The power rolled out of him, and clutching Veliana’s shirt, he fell through the ground.
They reappeared in darkness, and finally he opened his eyes. Veliana spun, her daggers still drawn. She was clearly disoriented, so he grabbed her in his arms and held a hand over her mouth.
“Not a sound,” he whispered. They were in deep shadow, but still potentially visible to Haern if they moved too much. He watched as the undead Haern kicked the ground where the shadow spell had been, then leapt to the rooftops to begin his search anew. His initial run took him south, the wrong direction. Deathmask breathed a soft sigh of relief.
“Mad,” Veliana said, cracking a smile. Blood dripped from her forehead and arm. She had a wicked bruise on her cheek, but she seemed so beautiful to him when she smiled.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “And you’re right. That was completely insane. I’ll wait at least a year before trying that again.”
They hurried north, deciding that perhaps Dagan Gemcroft’s estate would be a better choice that night.
15
M ira walked with her arms huddled against her, as if afraid her beauty might attract the eye of a forceful and unfriendly man. She knew they were afraid of her; the men of Neldar had surely told them outlandish tales of her power…a power that was slowly fading. Celestia’s world was dying. Her mother’s heart had broken as her creations bled and died.
Very much a stranger at Theo’s camp, she knew only one man there. The rest were polite enough, offering her meals and thanking her for staying, though they stared too long at her hips or her breasts. Her face, though, they ignored.
My eyes, she thought. My eyes must scare them.
She searched for the only man she knew. At first she’d thought he’d be at the outskirts of the camp, in self- imposed isolation, but that was not where she found him. Instead, the half-orc stood near the heavy activity around the bridge. He stayed out of the way, but he watched intently at the construction. Mira slid beside him, saying nothing, only wanting to be in the presence of a familiar face.
“They don’t know how to defend against undead,” he said after several minutes passed in awkward silence. “And they know nothing about fighting creatures that fly on wings and wield lengthy glaives. Velixar’s magic alone will crush them, and who knows what the war god might do.”
“Do you wish you had gone with your brother?” she asked.
“I do,” Qurrah said after a pause. “Every minute of every hour, I do. But this is where I belong.”
“Then help them,” she said, gesturing to the bridge.
“What help can I be? They’d rather stick a sword in my belly than listen to my advice. My role is to give them a chance with my magic, and even that has turned against me. I once could devastate entire armies, yet now a simple spark of flame exhausts my mind.”
“Your magic has left you?” Mira asked. “How is that possible?”
“I turned against Karak,” Qurrah said. “That must be the reason.”
She shook her head, then grabbed his hand. He gave her a surprised look but she ignored it. She was used to people not knowing who she was and what she planned.
“Come,” she said. “Follow me.”
She led him to one of the outlying fields far from the camp. With a clap of her hands she summoned a fire, a tiny little blaze that danced on her palm. A flick of her wrist and it burned the grass but did not spread.
“Do the same,” she said.
Qurrah sighed. Had she not listened to a single word he’d said?
“I told you, I can’t.”
Mira crossed her arms and frowned. “Let me see for myself.”
He turned to the fire. For a moment he felt embarrassed, for he’d seen the tremendous power both Mira and Tessanna wielded. Compared to them he was but a child, and that was when he’d been blessed by Karak. But now?
“You asked for this,” he said, crushing his hands into fists. Words of the spell came naturally to his lips, but the power wasn’t there. He should have felt it pouring out of him, like water bursting through a broken dam. Instead the fire flickered, grew maybe an inch, and then shrank back down. He sighed, and his head ached as if he’d put it through a great strain.
“Is that it?” she asked.
“I’m not faking this,” he grumbled. “I’ve felt steadily weaker ever since I joined my brother. It’s to the point now where even a ruffian with a dagger could probably kill me. If Velixar saw me like this, he’d laugh his head off his bony shoulders.”
“It’s not that, Qurrah. I can sense the power still within you. But you’ve forgotten how to use it because of your reliance on Karak.”
Qurrah waved his hand, trying to summon a wall of fame. Only sparks flew from his palm.
“What would you know about it?” he asked. “You’re the daughter of a goddess.”
“Exactly. All my power comes from Celestia. As she weakens, so do I, but you aren’t like me. You need to rely only on yourself. Think, Qurrah. Think back to before Karak! When were you strongest? When did your power seem limitless?”
Limitless…
The word struck Qurrah like a hammer, then looped around him like a vice dragging him backward years through time. When had he felt limitless? When had he felt that reservoir of power within him at its greatest?
The night he’d first encountered Velixar. When he’d challenged Velixar, ripping away his control of the skulls that circled Veldaren while his orcs besieged the city. Qurrah had been stunned by the strength within him, by how his limits were in fact nothing but self-imposed delusions.
And now here he was, a shadow of that strength, wondering where his power had gone.
“Try to hurt me,” he said, snapping out of his introspection. Mira, instead of being surprised, only smiled.
“Fire or frost?” she asked.
“Both.”
She hurled a bolt of fire, following it up with a lance of ice. The two attacks shot for Qurrah, who had his hands held out before him. He kept his mind focused on that memory, on that one moment where he’d dashed Velixar’s magic and cut them like cheap threads. Within him, he felt something break. Shadows leapt from his hand, forming a barrier the fire and ice shattered against. He dismissed the barrier immediately. Sweat covered his forehead, and he felt like he might faint, but he’d done it.
“Like a muscle,” he said, gasping for air. “Like a sore, unused muscle.”
“Are you ready for more?” she asked.
He nodded. “Only one way to get stronger, right? We have only so long before Velixar arrives.”
Magic danced around her fingertips.“All too soon,” she whispered.
They trained for several hours, until Qurrah could hardly stand. That night, when they prepared for bed, he asked her to stay at his fire.
“For once, I’d prefer to not sleep alone,” he told her. “I don’t want to feel like a stranger to everyone.”
She knew what he meant, for she felt the same. She spread her bedroll and blankets out on the opposite side of the fire, which burned through his magic, not hers, and then they slept.
A horrible unease woke Mira from her sleep. She lay still when she looked about, for she saw several men. They carried torches, and their light hurt her eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest. The men gathered around Qurrah, and they held naked blades that glinted in the yellow light. One man in particular seemed to lead them, for he stood directly before Qurrah and gestured to the others.
“Hold him tight,” whispered the man. In the poor light his face looked haggard and long, a man carved of shadows and world-weary flesh. “Don’t let him talk, and don’t let him waggle his fingers, either.”
Mira struggled for a course of action. They clearly meant to do Qurrah harm…was it right for her to stop
