Dead Man's Reach (42 page)

She glowered, tight-lipped, her eyes shockingly blue in the bright glare of the sun and snow. “Fine.”

Ethan and Mariz edged closer to the first shimmering barrier. If the detection spells Ramsey had used last summer were any indication, this first spell would simply alert Ramsey to their approach—it would be the second, third, and fourth that were intended to kill. Then again, Ramsey could hardly be called predictable.

They halted inches from the spell and exchanged looks. Ethan raised his hand to the level of his chest.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Mariz planted his feet and dipped his chin once.

Ethan extended his hand to the glowing wall of magick.

As soon as he grazed the barrier with his palm, the ground shook with the power of Ramsey's conjuring. A ball of fire flew from the wall, striking Ethan in the chest and lifting him off the lane.

He landed on his back almost at Sephira's feet, dazed, his back and chest aching. Flames burned on his waistcoat and licked at his face and neck and chest. Heat, pain; for a panicked instant, he thought that his warding had failed and that he was on fire. He began to roll back and forth, only to realize that the flames were neither spreading nor going out. Indeed, though he could feel the heat of them, they weren't actually burning his clothing or his flesh. He stopped trying to put out the fire and climbed to his feet, feeling like he had been run over by Sephira's carriage.

“So much for the spells only warning him of our approach,” Ethan said under his breath.

Sephira watched him, seeming unsure of whether to be alarmed or amused. “What?”

“It doesn't matter,” Ethan said. The flames still clung to his chest, the heat rising to his face. Even knowing that it wasn't doing any damage, he found the sensation disconcerting to say the least.

He cut his arm. “
Exstingue ignem,
” he said. “
Ex cruore evocatum
.” Extinguish flames, conjured from blood.

The fire vanished with a small pop, like the crackle of dried wood in a hearth.

Ethan walked back to where Mariz stood.

“You are all right?” the conjurer asked.

“Aye.”

The first barrier had vanished with the fire spell. The second one still glimmered in the sun a few paces farther down the street.

“Shall we?” Ethan said.

They walked on until they reached the next shimmering wall. Sephira and her men advanced as well, though they stopped well short of the detection spell.

Once more Ethan reached out toward the conjuring. He didn't relish the idea of being assaulted again, but he knew that he would face far worse from Ramsey before the day was out. He couldn't allow himself to be cowed by one detection spell.

As soon as his hand touched this second spell, a ring of flame burst from the ice, encircling him and Mariz. Immediately, the ring began to contract, closing on them like a fiery noose.

Mariz already had blood on his arm. Ethan cut himself as well.

“Extinguish flames,” he said. “Quickly!”

“
Exstingue ignem,
” they said as one. “
Ex cruore evocatum!
”

Their spell pulsed; the blaze wavered as from a gust of wind. But this time nothing else happened. The heat of the fire was growing more intense, melting the ice and snow on the road and still pressing in on them. He sensed that these flames, unlike the first that had struck him, would burn them despite their wardings.

“Perhaps we can escape them without conjuring,” Mariz said.

Ethan nodded. Shielding their faces with their arms, they ran toward the edge of the flames, only to find that the ring of fire moved with them, even as it continued to tighten. Ethan could almost hear Ramsey chuckling.

“Opposite directions,” Ethan said.

He ran one way and Mariz the other, but the ring elongated and narrowed to match their movements. There would be no escaping the flames in this manner.

“I would entertain any ideas you might have,” Ethan said, his voice tight as he and Mariz walked toward each other once more.

“I was about to say the same.”

Ethan judged that they had but one option left. “I used this when I was trapped in the warehouse at Drake's Wharf. It saved my life and kept me from burning, but I could still feel the heat.”

“What is the wording?”

“Protection from fire,” Ethan said. The flames were almost upon them.

“All right. Let us try.”

They cut themselves and said together, “
Tegimen contra ignem ex cruore evocatum.
” Protection from fire, conjured from blood.

The spell pulsed and the blood vanished from their arms. Ethan looked at Reg to see if the ghost thought the spell had worked, but already the spectral guide was standing in the fire. Ethan could see nothing of him save his glowing eyes.

A moment later the flames reached them. Ethan couldn't keep from screaming at the pain. Mariz roared in agony as well. For several terrifying seconds, which might as well have been an eternity of torment, they were in the flames, surrounded by them. Ethan thought his skin must be peeling away; with every breath he felt like he was inhaling molten steel.

And then the ring was small enough that they could stagger out of it on the far side. Ethan collapsed and was vaguely aware that Mariz had, too. But when he looked at his hands and his clothes he saw that, as in the burning warehouse at the wharf, he had come through this ordeal unscathed. The ring of flame had become a narrow cylinder, and as he watched, it closed on itself and vanished in a puff of pale gray smoke.

“It's fire,” Ethan said, his voice sounding thin. “All of these detection spells will be fire conjurings of one kind or another.” He looked at Mariz. “It's his revenge for what happened at Drake's Wharf.”

“Does that mean you know how to stop them?” Sephira asked, walking to where he still lay.

“No,” Ethan said. “We know what to expect, but that's all.”

“What does it matter if you can't prevent it?”

Ethan forced himself to his feet. “I suppose it doesn't.”

He helped Mariz up, and they continued toward the end of the lane and the next detection spell, which still glowed with Ramsey's aqua power. Sephira and her men followed more closely than Ethan would have liked. But he had warned her once, and he didn't wish to argue with her again.

“I should thank you for that last spell,” Mariz said as they walked. “I believe I would have died had I been alone.”

“You're welcome. But thinking about it, I'm not entirely convinced that we would have died, even without the protection spell. I don't believe he wishes to kill us with these conjurings. He wants to defeat me in combat. The spells are intended to make us suffer, and to demonstrate his cleverness and his power.”

“That bodes ill for this next spell.”

Ethan couldn't argue. They stopped before this glowing barrier as they had before the first two. Taking a long breath, Ethan touched it, wincing in anticipation of pain at the hum of power.

For the span of a heartbeat, nothing happened. One of Sephira's men shouted a warning. Ethan spun, but was pushed to the side before he could see what had prompted the cry. He fell. And an instant later, a ball of flame crashed into the ground, hitting the spot where he had been standing.

He hadn't time to thank Mariz for saving him. In the next moment, blazing spheres the size of snowballs were pelting down on all of them. He smelled burning hair and clothing, heard screams of pain. And he could do nothing more than cover his head and neck. Fiery missiles scorched his arms and legs, his back and head. Their warding offered no protection; there seemed to be no escape.

Ethan knew that his waistcoat had caught fire, but he didn't dare roll to put out the blaze, lest another ball of flame strike his face or chest. He cowered and endured the assault, which seemed interminable.

And then it was over. As suddenly as the salvo began, it ended. Ethan managed to smother the flames burning on his back, though he could feel that his waistcoat was mostly gone. His flesh was tender, probably blistered.

Most of the others were in a similar state. Sephira's cape was charred in several places, and some of her hair had burned. Ethan wasn't sure he had ever seen her look more angry. Several of her toughs bore ugly burns on their arms and faces. One man lay on the ground, most of his clothing and hair burned away, his body livid, his skin melted in places.

“I swear I'm going to kill him,” Sephira said, staring down at her wounded man. “And I'll enjoy doing it.”

Mariz's injuries were similar to Ethan's. This time it was he who helped Ethan to his feet.

“One more,” he said.

Grim, and every bit as angry as Sephira, Ethan trudged on to the warehouse and the final barrier, Mariz beside him.

Ethan and the others halted just outside the rope yard warehouse. He had yet to see any of Ramsey's crew; he assumed that the sailors awaited them inside. Sephira, he noticed, had her flintlock in hand, as did several of her men. He eyed the weapon before raising his gaze to hers. She stared back at him, eyes blazing, daring him to tell her that she should put the pistol away.

He said nothing, but turned back to the last of Ramsey's conjured barriers.

A simple fire spell, a ring of flame, fireballs raining down upon them. What had Ramsey saved for this final spell?

“The ground,” he whispered. Then louder, so that Mariz and Sephira would hear, he said again, “The ground. It's going to melt or turn to flame, or something of the sort. That's what this last conjuring will do.”

“How do you know?” Sephira asked.

“I'm guessing. But I trust my instincts in this.”

“So what should we do?”

“I'm less certain about that.” He raised his hand and held it a hairsbreadth from the barrier. “Be prepared to run.”

He pressed his palm into the shimmering wall and felt the familiar release of power.

The ground beneath him started to give way.

Behind him, several men cried out. Rather than retreating toward them, Ethan leaped forward and crashed into the warehouse door. His teeth rattled with the impact and pain blossomed in his shoulder. But the doorjamb gave way with a rending of wood. He toppled into the building, sprawling onto the dirt floor, which was as solid as the ground outside had been before Ramsey's last detection spell.

“At last,” came a rasping, uneven voice from the far side of the warehouse. “Now our battle can commence in earnest.”

 

Chapter

T
WENTY-THREE

Ethan jumped up, expecting to be beset by spells and armed sailors. But no attack came, and he was left to stare across the great room, his mouth agape as he struggled to comprehend the scene before him.

Earlier this very day—before sunrise, although it seemed as though weeks had passed—Ethan remarked to Mariz on the appearance of Ramsey's illusion, and the possibility that, because of the fire at Drake's Wharf, the captain had made the figure look as he once had, rather than as he did now. But never had he thought to see Ramsey in such a state.

He sat propped up by pillows in a large bed, blankets covering him to above his waist. Even from this end of the warehouse, Ethan could see that his unruly dark hair and unkempt beard were gone. The lone window in the building had been covered, and the only light came from a few candles that had been set on barrels and crates, and from a vast shining aqua dome of power—faint, transparent, but, Ethan was sure, as impermeable as steel—that surrounded the bed and its occupant. Still, Ethan could see that his skin was waxen and pale.

Ten sailors stood around the bed, some armed with knives and lengths of rope, others with pistols. They watched Ethan, like wolves guarding their pack leader.

“Come closer, Kaille,” Ramsey said, his voice barely discernible above the shouts from outside of Sephira and the others. “Come see what you've done to me.”

Ethan glanced back at the door, which stood ajar, pieces of the splintered jamb on the floor. He hadn't noticed before, but Uncle Reg still stood with him, his bright eyes fixed on that aqua shield.

“They can't help you. I'm not entirely sure that they can help themselves.”

Ethan started toward the bed with deliberate steps, his gaze sweeping over Ramsey's men. Reg followed him. Ethan held his knife ready, though he had little doubt that the captain had warded the sailors.

“You needn't fear them. They have strict orders not to touch you. They are here to guard against interference from others. I've made it clear to them that you are mine.”

The closer Ethan drew to the bed, the more horrified he grew at what he could see of the man lying in it. Ramsey, who once had been as dashing and vital as he was mad, now was disfigured almost beyond recognition. The flesh on his face and head appeared to have melted like ice in the spring and then solidified again, misshapen and hideous. His lips had been burned away, so that his mouth was a slanting gash across his face. His nose was little more than a flap of skin. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes, and the skin around one of his eyes drooped, so that it was barely open.

It was as if a careless child had begun to mold a face from clay, only to tire of his art and leave the visage unfinished.

The only aspect of the captain's face that struck him as at all familiar were the eyes themselves. Pale, almost ghostly, they were intelligent and hard and they peered out from the ravaged mien with such hatred Ethan had to resist the urge to flinch away.

“I'm glad you're here, Kaille. I feared that you might allow some other conjurer to fight this battle for you. I thought you'd bring Miss Windcatcher with you, or Pryce's pet conjurer. It came as some relief to see you fly through that door.”

Ethan couldn't bring himself to speak. He stared at the man; the face, the emaciated form, the thin, bony hands, which were as scarred and grotesque as his mien.