I eyed her. “Was that a joke, Cillian Hastorum?” “Just because I must be serious to deal with matters of life and death does not mean that is all that I am. Besides, you are not blameless when it comes to how you have lived your life. Your status as a tyrant aside, is it any wonder that many would want to stab you in the back?”
I opened my mouth to object but she talked over me. “Yes, yes, you have told me all about how Archmagus Byzant influenced your mind to twist you into this rogue of a man. It’s all ratshit, Edrin. He may have twisted your inclinations that way but you took to it like a fish to water. Blame him all you want for that, but blame yourself for staying that way. You could have changed if you so desired.”
I clamped my jaw shut before I said something we would both regret. Fuck you, I thought. How dare she sit there and be… and be right!
“Change if you want. Or don’t if you prefer. But decide now rather than later, for you can never know how long each of us have left.” She regarded a puddle of water on the floor, slush trodden in by the gathered magi. It swirled and coalesced into a hooded water snake that slithered across the floor and climbed up the bench to rear on her palm, menacing us with liquid fangs and hissing tongue. She stared at it and then clenched her hand into a fist. The water exploded, splattering everything but ourselves.
“My father died doing battle with the Skallgrim and their vile daemons. A halrúna shaman blinded him with vile blood sorcery and he suffered a spear through the skull before he could recover.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my ire forgotten. The man had been a pompous prick, but he had loved all his daughters fiercely. This was not the politician of the Inner Circle speaking to me, this was my old Cillian, grievously wounded beyond belief. Her mask of control had shattered.
She locked eyes with me. “I want all the Skallgrim dead,” she said through gritted teeth. “I want to slaughter these Skallgrim tribes and salt the earth where their villages once stood. I want to burn every single one of these Scarrabus creatures and I want to watch all of it done as excruciatingly as possible.” She shuddered and looked away. “We have been through much together, some of which I have never mentioned to the others. I know that your Gift is far stronger than any of them know. Or I, come to that. It would be a fearsome thing if you unleashed it.”
“What can I do for you?” I asked. “Survive,” she said. “I need you to keep their army bottled up in the mountains for as long as possible. Will you go to war, Magus Edrin Walker, for the Arcanum, for Setharis, and for yourself?” In a quieter voice she added, “And for me?”
Gods help me, I said yes.
She smiled and proceeded to inform me of all the arrangements: the ship we were taking, that our forces would gather at Barrow Hill in the North, and just how many Arcanum rules she was allowing me to break. This was war, and my muzzle was off. The Inner Circle needed their dreaded tyrant to wreak havoc. No questions would ever be asked as long as we were successful. It was almost like they trusted me.
It was a shame that trust wouldn’t last past tomorrow.
Chapter 7
I took a whole day to rest and recover and get absolutely stinking drunk, then I was up at the crack of dawn – not a natural time of day for me. Being Gifted had many health benefits when compared to a mundane human, but my physical resilience was making it harder and more expensive to get drunk, and did little to help with hangovers. A quick scouring of blades formed from compressed air across my skin and hair left me fresh and clean for the day ahead. This simple aeromancy form had been beaten into me long ago. With my meagre talent for such magics I would never be truly proficient, but recently I had begun to train hard – again, not something I was used to. Recent events proved I couldn’t always rely on my magical mind-fuckery. Black Autumn had exposed my magical weaknesses as glaring flaws that demanded correction, and the twin causes of survival and revenge proved a remorseless incentive.
I sat cross-legged on my bed and worked on the magic, twisting air into weapons that would rip enemies from their feet or blast them away – or at least that was my goal. If I was going to war I would need every trick at my disposal. I’d learnt a defensive windwall to divert arrows and a handful of weak offensive techniques, but with little time available I figured concentrating on mastering a handful of simple forms would prove more worthwhile than struggling with something complex. I kept up the practice until sweat beaded my brow and my Gift began to tremble from strain. I sighed and let the foreign forms of magic lapse into swirling motes of settling dust. I could hold them for longer now, but it still required gruelling effort to twist my own mental magic into such unnatural physical shapes.
I found body magics far more intuitive, the techniques of flushing away weariness, strengthening muscles and heightening senses came almost naturally. I could hold the basic forms for a goodly length of time, though I could never seem to harden my flesh enough to turn blades or toss boulders about like they were pebbles as a knight like Eva could.
Unbidden, my mind’s eye flashed back to Black Autumn, to Eva raging amidst crystalline shard beasts, tearing razor-limbs apart with her bare hands. Then Heinreich’s flames engulfed her and I was forced to abandon her charred body and run for my life. I swallowed my guilt and shame. I had done what I had to, but I would have died without her help. We all would.
Banishing all that pointless brooding, I quickly threw on clothes and raked my hair back into some semblance of order. I pulled on my coat and gloves, shoved my meagre belongings into a single backpack and stepped out into the chill morning air of the Crescent. The once-portly landlady was already out and brushing the front step free of slush and mud. Over the last two months I had watched her slowly slump in on herself, drained of life until she was not dissimilar to an artificer’s automaton made of wax and wire. She had lost her husband and two sons and they were everything that had mattered to her.
“Good day to you, magus,” she said by rote, not even looking up. “Good day,” I replied. “I have some news for you. I won’t need my room anymore.”
“I see.” “I’m off to war.”
That got her attention. She looked up from the step and her eyes were red from crying again. “Where are they sending you?”
“North, to fight the Skallgrim.”
Her eye ticced. She spat on her clean step and dropped her brush to grab the front of my coat. “You kill those vermin,” she snarled. “No prisoners, you hear me! I’d pick up a knife and march with you if I could, but the likes of me can’t do anything so you need to carry our vengeance with you. Never forget the fallen.” She hastily let go of my coat and smoothed out the cloth. “I… I apologise, my lord magus. I didn’t mean no harm.”
“Never apologise for that,” I said. “Do you know what I am?” Many people did these days.
She nodded, but was fearful of saying it out loud.
I grinned evilly. “That’s right. I’m a vicious tyrant, but I swear that you and yours will have your vengeance. They killed my friends too.”
The fear drained from her, replaced by cold anger. “The slicks up in the Old Town might be calling you a nightmare given flesh, but–” a ghost of a smile appeared, the first sign of pleasure I’d ever seen from her, “–you’re our nightmare I guess.”
It was oddly touching to be claimed as one of their own rather than the shunning I was used to, even if it was as their monster. I nodded and turned to go.
“Gods bless you, Magus Walker. May they keep you safe. I’ll keep the room made up for your return.”