The Black King (Book 7) (42 page)

“I don’t believe anyone is infallible,” Coulter said. “The idea that Assassins never fail had to be something that someone told you to scare you.”

“Perhaps,” Bridge said. “But—”

His voice vanished and in its place was a long drawn-out scream of terror. Coulter put his hands over his ears. The pain was excruciating. He fell to his knees, tears running down his cheeks.

The hands over his ears weren’t helping. The scream continued, louder and louder, deafening everything. Gift was crouched beside him. Arianna slowly got down, but Coulter didn’t want to see any of them. He couldn’t think. All he could do was try to make this stop.

And then he realized that there were words buried in the sound. Words he understood in a voice he recognized.

It didn’t work, Coulter. It didn’t work. He’s not a loose soul, He’s grown in there. You have to do something else. There’s stuff in the Secrets that might work, but you have to read the Words, understand it.

Coulter could see Arianna’s lips move. She was saying his name. Her hands were on his wrists. Gift was talking to someone—Bridge?—asking for help. And the cousin was running toward the stairs, as if she were getting someone.

They’re surrounding me and they’re trying to kill me and I’m barely holding them off and I don’t know how to get out of here and they’re cutting off my skin and I’ve got a fireshield, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m trying to do a summons, but it’s not working.

It was Matt, contacting him through the Link. Somehow knowing that made Coulter calmer.

Maybe I’m running out of magick. Maybe I—

You’re not running out of magick.
Coulter sent through the Link, using all the power he had.
You’re panicking. You have to think. Make a physical barrier so that they can’t touch you. Then hurt them if you have to, but get out of there. Where are you?

The palace, I’m at the palace. I don’t know where. In one of the tunnels, but oh, god, oh, god, here they come. Oh—

Keep the Link open, Matt. Let me know exactly where you are.

But there was no response. Gift was still talking to him and Arianna held him in a death grip. Coulter closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw himself and the open Link to Matt, the one that he had decided to risk when they sent the boy to Rugad.

Coulter walked to the edge of the Link and saw nothing. He heard vague shouting and a scream from far away. He wasn’t sure if he should travel the Link and enter Matt’s mind to help him, or if he should let the boy save himself.

Matt had the power. He just had to use it.

You can do this,
Coulter sent.

There were hands on his face, cool hands, and a soft, unfamiliar female voice that dragged him away from the Link.

No,
he said, but he didn’t know if he thought it or said it aloud.

His eyes opened and he found himself looking at the most beautiful Fey woman he had ever seen. She had dark eyes that were exotic even by Fey standards, swept upwards at an angle that perfectly matched her eyebrows and sharp cheekbones.

“There.” She took her hands away from his temples and looked over her shoulder at Gift. She was speaking Fey. “I brought him back for you.”

“Who in God’s name are you?” Coulter snapped in the same language. “Don’t you know what you just did? You’ve left Matt alone there. He may not survive without me.”

He cursed, and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t reach the Link.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Gift said you needed help so I—”

“I can’t reconnect.” Coulter opened his eyes. “Help me reconnect.”

“I didn’t break your Link,” the woman said. “I simply made your presence stronger here than there. I don’t have a lot of power. It won’t last for more than a few minutes.”

“That’s a few minutes too many.”

“What is it?” Arianna asked.

“Matt’s in trouble, and he was asking for my help.”

“Where is he?” Dash asked.

“The palace somewhere.”

“Then go to him,” the woman said.

Coulter got to his feet. He was slightly dizzy and his ears were ringing. “It sounded like he was facing an army. I’m going to need some help.”

“We’ll go,” Gift said.

“You can’t!” Lyndred said.

He turned on her. “Try and stop me.”

“She’s right—” Arianna started.

“We don’t have time for debate.” Gift pointed at Con and Dash. “You and you come with me. Skya, get Ace to bring some Gull Riders, and Bridge, have the Foot Soldiers catch up when they can.”

“If you go to the palace with a force like that, you’ll be risking the Blood,” Arianna said.

“And maybe Rugad’s in enough turmoil that this is the moment we’ve been waiting for.” Gift put a hand behind Coulter’s back. “Can you run, my friend?”

“Like the wind,” Coulter said, hurrying forward to prove it. “Like the almighty wind.”

THIRTY-FOUR

COULTER’S VOICE inside his mind calmed him. Matt remembered the exact words for the summoning spell. Before he recited it, though, he intensified the fire around him. A Foot Soldier who had been shoving his hand into the flames, screamed and backed away, his skin on fire.

Matt winced. He didn’t want to hurt them, but they were crowding him now, their eyes reflecting the flames. The panic he had been feeling moments before rose again and before it completely overtook him, he recited the summoning spell. He had said it wrong before.

He begged the Powers for a varin sword. Anything to get him out of here. He tossed a fireball into the swarm of Foot Soldiers and it exploded when it hit the floor, making more of them scream, but not stopping the ones who were getting close to him.

They weren’t reaching inside the flames any more, but he knew that they were going to. They seemed to be waiting for him to make a mistake, to do something that would give them an opening.

There were footsteps on the stairs above him. He was boxed in. He was about to scream for Coulter again when a sword floated in from the Great Hall.

The sword was ancient and nicked, not at all like the swords he had seen in the Roca’s Cave or in the Vault. It floated toward him and instead of going around some of the Fey, it went through them, cutting their skin. They screamed and backed off. One of them reached for the sword and lost a finger. He looked at Matt in surprise.

Matt was just as surprised. He’d heard about this, but had never seen it. The sword reached him, then reversed itself so that he could grab it by the rotting leather hilt. He had to douse his own flames to do it, and the Foot Soldiers rushed forward.

He swung the sword and screams echoed around him. This sword didn’t cut. It sliced through things as easily as butter. Hands had fallen beside him, Foot Soldiers falling back, clutching bleeding arms. Blood was spurting, mixing with the fire that was burning on the floor.

Infantry were coming down the stairs, their faces smeared with soot, eyes red rimmed. Matt took a wild swing at them too.

“Stay back!” he shouted.

But they hadn’t seen the damage so they didn’t. He didn’t want to cut anyone any more—he’d seen enough blood—so he formed another fireball and threw it up the stairs, hoping that the Infantry would be smart enough to stay away.

Then he covered himself in flames again, waved the sword, and ran for the passage that led to the Great Hall. It was the quickest way out of the palace.

There were Beast Riders in the hall—most of them Dog Riders—and real dogs snarling and yapping, and more Infantry, and a few Domestics looking terrified.

The Dog Riders came toward him and he was screaming, swinging that sword. They rose on their hind legs, jaws open, teeth foul with saliva and foam. He connected with necks and dog heads and paws and it didn’t feel like it took any effort at all. He heard yelling and whining and moaning behind him and the floor was slippery with blood.

He ran across the hall toward the door. Two Infantry started toward him and he threw a fireball at one of them, waved his sword at the other, then careened through the door itself.

The courtyard was full—Bear Riders, Horse Riders, Hawk Riders swooping down at him. A full Infantry unit were coming from the barracks. More Foot Soldiers at the gate.

Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpme!
he sent to Coulter, but he got nothing in return.

Matt had to drop the sword and he was unwilling to. But they were coming closer, and some of them had spells. He thought he saw a dark shape moving across the ground—a Dream Rider. If it covered his face, he would not be able to think, not be able to do anything at all.

He dropped the sword and raised his arms. Foot Soldiers ran toward him. He could hear the growling of Bear Riders.

“Lightning,” he whispered in Islander.

Thunder boomed overhead. Storm clouds formed and the sky grew dark. A Foot Soldier grabbed him by the waist and yanked him forward, but Matt kept his arms up.

The air was charged. His hair rose on the back of his neck.

Lightning rippled across the sky. Everyone looked up except the Foot Soldier who had Matt. Matt couldn’t shake him off. He couldn’t do another spell, and to have this Soldier touching him when the lightning hit might hurt him as well.

Matt leaned toward the sword.

The lightning moved slower than real lightning, creeping down the sky. Everything was green.

Matt reached the sword as the Foot Soldier stripped skin from Matt’s right side. He was bleeding. He could feel the sticky wetness inside his shirt.

The green light made the Fey look gray and sickly.

Matt picked up the sword as the lightning forked, and slashed the Foot Soldier, cutting off both arms. The Soldier screamed and fell back, and Matt dropped the sword. He clutched his side and started to run.

The lightning was striking in sections. The air filled with screams and the acrid stench of burned flesh. Matt jumped over bodies as he ran toward the gate.

He wasn’t sure he was going to make it. The lightning wouldn’t hurt him—he was the originator of the spell—but he was losing so much blood. He’d lost track of all the places he’d been hurt.

There was another boom of thunder and the lightning started again. He remembered, suddenly, what Coulter had told him. The lightning would continue until the opponents were dead or until he made it stop.

Matt staggered out of the gate onto the cobblestone street. Islanders were crouched under building overhangs and beneath signs. Many were inside. Some were clutching children.

He hadn’t been specific in his spell. Some of them might die. He glanced over his shoulder. No Fey were following him.

He raised his arms, the pain intense, the pull against his damaged skin so harsh that he nearly blacked out.

“Lightning,” he whispered in Islander, “Stop.”

The electricity instantly left the air. The clouds parted, the sun returned, and he let his arms drop.

He staggered forward, not sure where he was going to go, what he was going to do. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed on the cobblestone. He was cold. He’d heard that was what happened to people who lost a lot of blood.

He hoped Coulter had heard him. He hoped they would figure out a way to stop Rugad. But he wasn’t sure they would.

THIRTY-FIVE

THE SKY TURNED BLACK and thunder echoed all over Jahn. Coulter, running along the wide cobblestone street toward the palace, stopped and looked up.

Lightning. Slow lightning, rippling across the sky before it attacked. This was a spell he had made up. There was no counterpart for it in a Fey Enchanter’s magick. There was nothing else that replicated it, not even Weather Sprite magick. He had taught Matt to use this spell only when nothing else could be done.

Gift stopped and looked at the sky. “This looks familiar.”

He had been with Coulter the only time Coulter had used the spell.

“I told him it was for emergencies.”

“Does the boy listen?” Gift asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we’d better hurry.”

Dash and Con caught up with them, breathing hard. “What are we looking at?” Con asked.

“Magick.” Coulter looked behind them. The Foot Soldiers Gift had ordered were running across the bridge. The sky was filled with Gull Riders.

Coulter felt cold and it had nothing to do with the change in the weather. “All the Fey need to leave. Get them down, and get them hidden.”

“Why?” Gift asked.

“Because I don’t know how specific Matt’s spell was. This magick may attack all Fey.”

“Then we have to get you safe,” Con said to Gift.

“I’m half Islander,” he snapped. “I’ll be all right.”

“Con’s right,” Coulter said.

“There’s nowhere for me to go except forward,” Gift said. “Tell those Gull Riders to get out of the sky. Have the Foot Soldiers find cover. Tell them to come out when the lightning goes away.”

“I’m not going to leave you—” Con started.

“
Go!
”

Coulter wasn’t used to this decisiveness from Gift. But he appreciated it.

The air had an electric feel to it. The hair rose on the back of Coulter’s neck. Everything had a greenish glow. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Matt, in his panic, had cast the spell to include everyone but him.

Coulter raised his arms, and created an invisible barrier above himself and Gift.

Lightning rained down around them, forking and splitting and exploding behind the palace walls. Flames rose and so did smoke. In the distance Coulter could hear screams.

He knew what the smell would be. He remembered how awful the destruction was. What a horrible spell he created. And then he had taught it to Matt.

Matt? Matty? Are you all right?

There was no answer through the Link. He cursed the woman whom Gift had gotten to help him.