Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (33 page)

Xain nodded with shifty eyes. Loren wondered what he was plotting. She would have to keep a careful eye upon him. Until she recovered the magestones, he could not be let loose from her sight.

Jordel ordered them forwards, and ground vanished from under their hooves. Loren marveled at the strength of her horse—though he carried two riders, still he kept pace with every other mount. And if Loren did not enjoy riding bareback, still she felt less jostled than the wizard, bouncing clumsily on the back of his chestnut. She took an arm from Annis’s waist and reached down to pat the mare’s neck.

“There is the descent!” Jordel shouted over the thundering hooves. “Make ready for the slope!”

The land fell away steeply before them. They reached the edge, and Loren saw what lay ahead.
 

Her heart fell. Annis gasped.

Though Jordel issued no order, the party stopped to stare out over the lowlands.
 

The road reached level ground and then straightened before running many leagues into a far-off horizon. And on that path was an army. Hundreds of horses and many more men, neatly lined in rank and file, marching inexorably towards them.

forty-one

“AT LAST I UNDERSTAND,” JORDEL said in what was almost a whisper. “I knew the sellswords could not have marched west of the city so quickly nor grown so fat. That was a second force. This, the army before us, is that which we saw upon the King’s road.”

“A second force?” said Loren. “From where?”

“From Dorsea. The Dorsean commander is clever. He recruited an army of sellswords in Selvan and marched them across the kingdom, knowing they might be spotted. But they seemed a minor threat, and so Wellmont would prepare itself for a mild feint from the north. But in secret, Dorsea mustered a much larger army and sent them across the Dragon’s Tail at the feet of the Greatrocks Mountains. We thought the sellswords were still more than a day’s march out, but the larger army can attack today when the city will not expect it.”

“Wellmont,” Vivien whispered, “the city will fall.”
 

“Perhaps not,” said Jordel. “For it seems a great thief struck a mighty blow against the sellswords horses. Regardless, we must escape.”

“How?” Loren hated her trembling voice. “They are both behind and ahead of us.”

“Let us try the wildlands,” Gem suggested. “Even savage, they are better than getting caught between hammer and anvil.”

“I would not care to risk it,” muttered Jordel. “And yet it seems such need is upon us.”

Looking behind them towards the pounding hooves, they saw the cavalry emerge from far down the road. The riders caught sight of the party and whooped a great cry, spurring their horses to even greater speed.

Annis cried out, “We have been seen. Now they will follow us over the hills.”
 

Xain smirked, nudged his horse in front of the party, and dismounted, facing the approaching horsemen on foot. “Here is your only course. Climb the hills, and make for the wildlands, returning to the road only when you know it is safe. I will remain here to deal with these riders.”

“No, Xain,” said Jordel. “You have my respect, and I do not doubt your powers, but they are too much even for you. Especially alone. We will stay together and lend our aid if a battle there be.”

“I do not need your aid. You may trust me in this, for you have not seen the extent of my power.”

“You make idle boasts,” said Vivien. “You could not stop a hundred riders on your own. And ten times that many pursue us.”

Gem scrambled down from Jordel’s horse and ran for Loren’s. “Argue until the enemy is upon us if you must, but I will not wait. Ride now, Loren. Make for the north while we can!”

Loren seized Gem’s hand and pulled him up behind her. Annis looked to her for guidance, but she knew not what to do; they could not leave without the magestones.

“Come, Xain,” said Jordel. “We must escape. We may yet need a desperate last stand, but not now.”

“I will make a stand, and it shall not be my last.” With a dark smile, Xain reached into his coat, and from an inner pocket produced a single black crystal.

Vivien sucked in a sharp breath and fell back. The other Mystics drew their swords. Jordel stared, dumbfounded.
 

Xain swallowed the magestone whole. His eyes glowed black, and a halo of light shone around him as he raised a hand into the air. It twisted and bent as no human fingers should. He spoke dark and horrible words, loud and clear. Loren heard in his voice the power she had heard on the river. It struck her in the chest like a hammer, and she gasped from its force. Gem cried out and tightly gripped Loren’s waist while Annis covered her ears. The Mystics recoiled at Xain’s words, even Jordel.

Bolts of black fire exploded from the sky, raining down to soak the sellswords in flame.

“No,” Loren whispered.

Xain struck again and again. Each time, a fresh wave of horsemen caught alight. Swaddled in darkfire, the black flames caught in their clothes, in their hair, on their skin. Men and women screamed. Their horses pitched to the ground. Some found their feet, beating at their own bodies in agony, only to be struck by riders behind them.
 

Flames caught in the horses’ coats. They veered left and right. Soon, the darkfire spread throughout the ranks, and the road had become a river of fire, darker than midnight yet hot as the sun.

“Stop, Xain!” Loren’s voice cracked, and she found there were tears in her eyes.

The wizard continued, his cries growing ever louder as he sent wave upon wave of the black flames surging through the ranks. All thoughts of attack had fled the cavalry; those not yet touched by the darkfire tried to turn and flee. But their efforts only worsened their fix, for they jostled and crashed into one another, and with every touch the flames continued to spread.
 

Darkfire rose higher and higher until Loren could feel its heat where she stood. Then the final dying cries faded away, and the road was empty, save for the mounds of charred bodies lying along it, man and horse both. They were dead; all of them, hundreds of them, dead, and Loren could find no words for the anguish in her soul.

“Abomination!” Vivien jumped from her horse, eyes glowing with magic as she raised her hands. “An eater of the black crystal. I might have known, for you defeated me too easily in our battle upon the river.”
 

The other Mystics dismounted behind her and formed a line on either side, their blades at the ready. Jordel left his horse as well but stood apart from the others, between Loren and Xain.

The wizard laughed at Vivien—a terrible sound, like spawn of the darkness below.
 

“I defeated you because you are weak, and a fool besides. I could best you without the magestones. Do not tell me you hope to win now.”

“You cannot do this, Xain!” said Jordel. “You know what the crystals will do to you—what they do to you even now.”

“I know children’s stories, told to me in training as a mother tells her son of a ghost haunting the woods. But what I
feel
—that is another matter. There is greatness within me, the touch of a strength that no discipline could ever provide.”

“The Mage Kings of old felt that same power,” said Jordel, “and it nearly tore the nine lands asunder.”

“Mayhap it should have,” snarled Xain. “For then we would not suffer from the plague of redcloaks infesting us now. Tell me truly, Captain of the Mystics: Were the Mage Kings outlawed because of their danger or because they posed a threat to your precious order?”

Vivien struck. Her fingers clenched, and her fist punched forwards. But if she thought to bind or strike him, she had underestimated the wizard’s power.
 

Xain swept a hand through the air. Vivien recoiled as though slapped in the face. Then he spoke a word, held his palms outward, and sent a terrible wind from his fingers.
 

It slammed into the party and pitched Loren from her horse. Gem and Annis fell beside her with a cry. The winds continued, and Loren found it impossible to stand.

When they finally died and Loren could raise her head, she saw Vivien and Xain locked in a mortal struggle. Vivien pushed and pulled, swiped and struck at the wizard with her mind, but he swatted her every attempt.
 

One of the other Mystics tried to press the assault, but Xain batted him away with a cone of air, flinging him into a hill. Vivien swerved through the air, sending waves of magic at Xain. But he dashed them aside like a child’s futile blows. She kept stepping towards him, trying to bring him within arm’s reach, but he had learned that lesson in Wellmont. Xain stepped back whenever she approached, and Vivien could not reach him.

At last, she gave a frustrated cry while holding her assault. “We will never stop hunting you, wizard. You will burn in a pyre for this, like the Mage Kings of old. Your name will enter the blackest lists in our most hidden halls.”

Calm in the face of her fury, Xain said, “Of course they will never stop. Once your kind find a wizard using the magestones, they are relentless. It would not suit the Mystics to have a wizard so powerful that you could not control him.”

The wizard stepped forwards and unleashed a burst of wind upon her. Vivien flew back, along with the other Mystics, all cast to the ground, shrieking in agony.

The wind swept across Loren and again hurled her down beside Gem and Annis.

“That is why none of you can leave, or take word from this place!”
 

“No, Xain!” Jordel scrambled to his feet and launched an attack.
 

The wizard stretched his hand and unleashed a burst of white-hot flames.
 

Darkfire swept the Mystics. Loren flinched and looked away to avoid the sight and protect herself from the blinding light. She cast her cloak across Gem and Annis for fear that the heat might sear their flesh.

When at last the flames had faded, Loren forced herself to look. Only blackened and twisted shapes lay on the ground where Vivien and the other Mystics had lain. Their horses, too, had burnt in the fire, save one or two running in terror down the road.
 

But Jordel had somehow escaped. The blast must have thrown him clear, for he lay not far away on his back. Much of his cloak had been burnt away and was hanging in tatters. A deep burn crossed one cheek. He moaned with his eyes closed.
 

Xain approached the Mystic, eyes glowing black and eyebrows drawn in anger. Loren did not want to move, but somehow she found the strength. She jumped up and in front of the wizard, thrust her dagger towards him.
 

The wizard stopped a few paces away and smiled. “Brave little thief.” His deep, unnatural voice echoed in her breast. “Brought to bay saving your master’s life like a good little pup, though he loves you no more than any of the other sad wretches he marches to death.”

“Their doom does not lie on his head,” cried Loren. “You brought it upon them alone. I am a fool to have trusted you and will regret it until my life’s final breath. I spared you when it would have been easier to slit your throat, and a dozen times I helped you because I deemed you worthy of the effort. But hundreds have died by your hand when I could have let you starve on the King’s road the day we met.”
 

“Indeed, you have been foolish. But it seems that at last you see the truth. This is a world of fire and swords, and sometimes a hard choice must be made.”

“A hard choice?” Loren pointed at the blackened bodies scattered around them. “What choice did they have?”

“I told them to leave. I told
you all
to leave. And yet you were foolish. I am finished with idiocy. Now step aside, for it is time I ended this chase.”

“No!” Loren screamed and stepped towards Xain with the dagger. “Not now nor ever again. You speak the truth: I have been a fool when it comes to you, wizard. But no more. I will end you if I must, but you will not lay a hand on Jordel.”

Xain laughed loud and long. His eyes glowed a bottomless shade of black, and he muttered something horrible while swiping a hand through the air.
 

Loren braced herself for impact.

Nothing happened.

Xain’s expression curdled.
 

Loren was equally confused but gave him no time to think.

She tackled Xain and sent him to the ground. The wizard twisted beneath her but had no skill for fighting. She wrapped an arm around his neck and rolled until he was lying on his back atop her. Her hand flashed around, and the dagger came down, its tip aimed at his neck.
 

Loren stopped an inch from his skin, and lowered it slower until the steel tip pressed against his throat.

“Stop, Xain. It is over!”

He refused to listen and thrashed in her arms. She had to lift the dagger for fear that he would press his flesh into it with his lurching. Flame appeared in his hand and screamed towards her face, but at the last second it fizzled and showered the ground. He formed ice from the air and rained its razor shards upon her, but they melted on her skin.
 

Loren could only wonder at his impotence. His struggles grew more frantic, and she felt her grip slipping. Ever again, she implored him to stop, but the wizard refused to listen.
 

He snarled like a wild animal.

She had no other choice. He would break free and kill her, turn his magic on Annis and Gem, or Jordel. She had to end it. She raised her hand. The dagger flashed in the sunlight, black on its blade like the midnight in Xain’s eyes.

But she could not plunge it into his neck. Half her mind willed it, but the other half screamed for Loren to stop. Her muscles refused to obey. For then how would she be any different? How could she claim to be better than Jordel when he killed sellswords who had never crossed him? Or Xain, who slaughtered an army with darkfire? She had followed one rule since leaving the Birchwood and could not break it now.

Xain froze atop her and hissed between his teeth. She tightened her grip on his throat. Still, he managed to mutter, “The dagger.”