The Unmage (41 page)

He could feel turmoil through his connection to the magic but it was quiet in the sitting room. He built up small stockpiles of magic before he blocked any threads of power that fed into the room. If Inigo entered the room, he hoped to trap him and prevent him from accessing more pure power. Inigo would be forced to use what magic he had to break through Timo’s barriers, hopefully leaving him vulnerable. The worst of Mage Guild council had to be dead before he sank the rest of the island.

When they burst through the door, they were bright with magic—so bright that Timo knew they had another source of pure power. He squinted against the light of the mage mist and tried to see past the glowing figures.

He easily identified Inigo and Jinaro—they were ablaze with magic, as was the shuffling figure of Hestor. But beyond them were three more figures he’d missed seeing before, three figures feeding pure power to Hestor, who in turn was feeding Inigo and Jinaro.

“Gyda!” Timo swore. He’d missed the figures earlier because they were smaller than the rest.
Children! Inigo and Jinaro were feeding off the energy of children!

“Monsters!” Timo said, surging to his feet. “You’re hurting children!” He pushed a spell towards Inigo’s group to hold them at the edge of the room.

“It doesn’t hurt them,” Jinaro said. He giggled and shook Hestor’s arm. “See? He doesn’t feel a thing.”

Hestor’s face remained blank, and he shuffled sideways a step in order to stay on his feet. But one of the children looked up at Timo, his gaze full of terror.

Timo looked away from the child and met Inigo’s smiling face.

“He hasn’t found his talent yet,” Inigo said. “None of them have. But I have. Such raw power, such purity! And not tainted by being able to tap into it themselves. It’s so much better than the adults’.”

“Lovely,” Jinaro agreed. He reached out to stroke the head of the child closest to him. The girl—no more than seven—trembled and looked away, but although her whole body seemed to try to strain away from his touch, she remained rooted where she was.

“You are immoral,” Timo said. “Feeding off children.”

“Immoral?” Inigo said. “These children belong to the guild, and I am Primus. They and their talents are mine to use as I see fit. It has always been that way.”

“No,” Timo said. “At one time the guild served its members, not the other way around.”

“Is that what Rorik told you? Or your mother?”

Inigo sent a burst of power against Timo’s shield. It weakened slightly, and Hestor groaned and fell to one knee.

“Or maybe it was that degenerate Santos,” Inigo continued. “You shouldn’t believe anything
he
told you. He was the most ruthless of us all at one time. How else do you think he became Primus?”

“He changed,” Timo said. “That’s why he never returned to the guild. But it was the old spells that told me. I can feel their intent, feel what they were meant to do—build a safe home for Mage Guild, provide shelter and food and comfort so that Mages could concentrate on mastering their abilities. But in order to do good, not evil.”

“You can’t know that,” Inigo scoffed. “Every Primus for the last century has been ruling the guild in the same way—by increasing their own power.”

“And not one of them would have been able to create the spells that lifted the guild islands up from the sea floor,” Timo said. “Because none of those spells were created by a single Mage. They were created by teams of Mages, all working together, with one goal in mind—building a safe place to live.”

“Teams of mages,” Inigo said. “I don’t believe it. Mages were not created to work in teams—we hold and use power as individuals. Like this.”

Inigo sent a blast of magic towards Timo, a great, dense cloud of white mage mist that sparked and roiled where it met the mauve of Timo’s defensive spell. Timo shuddered and fed more power into his spell, pushing the white back slightly. He reached for the magic below his feet, the old spells that kept the island aloft, and pulled that power to him. The island shook and the floor buckled once, twice, before it steadied.

But Inigo didn’t give up. His face contorted with rage as he threw both hands forward, a pure white spell issuing from them. Hestor dropped to the stone floor, his face now twisted in pain and his mouth open in an eerily silent scream. The wall of mage mist thickened as Inigo continued to push pure magic at Timo.

Jinaro screamed and tried to strike out at Inigo, but the Primus flicked a wrist and Jinaro’s head snapped up. He clutched his throat as mage mist covered his face, suffocating him. He fell to the floor, writhing, but after a moment his body stilled.

Timo gritted his teeth and fed more power into his defenses.

Then the children started screaming, high-pitched wails of pain and terror.

“Stop!” Timo yelled. “You’re killing them!”

“Mine to use,” Inigo said through teeth clenched with effort. “Any way I want to.”

“No!” Timo pushed his spell forward, hard, and it slammed in to Inigo, severing his connection with the three children and knocking the Mage to his knees. But he’d used too much force, and the spell continued past the Master Mage, blowing a jagged gash in the wall. The island shook again, this time with enough force to throw Timo to the floor. He crawled over to where the children lay, still and silent, but breathing, thank Gyda.

With the last bit of power he had, he created a spell to keep them safe. Then he stood up and hobbled over to Inigo.

He was still alive. Timo drew in a shaky breath and pulled every last bit of magic out of the Mage. It wasn’t much—just enough to steady his trembling legs. The room shook again, and he dropped to his knees. A hand grabbed his ankle, and he felt a sharp pain in his thigh. Inigo raised his hand, the knife he held wet with Timo’s blood.

“I came prepared,” Inigo said.

Timo scrambled to get out of the way as Inigo plunged the knife down. The blade hit the stone floor and skidded a few inches. Ignoring the pain in his leg, Timo dragged himself away, leaving a smear of blood on the floor. On his knees, Inigo advanced towards him.

Frantically, Timo tried to pull more magic from the island but he was too weak now. The blood that pumped from his leg was taking his energy with it. Inigo lurched to his feet and took a step. Timo looked behind him for something he could use as a weapon. A vase sat on the table near the door to his mother’s workroom. He started to drag himself towards it but Inigo reached Timo first and leaned over him.

Desperate, Timo grabbed any wisps of magic left in the room and created a weak barrier to protect his head and neck. Inigo’s knife slid off it and plunged into Timo’s arm, rather than his neck. With a grunt of pain, he rolled out of the way as Inigo raised the knife again.

Timo lashed out with his good leg, kicking Inigo’s exposed ribcage. The Mage shrieked, and his arm dropped, the knife clutched in his lowered hand. Timo kicked again, and the knife flew across the room.

While Inigo scrambled after the knife, Timo gripped a chair and hauled himself up. Dragging his injured leg, he stumbled to the table and grabbed the vase. He turned in time to see Inigo pick up the knife.

Panting and dizzy, Timo leaned against a wall.

“Even if you kill me you’ve already lost,” Timo said. “I’ve already destroyed Mage Guild Island.”

“I have enough power to fix it,” Inigo said. “There are still people—Mages—that I can tap into.”

Timo closed his eyes and searched for power, but all he could find was a few old spells—so old that their power had faded.

“Not close enough for you to use,” Timo said. He gathered the old spells and used some of the magic to staunch the flow of blood from his leg. He wanted to live after all.

Inigo took a few halting steps towards him, waving the knife. “Maybe not,” Inigo said. “But I still have a knife.”

“And I still have magic.” Timo slammed the vase against the table, shattering it. With the last of his power, he sent the shards hurtling towards Inigo. The Mage raised his arm to shield his face, and the knife fell to the floor.

Inigo grunted. Flecks of blood peppered his arm, and it dropped away from his face. Blood flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks. Hands waving in front of him, he staggered around the room.

On unsteady legs, Timo limped towards the Master Mage. He stooped to pick up the knife and then stepped in front of Inigo.

“Should have done this long ago,” Timo said. He plunged the knife into Inigo’s left eye and stumbled back a step.

Blood spurted from the Mage’s wound, and without a sound, he crumpled to the floor.

Timo skidded on a pool of blood and fell backwards, hitting his head on the floor.

SOMEONE WAS SHAKING
him—his body trembled from the force of it. He lifted his hand to shoo the person away, but there was no one there. He opened his eyes. He was alone in his mother’s bedchamber, lying on her bed. The bed shook, and he watched as a small crack in the ceiling travelled a few inches towards the door.

He sat up, or at least he tried to. Dizziness forced him down onto the bed. His thigh throbbed, and when he reached down, he felt a thick wrap on it.

What had happened? He didn’t remember waking, or dragging himself here.

Slowly he half slid, half fell off the bed, struggling until he had the foot of his good leg on the floor. Steadying himself against the bed, he shoved himself upright and hopped towards the door. Another tremor threw him off balance, and he grabbed the door handle to keep from falling.

He smelled them from the hallway—the smell of blood and shit and death.

Inigo lay in a pool of blood, the knife still sticking up from his eye. Jinaro was just beyond him, his face blue and his hands at his throat. Hestor lay beside one of the children, but the other two were gone. Were they alive?

Timo felt nothing but anger at the three dead Mages, even Hestor, who’d been used by men he’d tried to emulate. But the children had deserved none of this.

“I’ve taken the other two children to the boat already,” a voice said from behind him. “They’re breathing, but that’s about all.”

Timo spun around. “Mole, what are you doing here?” Timo asked. His voice was scratchy, and his throat was parched.

“Came for you,” Mole said. “Wasn’t sure you were planning to get out alive.”

Timo looked at the bodies. “They were
feeding
off them,” he said. “Inigo deserved a slower, more painful death.”

“Sure, sure,” Mole said. “But thanks to you he’s dead and you’re alive, along with two of those children.” Mole hooked his thumbs into his waistband. “I’m impressed.”

“Impressing you always seems to have something to do with death,” Timo said. “Me either dealing it or escaping it.”

“I am an Assassin,” Mole replied. “And you haven’t escaped it yet. Do you want to?”

“I hadn’t been planning on it,” Timo said. He spread his hands out. There was dried blood—Inigo’s blood—on them. He looked up and met Mole’s eyes. “But yes.”

“Good. That means I don’t have to tie you up and drag you.” Mole smiled. “Trust me, you do not want to cross Kara.”

The island shuddered violently.

“We need to go,” Mole said. “Now.” He headed for the door to the dock.

Timo nodded and hobbled after him.

Mole’s boat was the only one Timo could see underneath the island. It was tied up to his mother’s dock, the children settled in-between the two seats with blankets carefully tucked around them.

“Will they be all right?” Timo asked. Mole had so much more experience with life and death than he did—though he was catching up, he thought darkly.

“If we get them to Giona in time,” Mole replied. He jumped into the boat and steadied it with one hand on the dock.

“How did you know where I was?” Timo asked. He stepped into the bow of the small wooden vessel and settled in. The mage lights that usually lit the underbelly of Mage Guild Island were dim, and if he’d stood and reached up, he’d be able to touch the dirt above them.

“I figured you’d go to ground somewhere familiar, where you felt somewhat safe,” Mole said.

“Not a big list,” Timo replied. He’d chosen his mother’s place because he knew it, and he knew it would be empty. But did he feel safe here?

“No,” Mole replied, and Timo thought he saw a ghost of a smile on the Assassin’s face.

Mole untied the rope and shoved the boat away from the dock. He grabbed the oars and gestured towards the pair that lay flat near Timo.

“Unless you have enough magic to speed us up we better get rowing.”

Timo fumbled getting the oars into the oarlocks. Mole had powered them past four docks before he was able to aid their escape. He concentrated on rowing, on keeping up a steady rhythm that helped rather than hindered their progress. He looked up from his task and wondered at the pool of sunlight he could see off to his left. Then he realized what it was—the hole in the island, the empty space left when he relocated the centre section out over the bay.

The island shook and clumps of earth splashed into the water beside the boat, sending eddies off into the distance. The underside of the island was closer to them. Now he wouldn’t even be able to stand up without bumping into it. Timo bent to his task, trying to put all his strength into rowing. He looked over his shoulder, trying to determine how far away the edge of the island was. Too far. He stilled his oars.