Page 24 of The Malevolent Eight
‘Yes, of course,’ the Spellslinger agreed, then leaned over to whisper in his ear. The rat mage paled, but then lay down where his shadow awaited. ‘I am ready.’
‘No, you aren’t,’ she said, her voice tinged with sympathy. ‘Who could prepare themselves for this?’
Unseen hands began to claw at Aradeus, pummelling his face and body, grabbing hold of his limbs and slowly tearing first skin, then sinew as they stretched him in four directions until at last the bones popped. I don’t know why, but I’d always imagined him dying with a defiant smile on his face.
He didn’t.
‘How are you doing this?’ I demanded of the Spellslinger, but my confusion and rage came out as nothing but bits of moss pouring from my mouth.
One by one, I watched them die: Shame, Temper, Galass: passive actors in a gruesome stage play written by a madman and directed by the Spellslinger.
‘You can speak now,’ she informed me, after Galass had been strangled by the scarlet strands of her own hair.
I’ve studied the esoteric variations of wonderism more than most scholars of the subject. I first heard the Auroral Song when I was fifteen, when I joined the Glorian Justiciars. Years later, I became a mercenary Infernalist because I couldn’t attune myself to any of the other mystical realms. Iknowthis business– which is how I knew for certain the Spellslinger was no luminist and none of this was an illusion.
This wasreal.
My friends were dead.
‘History,’ I murmured, stumbling to where Corrigan and the others had joined a thousand other victims of the devastation all around me. ‘History waiting to be written.’
The Spellslinger, this mass-murdering, impossibly powerful mage whose every word, every expression and action indicated she knew me, placed both palms on my chest. ‘Get it now?’ she asked. One hand reached up, touching my hair. ‘The day we met, you were still filled with the Auroral Song, a brave Glorian Justiciar crowned in that glow that gave all of you those lustrous golden locks. Even then, I sensed your true colour was black. Cade Ombra: your last name means shadow, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
The amber irises brightened. ‘But you’re no shadow. You’re a raven. The gleaming armour and righteous zealotry couldn’t hide your feathers from me, Cade Ombra. I saw the raven and knew it would be you who rescued me before the Glorian Magistrate could condemn me for what he referred to as my “crimes of being”. But you never came to rescue me, did you, Cade?’
‘I. . . I couldn’t. I don’t remember. The haze, it’s—’
She looked down at the corpses arrayed around us. ‘Would you like me to rescue them, Cade? Would you like me to rescueyou?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me I’m a good person. Surely only a good person would go against her employers’ wishes to save the friends of a man so determined to interfere in their plans, right?’
‘You’re a good person,’ I said.
‘Tell me you love me.’
‘I love you.’
‘Kiss me like you mean it.’
I kissed her with more passion than I’ve ever kissed anyone in my life. I kissed her with the desperate intensity of a teenage boy who’s convinced he’s got to make this one kiss perfect or there will never be another for as long as he lives. I kissed her with all the love I felt for the six people lying dead at my feet.
‘That was. . . nice,’ the Spellslinger said as she pulled away. I don’t think she was aware of the tears in her eyes. ‘Now, one last thing, my raven of shadows. One tiny, insignificant promise before I unwind destiny and give you back your friends.’
Hazidan Rosh, my old master, always said recklessness was both the curse and the blessing I kept bestowing on myself, a never-ending pattern of damnation and redemption that would define my life until death or wisdom freed me from the cycle. But I wasn’t stupid, and my impulsiveness hadn’t prevented me from becoming the finest investigator the Chief Paladin of the Glorian Justiciars had ever trained.
‘I’ll stop,’ I promised without further prompting from the Spellslinger. ‘Bring my friends back and I’ll cease any further interference in the war between the Infernals and the Aurorals. Your employers will never hear about me again.’
‘Swear to it,’ she commanded. ‘Give me your oath.’
I dropped to my knees, took her hand and placed her palm against my forehead. ‘I swear it.’
She took her hand away, then placed her forefinger under my chin and tilted my head back. ‘You can’t.’
‘What?’
