“Back up, everyone,” ordered kar-vessár. “To the tents and put up the shields.” The next projectile brushed his arm and he jerked away.
Vessár-ai were scrambling to retreat, with rocks big enough to kill raining at our heads. But I stood, petrified, my heart hammering, adrenaline burning in my veins. I couldn’t say I was surprised. Tarvissian magic wasn’t as ubiquitous as Dahlsian, but it was powerful. If there really was a sorcerer in the mansion, sooner or later he was bound to find a way to protect himself.
“You,” Kar-vessár yanked my arm, snapping me to attention, “go to Tayrel Kan, tell him to stop. Now!”
I remained motionless, unable to tear my eyes from the object I saw over his shoulder, knowing there was nothing I could do…
“Amma!”
Faster than a striking spell, Laik Var leaped and shoved the sorceress out of the way. A disgusting crunch tore through the air as the stone javelin broke through his chest.
“Papa?” Amma La looked at him, her face and clothes splattered with blood, grass-blue eyes wide with shock.
“Go!” Myar Mal pushed me, breaking through my shock.
I turned to run, not looking, guided by the memory of the pillar of light. It was a miracle I found the right tent. I stumbled inside, almost tripping on a brazier. Tayrel Kan stood in the center, surrounded by three vhariars, all drowned in a cold, magical luminescence making their skin blue and the scars black.
“Tayrel Kan,” I yelled.
He didn’t seem to notice. His hands were outstretched toward the sky and his eyes burned like little moons.
“Tarvissi are diverting the spell. You need to stop it now!”
A rocky spear tore through the tent and hit the ground inches from my foot.
“Damn it!” I cursed, jumping aside. “Wake up, you damn imp!”
No reaction. I reached out, hoping to shake him out of this trance, but a surge of energy ran up my arm, burning it to the shoulder. I yelped in pain. Desperate, I looked around, searching for something—anything—to aid me. My eyes fell on the brazier.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then lifted the thing and threw it at the sorcerer.
Chapter 11
“How the fuck did that happen?”
Myar Mal’s screams must’ve been perfectly audible all over the camp. Tayrel Kan leaned back in the chair and lit his tchalka. His head pounded, but the magic helped heal the bruises and burns from being hit with the brazier. Sadly, abusing it caused its own set of problems.
“You tell me, you designed the spell,” he replied, not even bothering to look up. He sucked in the lungful of smoke and a cold numbness flooded him, dulling the pain and cushioning the tangible anger radiating from kar-vessár, even through his shields.
“Tayrel,” Myar Mar growled with a clear warning in his voice.
The sorcerer let the smoke out.
“You told us to focus on the strength, so we did,” he explained. “Directing the spell wasn’t our priority, so we left it to chance. They simply took advantage of that.”
“Oh, so it’s just an oversight.” Kar-vessár straightened, his tone so caustic it could corrode his sword if he wore it. “An oversight that got people killed, including one of my best vessár-ai—”
“I thought you’d be grateful,” Tayrel Kan cut him short, lifting his eyelids for the first time and looking Myar Mal in the eye. The commander’s face was reddened and lips pressed so tightly they turned white. He looked beautiful when he was angry—though the sorcerer had enough survival instinct not to say it out loud. “He was a pain in the ass.”
“That’s beyond the point.” Myar Mal’s lips twitched in disgust. “Although I do see how you, of all people, aren’t bothered by friendly fire.”
Tayrel Kan felt as if someone drew an icy dagger through his heart. His smile fell.
“Perhaps you spend so much time in the city, you forgot,” he said with deceptive calmness. “But people die. It’s in the job description.”
“No.” Myar Mal pushed away from the table and shook his head. “Not like that.”
Tayrel Kan only leaned forward, following him, gaze fixed on the man’s face. “Things happen, Myar. No matter what you do, you can’t save everybody.”
“Enough.” Kar-vessár raised his hand in protest, then, as if having second thoughts, clenched it before finally pointing at the sorcerer. “You’re going to Sfal.”
Tayrel Kan scoffed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Fuck you.”
“As commanding officer—”
“Command your dick! Look, now we know they have a magic-wielder, and he’s one powerful son of a bitch. As long as he’s out there, I’m the best chance you have to win this fight. When I get my hands on him, I’m gonna grab him by the balls and drag him all the way to Sfal, so you can tell him exactly where he hurt you. Until then, I’m not moving an inch.”
For a moment, they stood motionless, sizing each other up. Until this point, Tayrel Kan kept up his facade, but now, under the commander’s gaze, he couldn’t help parting his lips slightly, as in invitation. The argument was a farce. They both knew he would do anything, if only Myar Mal said a word.
But he said nothing, and Tayrel Kan stormed out.
Chapter 12
Amma La sat motionless in front of the healing tent. Blood stained her coat and hands, strikingly bright against white skin. She did everything she could to save her father, fix his heart, his lungs, his spine. But it was too much…
Myar Mal stood a few steps behind her. He reached out, wishing he could touch her, console her; but his hand froze mid-way. Few seconds later, it dropped uselessly at his side.
There was a time when he would walk to her and hold her. When he would whisper in her ear and tell her everything would be all right. And she would lean back onto his chest and believe him, if only for a moment.
But now the only thing he could bring himself to do was ask, “Do you want me to come with
