He performed the rite. Charlus shuddered one final time, then lay still. Gennady threw back his head and screamed as magic, tainted magic, flowed into his wards. A series of impressions came with it, from parents who loved him to siblings that indulged him and girls who slept with him and ... he felt a surge of envy, once again, for the aristocrat who had everything. Who’d had everything. A red haze fell over Gennady’s vision as magic swirled around him, all of Charlus’s power surging into him. It was hard, so hard, to keep control. It was harder to remember why why hehe wanted to keep control. He wanted to allow the power to destroy his enemies ...
Gennady laughed, delightedly. His hands felt as if they were burning. His eyes felt as if his brain itself was on fire. And ... he looked down at the remnants of Charlus’s body, blackened and charred beyond recognition. The oaf’s family would probably never know what had happened. He’d be assumed to have left Whitehall and then ... and then what? Perhaps they’d think he’d gone south, to the Blighted Lands. He’d certainly found himself a necromancer. Gennady knew, on some level, that he should be frightened of what he’d become, but it was hard to care. Other people needed to be frightened now. Charlus would be scared, if he was still alive.
You’re dead, Gennady thought. He kicked the body, watching in delight as the head shattered under the blow. Joy—dark joy—washed through him. He jumped up and down on the corpse, driving the bloody mass into the muddy ground. It was hard to remember that he needed to recover the knife, before it was too late. The blade seemed to have ossified. It had turned to stone. Gennady didn’t care. It’s over.
He took one look south, towards the Blighted Lands, then turned and stumbled north. His body felt strange, as if he could go on forever. The tiredness was a distant memory, replaced by a faint sense his mind was on fire. He thought of Primrose and smiled. He had power now. He could protect her. He kept walking, one thought dominating his mind.
It’s time to go home.
Chapter 12
Gennady travelled by night, heedless of the dangers of being outside once the sun fell and darkness washed across the lands. He knew, deep inside, that there was now nothing more terrible than himself, nothing that could stop him as he made his steady way back to the Cairngorms. He refused to allow himself to be diverted, even when he stumbled across small villages and hamlets hiding from their lords and masters. They couldn’t stand in his way. He knew, deep inside, that something was wrong, but he didn’t care. The power was all that mattered.
He lost track of time as he kept moving, no longer caring—as he reached the base of the mountains—if it had been days or weeks or months since he’d left Whitehall. He skirted the town, keeping a wary distance from the portal and the magicians who maintained it, and walked straight into the forest. The other folk kept their distance, even when rogue surges of power threatened to set the trees on fire. Wild boars and birds took one look at him and fled, tails between their legs. Gennady exulted, enjoying—for the first time in forever—the sense of knowing the entire world was scared of him. And so they should be. He was power given shape and form. He was ...
The sun rose above him, bright rays of sunlight penetrating the gloom as he strode into the village. It hadn’t changed at all, as far as he could tell. The kids doing their chores looked younger than he remembered, a couple of older women seemed to have vanished ... probably exposed and left to die over the last winter. The menfolk had already headed to the fields, working to scratch something from the unforgiving soil. He looked up, towards the castle perched on the mountaintop. He’d pay the count a visit, after seeing Primrose. He’d teach the count that he was in charge now.
He marched up to his family’s house and stopped outside the door. There were sounds inside, shouting and screaming and ... Gennady pressed his hand against the door, trying to cast a simple unlocking spell. The wood exploded as power surged through him, pieces of debris flying in all directions. Gennady’s eyes didn’t have any trouble—now—adjusting to the darkness. His father was clutching his mother’s neck in one hand, his fist drawing back for a punch ... another punch. Blood streamed down his mother’s face, her eye so badly battered it looked beyond all hope of repair. Gennady felt a surge of anger and contempt. The old fool was drunk, again. For a heartbeat, he thought he understood whyCharlus and his cronies had looked down on him ...
Rage boiled through him. He lashed out with his powers. He’d meant to push the old man away from his wife, but the magic tore through him. Gennady’s father disintegrated, the remnants of his body hitting the far wall with a terrifying splat. His mother screamed as she fell to the ground, her eyes wide and staring as she looked at him. Gennady felt numb surprise, mingled with hatred and bitterness. Didn’t she know him? Didn’t she know her son?
“Who ...?” His mother scrambled to her knees. “My Lord, who are ...”
“Gennady!” Gennady was no longer sure if that were true. He’d changed too much. Magicians didn’t always change their names, but ... they were supposed to change their names if they no longer recognised themselves. “I’m your son!”
His mother stared at him. “Gennady?”
“Yes.” Gennady felt his patience snap. “I’ve come home!”
“I ...” His mother started to stammer. “I ...”
Gennady shook his head. “Where is everyone?”
“Huckeba went to live with his new family,” his mother managed. “The others are in the fields. Sarah is ...”
“Primrose!” Gennady cut her off. “Where is Primrose?”
“In the last cottage,” his mother said. “Gennady, wait ...”
Gennady ignored her. Primrose was all he wanted now. The thought of her had sustained him during the last few ... he honestly wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he knew he wouldn’t have made it this far without her. He turned and marched through the door, his mother crying behind him. Once, it would have weakened his resolve even though he knew his mother detested him as much as his father. Gennady was living proof there was something wrong with her womb. But now ... he didn’t care. Primrose was all that mattered.
He walked through the village, heedless of the panic in his wake. Children fled, screaming. Girls stared at him, unsure if they should be running for their lives too. They had to fear that running would merely draw his attention. He revelled in the sensation of knowing he could do anything to them now, to the girls who’d mocked him for an ugly gnome before he’d come into his powers, to the men who’d beaten him for being weak and useless ... oh, he could do anything to them. The thought of making them suffer brought him joy.
The last cottage rose up in front of him. Gennady hesitated, just for a second, before pressing on. Primrose would be glad to see him. Of course, she would. He would protect her from everyone. He would love her and marry her and she would bear his children and ... he tapped the door, wondering who would answer. Primrose’s father would be in the fields. The man might have sired the most beautiful woman in existence, but he still had to work to feed his family. He’d be working until he could work no more, then he’d be thrown out to die in the cold.
Gennady tapped the door, as gingerly as he could. It still shuddered under the blow. He stepped back, reminding himself to be careful when he hugged Primrose. He might hurt her, quite by accident. The door creaked, then opened. Primrose looked out, wearing the smock and scarf of a married woman. She’d married? Gennady felt his heart stop in shock. She’d married? It had never occurred to him she might have married ...