Stealing Sorcery (54 page)

Lydia could not yet find the strength to speak.

The pair moved forward with agonizing slowness, until Taelien pulled himself free, kneeling at Garrick’s side.

“I’ll get you help. Hold still.”

Garrick let out a choking laugh, reaching out for Taelien’s hands. The swordsman took them.

“It’s too late for me, boy. But it’s all right – I never wanted anything more than to be a hero.”

Taelien nodded. “I’ll be here for the end, then.”

“Gods, don’t embarrass me, lad.” From her vantage point on the dirt, Lydia couldn’t quite see Torrent’s face, but his voice was strained with tears. “Go see to Lydia and the others. Eratar will see to my needs. He always has.”

“Goodbye, sir.”

Lydia felt little of what followed, but when Taelien lifted her into his arms, she knew that at last she was safe.

Asphodel chased the trail of her potential future.

Having deviated from the main road, her boots crunched against leaves and branches on the forest floor. She ran at a steady rate, pacing the phantom vision of her own movements in her left eye.

Each step brought her closer to a confrontation she had already heard. While her eyes only showed her varying future states of the location in her field of view, her ears provided her with sensory input that she would be exposed to at a later time, regardless of the location in which she gathered that sensory information.

Thus she had known, just before Erik Tarren had teleported them, that they would find the bodies of fallen comrades at their destination. She had known that they would confront deadly enemies – but she did not yet know if they would survive.

Without pausing to concentrate for a coherent vision, she could only hear a few minutes into their potential future. It was insufficient to judge if her platoon had just sealed their own fates – but if they had, she believed it was necessary.

Deviating from the path of destiny can only lead to madness and ruin.

Asphodel stumbled over a loose rock, just as the vision of her future had. She caught herself against a tree, her right foot landing inches from a snare. Nearby, she noted a piece of discarded armor – a single plate bracer, the leather straps cut away.

She scanned the forest canopy, still unable to locate her quarry. She did, however, note multiple other pieces of glimmering steel scattered on the forest floor. When her own image moved deeper into the woods, she was swift to follow. The overlay in her left eye was only about one and a half seconds ahead of her own time, providing little chance to react to it.

The images overlapping her right eye were further in the future –nine point seven seconds. She had measured this carefully, learning to utilize it to predict enemy movements.

A crossbow bolt entered the vision of her right eye – and her future self, further ahead on the path, raised a hand.

Asphodel rushed ahead, displacing leaves and grass, and raised her right hand. She saw the projectile approaching a second time, mimicking her earlier vision, and she copied that in turn, snatching the bolt out of the air and snapping it between her fingers.

More traditional sorcerers often recommended that she use sorcery to adjust the timeframes shown in her vision, but her early experiments in doing so had proven unproductive – she had long ago acclimated to the specific timing of her sight, and adjusting the timing ruined her tactical advantage.

Growling softly, she turned her head toward the origin point of the bolt – Susan Crimson, squatting high in the branches of a nearby tree, unarmored and frowning furiously.

Asphodel saw herself slowly approaching the tree and followed her own path.

“You know, I was really hoping they’d send someone else,” Susan called down to her. “Your little prediction trick is irritating.”

Asphodel smiled, following her own image as it circled to the right, breaking Susan’s line of sight. As she moved, she discarded the broken pieces of the crossbow bolt, noting a distinct patch of grass that had been directly in line with Susan’s position – most likely another trap of some kind.

“Candidate Crimson, I offer you the opportunity to surrender,” Asphodel offered, recalling the words that she had heard herself speak – the words that had guided her to break from Taelien’s path to seek her own.

She already knew the reply, and thus she drew her sword, deflecting another crossbow bolt with ease.

She also knew that this action would trigger a silence in her mind – and as she struck the bolt, she realized why. The metallic blade shattered a vial of black fluid attached to the bolt’s shaft, splashing the Delaren with droplets of liquid and fragments of broken glass. The glass shards impacted harmlessly, but the few beads of the fluid that touched her skin triggered an immediate effect.

The images of her future selves vanished. Her eyes saw only the present. Her ears processed only that moment in time.

              Asphodel rushed behind a nearby tree, breathing heavily. Ducking, she raised a gauntleted hand in an effort to wipe the droplets away from her face – but the brush of metal against her skin did not avail her.

Don’t panic.

Don’t panic!

“Hah! I knew that would work. You fucking sorcerers are all the same.” The Delaren heard a nearby thud that she judged to be Susan hopping down from her tree. “Take away your little tricks and you’re worthless.”

That vial must have been void essence – she just cut off my connection with the dominions.

Asphodel dropped her sword and slipped off her backpack, tearing open the top compartment and scrambling to retrieve her water skin.

Footsteps were rapidly approaching. The Delaren tore open the water skin, pouring it over her face and tossing it aside just as Susan rounded the tree, a loaded crossbow in hand.

“Not a bad tactic, but a little late.”

Asphodel’s vision was blurred from the water, but she still managed to throw herself to the side when Susan lifted her hand to fire. The bolt landed harmlessly in the nearby dirt.

Susan made a tsking noise, continuing to approach. Asphodel blinked ineffectually, using her left hand to raise her tabard to wipe her face as she scrambled to her feet.

As Asphodel turned toward her opponent, Susan slammed the empty crossbow into her temple. Her vision swam as she fell backward, blood seeping from a shallow cut, the crack of the wood echoing in her mind. She landed hard on a large stone, but her armor served to cushion the impact.

“Fucking worthless.” Susan cast the crossbow aside, drawing the sword from her side. “I mean, your hair is going to be worth a fortune, but your fighting skills – those are pretty unimpressive.”

My hair,
she processed.
Of course.

As Susan’s blade descended toward the Delaran’s neck, Asphodel focused on the crystalline strands that housed her essence – and drank deeply of their strength.

The assassin’s blade seemed to slow as each strand of power flooded Asphodel’s body, filling her with years of stored power in each of her body’s dominions.

She caught the blade in a gauntleted hand and flexed her fingers, snapping it in twain. Growling lightly, the Delaren shoved herself to her feet.

Susan backpedaled, flicking her left wrist in Asphodel’s direction. A dagger emerged from the assassin’s sleeve, but its movement was sluggish with Asphodel’s altered perception, and she stepped around it.

Asphodel advanced, raising her arms into a simple unarmed combat stance. She felt a shiver of euphoria as the essence continued to seep into her body, but maintained her approach, knowing that every instant she utilized this inner strength was borrowing from the span of her life.

Susan swept her broken blade at Asphodel’s eyes. Asphodel raised a bracer and deflected the strike, stepping inward and slamming an open palm into the assassin’s chest. She felt ribs buckle at the strength of the blow, sending Susan falling backward into a nearby tree, coughing blood.

“Fuck,” the assassin muttered, breaking into a coughing fit.

Asphodel retrieved her own discarded sword, while Susan grabbed another bolt from the quiver on her hip, gritting her teeth.

The Delaren approached deliberately, swiping her sword across the crossbow bolt and shattering the attached glass vial across the assassin’s body. The liquid shimmered blue in the faint light scattered between the trees.

“Surrender. Now.”

Susan dropped the fragment of her remaining bolt, grinning manically, and raised her hands. “Suppose I must.”

Asphodel kept her blade near Susan’s throat, kneeling down and grabbing the remaining bolts in the quiver at her side and casting them into the forest.

“Any other weapons?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, but getting rid of them all is going to take a while.”

“You may begin.”

Susan sighed, shaking her right sleeve and displacing a knife, which clattered to the forest floor. Asphodel picked up the dagger and tossed it aside.

Her crystalline hair was beginning to feel warm against her skin, implying a dangerous level of overuse, but she dared not break the flow of essence – she had no doubt that Susan would still be a threat, and her normal connection with the dominions had not yet returned.

“Going to have to take off my boots. And my pants. And my shirt.”

Asphodel glowered at the assassin. “We’ll start with the boots.”

“Actually, before that, there’s something you should know.” Susan grinned again, shifting her hands behind her head and leaning back against the nearby tree.

Asphodel bristled, sensing danger in Susan’s tone. “Talk.”

“That last vial you broke? Not void essence.”

If the Delaren had not been using her essence, she could not have hoped to react quickly enough to the blade that was arcing toward her neck from behind.

Her spin brought her blade in a perfect half-circle, deflecting Sterling’s attempt at decapitation and bringing a sour expression to his face.

Asphodel frowned – she had not heard the swordsman approach, and she had last seen him half-dead on the floor of the cavern.

Another traitor, apparently.

She raised her blade into a high stance. Her hair continued to warm, burning the flesh in her scalp and ruining her concentration.

I need to end this engagement quickly.

She asked no questions – she simply stepped forward and brought her blade toward Sterling in a heavy diagonal cut, speed and strength fueled by her flagging essence. The cut was too fast for an ordinary swordsman to avoid – but Sterling made no effort to block or dodge.

He simply vanished.

Teleportation.

She spun again, finding Sterling next to Susan, his hand on her forehead.

“Susan, dearest, you really need to not warn our enemies that they’re being flanked.” He sighed, running fingers into her hair – and then grabbing a tuft of them in a painful-looking grip. He glanced up at Asphodel, showing no sign of concern as she raised her blade for another strike. “No time for you right now, I’m afraid. We’re on a schedule. But I’ll commend your reaction, and hope to see you again.”

He tipped his head downward, smirking, and vanished again – taking Susan with him.

Asphodel slammed her blade into the tree where they had been moments before, not wanting to risk the possibility that they had merely gone invisible. The strike cleaved deep into the bark, but met no other resistance.

Failure.

Asphodel scanned the nearby trees, finding no sign of enemies or allies.

Shivering, she dropped her blade and reached up to her head, feeling the burning of her hair against her skin. Only now was the pain beginning to overwhelm the pleasure from the essence flow – and she focused on that pain as she slowed, and then ceased, the tide of essence pumping into her body.

Her vision blurred and she found herself falling, barely catching herself against the tree where she had embedded her blade. She slowly allowed herself to sink to the forest floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

For a time, she could not force herself to move.

The sounds of future conversation came to her first – a ragged whisper at first, difficult to discern, but its return brought tears to her bloodshot eyes.

She was still nearly immobile when Landen appeared in the distance, deftly avoiding Susan’s traps on the forest floor, blades held in either hand.

“Over here,” she called weakly, the fragment of a smile breaking across her face. “I’m over here.”

The swordsman danced around the final patch of grass that Asphodel had suspected to hide a pit. “Any hostiles still nearby?”

“No.”

He arrived at her side and knelt down. “Been looking all over for you.”

“Why?”

The swordsman quirked an eyebrow. “Because we’ve been worried about you? Things got rough back at the cave – looks like they got rough here, too.”

Worried about me?

Landen offered her a hand. “Can you stand?”

She grasped his arm, clinging to it more tightly than she needed to. “I think so.”

With strong arms, he lifted her to her feet. “Good. Because we’re about the only ones left who can.”

***

“We need to leave the bodies here for now. We’ll return with a larger force.”

Velas was the one speaking – she would deliver these orders a few minutes in the future.

At the moment, Asphodel knelt at the side of her deceased commanding officer, wrapping the wound that had already ended his life. She knew it was largely a pointless measure, but she hoped that it might slow the deterioration of his body. It was a pitiful hope, one with no substance, but it was the only thing she could do to mitigate the failure in her mind.

Nearby, Taelien had stripped off his armor and was tending to an unconscious Major Hastings. Asphodel had only met the sorceress during her initial application process, but she had sensed a kinship in another entity tied to dominions that emphasized the gathering of information.