Magic Zero (23 page)

The floor crumbled to nothing.

Leander continued to fall.

The wraiths screamed and pursued him. The massive mage looked up into their faces and he wept for them, knowing that even if he survived, they were beyond help. Their souls were tainted, corrupted, their bodies destroyed, their magic gone, their spirits in chains, leashed to the cruel hand of Nicodemus. Leander tried not to feel the betrayal that ate at him, the knowledge that this man whom he had trusted, the master of the guild to which he had given his life, had a black, venomous heart.

In the air, Leander tucked himself into a somersault, becoming calmer, more in control of the magic now. He plummeted headfirst toward the wooden floor of the chamber below, part of the servants’ quarters, and with a gesture he rotted the floor to nothing.

His heart ached, the pain thrusting deep within him.

Drained,
he thought.
I’m being drained.
And though he told himself it was the magic, that any mage would be shaken and weakened by what he was doing, he knew that it was the wraiths who were draining him, feeding off of him, taking back in sips and scrapes what Nicodemus had
taken from them. And the worst of it was, he could not blame them.

He crashed through the next floor and into a storeroom whose shelves were piled high with scrolls and dusty artifacts. Some of the wraiths clung to him now, their hungry mouths fastened to his flesh like leeches. He trembled, his magic beginning to fail.

“Eternal entropy,” he rasped, spraying silver dust upon the floor. It gave way and once more he tumbled through it.

This time he had no more strength to keep himself aloft.

Leander crashed into the ring table in the aerie, the meeting chamber at the base of the floating fortress. His left arm shattered on impact and streaks of darkness slashed across his vision. He nearly slipped into unconsciousness but would not allow it, forcing himself to remain alert. He had to escape.

The outer walls and the floors and ceilings of SkyHaven would have nearly unbreakable charms by which Nicodemus could keep him from escaping. But the round aperture in the base of the aerie gave way to the open air beneath SkyHaven and the churning ocean waves below. If only he could reach it.

Leander forced himself up. He might not have enough strength left to survive the fall, or to get himself to shore . . . but it was his only chance.

His fingers grabbed the inner edge of the ring table. He pulled himself toward it, breathing in the fresh ocean air.

Then the wraiths tugged back his hood. Shredded his
cloak of shadow. One after another they began to feed on him.

And the darkness claimed him.

*  *  *

In the front parlor in his ancestral home, Timothy Cade leaned upon the windowsill and gazed out at the blue sky, and at the sun-splashed city of Arcanum that stretched out far below at the bottom of August Hill. A chill breeze whispered through the window—its spell-glass eliminated by his presence—and he gratefully inhaled the fresh air. With a soft sigh he traced his fingers along the wooden window frame and his gaze lost its focus, the city beginning to blur.

Timothy recalled all too vividly the disdain of the guild masters who had attended Nicodemus’s conference, not to mention Romulus’s willingness to simply kill Timothy, to end his life. Nicodemus had protected him; the old mage had been his defender and champion, if not his friend. Timothy had friends, of course—Ivar, Sheridan, Edgar, and Leander—but of those, only Leander had a place of respect in this world, and he was a member of the Order of Alhazred.

Not that Timothy questioned Leander’s honor or intentions. Not at all. But he worried that if what the Wurm said about Nicodemus was true, his father’s old friend might be blinded by his loyalty to the order.

“Hurry back, Leander,” Timothy whispered. “Hurry home.” His words were stolen away by the breeze that rustled the curtains in the parlor and somehow managed to
slip inside the lamp on the table beside him, causing the Hungry Fire within to flicker and dance.

With a squawk that was still tinged with pain from his scorched feathers—now quickly healing—Edgar glided into the room and alighted upon the floor. The black bird hopped several times, coming nearer to him.

“Your tea is ready,” his familiar announced.

Timothy smiled and glanced at the rook. “Thank you, Edgar. I’m coming.”

The bird cawed, wings fluttering, but instead of flying, he simply turned and left the room on his feet, walking and hopping along ahead of Timothy. The ambient health spells in the house were already at work on Edgar, healing him, but the rook still winced slightly with each hop. Timothy felt badly for him, and for just a moment deeply regretted that he had no magic to heal his friend.

They went down a corridor and a moment later were in a comfortable sitting room. There were chairs and a long, brocaded divan, but Ivar and Verlis had chosen to seat themselves on the intricately woven carpet. There seemed to be an element of ritual to the way they had positioned themselves directly across from each other, yet even with the somber quiet in the room, Timothy was amused by the sight of the two of them—the grim warrior and the monstrous fire-breather—hunched over cups of aromatic mint tea on either side of the low serving table.

“Hukk!” Edgar croaked. “Master of the house! Hukk!”

Ivar and Verlis both rose immediately and turned toward
Timothy to bow. This formal courtesy made him extremely uneasy, and there was something more than a little odd about the Wurm bowing to him, but now Tim was the master of the house.

“Please, sit,” Timothy said.

The Asura and the Wurm returned to their previous positions, once again arranged almost as though there was purpose to every gesture, to the placement of every finger. Edgar flapped his wings lightly and flew up to stand on the back of a wooden chair that looked as though it had been carved by hand rather than by magic. Timothy did not want his companions to feel awkward, so he joined them on the ground beside the table.

The mint brew smelled wonderful. He took a small sip from the cup Ivar had brought him and closed his eyes, breathing in the steam from the hot drink, letting it pass through his lungs, soothing him. When he opened his eyes, they were all staring at him. A kind of resolution formed within him, and he turned to regard Verlis.

“I’m sorry. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts.”

The Wurm’s fiery eyes widened, and it dipped its head toward him, horns gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the window. “I understand. It was necessary for me to gather my own wits. Your father’s death has great ramifications beyond the grief of those who cared for him.”

Timothy took another sip of mint brew, watching Verlis over the rim of the cup.

“You began to speak of that before,” the boy said, glancing
at Ivar. “But I know nothing of your people and less of whatever crisis you find yourself in that caused you to seek my father’s help.”

The Wurm’s gaze lingered on Ivar with respect, but also a trace of animosity. Then Verlis turned his savage gaze upon Timothy once more, horns shining gold in the light streaming through the windows. Despite his scaly, plated hide, vicious talons, and the furnace that burned in his chest, superheating the air around him, there was a sadness in Verlis’s eyes that made him seem very little like a monster and quite a bit like someone in need.

“Once upon a time the Wurm lived in tribes in the dark, lonely places of this world. We had descended from the Dragons of Old, in the days when Wizards still walked the pathways. Fierce warriors and capable magicians, the Wurm wanted nothing more than to see the human species wiped from existence. Of all the Tribes of People, perhaps our greatest enemy was the Asura.”

As he said this last, Verlis glanced at the floor as though burdened by shame. His great bellows churned as he sighed, and fire flickered from his nostrils. Timothy shot a look at Ivar, but the warrior did not even acknowledge him, his focus completely on the Wurm.

“In time, however, we found ourselves with a common enemy,” Verlis continued, reaching up to scratch beneath his chin, talons raking his plated flesh with a rasp like footsteps on gravel. “The mages had begun to gather into a terrible union. The Parliament of Mages. It was peace for your kind.
But there were enough who hated all those different from themselves that a peace amongst mages could only mean the destruction or elimination of other races.”

A chill passed through Timothy, and he wrapped his hands around his cup for warmth. He nodded slowly as he listened to the growl that was the Wurm’s voice.

“So the Wurm and the Asura became reluctant allies,” Timothy said, at last able to make sense of the formality and ritual between Verlis and Ivar.

“Precisely,” Verlis confirmed. “But it was too late. The Asura were warred upon in secret by certain factions within the Parliament and destroyed, all save him.” Verlis nodded toward Ivar. “Your father saved him, hid him away.

“The slaughter of the Wurm began shortly after that. With the mages working together around the world, there was nowhere for us to retreat to. Hundreds of thousands were destroyed before Argus Cade rose to secretly thwart the will of those dark and cruel sorcerers who would rid the world of any creatures who were not like themselves. It was, in truth, no less than my species deserved, though we had differences amongst our tribes. My ancestors had lusted for the blood of humans and wanted to decimate their cities. Not all of us were like that, but it was the behavior of the Wurm that allowed the blood-hungry amongst the Parliament of Mages to muster the support to destroy us.

“Yet we were never the threat that Alhazred made us out to be.”

Timothy flinched at the name, eyes widening as he
stared at Verlis. “Alhazred? The Alhazred? The founder of the order? But my father said he was a great mage. A great man.”

The memory seemed to haunt the Wurm, for he hung his head slightly and the fire in his eyes dimmed. “Once, perhaps. So the stories say. But he grew in power, and power corrupted him. It may be that he wore a mask of his old self in front of other mages, but it was only that. A mask. Beneath it, he was the worst of them, whipping up the hatred of our tribes, urging the Parliament to wage war upon us, when what he really wanted was to leech us.”

Timothy frowned, brows knitting. “Leech you? I don’t understand.”

“Their magic,” Ivar said, speaking up for the first time.

Verlis glanced sharply at him, but Ivar was not to be silenced.

“Alhazred captured as many Wurm as he could, and he drained the magic from them. Leeched them. In this way he grew more and more powerful. In the end, the only way your father could save them was to convince the Parliament that instead of destroying the Wurm tribes, they could be banished from this dimension.”

Verlis nodded, upper lip curling in disgust. “They were days of blood and fire, of black, ugly magic, and the numbness of death. All that remained for us was to hide, to flee this plane of existence. Against Alhazred’s protests, we were banished, and the barrier between dimensions fortified with protection spells to keep us out forever.”

Edgar fluttered his wings and then resettled on the back of the chair. “But you got in anyway? How did you manage that?”

The Wurm snorted fire at the bird, who trembled but did not fly away.

“Argus Cade created doors he could use to travel into other dimensions. One such passage led to the world to which we were banished. It was meant to open from only this side, but my tribe forced it open. Alhazred did not steal all of our magic.”

Anxious, Timothy glanced at Ivar. “I had no idea Alhazred was so terrible. You’ll be glad to know he’s dead.”

Verlis snorted, eyes narrowing. “Is he? Perhaps so. Perhaps not. Much time has passed since we’ve had any news of your world. But Nicodemus is no better. He was the Blackheart’s most loyal acolyte. I warn you of this because you are the son of Argus Cade. And now I must go. If there is no aid to be found here, I must return and fight alongside my brethren.”

The Wurm rose, its body unfurling with a soft grinding noise as its plated flesh rasped together. Timothy stood up as well, nearly spilling his tea, reaching out toward Verlis.

“Wait. At least tell us why you have come. What troubles you?”

Verlis paused and his faraway gaze seemed haunted by what he had left behind. “In my dimension there is civil war and strife amongst the Wurm tribes. My tribe was decimated by Alhazred’s hatred, and we are small in comparison
to others. My family is in danger. Argus Cade often visited the realm of the Wurms, though the Parliament prohibited it. He was a peacemaker. I came to ask Argus to broker peace, or, if that proved impossible, to help find a place for the remnants of my tribe to resettle, to escape.

“But Argus is dead.”

Timothy felt the heat of anger rise within him. The Wurm were not innocents, but they were no more warlike, it seemed to him, than the mages. Yet Alhazred had wiped them out for his own ends, had slaughtered Ivar’s people and manipulated the Parliament. And Nicodemus had been his heir.

My father fought him, fought all of them,
he thought, and he wondered how much of this Leander knew.

A jolt of alarm went through him.
Leander!

“Verlis, I know my father would have helped you,” Timothy said, rising to his full height and gazing up at the monstrous Wurm. “My friends and I can do no less. We don’t have the magic my father had, but I know we can help. Or at the very least, we can try.”

Clearly startled, the Wurm bowed his head in gratitude. “Any aid would be welcome.”

Timothy glanced at Ivar, then looked back at Verlis. “First, though, I have another friend I think might be in trouble. My father was mentor to a mage named Leander Maddox. Did you know him?”

“No,” Verlis replied, “but I heard Argus speak of him.”

“I think Nicodemus has been continuing the traditions
of the order. Leander went to see him, to confront him. I’m worried that we haven’t heard from him. I have to go back to SkyHaven, to make sure he gets out of there all right. As soon as I know Leander is safe, we’ll all go with you and do what we can to help.”