A Mage Of None Magic (Book 1) (28 page)

37

He comes.

“Let him,” Ennalen whispered amid the deafening blackness that screamed inside her.

“Let him come.”

38

Niel’s first thought was to light a torch, but his eyes adjusted quickly to the eerie, violet glow that filled the chamber.

Arwin lay stomach-down on the cavern floor. In the strange hues of the room, his blood seemed black as it spread between his shoulders and soaked the cloak he wore.

“Niel…” Arwin said, his voice thick and watery.

Niel knelt, ignoring the pain in his leg.

“My pack…”

Pack?
Of course!

Niel grabbed up the tattered bag from the stone floor and rifled through it. After a few long seconds, his hand closed around the tiny clay vial. The healing potion.

But it felt wet.

He yanked the potion from the bag; a crack ran from its cork to its pear-shaped middle. Precious liquid trickled onto his fingers from the top, where the crack appeared largest.

Despair filled him.

“It’s broken,” he whispered. “And it feels about half gone.”

A faint smile formed across the swordsman’s pallid face. “Figures.”

Healing potions worked best when ingested. Given the extent of Arwin’s injuries, Niel dared not roll his friend over to let him drink it. Moving him could worsen the harm already done, and healing potions didn’t work on the dead. Also, Arwin could easily choke or vomit while trying to swallow. The vial held too little to risk wasting a drop.

He tugged out the cork with his teeth and spat it off to the side. With a grimace he delicately peeled open the ragged edges of Arwin’s cloak and shook what remained of the vial’s contents into the wound.

Niel immediately saw improvement in Arwin’s face, and his quick, shallow panting became deeper and more controlled. Though Niel knew better than to take too much encouragement, he closed his eyes in relief.

When he did, he saw the small brightness perceived outside Glernny had grown to a ferocity that could drown out all his other senses if he chose to let it. Accompanying it loomed a less intense, though in its own way far crueler, presence.

“Better,” he heard Arwin say, his voice a bit stronger. “Thank you.”

Niel shook away the brightness and patted Arwin on the shoulder.

“You rest,” he said. “I have to go.”

Arwin swallowed, wincing with discomfort. “She’s here?”

“Yes. She’s here.”

“Take my dagger,” he said with a feeble gesture toward his waist. “You might… need it.”

Niel slipped the weapon from its sheath on Arwin’s belt.

“And don’t be afraid,” Arwin said as he placed his cold hand on top of Niel’s. “You’re… the Apostate, after all.”

Niel smiled. “That’s not funny.”

“I know,” Arwin replied with a weak squeeze of Niel’s fingers. “Wasn’t... meant to be.”

39

He is here.

“Yes,” Ennalen replied. “I know.”

40

Even without benefit of the amethyst luminescence farther down the tunnel, Niel had no doubt he would have found his way. As he walked he kept a wary eye on the stone statues peeking out from their carved niches—miniature versions of those that had attacked outside.

The long, twisting passage ended with a short flight of steps leading down to an open archway beyond which glowed the source of the cavern’s light. Niel descended slowly, thankful that the scant amount of healing potion he had licked from his fingers eased the pain in his leg.

He listened for a break in the silence that saturated his ears, but heard nothing more than his own heartbeat.

Niel passed beneath the archway into a room whose magnificence exceeded even that of the Great Forest; even that of sailing through the skies.

The entire mountain had been hollowed, fashioned into a realm of its own. From high above, farther than he could clearly see, poured a narrow column of silvery light that pierced the enveloping sea of pale violet to illuminate a distant object at the center of the great cavern’s floor. Engraved into that floor, an immense spiral consisting of millions of characters of minute text led inward to where the shaft of light fell.

After a few moments of scrutiny, Niel realized the symbols at his feet were identical to those etched inside the huge trees of Chael. Niel shuddered at the bizarre, unending mural shaped from the dark rock of the mountain; figures and depictions of every type intertwined. All manner of people and creatures crowded against one another as if grappling for a place at the surface, struggling to breathe. Among them, a pod of dolphins riding a crest that somehow seemed to transcend the turmoil below.

A faint rush like that of a waterfall tickled his senses. When he turned to find the source of the sound he saw it was the mural—which no longer merely
seemed
to be moving. Like a basket of oiled serpents, the carvings twisted and writhed about themselves, pointing, whispering, vying with one another for the best vantage point from which to watch.

“Welcome,” came a woman’s distant voice.

Much like the mural, the ethereal echo made it difficult to determine from where it had come. He squinted into the brightness ahead, able to make out a thin silhouette of a person.

Ennalen.

With a deep, none-too-steady breath, Niel stepped out onto the vast stone floor.

41

It had not occurred to Ennalen that the boy would possess his own cantle. Not that it mattered; she appreciated the symmetry. Still, something about the way he shined gave her pause, like suddenly emerging from a shaded avenue into the raw light of noon. It angered her further that with all she’d invested in her endeavors, someone so undeserving and inferior would arrive wielding a presence rivaling her own.

You mustn’t let—

She willed the voice silent, trembling as she focused on the young man. She no longer cared if either or neither of them were the Apostate. The boy would pay dearly for daring to think he could take from her what had taken so long to acquire.

42

For a short while, the distance between Niel and the center of the room felt like it would never shrink. Part of him hoped it never would.

But, eventually, it did.

Within the column of light at the circle’s center stood a single piece of charred timber, half-again his height and embedded in the floor where the inscription ended. Atop the post hung a pair of soot-blackened shackles. Niel recognized the significance of the monument right away and found himself moved by its poignancy.

From around the opposite side of the brilliant light stepped a young woman.

She looked to be his height, and to his surprise not many years older than himself. She wore a black robe concealing any trace of her shape; the pushed-back hood gathered at her neck, cradling short, chestnut hair.

Magistrate Ennalen clearly had been attractive—a slender, oval face with high cheekbones and a thin nose turned up a bit at the end. However, she also clearly had neither rested nor eaten in days. She looked emaciated and sickly; her red eyes glared wet and sunken within dark, swollen circles. Her pallor was more ghastly than Arwin’s had been.

Physical condition aside, she brandished a frightening amount of power. Without needing to concentrate Niel recognized the brilliance of her shine, felt her radiating upon him.

He’d likely been sensing her all the while.

“I know why you’ve come,” she said. Her scowl made the lilt in her voice a dangerous jest.

“Well,” Niel replied with a dour sigh, “I’m glad at least one of us does.”