Aram turned on Ulgar with rage in his eyes. A surge of magic, and the Dragyr boy flung himself like an arrow. Ulgar’s spear clattered to the ground, Aram driving his knee into the boy’s chest. Aram raised his spear.

  Malik raced across the room as the Faltari temple descended into madness. He thrust out with a burst of hish as he neared.

  Aram didn’t see him coming. The breath of the gods struck his nemesis with righteous fury, sending the Dragyr boy reeling into a wooden pillar. Malik pulled Ulgar to his feet, and spun.

  His father faced off with the Lady Knight. Her godblade shimmered with threads of magic at its edge. His father hesitated. But Malik did not.

  All his life, he’d been taught that hish was a gift from the gods, to be used to heal, not to harm. But this was a matter of survival.

  Traditions of magic, be damned.

  Malik released an even mightier magic attack that stopped the Knight in her tracks, her blade surging to absorb the hish.

  Joren followed up with an attack of his own, a pulse of magic that sent her careening into the temple wall with a crack. She was slow to get up.

  Ava snatched her splinter cane from the ground. She got to her feet with a hitch, but fought through the pain. One of the elders latched onto her cloak. Ava spun around, slashing, and Lysa Anadeil staggered back.

  Together, Malik and Ulgar let another surge of hish fly. Malik’s attack was weaker this time, but paired with Ulgar’s magic, Elder Dannsein flew back into the statue of the All Father, sending the sacred visage toppling.

  Malik felt warm energy at his back, but the force only glanced past him. Madri had deflected the attack. His mother stood at the entrance of the hall, barricading the back hallway, Surel behind her.

  A scream.

  Aram leapt across the room at Ava. She turned.

  With the last bit of magic he could muster, Malik crossed the space with a hish-induced leap and collided with Aram, tackling him to the floor. The boy’s head thudded against the hard wooden floor with a crack.

  “Come on!” Ulgar shouted, racing back down the hall from which he’d come. Madri motioned for Malik to follow. Surel was already sprinting after Ulgar. Yuri, who had cowered at the edge of the action, suddenly came out of his stupor and crossed the room.

  Aram lay still.

  Malik helped Ava to her feet. Her right leg nearly gave out, and she pulled herself up, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. Fear and pain radiated from her spirit like a seething storm.

  They crossed the room as quick as they could manage.

  Malik’s father wielded a force beyond anything Malik had seen that sent the Lady Knight straight through the wall onto the front deck outside. She did not stir, the blazing light of her godblade extinguished.

  Lysa Anadeil fled out the front door. Brom Dannsein lay pinned beneath the fallen statue of the All Father. Unconscious.

  “Father, come on!” Malik pleaded.

  But Joren shook his head.

  Commotion outside. The cadence of boots and armor approaching.

  “Get them out!” Joren said.

  “I can help, Fa—”

  “No!” Joren knelt at Tul Eriksein’s side, and began to administer a healing spell. The Dragyr elder was still breathing, though his whole chest shuddered and wheezed from the would. The floor was covered in his blood.

  Joren’s gaze fell to Ava. “Get the girl to the Gate, son. I love you!”

  Ava pulled on his arm. “Malik!”

  “Go, son!” Joren shouted and turned away.

  The Lady Knight staggered to her feet. The sound of soldiers outside grew louder.

  “Malik!”

  His mother’s voice.

  Malik turned away from his father.

  ***

  Rykus drew his saber halfway from its sheath. Riese reached for hish, though she knew it would be a terrible violation to use magic against anyone, let alone one of the Faltari elders.

  Olma Marudeil raised her hands above her head and smiled.

  “Easy now, Captain Rykus. If there’s one thing I hope you learned from your wife, it’s that a quick draw can lead to unwanted outcomes.”

  “What?” Rykus said.

  “Your daughter was unplanned, right?” Olma said. “Born at the outset of an Uprising. It’s a joke. Though perhaps loosed arrow would have been more apt than quick draw.”

  “How could you know that?” Rykus demanded.

  “You knew Ava’s mother?” Riese asked, bewildered.

  The elder nodded. “A long time ago.”

  Rykus peered at her in the darkness. “How…”

  “Look, I pray there’ll be plenty of time for explanations and reminiscences. But right now, whatever you’ve been scheming is about to be undone. If you go down to that village, your rebellion is over.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “What do you know about my rebellion?” Rykus asked.

  “I knew your wife before you were wed. Before the first Valucian Uprising. I know enough to know that your cause is just, and it’s high time my people chose a damn side. Now, come, we must be swift.”

  Olma motioned them into the darkness of the woods.

  ***

  Guilt raged in Joren’s spirit over the damage that had been done this night. If he could prevent further harm, he knew he must. It was his sacred duty as shaman of his people, and as a decent man.

  Tul Eriksein was in terrible shape, but there was a chance the Dragyr elder would live. His wound was not quite closed over, but Joren had at least managed a solid clot.

  Still, the man did not stir.

  The Lady Knight drew her magic blade and stepped back into the hall to face him. Though physically weakened, Joren’s attacks had not worn down her spirit the way they could against an ordinary soldier, the way they had in the Taikan Rebellion. This woman was trained to resist spiritual attacks.

  “You fight well for a peace-loving shaman.”

  Joren continued his healing spell longer than he should have.

  Blood bubbled from Eriksein’s lips. He coughed. Eyes squinted, and Joren breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Fucking traitor!”

  It was Aram who spoke.

  The boy staggered to his feet nearby. He brandished a shaky spear in Joren’s direction.

  Joren backed away from Tul, hands extended at his sides. He bore no weapon.

  Aram lowered his head and threw himself at Joren with a surge of hish, but like most boys, and certainly all on the Isle of Faltara, Aram had no true combat experience. And Joren had more than anyone knew.

  Joren side-stepped the attack. He did not bother wasting his magic. With a swift kick of his foot, Aram’s entire body jolted mid-air. Joren snatched the spear and twisted hard.

  Aram flopped hard to the ground.

  “I’ll handle this, boy,” the Lady Knight said on a derisive chuckle.

  Aram’s eyes were wide, filled with venom. “Get away from my father, you bastard!”

  Joren stood between them and the back hallway, between death and everyone he cared for in this world.

  Aram sprang back to his feet, and Joren leveled the bone spear at him. The boy at least had enough sense not to hurl himself at Joren without a weapon.

  The knight chuckled. “That bastard is the only reason your father yet breathes, boy.”

  “What?”

  Joren met Aram’s gaze. So bitter. So blinded by passion and ego. Always trying to prove he was worth something. Just like his father. A lifetime of generational insecurity had led to this moment.

  “Get your father out of here, son.”

  Aram hesitated.

  “Go,” the knight said, stepping closer. “Death is meant for either the shaman or me. No one else.”

  Joren kept his concentration on Salyr. She had under-estimated him at the outset, but she was just as powerful in magic. And there was the godblade. But she waited until Aram had dragged his father’s bloody form outside.

  The Lady Knight stepped forward, magic seeping from her blade.

  “There’s no way out, shaman. My comrades will capture your family as soon as they leave this place.”

  She’d sent the others away, and no one had yet returned.

  “Why haven’t they come already?” he asked.

  He could sense inwardly she was wary, she knew how vital timing was in war. It was the reason she’d allowed Tul and Aram to escape. She was trying to buy more time.

  Joren glanced at Elder Dannsein, unconscious, pinned beneath the wooden visage of the All Father. His spirit was strong, but he remained unconscious.

  “You’re a good soldier,” Joren said. “Surely, you wouldn’t allow an innocent civilian to come to harm.”

  She smiled and glanced at the hall behind him. Voices echoed. Thuds as Madri and the others barricaded themselves in the hall.

  Joren had been stalling too.

  Salyr grinned. And leapt at him.

  Joren released a surge of magic that stunned her. But she settled on her feet easily this time, a soft pulse of hish absorbing most of his blow.

  “You’ve fought well, but I sense your weariness, shaman. You’ve only one to two more attacks like that. And then, what?”

  The knight shot forward, swinging the godblade.

  “Now, Madri!” Joren shouted, as he released one more surge of hish.

  ***

  Madri formed a coalescence of flame between her palms and sent it roaring down the hall. An instant wall of flame formed at the corner ahead, where they’d formed their barricade, sealing them off from Joren and the Lady Knight.

  Malik’s mother backed toward entrance of the Sacred Hall, calm, resolute, controlling the flames down the hall.

  Yuri and Surel waited in the Sacred Hall, and Ulgar, Malik, and Ava hurried into the healing chamber. Smoke seeped into the room, thick and suffocating.

  If only we’d had a few more…

  Ruan lay upon the surgery table, unmoving, leathern straps fixed to his arms and legs.

  Swiftly as they could, all three of them released the straps. Ulgar took Ruan’s shoulders and Malik grabbed onto the boy’s boots, and together they heaved him up off the table.

  At the sudden motion, he stirred, arms failing. Malik lost his grip, and all three of them fell to the ground. The boy’s eyes went wide. He coughed violently.

  Ava sent a calming surge of hish, and he stilled again.

  “Hurry!” Madri shouted from the hall. “I can’t hold back the flames much—”

  Malik and Ulgar staggered from the healing chambers and rushed down the hall, Ava hobbling after.

  Heat pressed all around. Ava concentrated more magic on Ruan’s mind, keeping him calm, though he shifted his neck back and forth as they moved down the hall.

  Then, the magic ceased, and Ruan squirmed.

  Ava shrieked.

  Malik turned.

  From the flaming debris at the end of the hall, the Lady Knight appeared, hair smoking, godblade shimmering. Somehow, she’d gotten past his father and the flaming barricade.

  Salyr latched onto Ava’s wrist and pulled her back toward the flames.

  There was a crash from the main hall.

  Flames surged, shooting down the roof of the hall, sending sparks.

  “Get Ruan out of here!” Ava shouted.

  Madri remained near the entrance to the Sacred Hall, arms extended toward the wall of flames, warding them back.

  Malik picked up Ruan’s flailing legs, and he and Ulgar staggered past his mother into the Sacred Hall. Yuri and Surel stood at the entrance, behind the now-toppled bookcase, and helped them ease Ruan through.

  Malik returned to his mother’s side.

  Down the hall, the knight clutched Ava before her like a shield. The girl shrieked as flames shot up her skirt.

  Madri withdrew her flames, and the inferno abated around the knight.

  “I knew you didn’t have it in you to kill the girl too!” The knight stepped forward.

  Madri did not speak to him. She did not have to. Malik could feel her spirit warning him, pressing against his own.

  With everything left in his spirit, Malik sent hish surging down the hall.

  The knight staggered back, and Madri launched herself at the Lady Knight in the same instant, and disappeared in a rush of flames.

  Malik froze. In shock.

  Ulgar sprinted past him, grabbed Ava’s hand and dragged her away from the raging wall of flames, and Malik was jolted back.

  He raced forward and pulled Ava through and shoved the door to the Sacred Hall behind them.

  There was a thud behind the runemarked wood, and terror swept over Malik. He couldn’t feel his mother’s spirit.

  Ulgar shook his head.

  “I can’t leave her!”

  More pounding.

  “No!” Ulgar shouted. “If it’s the Knight—”

  Surel helped Ava into the tunnel, and Malik turned back to the door, reached for the warding seals.

  The door was searing to the touch. His mother had lost all control of the blaze. He feared they would break through the wards any moment.

  Malik couldn’t feel either of his parent’s resonances, and the fear was more palpable than the heat at his fingers.

  What if his mother was right there on the other side of this gods-damned door? What if he was merely too spent to sense her?

  Oh gods!

  “Remember the Spires, Malik!” Ulgar shouted, pulling on his arm.

  Petyr Bromsein’s face flashed before him, a boyish grin stretching wide. And then, the gust of wind took him to his death. Having pushed his luck a fraction too far.

  Malik withdrew his hand from the door.

  The runes glowed in the smoke, a haunting green. Still sealed.

  Ulgar pulled him back toward the tunnel where the bookcase had been.

  Screams echoed somewhere in the temple beyond, and tears streamed down Malik’s cheeks as he followed Ulgar into the tunnel.