame spreading across the city—and driving humans from their homes. A dozen plebians appeared in the streets to escape the fire; the moment they saw the demon it grabbed them with magic, freezing them in place; then, one-by-one, it took them into its hands. Flame sizzled against its fingers where it touched their skin. They screamed.
And fell to the ground.
Most escaped. Flowing down the avenue like a flood of terror. Only two in the street moved upstream.
Rook. Rook and Aletheia, approaching the demon, running now to confront it while it was distracted by its meal.
Eris screamed. She swore. They could flee. They could get away. They did not need to stay in Katharos at all. They could return to their lives on the road. They could forget the city. There was no reason to fight this fight. Soon Cult Custodians would arrive and this demon would have no recourse against them—they had no souls to steal and would be immune to its attacks. They would slay it. Who cared what casualties were accrued in the interim? Why risk themselves to protect strangers?
But she was too late. The battle was beginning.
She rushed down to his side as fast as she could, but it would be over long before she got there. All she could do was watch.
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The final victim stopped her screaming. The lightning off the Kynigos grew more pronounced. Its Essence brighter. It raised itself back up to its full height—
And Rook reached it. He wielded Lord Arqa’s black sword and he sliced at the dark miasma engulfing the demon’s base, cutting at the tendrils on which it supported itself.
It was like slitting open an eyeball. Purple ooze flooded out onto the streets. It engulfed his boots and covered the soulless bodies across the ground; at contact with their skin they began to sizzle and char, but they didn’t react except to blink.
A roar rippled through the Aether. The Kynigos’s Essence bled into the street. It turned, enraged, and a cloak of flame descended onto Rook and Aletheia—but Aletheia thought quickly enough to raise a forcefield. She held the fire back.
The Kynigos saw the sword. It lurched backward again. A barrage of magic missiles shot out form its featureless face, but those hit the shield, too, a dozen of them and then a dozen more, until finally the girl was forced to relent in her magic.
Rook jumped forward to land another hit. He thrust into one of the demon’s arms. More ooze leaked out from the wound—this time it dribbled onto his left hand, and it burned him badly where it touched bare skin. He screamed and jumped back.
But that was all the time the Kynigos needed. It froze him with a spell. Grabbing his arms and his legs. Immobilizing the sword it clearly feared. Locking him in place. It lowered its amorphous mass to the ground. It presented both of its hands. It raised them toward him, bringing them to his sides, and for a moment fire appeared in its palms as it traced Rook’s sides—
Aletheia screamed. She raised the Seeker’s longsword and hacked the Kynigos’ torso in two. Its spell over Rook dropped as a deluge of magic escaped onto the ground, and again it roared—the sound was inaudible, yet Eris felt it, she saw it when she closed her eyes, she knew it to be pain in a way she couldn’t describe.
Aletheia brought the sword around again for a thrust, but the Kynigos was fast enough to grab her sword arm. It forced the blade back toward herself, so that she had to let it go or else be cut by her own weapon; and the moment she let it go, it snatched it into its own enormous hands. Then it knocked Aletheia away with a gust of energy.
Rook was free then. He went for another strike, aimed for one of the demon’s arms, but it brought the Seeker’s blade around now to parry the blow. It exchanged hits with Rook—it could have killed him with a spell, but it didn’t want to sustain any more damage to its exposed form. It was vulnerable now. It could be killed. They just needed to…
Rook landed a slice to its fingers. Three of them fell to the ground. When they hit the cobblestone they evaporated. He brought his sword around—but too late. The Kynigos struck at his wrist with a nasty cut, his left wrist, already burned, and he cried out in pain.
He caught a thrust aimed for his heart just in time. They continued again. Back and forth. But Rook was losing.
Eris was halfway there. She had to manage something. Any spell at all. There was no choice. If she could just get the sword out of the demon’s hands…
It landed another hit on Rook’s leg. He buckled down to the ground. Then he was vulnerable; it brought the sword to his neck—
Eris grabbed the sword in its hands. She had nothing left in her Essence, but she reached as hard as she could with her mind. She channeled all of the excess mana still in her bloodstream, bringing in as much as she could from the air even as her skin erupted in hives, and as the blade collided with Rook’s neck, she yanked it from the demon’s hands.
It hadn’t expected that. The hilt flew into the air, then toppled down to the ground some distance away. Rook seized the opportunity. He jumped back to his feet and cut off one of the demon’s arms. Torrents of demonic ichor flooded down onto him, burning him, but he kept up the assault—
The demon roared one final time. It shrank, its Essence bleeding magic, glowing still yet becoming dimmer by the second. It blasted him backward, and while he was staggered it sent a barrage of magic missiles his way. He jumped out of the way but they tracked him, following his movements. He tried to raise the sword to parry them, and he caught the first three on the blade, but two hit him in his left bicep—
The first tore his arm halfway off. Even from a distance Eris saw bone exposed beneath red viscera. He yelped in confusion more than pain, then regarded the wound as if he didn’t understand what had happened.
Then the second impacted. It him in the stomach. He fell down to his knees.
The Kynigos continued to leak mana. Now it needed more souls, more to heal itself, more to stay stable in this world. It came to Rook and it grabbed him one final time—
But Aletheia had her sword again. She had grabbed it off the ground, and she cut off the demon’s other arm. It let out more magic missiles, but these were smaller, less powerful, slower, and she managed to catch them all on the flat of her blade—but she could do nothing as it swatted her away with another gust of energy.
By then Rook was back on his feet. He raised his sword and shoved it straight through the Kynigos’ chest. It froze. He leaned forward, driving it all the way through, then pulled it out one side; and, with the momentum, circled the edge back around toward the other, slicing the demon in half. Then he went for its eyes. He cut through both of them lengthwise, then finished with a thrust: he held the sword between the two fires in the demon’s chest, keeping it there, staying still, screaming in pain, until—
The whole of the purple silhouette turned to nothing but violet liquid. All its physical shape disappeared in an instant. Rook fell to the ground, and purple water rained down onto him in torrents.
Eris collapsed in the streets.
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She crawled her way to Rook’s side. She didn’t know how long she had been there, unconscious, only that now there were people all around her, staring down at her, searching for their loved ones, and the streets were again in chaos.
All the fires had gone out.
Aletheia kneeled over Rook. She clutched his hand. There were tears in her eyes.
“You have to get up,” she whispered. “You can’t leave me. Please get up.” She leaned over him, embracing him, and shaking him. “You can’t leave me too. Please. We still have to train.”
Eris fell to her knees at his side. “Move!” she yelled. Aletheia looked up at her with terror, but she didn’t move; Eris pushed her away, onto her back, and collapsed onto Rook.
His eyes were open. His breath was shallow. His shirt was destroyed. His torso and arms were covered in severe manaburns. His left arm hung by threads of sinew from his bicep; the bone was exposed and smashed to pieces within. Blood poured from his stomach.
He blinked when he saw her.
She ripped off the bottom of her dress and pressed it against his gut. Blood seeped through immediately. Her hands were stained red.
Now her eyes swelled with tears.
“You idiot,” she gasped. “Why—for nothing—why? I told you, did I not? I told you!”
His mouth opened, but he said nothing. His eyes were wide.
“You idiot man! After everything we have done for you! After all we have been through! This is how you repay us? You—miserable bastard! Stop bleeding! You cannot die here, you evil, selfish fool!”
He gagged. Blood poured from his lips.
“Listen to me, Rook! You—you stupid—” she devolved into screaming. She shook him violently, hitting his chest, but he didn’t respond. When he closed his eyes she turned to Aletheia. “Do something! You know healing magic! Do something, you useless bitch!”
Aletheia had her legs against her chest. She was sobbing. “I can’t.”
“Do something or I will kill you!”
“I can’t.”
“You—” Eris turned back to Rook. His eyes opened again. His head lifted upward. She leaned down to him, embracing him, now sobbing herself; and with his right arm he grabbed her by the shoulder, and he brought their lips together one final time.
His lips tasted like gore. Sweet iron. They were very cold. But he kissed her, and his voice wheezed something she couldn’t understand, and even after his head went limp she kept herself against him for a long time, keeping her mouth on his, begging him to stay awake.
When she pulled away, his eyes were closed. His arm was still. His fingers were caught in her dress.
“You cannot die like this,” she whispered. “Wake up. You cannot die now. We have won. This cannot be our story. I will not let it be. I am begging you, Rook. Wake up. Wake up! I will give you anything, Rook! I will marry you if you wake up!”
But she felt the ember of his soul against the wind of injury. The presence that had been so near her so often for so many years. So familiar. The only other soul she could ever have near her own. She felt it flickering. She felt it dying. She felt it going out against her.
Then it was gone, and she had nothing left to do but cry against his chest.