Consensus Breaking (The Auran Chronicles Book 2) (35 page)

‘Don’t let him suffer,’ she whispered.

‘I won’t.’

Seb cracked the stone on the floor. A green portal shimmered into existence.

‘Hurry,’ Sylph said.

‘I will.’

And then she was gone in a flash of light.

Silence now. Only the hum of the machinery stabilising the portal disturbed the peace. Seb stood above his friend, the katana in one hand. Cade growled and wretched, fighting the twisted magic that was slowly turning him into something else. For one moment Cade seemed to relax, he turned his eyes up. Yellow eyes, not silver, stared up at Seb, filled with tears.

‘Do it, Seb,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t…let…me…turn.’

Seb took a two-handed grip on the blade. Cade shuffled closer, pressing himself against the point.

‘I can’t, Cade.’ Hotness blocked his throat. He felt like retching. His friend, his saviour, dying before him, begging for release.

Yet he couldn’t do it. He looked back at the portal, back at his friend.

‘Kill me, Seb!’

‘Cade, please, you need to fight this!’

‘No, I-’

Cade howled, his human voice changing mid-cry into something altogether more feral. More jagged scales burst from his skin. He stopped shaking and started to stand.

Then, something else. The Weave groaned. Seb’s
sense
pricked. The door by the archway rocked oncfe, before exploding inwards in a shower of wood and metal. Seb was hurled against the stone platform, stunning him.

A figure stepped through, battered and bloody. Seb’s stomach sank.

Sedaris.

A strange shadow seemed to follow the archmage as he stepped inside. It billowed and pulsed in the air, slowly shrinking before eventually vanishing inside him. His face was covered in blood. One arm hung at a strange angle by his side, and he walked with a pronounced limp, leaning on his staff for support.

Yet he
did
walk. Which meant only one thing.

Barach was gone.

‘Ah, mageling, you seem to have made further progress than I’d anticipated.’

Seb thrust the grief aside. He shook the stars from his vision and rummaged on the floor, under the backpack that Cade had dropped.

It has to be here; it has to be here
.

‘I am impressed, really, I am.’ Sedaris came closer, his steps slow, measured. With every step his injuries lessened. Wounds knitted together. His arm cracked itself back into shape.

Found it!

Seb stood up. Sedaris smiled.

‘You would make a great ally of Nazgath in the coming world.’

At the mention of the name, that rage, that burning fire, swelled up inside him. He pushed it down as best he could. The next few moments required clarity, not emotion.

‘I’m not afraid to die.’

Sedaris cocked his head. ‘No, I can see that. It would be a shame if your abilities were wasted so.’

He stepped closer. Seb stepped closer to the portal.

‘Cade, please, this is your last chance,’ Seb said.

Cade looked at him, but it wasn’t Cade anymore. It was his friend’s body, but distorted, grotesque. A hybrid of Kranor and human. Silver eyes stared with pure malevolence as Cade bent down and picked up the katana that Seb had dropped on the floor. Sedaris’ laugh echoed around the chamber. The rage bubbled to the surface.

‘It is no use, mageling,’ Cade growled. ‘You cannot prevent what is coming, what has been coming for millennia.’ The warrior took a step backwards, taking a position by Sedaris’ side.

‘No, Cade, please, no.’

Sedaris smiled. ‘You see, young man, Kranor is just one of thousands at my disposal. Cade here, for one, is now a loyal servant of the Wronged Lord.’

Seb
sensed
. Not Cade, not Sedaris, but beyond, out of the complex, into the valley. The echoes that came back were scattered, but they told him enough.

Sylph was out.

Safe.

The green portal fizzled and vanished into nothing.

He allowed himself to smile.

‘Your way home has gone. So what is it that amuses you so, I wonder?’ Sedaris said.

Seb ignored the Archmage. He instead turned to Cade, his old friend still glaring at him with eyes of silver fire.

‘I’m sorry, Cade,’ Seb said.

He called the Script to mind. It hovered there, ready. Something tingled then, Sedaris piercing his mental shield.

Let him see.

Sedaris’ eyes widened as Seb raised the detonator that he’d taken from under Cade. The archmage vanished. Reappearing a split second later just a foot in front of Seb. He reached out, desperately flailing towards the detonator.

Too late.

With Sedaris’ hands just inches away, Seb flicked the safety cap off and pressed the switch.

Sedaris screamed.

The world exploded in a blinding flash of heat and light.

The three survivors had slept most of the journey back to the Croft. Caleb had kept in the real world for as much as possible, only taking a Way when he absolutely had to, taking them from Siberia back to western Europe. No one desired another battle. All were spent, beyond exhaustion.

Sylph didn’t sleep. She just stared out of the window, the wipers squeaking on the glass as they pushed the early morning drizzle away. At one point a news broadcast had begun reporting about a massive explosion in deepest Siberia. Russian officials were sketchy on the details, promising a full investigation.

They had no idea what had happened.

Early on in the journey Caleb had reached out to her, not touching - her only memory of him was as a possessed sheol trying to kill her - but trying to talk to her, to reassure her.

Sylph didn’t talk back.

Cade was dead.

She hadn’t said it out loud yet. She hadn’t had to. When Caleb had asked the silence he’d received in response was all the answer he needed. The old man had nodded and swallowed. When he asked her, more tentatively, about Seb, she felt a part of her break with him.

‘I don’t know, Caleb,’ she said, figuring she owed the old man this much. He loved Seb, that much was obvious. ‘He stayed behind, with Cade. I left. Then it just
went up.
’

Something seemed to die inside Caleb at that moment. She’d tried
sensing
out for Seb, but her skills were weak compared to the magi. At first she thought she’d felt something, but then it fizzled away.

Wishful thinking.

And what was it with her, anyway? Seb was her friend. As was Cade. She’d had friends before. Sarah. Marek. Luchar. All had died. What had she felt? Sad? Maybe. Disappointed? Definitely.

But there was something else. A feeling she hadn’t felt since, well, ever.

She remembered appearing on the mountain, where Barach had placed his marker.

Then came the explosion.

She remembered screaming. Crying into the wind until her voice had turned hoarse. She’d trudged down the mountainside a zombie, only stopping when she fell into the arms of Dmitri and Roxie, not struggling as they’d carried her back to the van.

She hadn’t spoken since. If something had died in Caleb it felt like something had simply been removed from her. She felt empty inside, dulled.

What the hell was wrong with her?

‘We’re here,’ Caleb grumbled, drawing the vehicle to a halt.

Sylph stepped out, landing in muddy water. She felt the cold, but it didn’t bother her. It was good to simply feel
something
. She stood, casually watching the two Brotherhood warriors as they trudged in through the open gates of the Croft. Others ran to help them, brothers and other Aware that Gough had brought from Sanctuary.

Sylph didn’t need help. Her ankle was swollen, and she had several lacerations to her forearms and face, but she could walk. She just wanted to be left by herself.

The crowd parted and Gough stepped through. ‘How are you, Sylph?’ He came forward, concern in his eyes. She felt the subtle tingle as he probed her aura.

No point in lying.

‘I feel…
empty,
Gough,’ she muttered.

The old man nodded. ‘You have suffered great loss. We all have.’

‘Sedaris?’

‘Unknown. No one saw him leave Osgog, but Barach has not returned either.’

Sylph looked out over the mountains, down into the wide, snow-covered valleys where the Unaware carried on about their business.

‘It’s not over, is it?’ she said.

‘No,’ Gough said, ‘far from it, I’m afraid.’

‘Without Cade and Seb, what will we do?’

This time it was Shimmer that spoke, his voice commanding attention. ‘All is not lost, child. Heroes have fallen before, and will do so again,’ He reached out a supporting hand. This time, she accepted. Exhaustion hit her and she near-collapsed, the world shifting as the warrior took her into his arms and carried her inside.

Gough stayed. He looked out over the world.

‘No, not over at all.’ He turned and entered the Croft, the giant gates drawing shut behind him.

Unknown Location, Siberia

Archmage Tarmyr slumped in his throne, gnawing on a ham hock. Beside him Alexei, still smarting over his defeat at the hands of the invaders, sulked in silence.

Tarmyr couldn’t help but smile. His plan couldn’t have gone more to plan. He hadn’t anticipated that the survivors of the Brotherhood would be so brazen as to attack his home, but it had at least saved him the job of having the upstart mage Sedaris assassinated instead.

He laughed out loud, his guards turning briefly before resuming their fixed expression.

Shard of Nazgath. How stupid did Sedaris think he was? He wasn’t the first mage to become corrupted and attempt a coup, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Tarmyr laughed again. Or perhaps
he
would? How many magi were left? His men were on their way back now. Hours away, apparently. The last of the magi lay slaughtered in their homes, and the Ninth, the shunned Family, the true followers of the Wronged Lord, would have the Spoke Stones,
all
the Spoke Stones in their possession.

Nazgath would be beyond grateful, and he, Tarmyr, would be remembered as the greatest ruler this shard had ever seen.

The air rippled and fizzed in the centre of the throne room. Strange that. The wards in place should prevent an unauthorised teleport into his secret chambers. Only those he’d granted permissions to could enter. And they were all here. All except…

...No. He was dead. He had to be dead.

Sedaris appeared. Burned. Scarred.

Angry.

‘Archmage Sedaris, it is a joy to see you have survived the battle. I was worried for a time.’

‘You abandoned me,’ Sedaris said. But it was not his voice, not the voice Tarmyr knew. This was a growl, echoing around the chamber. He felt his elites shiver at the power it encompassed. ‘You left me to burn.’

‘Now, Sedaris, you know that is not true. Was I not coordinating our forces in bringing back the Spoke Stones? I’m afraid any mishap that occurred at the Manyway was entirely --’

Sedaris
teleported
and appeared right before him. Before anyone could respond Sedaris thrust a hand into the Archmage’s chest. Dark blood oozed from the wound as Tarmyr froze, Sedaris’ hand closing around his fluttering heart.

‘You betrayed me. No one betrays me.’

Sedaris twisted and yanked the still beating heart from Tarmyr’s chest. The Archmage could only stare through wide eyes, slumping down as the life left him.

Tarmyr’s elite guard responded instantly. They raced from the perimeter of the room towards the throne.

Another figure appeared, coalescing from the darkness. It moved amongst them, a shadow of steel and death. Ten magi fell, limbs severed and throats cut. The rest slowed to a halt and backed away.

‘Now,’ Sedaris said, idly throwing Tarmyr’s body to the floor, where two young acolytes ran and scurried away with it. ‘By the right of Ascension I claim this Family as my own.’ He turned to Alexei, the Archmage’s son still staring in wild panic at his father’s body. ‘Do
you
have any objections?’

Alexei looked up, unblinking. He shook his head.

An aged man, older than the building itself, coughed subtly. All eyes focused on him in disbelief.

‘Lore keeper, you have something to say?’ Sedaris barked, holding a restraining hand as the hooded figure made as if to slay the speaker.

‘Archmage Sedaris, you are great in power. But you are not Archmage Tarmyr, you do not follow the ways of Nazgath.’

Sedaris chuckled, the noise sending chills to those around.

‘The
ways
of Nazgath?’ he said, his voice turning to a roar. ‘I gave you your
ways,
ignorant fool.’

The man’s creased face crunched into even more lines. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Then try this,’ Sedaris leant forward. The air shimmered around him as he shed the last of his human disguise. Sedaris vanished. In his place a serpentine figure, clad in scaled armour the colour of night, stared back at the old man, who fell to his knees sobbing, just one word on his lips.

‘Nazgath.’

The lore keeper said the word just once, but it was weighted, spreading around the chamber. The other magi present fell to their knees, all chanting the name of their lord, the one who had returned to them.

Amongst the clamour, Nazgath raised a taloned hand, beckoning the hooded figure forwards.

‘Come, join my side, the battle to reclaim our birthright begins today, noble Cade.’

The hooded figure drew back its hood. Cade, eyes as silver as moonlight, turned and took up position by Nazgath. He scanned the warriors in the room, those who’d had the wisdom not to fight him.

‘As you wish, my Lord.’