Before Daron could get a good look at the manacles binding Jarod and Aiden, his darkness vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. Kerris stood, hands wreathed in flickering flames, a look of amusement on his face. A heartbeat later the backlash of his broken cantrip hit him, a spike of agony driving into his brain. His vision faded to white as he screamed, stumbling forward with his inertia and sprawling low.
"Amusing," Kerris said, shaking his head. "I've found you Justices to be lacking in real skill."
The sorceror grinned as his hand lifted up, flames dancing higher across his upturned palms. Daron tried to push to his feet, but there was nowhere to hide. A wave of roaring flame blasted towards him.
Leah leaped forward into the path of the oncoming blaze. With fearful eyes he saw her take the full brunt of the fire. The force slid her back towards Daron a handful of feet, and he could feel the intense heat rolling around her body. Her clothes flashed into ignition, and she dropped wordlessly, smoke rolling off of her as she lay still.
Fury unlike any he'd ever felt pulsed through him, washing away the aches and pain. He sucked in a shuddering breath and pushed himself to his feet, snapping his sword up off of the ground. Leah still lay unmoving, her clothes charred and still smoldering.
Daron's mind was oddly blank, a unending field of white-hot agony pulsing within him. He fixed his eyes on Kerris, knuckles tightening on the familiar leather grip of his Oathblade. The man was a mockery of everything he stood for. He hurled blasphemies as easily as far, poisoning the minds of any that would listen. Upper Terrin had been nearly overrun because of Kerris. Foul undead had been given unholy second lives because of him. Leah lay unmoving, possibly dead, because of him.
Daron's blade rose unwaveringly. Wordlessly he snarled as he stalked forward across the ancient stone floor.
The two remaining bodyguards rushed towards him. Daron parried aside the first strike, stepping in and towards the second attacker. The second thrust came in low. Daron sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a cut to his stomach. His free hand snapped down, catching the man's wrist. Warmth flooded into him, the familiar feeling that welled deep within him when he prayed to the gods and used a cantrip. Without thinking he let it flow out through his hand.
A blast of telekinetic force caught the swordsman in the chest, sending him spiraling backwards with a cry. He slammed into the ground with an audible crack before rolling twice to lay still.
Daron blinked in confusion. He'd moved small objects before with the simple cantrip, but never before had he lifted a person, much less throw them. The most he'd ever done with it before was fishing the bullet from Martin, but that was a feat of time and precision, not brute force.
The gods are with me, he realized. They stand against Kerris. The thought was sobering. In his years with the Order, he'd known, intellectually, of the gods and their role. He'd simply never felt it. He'd always wondered if that was the way they worked, in silence. Now he knew better. He could feel their power pulsating in him.
I am the living will of the gods, he thought, remembering the oath that had forged his blade.
He didn't have any further time to contemplate. Kerris lifted his hands again, sending twin jets of flame at him. Daron swore and threw himself to the ground, his Oathblade skittering from his hand across the moss-covered floor. His infected shoulder throbbed in protest, eliciting a gasp from Daron as he pushed himself to his knees. The arm buckled, dropping him back to the floor.
The remaining swordsman stepped up behind Daron as the Justice stretched out with one hand, trying to slide himself across the floor to his dropped blade. Daron sensed movement as the man lifted his sword to strike at his unprotected back. Daron rolled onto his back, kicking towards exposed knees, but the man stepped deftly to one side.
Aiden dashed to his feet, hands still behind his back. With a feral cry he charged the remaining bodyguard. Muscles bulged and strained on his arms, and suddenly his friend's wrists were free, mangled chunks of steel dropping to the ground. The remaining chunks shattered like fired clay.
The bodyguard swiveled, but wasn't able to get his blade ready in time. The Justice bowled into him, sending both sprawling. Daron rolled to one side to avoid being crushed. Aiden skittered to one side, grabbing the wrist that held the sword.
"None of that now," Kerris said, gesturing. Another bolt of seething fire blasted across the room at the struggling pair. Aiden flattened himself to the stone floor, one hand still locked on the bodyguard's wrist. With a heave the Justice rolled to one side, dragging the bodyguard into the path of the blaze. The man shrieked in agony as his chest and face ignited.
Aiden rose. Daron could see that much of his exposed skin was an angry shade of red, though the Justice ignored any pain it might have caused him. He took a step forward.
"You two simply will not learn," Kerris snarled. His hand came up again, though this time a blast of pure force slammed into Aiden, sending him sailing through the air. He slammed into the wall at an angle with a sickening crunch before collapsing unconscious next to the still-bound Jarod.
Kerris turned and eyed Daron. Frantically the Justice tried to think. How much could the sorceror do with that single infusion of energy? He hadn't really seen how much Martin could do before recharging himself. Was Kerris nearly empty, or would Daron be burned where he stood?
Daron prayed, calling to his blade with another telekinetic cantrip. The blade struggled into the air, weaving drunkenly through the air. The wellspring of warmth Daron had within him was dwindling fast, and the sword felt as if he were trying to drag a wagon with one hand, horses and all. It was more weight than he generally moved, but it still heeded his call. Why is the strength of the gods fading? Why do they not help more? The grip settled into Daron's waiting hand, but the question left him feeling hollow.
Kerris calmly reached down and snatched up the blade of one of his fallen mercenaries. Daron smiled. The man was out of his stolen energy. With a little luck, Daron could end this.
The two circled each other, blades held defensively. Kerris made the first move, stepping in with a starter form that had been burned into Daron's memory from years of drilling. He found his own feet sliding into the appropriate response, filling the air with the ringing of steel on steel as he deflected each questing thrust.
Kerris was obviously no stranger to a blade, Daron reasoned. Daron responded with a more advanced form, stepping forward with a series of fluid strokes, keeping momentum behind his blade. Kerris parried the first, redirecting Daron's blade then sliding a few steps to one side. The appropriate response, Daron realized with falling confidence. The sorceror was at least as well trained as him. His earlier feeling of hope shattered. Daron's ability to improvise was lacking, and if Kerris was similarly trained, they'd be too evenly matched to do much of anything.
They continued their parry and riposte routine. Daron tried to vary his technique, but each stroke was met and defeated. Kerris was clearly not an exceptional swordsman, as each of his own attacks were similarly blocked by Daron. However, with each block of a strike, Daron felt his injured arm burn hotter. Soon he was gritting his teeth against the pain, sheets of sweat drenching the back of his shirt.
While his arm grew weaker with each blocked strike, the warmth within him kindled a fraction warmer. His shoulder and armed burned with effort, but the familiar feeling of the gods within him continued to grow. They still answer my prayers, he realized.
Another stroke, and Daron struggled to move quick enough to block it. His Oathblade swept up, batting the strike aside without any finesse, and as he moved to strike into the opening left by his opponent's attack, the leaden feeling in his arm grew overpowering. A groan escaped his lips as his arm went numb, sword clattering to the stone from his slack grip. Fire pulsed down from his shredded shoulder, lancing through his chest. Daron stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Even now, your gods abandon you," Kerris laughed, taking a step back. His blade was kept low and defensive, but he made no overt move towards Daron. "I've won."
The Justice tried to flex his fingers, but found them unresponsive. The infection and exertion had simply been too much for him. He stared down at his unmoving arm in defeat. Everything had been resting on him, and he'd failed. Leah lay unmoving, smoke wafting from her burned clothes, while Aiden lay crumpled against the far wall. Both might be dead, and he could do nothing to stop the sorceror.
How can I be the will of the gods if I can't even lift my sword?
"You've done nothing of the sort," Jarod called out from where he knelt. "Everything you sought has been denied you."
Daron shook his head as his commander's words hit him. He couldn't give up without a fight. He might not be able to swing a sword, but he'd never been that good with a sword anyway. What was it Aiden had told him, the day of his graduation?
"The problem is that the sword is just a tool", Aiden had told him. "You are the weapon. You are the hand of the gods."
He glanced over his shoulder at Jarod, who gave him a nod.
"This isn't about winning," Daron said. "Jarod is right. Your army is already defeated."
"Impossible."
Daron let himself grin, a cold smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Your men are dead. The city is secure. Your undead have been destroyed. Everything you hoped to accomplish is ruined."
"I still have the book," Kerris said, flicking his eyes to the tome atop the stone pedestal. "With that, I don't need an army."
"What did you hope to accomplish?" Daron continued, ignoring the man. "How long did you plan? How long did you struggle for this moment, only to have it ripped away from you?"
"I would be a god," Kerris spat. "I would choose who lives and who dies. I would have power over death. I would free the world from the festering disease that is the Order. I will bring light to the world." The sorceror sucked in a deep breath. Around him the moss and lichen began to brown and wither. It wasn't much energy, but it would likely be enough for a final volley to end him, Daron realized.
Daron looked around frantically. It's not the sword, it's me, he thought. Trust in the gods. Stop over-thinking it.
Something glittered in the flickering light cast by the lantern. Daron glanced down. His cufflinks, with the tiny symbol of the Order, of the gods, twinkled at him. Within, he felt the well of power the gods had given him to do their will.
On instinct, Daron snapped one of his cufflinks out of his jacket, and held it in his palm. With a tiny trickle of will, he pushed it into the air, where it hovered and spun. Kerris lifted his hand towards Daron, a triumphant grin breaking across his features.
I am the will of the gods, Daron thought, and flung the cufflink at Kerris. He pushed every ounce of energy into the tiny silver item, emptying the well and hurling everything he could muster into it.
There was a resounding crack in the air as the cufflink flashed across the expanse. A breath later an unseen hand slammed into Kerris, bowling him backwards and into the far wall. The stone there cracked and shattered, filling the room with a boom that clawed at Daron's ears, sending out a shower of sharp chips and a cloud of dust. The roof above shook, raining dirt and debris down.
Kerris slumped out of a shallow bowl-shaped depression on the wall. A smear of blood stained the broken stone. The sorceror slumped to his knees and hacked once, bright blood splashing across the floor. Daron could see a dark blossom growing on the man's chest where the cufflink had shot through like a bullet.
Daron collapsed to his knees, barely clinging to consciousness. His arms shook as he tried to keep himself from collapsing to the floor. Every bit of energy he had was drained. One hand gave out, sending his face into the floor. He barely felt the cold stone smack his cheek.
"What have you done?" Kerris coughed. Daron glanced up, quivering muscles slowly pushing him to a kneeling position. "How could you have done that?"
Shadows grew, though the only light in the room was the still burning lantern. The shadows spread from the walls, growing towards the light, consuming the room as they grew. The darkness was more than the absence of light, but an absence of everything. A chill filled the room, sliding like scales across his flesh. Daron watched in horror as the darkness clawed across the stone. So great was the darkness that the walls vanished from sight, leaving only a small flicker of light dancing in the center of the room.
By the void, Daron thought, unable to do more than push himself up an inch from the stone.
The shadows enveloped Kerris, ripping him from sight as quickly as if Daron had summoned another sphere of darkness. From within an agonized scream bubbled, wet and shrill. It resounded off of the stone walls, a wailing agony that Daron had never heard before. The cry cut off a breath later, leaving an echo that set Daron shivering.
A moment later the shadows withdrew. Kerris was nowhere to be seen. Daron collapsed backwards. He found the stone floor oddly comfortable, and closed his eyes to sleep. Distantly he heard Jarod's voice calling to him, but it was time for some much needed rest.
Chapter 26.
Daron regained consciousness with a shock, an icy chill washing through his body like he'd just plunged through the ice covering a lake in the heart of winter. For a frantic moment he thought Kerris was pulling energy out of him, but he remembered the horrific darkness that had swallowed the man.
Jarod stood above him, smiling grimly.
"Almost lost you there," Jarod said gently. His hands were still bound behind his back. He'd healed Daron anyway. "You'd lost a lot of blood, and had some sort of disease growing through your shoulder. It's a wonder you're alive."
Pushing himself up with one arm, he glanced around. His eyes fell upon Leah's still form. He scrambled across the floor, sliding through blood that was at least partially his, and gently rolled her over.
Most of her shirt had burned away, leaving only tattered remains. Daron blinked as he saw her skin was untouched, pink and healthy below the charred clothing. Her breathing was steady and normal, giving her the appearance of simply being asleep. Her stomach was almost blisteringly hot to the touch, but as he rested his hand upon her, Leah's eyes flickered open.
Moving carefully to not agitate his recently healed flesh, Daron peeled his jacket off and passed it to Leah with a smile. He quickly fished the other cufflink from the sleeve and stuffed it into a pocket. It seemed a sacrilege to part with the other one, even for a moment, after what the gods had done through him.
She glanced down at herself and blushed furiously as she realized her shirt was mostly just threads. She shrugged into the jacket, significantly larger on her, covering the shirt borrowed from Brynn such a long time ago. It was matted with blood and grime, and torn in too many places, but it offered a shred of decency better than her borrowed clothes.
"I don't understand how you survived that," Daron said, helping her to her feet. Across the room Jarod helped rouse Aiden, who rolled onto his back with a heavy groan.
Her eyes glanced around the room, almost suspicious. "He didn't have a lot of force behind it," she said. "Shirt caught on fire, but that was about all it did."
"You were unconscious," Daron said. "It had to have hit with a lot of force, Leah." Leah shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"I imagine I fainted from shock," he heard her lie. Daron stared at her for a moment, and then simply nodded. She was watching Aiden and Jarod carefully, as if fearful they might overhear. It was a conversation he'd have to have another time, when they were alone.
Something didn't add up. Could she be a sorceror, like Martin? It seemed unlikely. Martin had said he'd be burned trying to absorb fire, that he could only pull in a small portion of its energy. Kerris must have been saving his energy to deal with Daron, using only enough to knock Leah out. Still, he'd have to have a talk with her soon.
Aiden growled in pain as he sat up, wincing.
"My arm is broken," he admitted. "Probably a few ribs as well."
"You'll have to wait to get healing later," Jarod said. "I'm spent from bringing our savior back from the brink of the void."
Aiden fixed Daron with a long stare, and then nodded. "About time you got here," Aiden growled. "I'd been waiting for a distraction for a day now."
"How did you break your shackles?" Daron asked. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he leaned against the pedestal for support. His eyes danced over the thick tome, the same angular writing filling its pages as was carved into the walls.
"I transmuted the iron to clay," Aiden said. "Took a long while to do it. You didn't learn that at the academy?"
"You could have done that the entire time?" Jarod asked, eyes narrowing. "That would have been fairly useful information, Aiden."
"Couldn't be sure we wouldn't be overheard," Aiden said. He carefully rose to his feet with a wince, cradling one forearm in his other hand. If he was in pain, his face barely betrayed it. "Wouldn't want to give away my advantage."
"Either way," Daron said, not looking up from the book, "you saved my life, Aiden. If you hadn't attacked when you did, he'd have gutted me for certain."
"What was all that about dying honorably?" Jarod demanded.
"Subterfuge," Aiden said, shrugging. Jarod regarded his subordinate with incredulity, and then grinned.
"What about you?" Jarod said, swiveling. "What in Allene's name did you do?"
"The gods answered his call," Aiden injected. He winced, but patted Daron on the shoulder with his good hand. "He finally got himself out of the way and let them work."
"I've never seen anything like that before," Jarod said, frowning.
"Kerris is something we haven't seen before," Daron said. "The gods must have responded in kind."
Daron walked a few steps and retrieved his blade from where he'd dropped it. His shoulder still burned, but his fingers at least were a little responsive. Carefully he held the blade out and called for light. It flared up, normal as it had always been. He tried to push more into it, but the light remained unchanged. The warmth within him felt as it always had, a dull simmer he could call upon for cantrips. The gods were apparently done with him.
"Still," Jarod continued, "thanks are in order. You two did quite well."
"Daron did most of it," Leah said. "He figured out where you were."
"It took you long enough," Aiden said, but Daron could tell his friend was joking, though his face was a stoic mask.
"Well, we did have another sorceror to deal with," Daron said casually. "We had to stop his army of undead from ravaging the city."
"Don't forget about leading the defense of the city," Leah added in.
Jarod blinked at the two of them. "You certainly have been busy."
"The city is still under attack," Daron said. "We should get back to Tel and offer any aid we can."
"And get my arm healed," Aiden added.
"I'm inclined to leave it for a while," Jarod said, crossing his arms. "Call it punishment for not letting your commanding officer in on important information."
"What about this thing?" Leah asked, gesturing at the book.
Aiden walked up to it, a look of disgust on his face.
"It's written in a pretty strange form of high terran," Aiden said, flipping through a few pages.
"You can read that?" Daron gaped.
"I wasn't always going to be a Justice," Aiden smiled. "My father groomed me for court from a young age, and ancient languages was one of my studies. It's very similar to high terran."
Daron shook his head with a rueful smile. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Aiden hadn't always belonged to the Order. The man still owned expansive lands near the Takarian province, but had chosen instead to devote himself to the gods rather than dabble at politics. He didn't know his friend nearly as well as he thought, it appeared.