Ceren entered the keep through a hole in the wall. The ground floor of the building yawed open, an empty shell that seemed ready to collapse in on itself at any moment. A single iron-banded oak door hung open in the innermost wall, leaning on broken hinges. She ignored it, and ran for the staircase set against the rear wall.
The stairs were mostly intact, although many stones were missing from the supports. Despite the risk of a collapse, it was the only way up to the tower. Inside the building was strangely quiet. She glanced back toward the courtyard where Kevlin lay unmoving, surrounded by that blue halo.
I can do this, Ceren told herself as she ran for the stairs. I must.
She raced up, taking steps two at a time.
# # #
Another bolt of magic struck Kevlin like a sledgehammer to the chest. Bursts of light exploded behind his eyes and his vision blurred. His world swam with agonizing pain. His eyes refocused, but slowly, and he half-expected to find himself rolling toward the river instead of lying motionless in the courtyard.
He wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to rid himself of the magic, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. The magic held him immobile. He was helpless against its power, a slave to its whims.
Again.
Under the onslaught of Wayra's magic, the terror of that memory when he was tortured by magic as a boy returned, undiminished. Kevlin fought to scream, but again was held captive to the magic. His thoughts scattered and for a second he wished desperately that he’d given the shade-cursed stone to Ah’Shan. The thought only lasted a second before he drove it away.
He would escape this torture. He would save Antigonus. He would prove to Wayra and to the faceless sentinel who still tortured his memories that they could not control him. That determination held him above the panic-driven madness that threatened to overwhelm his soul. It was all he had left to cling to.
He tried to push the wild magic away, to will it to obey him, but his efforts were as ineffectual as if he were trying to divert the course of the Ujutus with his bare hands. The magic pounded at him, striving to destroy him and escape the cage of his body.
Despair tempted him to give up. Even if he caught up with Tanathos, Harafin had said no one had the power to reverse the spell. He’d have to kill the halimaw to end Antigonus’ torture.
Wayra had enough power, but she would never do it. The woman had gone mad. He would gladly kill her. It would be a mercy.
Tia Khoa was powerful enough, he realized. Hadn’t Harafin said it gave its bearer access to limitless magic?
Antigonus was its bearer, but Antigonus couldn’t do anything with it. In his current form, he’d probably just try to eat it.
I could do it.
The thought struck like a thunderbolt. Despite the magic gnawing at his soul and threatening to destroy him, Kevlin focused his scattered will.
Savas had shown him how to do it. Did he dare?
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Was he insane? He had hoped that saving Antigonus would help reconcile his issues with magic, but embracing that power was a totally different plan. Could he really do it?
The magic surged to a new intensity, assaulting his mind, the last bastion of his control. It boiled through him in an unstoppable wave, and his grip on consciousness weakened. His vision went black as the last spark of thought was uprooted and pushed deep into the depths of his soul. Like a man drowning, he struggled against the current, but it was no use. His mind was about to be overrun.
He had no choice. If he failed, he would die.
So would Antigonus.
And Indira.
And everyone.
When Savas had tried to steal his soul, he’d shown Kevlin an image of an ancient wall. Now Kevlin formed that image. As soon as he did so, he felt it, there in his mind.
Time to spin the Wheel.
Releasing all restraint, he cast his mind free into the magical torrent roaring through his soul. The magic swept his thoughts into the flood and slammed his mind into the wall. The impact rocked him and searing pain threatened to overwhelm him.
How can it hurt? I can’t even feel my body. It seemed terribly unfair that he could feel pain but nothing else.
He attacked it again, and this time the wall began to buckle. Agony beyond anything he’d imagined assaulted his mind like a dagger.
Savas had lied to him.
He yearned for the promised oblivion of death.
# # #
Gasping for breath, Ceren pulled herself up the last step and staggered through the threshold of the small room at the very top of the central tower. She paused, wiping sweat from her face and trying to calm her breathing.
Why does Wayra have to be at the top of the tallest tower?
She peered into the single room and with a glance took in the rune-covered walls, bookshelves, and fireplace, before focusing on the sole occupant.
Wayra stood at the window with her back to Ceren. She glowed with magic that crackled along her arms and through her hair.
I’m crazy, Ceren thought. She’s going to kill me.
Ceren allowed herself one more deep breath, then pushed the terror away enough to move.
I am Cunning. I will do my duty.
Raising her sword, Ceren slipped forward, trying not to make a sound. The fifty-foot span to Wayra seemed a mile, but she only needed a few seconds.
# # #
Tanathos rounded the third corner and stepped into a gigantic cavern. Not the room he expected, this cavern was the hollow core of the long-dormant volcano. Silver runes covered the walls and spilled soft light across the flat, smooth floor that extended at least a mile until passing beyond the limits of his vision. The ceiling reared so high that shadows concealed it.
The air glowed with that pulsating silver light, and the entire cavern thrummed with power so vast that Tanathos gasped in wonder. He began to pant with unrestrained lust for it, threw back his head, and shouted in triumph.
He’d made it to the heart of the mountain. All that power was his! Shivering with anticipation, he threw tentacles of power into the cavernous room to draw the magic in.
He screamed.
Magic ripped along his senses, searing him to the bone. His legs convulsed and he collapsed. Rolling on the smooth stone floor, he clutched his head and fought to block the magic of the cavern before it overwhelmed him.
For a second he hung by a thread, barely holding the torrent at bay, while oblivion gaped wide. With a final effort, he cut off the flow of power and shielded his mind.
Whimpering with terror, he lay panting until the agony subsided. He finally managed to stagger to his feet and look around the vast open space.
He couldn’t corrupt this magic.
He’d thought he understood the nature of the nodes of power, but he’d been so wrong. The magic thrumming around him was part of the very foundation of the world. The lifeblood of the planet flowed through it, light so concentrated his skin prickled. He could leech the life away from individual beings but could not challenge the power of this place.
Not yet.
He shouted a curse, and the obscenity echoed back and forth across the cavern. He would dominate it. He had but one more thing to do.
Murder.
Summoning the halimaw, he strode into the cavern. Perhaps he should continue on to the midpoint, but impatience won out. Turning to the halimaw who had been Antigonus, the shattered remnant of a man still considered bearer of Tia Khoa, Tanathos drew a heavy, black-bladed dagger from his robes.
Raising the dagger high, he shouted, “Today, Abaval rules the world!”
He plunged it toward the monster’s heart.