The Drowning City

Jabbor swore. “What can we do?”

“You and the others stay here, try to salvage as many wards as you can. I’m going up.”

“Why?” Jabbor asked coldly. “Why do you care? Why not just run?”

Isyllt shrugged, her pale face impassive. “Because I’m trapped on this side of the river too, and I don’t want to die for the Dai Tranh’s zealotry. Zhirin?”

She only hesitated a heartbeat. “I’m with you.”

She thought Jabbor would argue, steeled herself against it. He let out a breath and shook his head. “Go on. Be careful.”

From the southern road came the sound of horses. “The Khas is here,” Jabbor said. “Maybe they and the Dai Tranh can kill each other off neatly and leave us to clean up.” He leaned in and kissed Zhirin, soft and quick. “Hurry.”

She’d ridden to the mountain dozens of times, but never walked there, let alone run. Her sandals chafed her feet raw, and she didn’t know how her legs kept moving. She thought she glimpsed someone in front of them, but it was hard to be sure through the darkness and flicker of the wards. The posts glowed fiercely, not their usual soft light; Zhirin doubted that was a good sign.

The ground sloped steeper and steeper as they neared the stair, and they scrambled and slid with every step. She heard hoofbeats again, close behind, but the riders would have to abandon their horses to follow any higher.

They hit the stairs and ran faster, despite stubbed toes and burning thighs. Someone was definitely climbing ahead of them, and they were gaining now.

“Wait!” Zhirin’s breath failed and she had to shout again.

The person paused, a slender silhouette against the witchlights.

“Xinai!” Isyllt called.

Another few steps and Zhirin recognized the mercenary. White as bone in the cold light, eyes lost in shadow. Isyllt’s ring blazed and Zhirin glanced around as if she might see the ghost.

Steel gleamed in Xinai’s hand. “Stay back.” Her voice was rough, cold as her blade.

Isyllt hesitated, one foot on the next step. “Don’t be a fool, Xinai. The mountain isn’t some little spirit you can tame. It’s not like the nakh.”

“Go, necromancer. This is none of your concern. Consider your life a gift for bringing me home.”

Isyllt’s breath hissed through her teeth. “You’re possessed.”

“No, just reunited. Leave, before I decide to take that ring away from you.”

Zhirin looked from Xinai to Isyllt. She had to stop this, but her mouth was too dry for words.

Footsteps scraped on stone below, and the tension broke and reformed. Isyllt cursed. Then golden witchlights blossomed all around them as Imran and Asheris climbed onto the landing.

The five of them stared at one another for a long moment, then Xinai bolted. Not up the stairs but down, dodging lithely around the startled mages.

“Kill the necromancer,” Imran said to Asheris. “I’ll take care of the Dai Tranh.”

Zhirin looked at Isyllt, whose face was a mask in the eerie light.

“Go on,” she said, calm and brittle.

Zhirin hesitated for a heartbeat, but her courage broke and she fled down the path after Imran and Xinai.

She caught up with them at the next landing. Xinai’s daggers gleamed, and Imran’s magic hung around him thick enough to make Zhirin’s skin tingle. He didn’t spare her a glance, but a tendril of power licked at her.

“Go home, girl,” he said. “And for Vasilios’s sake, I’ll spare you.”

Zhirin barely saw Xinai move before a dagger flickered toward Imran. Only to clatter to the stones a yard shy of its target. He gestured in turn and Xinai stiffened and stumbled, one hand rising to her throat.

Zhirin stared as the woman’s face darkened, her own hand lifting in unwitting accompaniment. She could help Isyllt while Imran was distracted, or climb to the crater and try to stop the Ki Dai. The mercenary had chosen this.

But she couldn’t walk away. People had already died tonight, ancestors only knew how many, Dai Tranh and Tigers and whoever else was unlucky enough to be in the way. More would doubtless die before dawn. But she couldn’t walk away from this.

“Leave her alone.” Her voice nearly broke.

Imran frowned and glared over his shoulder. “I told you to go.” He’d probably never had an apprentice talk back to him before; it nearly made her laugh.

“And I told you to let her be. Killing her won’t stop the others. Worry about the mountain.”

“Don’t dictate priorities to me, girl. The rebels are the danger here-and after tonight, we won’t have to waste our time with them any longer.”

She didn’t argue, only drew her magic to her. The incredulous look on his face was almost worth what was sure to be her quick demise. The river was too far away to answer her here; instead the mountain churned hot and angry at her back.

Imran fought like a classical duelist, his body straight and still behind layers of wards while his magic spun sharp as daggers around him-Zhirin was surprised he didn’t call a halt till they could find seconds and draw circles. She wasn’t strong enough to face his spellcraft head-on. Instead she dodged and wove, threw illusions and ribbons of fog to distract him while she twisted away from his assaults.

Magic dizzied her-for an instant she was quicksilver speed, elusive and untouchable. Then a gust of wind sharp as a blade sliced her cheek, and another tore her sleeve and the flesh beneath. The air thickened in her lungs and her throat tightened when she tried to draw breath. Her magic broke against his and rolled away as the pressure in her chest grew. Drowning on dry land. Her knees shook, but the vise around her throat wouldn’t let her fall. The night splintered into shards of black and red.

Then the grip vanished and she collapsed, knees cracking the stone hard enough to make her sob as air rushed into her aching lungs.

Imran stumbled and fell as well, groping toward his back. As Zhirin’s vision cleared, she saw Xinai’s knife hilt standing out of his shoulder. She and the mercenary stared at each other while Imran swore and bled on the stones.

Then he began to scream.

Isyllt stared at Asheris with otherwise eyes. Now that she knew how to look, she could see the truth. Such a simple disguise, but effective. Few would think to look for demons in the Emperor’s palace.

“They bound you.” The words left on a wondering breath. “They bound you in flesh and stone.”

Asheris nodded. “And they bound me well. I will do as I’m bid. I cannot free myself, and I must kill anyone who tries to free me. And even if I were rid of the stone, the chains of flesh cannot be broken-I am anathema now, demon. My own kind will never take me back.”

“There must be a way-”

He spread his arms, gave her a mocking bow. “Lady, you’re welcome to try, since I must kill you anyway. I won’t be as easy to stop as an animated corpse.” His smile fell away. “I’m sorry. This is not my will.”

She barely called her shields in time to stop the wall of flame that crashed over her. Heat and chill shattered each other. She flung witchlights in his face, but he batted them away like gnats. He was stronger than any other demon she’d fought; he was stronger than her. They might duel for a time, but eventually he’d wear her down.

She sent a ghost shrieking toward him-it couldn’t harm him, but he flinched. She closed the distance between them in three strides, slammed her shoulder into his chest. His flesh might not age or die, but it still functioned; the air left his lungs in a grunt and he stumbled back. Isyllt kept close, ripping his coat as she clawed for the collar.

It was ensorcelled, of course. Layers of spells wound the thick work-hardened wire, shielding and strengthening and reinforcing.

She expected him to throw her off, braced against the blow, but he only wrapped his arms around her, gentle as an embrace. Why fight, when he could burn her to ash?

Letting her ring hold the shields, she concentrated on the spells on the collar. It was cunningly wrought-a pity she couldn’t show it to the Arcanost. Three different mages had layered the wards, each style reinforcing the