Dead Magic (33 page)

***

Winslow landed in a crouch, releasing Valeda at the last moment. They couldn't risk her neck snapping on impact, after all. They needed her alive. Her Talent would return to its original form if she died and that would force them to hunt for another Witch to feed from. And they had their doubts there would be any Witches left after today.

Valeda crumpled to the ground, coughing and dragging in ragged breaths. Her beautifully angular face was dirty. He saw smudges of black on her forehead and cheeks and realized she'd been crying.

No, she
is
crying.

The little thing has given up hope.

That's for the best,
the Dellidus told him.

He took a step toward her and stopped. He was fully aware of every move he made and simultaneously incapable of stopping himself. At every sign of rebellion, the creature attached to him would draw more Talent out, weakening his resolve. He felt its fangs buried deep inside him. They were a constant, burning torment on either side of his spine. The tail of the serpent clung to his torso, tightening every time he tried to move on his own.

But the worst of it was the invasion of his mind. The Dellidus crept into every memory, every thought. It did not wish to join with him like his Talent or the Wild, it wanted absolute mastery over him. And it had it, mostly.

Valeda struggled to her knees. He could see that her left hand searched the ground frantically for something, but her gaze remained on him. He took another step and stopped.

Winslow knew the creature's will. It would feed on her Talent until she was nearly depleted, then stop. After an hour or so, she would be regenerated enough to feed from again. Hour by hour, day by day, it would keep her until she finally died. And he could not-would not-willingly let that happen.

It drew on his Talent again, tearing the magic out of him until he shouted and staggered. The tail squeezed so tight he couldn't breathe. Winslow stumbled back until he hit the wall of the pit. He clawed at the coils wrapped around his chest, desperate for air and release.

"Winslow?" Valeda asked.

Her voice was a balm. She'd found whatever she'd been looking for and stood with her back against the opposite wall. Her dove-grey eyes were full of remorse and terror.

"Run!" he pleaded. "Vee, you have to run!"

The Dellidus redoubled its assault and Winslow collapsed, screaming in mingled fury and agony. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take a step toward him. He threw up one hand to stave her off.

"No!" he said, panting. "Just . . . run."

"Run where?" she asked, but had the good sense to back away.

He arched against the ground as the Dellidus bit down more forcefully. It was getting insistent now. He could read the annoyance and frustration in its mind. It couldn't understand how he had regained control, couldn't fathom why they weren't feasting on Valeda's Talent yet. What terrified him was that he was beginning to wonder why he was fighting it. Feeding on Vee's magic had been more than satisfying-it had been euphoric.

He felt the unnatural bulge of the Dellidus's head press into him as he lay prone, barely able to pull in air.
Was feeding on her worse than suffocating to death? She wouldn't die, after all. He could keep her safe. They could find a quiet place somewhere, far removed from the tribes of the Wild, and they would protect her from everyone else.

Winslow struggled to refocus his mind. That was the Dellidus talking.

But she would be safe. The tribes would undoubtedly want her dead after today. What did it matter if they fed on her now and again? At least she would still be alive.

"No."

His voice was no more than a whisper, but he heard it for what it was. He heard the sibilant, changed tones, the evidence of just how far the Dellidus had invaded him.

How could he fight something that had taken hold of him at such a primal level? He was saturated in the creature's essence, a captive in his own body. No amount of magic could aid him. Not that the Dellidus had left him much to use.

He thought suddenly of snowy terrain and sharp rocks; a granite cliff face with a ledge, and on it sat a black-spotted great cat, watching him with large, blue eyes.

His Wild.

It still wasn't friendly, but it also wasn't hostile.

Winslow shut his eyes and reached for it. He didn't have any idea what he was doing, but anything was better than giving in to the Dellidus. Heat pulsed in the center of his chest, ebbing outward with a strange surge of strength. He rolled onto his hands and knees. It was an effort to maintain control of his body. Whatever power his Wild had lent him strained under the might of the Dellidus.

With one hand he reached back and gripped the head of the snake. With another shout Winslow summoned all of his strength and ripped the creature off his neck. He felt its fangs tear out of him, felt his mind suddenly freed from its influence, and immediately had to tighten his grip as the Dellidus snapped at him again. His ribs cracked under the squeeze of the creature's tail, but he knew better than to let go.

Winslow rolled onto his side, wrestling the serpent's head around until he could grab hold with both hands. Its mouth opened wide, curved teeth stained with his blood, and it hissed up at him. He felt his magic sputter to life and recognized when it had fused with the Wild in him. In an instant he was rejuvenated and dug his thumbs into the creature's throat. He slammed its head into the ground over and over again until he was certain it was dead.

Panting, Winslow released the limp Dellidus and began to squirm out of its coils. He shucked off the serpent's tail and staggered to his feet. The fusion of Wild and Magic made him giddy and he had to brace himself against the dirt wall.

He'd done it. He'd broken free from a Dellidus. It was impossible, but there it was.

He stood there, staring at the smooth, curved scales of his former captor, and almost forgot where he was. Then Valeda rushed over to him, wrapping herself around him one-handedly with near as much strength as the animal. He cringed as several of his ribs protested, but held her anyway.

"Fates alive!" Valeda whispered against his chest.

"Indeed," Winslow said. He kissed the top of her head. "Let's never do that again."

She huffed a laugh and held him tighter.

The grate overhead flew open, thrusting more light into the pit. They both looked up as Voruke leapt down. The man changed on the drop. There was nothing fantastical or violent about it, he simply changed, landing on all fours in the pit. Winslow recognized the great cat at once. Its jaw was askew and it had a familiar presence that drew him back to the train wreck.

"You?" he asked, altogether surprised. He hadn't thought Voruke would be so bold as to attack inside Magnellum while the Pillars were still up. Then again, from what he knew of Voruke-which was next to nothing-the Wild man's hatred probably drove him to it.

Winslow read the violence in the creature and very carefully pushed Valeda behind himself. He had no weapons, just magic. He would need something more than that to fight Voruke in this form.

Form,
he thought, remembering his own spotted cat.

It was time to give his Wild a little more freedom.

Elsie felt it when the Pillars fell. Like the reverberation of a thousand drums all struck at once, it hit her and she collapsed to her knees. The incantations that had gone into securing the Pillars dispelled, rushing back to her, back to her arm, with a flood of power that left her dizzy. Her tattoos flashed in sudden golden color, too bright to look at. She heard several people exclaim their surprise, and then the light faded to its normal glitter in her skin. A moment later, Dorian was at her side.

"Elsie?" he asked, kneeling down.

"It's starting," she said.

"Is she all right?" Rorant asked, rushing up to them.

"Yes," Dorian said, and looked up at his father. "Tell them all to man the lines. We won't be alone for long."

Rorant nodded once and ran off. Elsie watched him go. Their meager number made a perimeter twenty feet away from the ark and lined by torches. Ten feet behind the Witches stood the Warders and what few Hemic knights they'd managed to find. Elsie felt guilty about not promoting Hemics in Delgora. She'd left the faction of Untalented fighters alone ever since her sister died. Bryva would have slapped her upside the head for such a gross oversight.

Forty men in all
, she thought.
And every one of them is doomed.
Every person outside of the ark, Witch and Untalented alike, would be dead by morning.

Elsie had led them all to their deaths.

"Elsie," Dorian said, forcing her to look at him. She expected to see fear in his face, or regret or pity, but was greeted instead by firm resolve. He cupped her cheek, his steel-grey eyes echoing what his magic was already telling her.

We're as ready as we can be and I won't leave you.

It was the second thought that gave her the most comfort.

"Dorian!" Bartholomew's voice tore into their silent conversation.

They both stood as he approached. On either side of him, Bartholomew towed two smaller figures. Even in the shadow of night, Elsie recognized Jemima. Jemima looked defiant and surly, glaring up at Bart as he stopped in front of Dorian.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Bartholomew said. "I swear I watched her go in."

"I did go in," Jemima said. "And then I snuck out."

"Why would you do such a thing?" Dorian asked, his voice barely holding onto a civil tone.

"Because I can fight!" Jemima said.

Something grabbed hold of Elsie's leg and yanked her downward. She caught herself with her hands before her face could slam into the ground and hissed in surprise. An instant later, several massive vines exploded out of the dirt and battle began. She looked down to find a smaller vine wrapped around her leg. A dozen more of the little vines thrust up at her, capturing her arms, her waist, her neck. Before she could think to escape, Dorian's sword flashed, slicing through the vine anchoring her neck. The vine flopped frantically about and then snapped back into the dirt.

"Get her out of here!" Dorian shouted to Bartholomew as he continued to attack the vines holding her.

He freed her right arm and she immediately grabbed her dagger hilt. She felt the pressure at her waist release, knew Dorian had cut another vine off, and set her own dagger to the vine on her left arm. She cut herself in the process of sawing through the tough green thing, but ignored the sting of pain. It too went flopping to the ground before sinking back into the dirt.

Dorian helped her up as the last of the vines were cut. They shared a brief look before a bright blue light drew their attention to the Witches' line. Caresse stood out front, her hands stretched forward. A dozen yards ahead of her, several wolves crashed into a barrier of ice too thick to break and too high to jump.

Two of the larger vines curled around the icy wall, crushing it down until the wolves could pass. Elsie glanced at Dorian, who nodded at her. She drew her sword and ran for the front line. The jungle ground was soft and uneven, but she'd trained here all her life and knew how best to keep from falling. Propelling herself with her Talent, she reached Caresse's side just as three hounds leapt for the woman.

"Susbeni!" Elsie shouted at the closest beast. It stopped mid-jump and she turned, dragging her sword in a diagonal slash that cut through the creature from its chest to its midsection. Only then did she release the spell and the wolf toppled to the ground.

Caresse set one wolf on fire and Dorian skewered the third. Ascertaining that Caresse and Dorian were safe, Elsie scanned the battlefield. Rorant and Jessamine fought side by side, their combined magic spurring every stroke and spell with terrifying accuracy. She watched as Jessamine made a powerful push that knocked back two wolves and sent them flying several feet away.

"Elsie!" Dorian shouted.

She turned in time to catch another wolf by its throat, summoning as much strength as she could under the surprise. It yelped and snarled as she threw it at her feet. The wolf tried to roll back onto all fours, but she stabbed it with her sword, equal parts relieved and horrified by the sight.

We shouldn't have to do this,
she thought.

There should be peace.

Wave after wave, the beasts came, pouring out of the jungle with staggering speed and bloodlust. Elsie lost track of time. Every moment she had to breathe was cut short by another series of attacks. When she wasn't fending off a hoard of wolves, she had to focus on what vines were closest to them. The blasted things didn't seem to care how they swung, knocking down or smashing both Wild creatures and Witches alike. She tried suspending one as she had in Lorant and was rewarded by a dozen smaller vines trapping her legs. Her Talent strained from overexertion. Dorian was too far away to touch, so she reached for Magic, but the deity was mournfully silent.

Why do this?
she thought furiously.
Why stand by and watch us all die? He'd made the Pillars to protect us and now he was content to see us all slaughtered?

"We can't hold them here," Caresse said from behind her.

Elsie could hear the exhaustion in the woman's voice, but focused first on tearing away from the finger-sized vines holding her legs. Caresse was right. They could manage to hold off the wolves on their own, but the vines posed a greater threat. But falling back to the Warders would almost certainly mean the Untalented warriors' deaths. And then the larger plant-life would be in reach of the ark.

She saw one such vine crash into the ground near Lord Clenci. It swept the young lord off his feet and threw him toward the ark. Elsie prayed the man would survive the fall.

She tore her foot away from the last little root and glanced back at the iron and steel monolith.

"There's something more we have to do," Dorian said.

She was terrified that the ark wouldn't hold up against a direct assault.

Because it won't.

"Oh, so now you come back?" Elsie growled at her arm. But the bigger part of her despaired at Magic's words.