But what did become of Duke Otto Orczy?
His meeting with the Runeguild ended unusually early, as the vice-guildmaster received some urgent news and postponed the meeting until further notice. It was still far too late to attend Teresa’s birthday, but he hoped he might be able to speak with her before bed.
All around the estate, the guards and servants drank their fill and celebrated. Within, all was clean and orderly, with the stablemasters just then putting the pegasi in for the night and the custodians putting away the last of the food and wine.
Then there were screams. From every direction over the walls, guards yelled out drunken warnings and bodies fell to the ground.
Otto Orczy extended his senses. The vast compound and the streets around unfolded before his second sight with an eagle’s view. There were eight points of conflict, with Kolonn troops ambushing from every angle.
But they hadn’t gone after any of the entrances. Their forces were too spread out. It was like they were just trying to cause as much chaos as possible…
Otto didn’t stop moving as he focused his senses on Teresa’s chambers. The scent of death spilled out through the ajar door.
Myra lay dead on the floor. Young bruises on her neck. Contact poison in her blood.
The window was open.
And beyond it, from the dark, open green of the central courtyard, a hippogriff took flight. On its back was a black-clad figure, and in their arms was Teresa, still sound asleep.
There was no time to raise the alarm, to armor himself, to grab any weapon other than the saber at his hip. Otto rushed out, jumped on the bare back of a tied-up black pegasus, severed its lead, and drove it into the sky.
He swept around the perimeter of the compound, and everywhere he went his aura rolled over the battle like a deadly wave, empowering his followers and filling his foes with dread.
Then he caught it.
This kidnapper was a professional. Their aura was slight and subtle, and even the vigorous life of the hippogriff was concealed within it.
But Teresa still wore the pendant he had given her years ago, and the tracking charm upon it still emitted a faint pulse. He swung the pegasus to the west and followed after that magical heartbeat, steady and slow even as his own heart and the flying beast’s pounded in synchrony.
Aerial chases were never easy. A skilled combatant on a trained mount could take advantage of movement in three dimensions, with sudden swoops and turns making engagement at distance a difficult prospect even if Otto had a crossbow with him. But it was worse in Anthusa. Anywhere else, he could simply rise high enough to get a clear line of sight to his target. In Anthusa, the City of Wonders, it was suicide to fly more than a hundred cubits above the ground. Millennia of magical defenses around the Tower of the Cathedral Severe kept unsleeping watch against whoever might try to infiltrate that bastion of Anthusa’s liberty, and while the Tower itself possessed innumerable and devious defenses, the safeguards in the surrounding city were simple and deadly: anything larger than a pigeon that flew over the 100-cubit mark for more than a moment would be shot out of the sky and vaporized.
His target knew that. In a city where half the buildings rose just up to that height and dozens of towers belonging to powerful families rose well above it, flight was not a free and open affair. Otto was speeding on through the dark night, mindful of the torchlight below marking out the shape of streets, constantly scanning to avoid crashing into the face of a tall building.
But they didn’t lose him. This was his city, and he knew its streets and alleys alike.
He sent the poor beast into a sharp dive, and pulled it out just shy of the ground, then into a climb. He spurred it on and swung its reins hard to the left. Just as it was about to lose momentum it turned, its wings nearly perpendicular with the ground, and for a moment its heavy hooves tramped on the wall of a church before it jumped off and turned right-way up once again.
His own legs aching from the effort of staying on without a saddle or harness, Otto whispered an apology to the beast and a prayer to the saints. But at last, his quarry was in front of him.
They moved fast and low, and their aura covered virtually all signs of their passing. But there was no way to be totally invisible while hiding such a large life-form and flying at high speed.
They spun and wove and swept between the buildings and towers. The hippogriff had certain advantages over the pegasus: it was smaller, nimbler, and more suited to dense and risky environments like this one. But it was also wilder, less accustomed to being ridden hard and obeying a rider, and didn’t have the same kind of stamina as the pegasus. It was a curiosity, an exotic mount, not a beast of burden or war. Still, its native agility might have sufficed to make an escape, if not for the fact that it was being chased by Otto Orczy. Whatever their abilities as an infiltrator, this kidnapper didn’t know Anthusa well, and wasn’t an expert rider.
Otto was.
The thief’s evasive maneuvers were predictable, and they were only thought out a few moves ahead. When they wheeled off to the right into a narrower, tall alley, Otto kept forward and spurred his steed with one more burst of speed. One turn, then another, and then he climbed, flying as close to the 100-cubit mark as he dared, synchronizing his heartbeat with the beast’s, intermingling their auras, and thinking very, very quiet thoughts…
And then there was open space. They had arrived at the Lords’ square, right under the nose of the Tower. And true to form, his prey emerged from another street onto the square, flying low, just as he expected.
Like a bird of prey he swooped down, his saber aloft, ready to strike down the rider in one blow. This black-clad woman, kidnapper and assassin, would die here and now.
But he saw Teresa there, trussed up under the kidnapper’s arm like a package, still, miraculously asleep.
He could strike the kidnapper’s head clean off without any danger. He could pluck Teresa from the air before she hit the ground. He’d done more difficult, more dangerous things in flight before.
Did he trust himself?
Otto’s saber twisted and struck the hippogriff’s flank. The animal screeched and bucked, and its rider failed to regain control with just one hand on the reins. If this had been a duel, Otto would have given his opponent great honor for managing as well as she did. But in this moment he felt nothing but contempt.
He swept around in a tight circle. The hippogriff twisted in the air, trying desperately to land even as its rider struggled with the reins. Otto charged forward again, his free hand ready to pull Teresa from the kidnapper’s grasp.
Only bare instinct saved his life.
One moment he was bearing down on his prey, the next his mount was swerving away, and the steel lance point that missed his face by mere inches was like a dream, not experienced but only remembered.
The hippogriff landed in a clash of limbs on the stone of the Lords’ Square, the rider tumbling off and rolling, Teresa held tightly in her arms. But Otto couldn’t focus on them.
Circling in the air above him was another pegasus, a beautiful dappled gray war-steed, and upon it an armored knight with a beveled shield and a six-cubit lance. His face was hidden behind a grilled helm, and his heraldry was the blue rose.
That said nothing, and everything. The blue rose was not the symbol of any house or order, but a declaration of anonymity. Those knights who wished to test themselves anonymously in tourneys or participate in battle without the benefit of their own name wore the blue rose.
Heraldry existed to identify, to credit, and to intimidate. When the symbols of powerful houses flew, the weak stepped aside. The blue rose was an open challenge to try the nameless knight’s skill directly.
The two warriors circled the outer edge of the square, and Otto allowed his pegasus to catch its breath. They flew opposite one another once, twice, thrice. Otto held up his saber. Opposite a long lance, he was at a great disadvantage.
His opponent held aloft the lance, and placed it in the ready position. Not my problem, that gesture said. Skill issue.
Otto spat and kicked his pegasus with his bootheels. It swung to the center, head-on, and the blue rose knight flew to meet him.
Otto breathed in and out with every pulse of the pegasus’ wings. The anxiety of the night melted away into the one activity he had excelled in since childhood. The perfect, empty moments as two riders stared each other down. He felt as though every moment was suspended in time until he allowed it to pass, each breath, each pulse, each heartbeat a countdown to the inevitable collision.
Within each moment the mind game of the joust was played. Would he dive to slice at the enemy’s legs? Climb to strike at the head? Stay level? Would he create distance or close in, release tension or intensify? And what would his opponent do?
The knight of the blue rose climbed suddenly and dipped his lance down, striking towards Otto Orczy’s heart. Otto was already out of the way, a split-second swerve putting him well outside of the reach of his saber.
They flew apart, and back to the edges of the square. Once, twice, thrice they circled, and joined anew.
Ever since he was a child he’d honed himself in this sport. It was dangerous. It was fun. It prepared him for adulthood, when he would take lives in the same way.
This time Otto rose, early, too early, and the blue rose knight chased with the lance-point, aimed straight at the pegasus’ vulnerable belly. But Otto judged the distances correctly, and the lance missed by inches.
Most warriors wouldn’t have made that mistake. They would have climbed as well as extending the lance. Inexperienced riders wouldn’t have the coordination to perform both actions so quickly. Experienced riders would make that mistake if they were afraid, instinctually, unconsciously, irrationally, of being trampled by the climbing pegasus’ hooves.
They flew apart again. Once, twice, thrice, they circled.
Otto had been practicing this ever since he was a child. And since he was a child, every summer without fail, there was one person he faced.
They joined again. Otto swung to the right, putting both their beasts on a collision course. It was a typical mind game, a high-stakes game of chicken. It would have been, anyway, if he had started several seconds earlier.
They were too close now. Too close for either of them to emerge unscathed even if they acted immediately. A full collision at this speed would kill both their mounts and maim both warriors at the very least.
The blue rose knight froze. His mount panicked, and tried to change course.
Otto swung back left at the very last moment. Instead of crashing head-to-head, their bodies crashed into one another at the side. Otto felt his leg get crushed by the impact, but his aim was steady.
With a heavy sweep of his saber, charged with all the power he could muster, Otto cleft the lance in two right above its handle and struck the blue rose knight’s shoulder.
As their mounts screamed and both riders struggled to regain control, Otto turned his head. His booming voice filled the square.
“Give it up! You couldn’t beat me in the air with a lance, and you sure as hell can’t beat me with a sword. You were always a shit rider, KONRAD!”
Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times, five they circled.
The blue rose knight’s helm fell to the stone below with a great ring, and Konrad Kolonn’s fair locks fluttered about his much-too-handsome face.
Both riders descended to earth, and their mounts virtually collapsed there. Lio Chekodorovna scrambled back to the high walls of the square, Teresa held tight in her arms, still under the effects of the sleep elixir. She knew better than to run now. Her best chance of survival, never mind getting paid, was to sit very, very still and not draw the attention of either man.
They faced each other, now just a dozen paces apart. Otto’s right leg was virtually ruined, but the third level of alchemic transformation was a wonderful thing. He was already sealing wounds, closing burst vessels, collecting and mending shattered bone. Everything below his knee might as well have been a bloody sausage, but it was still solid enough to bear some weight.
Unfortunately, Konrad Kolonn was not in the same boat. His right greave was demolished and his chestpiece was deformed where Otto had struck, but he showed no difficulty or discomfort moving.
Otto had really hoped the rumors of Konrad reaching the fourth stage of alchemic transformation were empty bluster, but it was not to be. At the third stage, one gained great resilience and conscious control over bodily processes. At the fourth, one began to wholly transcend the limits of flesh, purifying their physiques and becoming something more than human. Many warriors cultivated skin with the suppleness of flesh and the hardness of granite. Konrad must have done the same. It was just like him.
A straight fight at this point would be a sure loss. Within half an hour, Otto could repair the damage to his leg entirely. Within a few minutes, he might be able to exchange a few blows on top of it.
But he had more allies in the city, soldiers who were beating back the Kolonn threat at that very moment and would soon come to his aid. With enough backup and hostages, he could negotiate a temporary truce.
He needed to stall.
“I never knew you to hide your pretty face behind a helmet, Konrad. Don’t tell me; the scar’s gotten worse.”
Konrad tossed his hair and showed his left side. There on his cheek was the ghostly curve of a horseshoe, a reminder of when Otto’s pegasus had trampled him on their 14th birthday. It was both of their 14th birthdays, actually. Two boys born on the same day to rival families. How could they avoid being compared?
“Your concern is misplaced, Otto. It wasn’t for my benefit that I hid myself.”
“The Kolonn manners are as terrible as ever, I see. You should offer a duke proper deference, my good count.”
“Unlike your ducal grace’s family, our prospects are not so damaged that we must thrust such a high position onto an untested brat.”
“An untested brat before whom you were afraid to show your face?”
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“You should be grateful to the old man, your Grace. He didn’t want to make it quite so obvious when I trounced you in your own city.”
“Trounce me? By ambushing my men during a feast and kidnapping one of my GUESTS!?”
Otto’s voice rose and his aura flared. Lio pushed herself into the wall, wishing that she could just melt into it, and marveled that the little girl in her arms was still sound asleep.
But Konrad wasn’t pushed back. He showed no sign of being affected by the display at all, not even raising his own aura in opposition.
“I thought you would be glad to have that bastard Kyno’s blood out of your household. Silly me, doing you a favor.”
“I need no favors from Kolonn scum. You kidnapped a guest from under my roof. Last I checked, Ursula’s little friend still looks very poorly on breaches of hospitality. What do you suppose she will say next time you meet?”
That put Konrad on the back foot. Though his face remained composed, Otto could almost feel the cold sweat under the armor.
“I don’t know what you mean, your Grace. It was clearly that woman over there who offended your hospitality and trespassed against your guest.” He pointed at Lio, acknowledging her existence for the first time. The thief paled and began to tremble.
Treachery! She should never have taken this job to begin with.
“Do you mean to say, my lord, that you were here by complete coincidence and just happened to joust with me as I was chasing down this criminal?”
“You took the words out of my mouth, your Grace. But I see no reason to let such an eyesore disturb our contest. In fact, allow me to remedy this matter.”
Konrad drew his blade in a flash and slashed in Lio and Teresa’s direction. A destructive wave lashed towards them, and Otto intercepted. The weight of it made his wrists numb and chipped the edge of his saber.
“My word! The Duke is defending the thief who kidnapped his own guest from righteous execution! What a scandal!”
Konrad’s grin broke out, unable to control the mirth in his voice.
Otto turned back toward Lio.
“As of this moment, you are my prisoner. Understood?”
Lio nodded weakly. So much for the other half of her payment.
Otto stepped forward, his right leg still wobbling. It would have to do until help arrived.
“Leave Anthusa at once, Count Kolonn. Else I fear you will not be able to deal with the consequences.”
Konrad pretended to mull this over. “Hmmm. Not a chance.”
The clock on the Tower of the Cathedral Severe struck the eleventh hour. Across the city, bells rang out, but in this square there was no bell, for the ringer was deathly afraid and dared not attract any attention from the scene below.
“I see I have taken rather too long. Well, your Grace, I must decline your generous invitation of cowardice and press my challenge.”
A shadow came over his features, and Otto’s stomach trembled.
“No holding back anymore, Orczy bastard.”
Otto composed himself and stepped forward. His first step was met with terrific pressure. The second felt like walking through molasses. The third stopped dead, like it was buried in stone.
He stared at Konrad in awe and terror.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
From the balcony of the second-highest floor of the Tower of the Cathedral Severe, Julia Forna looked out at the scene unfolding below.
“Julia…” Leo Manzi warned. He and Brother Tor were standing behind her, well-apprised of the night’s events. There was static in the air, emanating from Julia’s body, as if the very space around them was about to burst into violence.
“He’s not ready,” she whispered.
“He’s worked hard for a long time, Julia. He can at least hold out-”
“Kolonn is at the fourth stage of body and soul, now. In what world can Otto beat him?”
“It’s not quite so dire, Julia,” Brother Tor interjected. “Otto isn’t far himself, he can-”
“So what if he can?!” she shouted. “Teresa is down there! If either one of them fucks up, she’ll get torn apart!”
“Have faith, Julia.”
“Don’t talk to me about faith, Giorno.”
She shut the two out of her mind. The Tower was made to keep people inside as well as keep others out. It was impregnable. Even Ursula and Iskander couldn’t break through it.
Then again… in the last few hundred years, how many people had tried? For all anyone knew, maybe the Anthusans hadn’t been doing maintenance on it for a while. Maybe it was never as strong as anyone said it was. That must be, it was just a bluff. She could tear her way out and stomp Konrad Kolonn’s face into the ground, and rescue Teresa with her own hands, then-
“JULIA!”
The coils of furious power emanating from Julia;s body dissipated in a flash. She turned at ‘Brother’ Giorno Tor in a rage, and he stared back at her impassively.
Negation. Such an annoying ability.
A telepathic voice tickled the back of her mind.
Silly girl. If it was that easy to get out of here, wouldn’t I have done it already?
The blood froze in her veins. She stepped away from the balcony and rushed back inside.
Leo Manzi stepped in front of her. “Julia, I-”
She socked him in the face, hard. Far behind, she heard his swearing, but she just ran to her room and locked the door behind her.
Don’t run, little girl.
A great maw of teeth breathed down her neck.
Entertain me.
Julia rushed to her footlocker. Under clothes, correspondence, and books, in a hollowed-out copy of the Thirty-Nine Travesties, waited a rounded stone tablet the size of her palm.
This was a device that allowed exactly one telepathic communication, once, to a single person. A trifle. A toy by the standards of magical artificing.
Within the Tower, it was also bleedingly illegal. Only something so simple, layered with extremely intricate wards, could pass through the tower’s defenses undetected. If she was discovered with this, there wouldn’t be a trial. This entire stupid, ridiculous city would descend and tear her limb from limb, and probably fight a war over it.
With a steady breath and a force of will, she infused it with her aura and snapped it in half. A powdery, colorful smoke flowed out and into her lungs. She breathed it out, and spoke.
Brother…
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Rain fell from the empty sky.
Konrad Kolonn hadn’t just attained the fourth stage of alchemic transformation. His soul had achieved the fourth stage as well.
In the first stage, one identified the various parts of one’s soul, learned to feel them like limbs. In the second, one learned to speak with those various parts, to name them and inquire of them, and so gain great insight. In the third stage, one reshaped the soul to become a vessel for a higher power.
In the fourth stage, one actually called down that higher power and invited them to dwell there.
Konrad shone like the sun. A mighty presence rolled out of his person, an inviolable majesty. He gestured toward Otto, and the paralyzing weight was dispelled.
Half of his own will, half by an intangible influence, Otto charged forward, chipped saber in hand, to cut down his enemy.
With a lazy chop, the weapon was thrown from his grasp. With a light kick, his feet went out from under him. Konrad’s boot rested gently on Otto’s chest, and he fell to the ground with meteoric force, the stone cracking beneath him and his sternum pulverized.
Even as he struggled beneath that boot, heavy as a mountain, great chains sprang forth and bound Otto hand and foot.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even cycle the energy in his body.
As the chains settled tight, the pain in his chest and leg hit Otto like a thousand hammers. The healing process stopped.
Konrad cackled aloud, mad amid the growing rainstorm.
“I can’t believe I compared myself to you for so long, Otto. Pathetic! Nothing more than an ant to grind under my heel!”
He pressed down, and Otto screamed.
And when the screams died down, between mouthfuls of blood, he laughed.
“What? Have you finally gone mad in the moments before your death?”
At this point, there were five people in Anthusa who could fight Konrad evenly or on superior footing. Julia and Giorno were locked up in the Tower. Ursula could bring him to his knees with a snap of her fingers, but she didn’t make a move unless it benefited her. Otto halfway believed the Kolonn had bribed her to look the other way tonight. Her late brother’s pet snake could probably dismantle Konrad and laugh the whole time, but he moved on Ursula’s order these days.
The only one who was reliable and available was Teresa’s uncle, Archbishop Iskander Forna. On any other day, he would have been here already, and nobody would have dared lay a finger on his niece to begin with.
Very few people other than Otto knew that the Archbishop was scheduled to enter seclusion and perform alchemic transformation tonight, in preparation to reach the sixth stage. Even if someone sent a telepathic message, he would almost certainly dismiss them out of hand. He wondered distantly who had leaked this most important piece of information to the Kolonn.
He was out of reach.
Otto composed himself, and looked Konrad dead in the eye.
“I haven’t lost.”
“Bullshit.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Konrad trembled.
To invite a higher being to dwell within one’s soul elevated a person. This was the barrier between those who merely sought to improve themselves and those whose ambition reached the very heavens. It granted a fraction of that being’s incalculable power.
But any mortal who dwelt with an angel and thought they were in charge was a fool indeed.
They were intelligent, willful, and each was unique. Precisely which angel a cultivator entreated was a closely guarded secret which could be used against them.
But despite his recent improvement, Konrad Kolonn was nothing if not predictable. Otto knew exactly which angel was holding him prisoner.
“Oh venerable Mars, mighty among the Virtues!”
The air thrummed. Konrad paled.
Mars, the angel of Victorious Conquest, a great force of the fifth choir. An ambitious choice, and certainly suited to Konrad’s personality. But they were not of one mind.
“Great Mars, I ask you. Where is the glory in conquering an enemy who has not fought with all his strength?”
“Bullshit!” Konrad screamed. “You have nothing left! I could tear you apart with my bare hands right now! Great Mars, allow me to-”
His face twitched, and he fell silent. A thunderous agreement, like the marching of a million boots, rang in Otto’s ears.
To say he had fooled an angel would be the height of hubris. He had merely played along with the angel’s personality better than Konrad had.
Now he had to take a risk.
The chains retreated, and Konrad snarled at him like a rabid dog, his long hair stuck to his face in the slick rain, but he couldn’t take so much as a step forward.
Otto got onto one knee. He could have cycled his energies again, started healing his leg and stood on it again. But he was trying something very, very difficult. He had intended to bring his own body to the same level of purity that Konrad had attained before inviting his own angel. While it was technically possible while his body was still in the third stage, it would place much more strain on him and greatly limit how long he could summon forth those powers. Right now, there wasn’t much of a choice.
This pain was a perfect, essential offering for the one he was about to call down.
Though every breath stung, though the rain beat down on him relentlessly, he chanted.
“Thus, refusing to accept second place in the universe, let us vie with angels.”
His soul was filled with all the power and pain and longing he could muster. It rose up into an inaccessible heaven, and he was answered. Light rained down upon him, filled him, overflowed from him, and a great presence stood at his side.
In his right hand a crown, in his left hand a scourge.
Konrad fell back, and the presence behind him shook.
Ever since the day man stepped into the cruel world, two angels stepped forth with them at the command of the LORD, that their days upon the earth would be filled with Toil and would end with Death.
Still kneeling on the cracked stone, bleeding, panting in pain, Otto Orczy gloried in the gift he was given.
Jegudiel, the angel of Toil, varlet of Death, lieutenant of Dominions, second of the Sixth choir, rested a hand on his shoulder.
The presence of Mars quieted and paid obeisance to his superior, for just as a count should obey a duke, so an angel of the fifth choir should respect an angel of the sixth, to say nothing of Konrad.
“Now then, my dear count. Shall we continue our contest?”
At any other time, Otto would have laughed in his face. But all the arrogance was gone from him now. He was empowered, and he was humbled, a truly changed man. He gave thanks to his late teacher, and swore eternal fealty to the ideas which he had spent his life defending. To suppress Konrad now would be a formality. He could afford to repay violence with tenderness, and viciousness with mercy.
A great clamor arose from the east, dozens of soldiers, bloodstained and weary, entered the Lords’ Square from the direction of the Orczy compound, wearing the white-and-red. They stood in awe, looking upon the face of their duke.
They had come through fire and flame to witness his victory. Truly, these were dedicated servants. He looked upon the face of each one, and committed it to memory, determined to give each their rightful rewar-
…
…
No.
It couldn’t be.
Standing at the front of the crowd, glassy-eyed and leaning on the arm of Captain Apostolis was…
THE BASTARD
WEARING THE ORCZY COLORS
He was supposed to be dead. He had to be dead. What kind of cockroach survived the fall of the Holy City and came to HIS CITY!?
Tragedy! Injustice! But what joy as well! This day Otto Orczy would tear off Tenorio Kyno’s head and offer it to Julia on a pike!
Otto reached with his left hand for the scourge, the angelic weapon which he knew instinctively would unmake the bastard Kyno at the molecular level and send his soul hurrying down to hell.
“What happened to tenderness?” asked the voice of Jegudiel. “What happened to mercy?”
To hell with them! There will be time for both when there isn’t a man in desperate need of killing!
Otto reached, and grasped empty air.
The scourge flared against his back, and Otto Orczy fell to the ground with an awful cry. The presence of Jegudiel, lieutenant of the Dominions, dissipated, and the human host lay twitching in a puddle.
All around the Lords’ Square, silence reigned. Konrad broke it with a coarse hyena laugh.
“Holy shit! You had me going there, you son of a bitch!”
He stood, the presence of Mars behind him grumbling with disappointment, and a wrathful spear formed in his hand.
“Goodbye, Otto.”
A firm hand grasped Konrad’s wrist.
His presence was only felt after he acted. He was a great lake, motionless and full of power. Invisible might. Sourceless thunder.
Archbishop Iskander Forna stood between the two warriors, untouched by the rain, his hair still wet and stinking of alchemical compounds, dressed in his most pious bathrobe.
His voice was calm and even, despite everything. “Count Kolonn. I assure you that you would regret this deeply, even more than everything else you have done tonight. Let us end things here, and resume our activities in the morning.”
Lio Chekodorovna stepped forward. Though she trembled horribly, she held Teresa out to her uncle. Still alive, unharmed, and by some miracle still deep asleep.
“See? That’s proper behavior. We shall see to it you receive fair treatment as you deserve.”
This did not assuage Lio’s worries.
Konrad stared numbly at Otto Orczy’s defenseless body. So close. He was so close. Only this damnable priest stood between them, and he was powerless.
No. He wasn’t powerless.
With a flick of his wrist, an ethereal chain flung out and wrapped around the archbishop’s wrist. This was a joke. Child’s play. Konrad was new to tapping Mars’ power, and Archbishop Forna was an expert manifesting the power of his own guardian angel. It would take him less than a second to escape.
In less than a second, Konrad Kolonn pivoted. His feet turned, his hips braced, and he flung that spear of force not at Otto, with the archbishop between them, but at Lio and Teresa.
The Iskander Forna was too shocked to even shout. Lio faced forward with total acceptance of death.
Distantly, Cato registered what was happening, though he understood very little. He was very weak, and very far away. There was nothing he could do. And yet, his hand reached out and a desire formed in his mind.
The spear detonated, tearing apart stone and shattering windows ten streets away. Archbishop Forna freed himself from the chain, and struck Konrad with such a blow that he fell to the ground immediately, without resistance, and the presence of Mars dissipated with barely a word.
When the dust cleared, Lio was unharmed, and Teresa was just beginning to wake up. On the ground in front of them, shielding both from the blast, was the carcass of a coal-black raven.
The archbishop looked from that scene to the guards behind him. He registered one of them for the first time, and appeared in front of Cato as though the intervening space was only a suggestion.
Catos’ ears were still ringing from the explosion, never mind all the other events of the night, and he barely understood that someone very, very important was standing in front of him.
“Your Excellency!” called out Captain Apostolis, rather confused by the interest this great figure was showing in the nearly-unconscious soldier he was carrying.
“We have suppressed the Kolonn threat elsewhere. We cannot thank your Excellency enough for your aid today! Please, we ask that you take care of the Duke!”
The archbishop continued to stare at Cato, staring through him, until he turned as if listening to an inaudible voice. He muttered to himself and turned about, then rushed over to where Lio knelt, shell-shocked, with Teresa in her arms.
“Sniff, sniff… uncle? Where am I?” She looked about with bright little eyes, taking in the unfamiliar scene.
“This is a dream, my princess. Sleep.”
He placed a warm and gentle hand upon her face, and she slept.