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She dwelled in her fury, eyes bright and relentless with the promise of dread.
He dwelled in his, magic in his soul, a sword in his hands that ran blood-red.
Sarajova, Pyatov
The Umbra Valor
Captain Emeris Sageor, the royal marine emissary for the kingdom of Meris, was going to die soon if he didn’t get out of the water. It was colder than ice, if that were even possible, and it surrounded him completely. That, and he was tied down with a crate and a rope wrapped around his ankle like a dead snake. He kicked at the crate, struggling to breathe. His muscles slowly froze, his blood turning to solid mush. His mind too slow to cast any form of spells. He would die, he reckoned, and he had minutes left.
The fleet had been struck just as they docked in Sarajova, Pyatov, which was no longer. In the seconds before the bloodshed began, Emeris saw the destruction. The icy streets running red, the bodies scattered around like dark mounds against the pale blue village. The sight was so ghastly that he blamed it for distracting him from the blood symbols floating on the water. The moment they cruised over them, the ships went up in bright, vicious flames. Wood split apart, cracking. Soldiers screaming their throats raw. Mages flinging themselves into the water to avoid being burned alive, others crushed by the weight of broken masts that toppled around them. The moment his ship was engulfed in fire, Emeris had reached for his dagger, cutting a shallow line on his arm. But then, a sail had fallen, crashing into the deck and straight through the hull, sending him tumbling through jagged, sharp wood that shred his coat to ribbons. He crashed into the cold water, seeing through the blue ripples his beloved Umbra Valor shriek as her sails plunged down on her as the mages leapt off her and fell down into the ocean like rain.
Now, Emeris was alone and cold, but he could not die. This fleet was under his control. Whatever remained of it. As it stood, most of it had already burned to char and sunk, sucked up by the cold damned waters of the ocean. There had to be those that survived, those desperately and stubbornly clinging onto life like he was. War loomed too close; there was simply too much to lose to perish now.
He kicked himself free. Using the last of his strength, he groaned under the waves, kicking upwards, his arms thrusting him up. He broke through the water’s surface, his face stinging and burning all at once. He whipped around, pushing dark hair from his eyes, and he took a deep breath. Ice-cold air snuck into his lungs, weighing him down, turning them to rock. He felt himself sink down. His arms frozen against the rough waves. No, he thought, a fleeting plea as his mind too began to slow. He bobbed his head, the icy water cutting his skin. No, please. But it was possible, he learned now, to be so cold you could no longer shiver. That was just being nearly dead, that last part of his functioning mind told him, just as his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open and the bright and blinding white sky turned black.
Minavich, Pyatov
When the world, if ever, ends, it won’t end suddenly, shattering apart violently or quietly like a single whisper in the wind. Rather, it will meet its end excruciatingly slow. One blood-curdling scream at a time. One bone breaking. One drop of blood dripping. One soul splintering. At least, that was how the historians of an era long since passed thought the world would end. And shivering, cold air seeping through my thick clothing as I crouched in the middle of a once lively port, now stained red, gazing at the scene that lay before me, I knew the historians were probably right.
Ivar’s hand was still in mine, through the thick gloves, I could not feel his warmth. I swallowed, taking in the sight. My nose involuntarily scrunched at the pungent odor of burning flesh and spilled blood. We were facing the icy waters that spanned in front of us until the horizon; I did not dare turn back to the village behind us. None of us seemed to.
We were, all five, hidden behind broken and cracked crates and barrels. Our faces pressed against the sodden wood, we narrowed our eyes and held our breaths, surveying the scene. No one spoke.
Daemon. Strong, tall, and usually in some shade of red, now was dressed in ugly forest green. The color, I thought as I wrinkled my nose, didn’t suit him at all. It clashed with his eyes that now were laced with far too much black from what I could see. Around him were chaos mages, but no one I recognized. Ivar, whose fingers were still interlaced with mine, kneeled beside me. Jace flanked my right, and Junah, who kneeled beside him, wrapped her thick coat tighter around herself. One side-eyed look was all it took to let me know they had seen a familiar face. I turned to Jace.
“Which one?”
“Tallest one,” he whispered, his voice but a low rasp against the cold wind that blasted suddenly through the air like a wrathful beast.
“With the fiery hair,” added Junah, voice trembling. “He was at the camp when…”
Ivar, sensing the thick silence, finished for them, voice dark and deep. “Prince Arkos Wysterian. He was at the palace alongside his commander.”
The commander I had killed. Flashes crept into my mind, of the man smiling, his crooked grin chilling my body when I had thought he meant I had been too late to save Ivar. He had never meant the prince’s life was what had been in danger, he had meant the camp, our soldiers, everything. I swallowed, pushing the memory deep down. Now was not
the time to drown in the darkness of those thoughts. It ached my heart, like a dagger had been filed straight through it and was still stuck. But time could not be undone. Those that fell, would be avenged, I would make sure of it.
I turned back to the small hole, my eyes thinning to slits as I took in the tall chaos mage in the center of all the commotion. He too was dressed in emerald armor, his long bright hair flapping in the wind like a cape. Silhouettes of ships spotted the distance, other ships were closer, and some were still docked.
Shao Yun Islands, I thought, gulping. The map Junah, Erik, and Zale had found in the camp had shown a path carved from freshly spreading ink. I didn’t know where the portal had dumped us, but I was nearly certain the chaos mage fleet wouldn’t head back to Rodessa after Pyatov. I stilled suddenly, my blood colder than the air. If the chaos mages were departing, if they were moving on...that could only mean one thing. No. I closed my eyes, steadying my pacing heart. Pyatov was likely gone. We were too late. Again. My chest tightened, the world tilting beneath me despite Pyatov’s foundation being built of solid stone. The camp, Pyatov. I wondered how many lives had been ended far too soon, how many lay limp on the ground, the Darkness having swept through their lands. Cities ruined; families torn apart. My eyes began to water. I looked down, shaking my head. Rage, like a match falling in a field of dry grass, grew inside of me.
“Sivrehya?” Ivar’s gentle voice pulled me from my trance. I raised my head, meeting his soft gaze. His eyes darted down, to our hands and I realized I had squeezed his, so tight my own hand had begun to ache. I released my grip, muttering an apology. Before Ivar could get more out of me, Jace broke in.
“We need to act fast.” His voice steady, like an anchor in a storm. “Those ships will take off any moment.”
“How long do we have?” Junah asked, shifting. I saw her glance up, the thick clouds obscuring any chance of sun. She looked deflated, her gloved hand reaching for the dagger at her thigh.
“Maybe five, ten minutes if we’re lucky,” he answered, turning his back to the scene. “I don’t know much about setting sail, but one guy just screamed ‘all aboard.’”
“Judging by how fast we set sail after Emeris had yelled that, I would lean more towards five minutes.” I frowned, eyeing the men yank at the ropes holding
the ships steadfast to the docks.
“Alright, well,” this was Avran, “Daemon is still on the docks, there’s about fifty chaos mages total, which means about fifty more other mages. Which means one hundred.”
“I think we can all do basic mathematics,” Jace whispered. The soul mage just rolled his eyes.
“I’d hope to the Darkness. The fact remains, those numbers aren’t in our favor. And neither is that.” Avran stretched a finger through a hole, and I pressed my face against the cold wood again, trying to follow his gaze. It didn’t take long. I don’t know how I missed it before when it so clearly stuck out like a sore thumb against the pale colors of the horizon and the salt-stained boats. A cloud of unforgiving black. No tendrils struck out violently, no thundering, not even the sheer size of how it had been back in the fields. This mass of Darkness was much smaller, nearly tamed, if that could be believed.
“If we ambush them, we won’t make it five feet.” Jace shook his head, a war in his eyes. “Probably much less if they use that damning cloud.”
“Great,” Ivar muttered.
We snuck a stolen look, but after my impromptu kissing him, on the lips, of all places, and then cursing him to sleep in the middle of him probably trying to kiss me, I was too embarrassed to hold his gaze for longer than a second.
“We could perhaps turn invisible and then quietly ambush them?” Avran offered.
“We still run the risk of some chaos mage seeing us. We have no way of knowing which ones can see past blood magic and which can’t.” Jace spoke carefully. “It might be worth a shot though.”
We tossed around other ideas, precious time ticking. Wait until the ships have sailed then portal to Daemon again, so we’d only have to take on one ship and not three. But then, we’d have Arkos and the Darkness in our faces, and none of us liked those odds. The idea to go back and get
backup was quickly tossed away. Run the risk of some of them seeing past the invisibility spells was what, after loads of other ideas, we finally agreed upon. Jace fashioned the spells, and one by one, each flickered from my view as I was the last to turn invisible. Once I was, they were there again. Stillness from the five of us.
“Whoa.” Avran glanced around, looking at all of us as well as his own hands with such awe that it seemed he had just discovered their existence. “Last time, I couldn’t see Sivrehya.”
“I know.” I blinked, curious at the magic that cloaked us from everyone else’s view but our own. “What spell is this?”
“Invisibility, but it’s slightly different than the usual one. It’s taught to us at military training.” Jace paused, crouching with a steady hand on his blade. “Ready?”
This plan, a terrible one and the longest of all the shots I have ever taken in my life, depended heavily on the invisibility. None of us wanted to bolt upwards only for the prince of chaos to turn and see us. Maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he couldn’t see like Marsdan Vrhain, but then, perhaps he could. So, we stayed hidden, until we all, one by one, nodded.
Junah had volunteered to cause the distraction. She said she couldn’t summon her powers, but she could snap the rope that held back fifty or more barrels from a large tilted wagon. I watched her sneak off, Ivar next to me. We paired off, one blood mage, one soul mage. Avran and Jace looped around, crawling on the ice and hardened snow toward one end of the small port. Ivar and I hung back in our place. We had finally turned our backs to the ships, ahead the village lay. Or, like I had imaged, what remained. Colorless buildings now scorched blistering black and caked red. So, so much red. My eyes flickered and darted about, catching corpses here and there, splayed at awkward angles, piled on top of each other, dangling from balconies and rooftops. It was a hideous sight, but such was war with magic. Unforgiving and deadly and cruel.
Only this hadn’t been a war. War wasn’t even what had happened at the camp. Ambush, conquering, annihilation. War was meant to be a battle; this was simply a massacre. I couldn’t help but wonder what part of Pyatov had been spared. Who had the chaos mages let live? Surely they didn’t plan on killing everyone they came in contact with. What world would they rule if they snuffed out all its life?
A loud curse, shattering the rest of the noise yanked me back to reality. Some man from the ships screamed, and slowly, others joined him. A crash, another and tumbling masses followed. Junah had snapped the rope. It was time. My eyes shifted to the ships, to where my brother stood, face unchanging as he was a statue against the rumbling barrels making their way down the port. I snuck a look back at Ivar, who was already looking at me. He held my gaze. It was determined and fierce yet soft. He cocked his head. I nodded. A hint, ghost, shadow of a smile on his lips.
And then, a hint, a ghost, a shadow of one on mine. ...
