Tris dodged as Jared dove for him, upending a table to put distance between them. Jared seized a poker from the fire and swung it wildly, keeping himself between Tris and the fallen sword. Tris looked about for anything he could use as a weapon. He grabbed a pitcher of water from the table and hurled it at Jared's head as Jared vaulted over the table. Tris tried to duck out of the way of the poker, but its glowing tip seared into his left shoulder. He cried out and dove under Jared's swing with a vicious kick to Jared's groin. His foot connected, and Jared howled with pain and rage.
Tris reached the hearth first, grabbing a bucket of ashes from beside the fireplace. He threw the hot ash at Jared as his brother headed toward him at a dead run. Jared narrowly missed the heavy bucket, but the ashes formed a smothering cloud. Jared cried out, throwing his arms up to shield himself.
Tris used the diversion to run for his sword, but something hard clipped him on the side of the head and he fell, blood starting from his temple. A candlestick clattered to the ground beside him. Blinded by the blood that flowed from the gash on his brow, Tris struggled to his feet. Barehanded, Jared dove for Tris and tackled him, landing on Tris's back. Tris felt ribs crack and gritted his teeth as the world around him swam red with pain. Jared, taller and heavier, had the advantage hand-to-hand. Tris gasped as Jared's dagger plunged into his side just below the edge of his cuirass. Jared shifted and a cord jerked around Tris's throat, the belt of Jared's robe. Tris struggled for breath as it tightened.
"Speak, Lord of the Dead," Jared taunted. "Where are your spirits to save you? Where are your mighty spells?" Tris fought for air, trying to gain enough leverage to buck Jared from his back. Jared only laughed, the same cold laugh Tris knew too well from the beatings of his childhood.
"This is too easy," Jared said. "I can't see your face. I want to watch you die, and remember just how you looked when the last breath slipped beyond your grasp."
Keeping the noose taut Jared dragged Tris to his feet, pulling him up against the wall beside the grisly courtyard garden. He closed his hand around Tris's throat. Tris could smell the whiskey on Jared's breath as his brother leaned closer, his dark hair framing his face and his eyes alight with triumph. Jared tightened his grip. "You may see the spirits of the dead," he whispered. "But I can see the soul leave the body. It's in the eyes."
As the world around him began to darken, Tris brought his hand up sharply, wrenching at the amulet around Jared's neck. It burned his hand like fire, but he hung on and the strap snapped. Tris hurled the amulet away, feeling the magic that the null amulet had pushed out of reach grow just a bit closer. Jared howled with anger and twisted his wrist sharply, tightening the cord around Tris's neck.
"You think that's the only null charm in this room, boy?" Jared snarled. "I've got more protection than that!"
Tris's vision blurred and pinpricks of light danced in his sight. Jared slammed him against the wall just to the side of the window, and Tris felt something against his boot. Mageslayer, he realized as he struggled to remain conscious. A tendril of power was almost within his grasp. He shifted his boot onto Mageslayer's blade, and felt a tingle of power, faint but present. Tris gasped for air, focusing on Mageslayer. Protect!
A burst of fire glowed around him, a blue aura that sapped the small amount of magic he could reach. It crackled around Jared like lightning, throwing him clear with a jolt.
It was all the opening Tris needed. The heel of his boot swung up and connected hard with Jared's chest. The force of the blow took Tris to the floor, still gasping for air. Jared staggered backward, and the low sill of the open window caught him below the knees. Flailing, Jared fell from the window with the full force of the kick, and Tris grimaced as he heard the sickening crunch of Jared's body landing atop his sharpened pikes. He pulled himself to his feet and looked down. Jared's body, impaled by three of the spikes, contorted and bucked as he slipped lower with the weight of his fall. But the spike that took Jared through the back ended his struggles. As Tris watched he saw Jared's spirit writhe free of his broken body, flickering a sullied light. Tris felt the Formless One's approach even before the dark presence appeared, so close this time that Tris threw up an arm reflexively to shield his face, his soul shrinking back within him in instinctive fear.
From everywhere at once a cloud descended on Jared Drayke, as if the shadows themselves were fluid. From within the whirlwind Jared's spirit gave one wrenching scream of terror and pain. Then, as quickly as it came, the shadows were gone. And with them, Jared's soul.
Tris slumped against the throne room wall and tore the cord from his neck. I've got to find Kiara and jonmarc—and Arontala, he thought, staggering toward where Mageslayer lay on the floor. He fought the urge to pass out, weakened by both the poison and the pain of the wound in his side. He wiped the blood from his face with his torn sleeve. His left arm ached where the poker had burned him, a deep burn that made it agonizing for him to move his arm or clench his fist. With Jared's charm gone, Tris could sense more of his magic returning, slipping in and out of his grasp as he struggled against the wormroot that coursed through his veins. He picked up Mageslayer and felt its power buoy him, lessening the poison's effect. He found that he could control his magic—just barely.
Outside the throne room, Tris felt the magic more strongly, a clue that Jared's charm had not been the only power-dampening talisman in that chamber. Using every trick he had learned from the Sisterhood, Tris fought to lessen the wormroot's effect. He let Mageslayer's power strengthen him, hoping that the sword's protections might also stay the damage from his wounds. Tris felt at the edge of his cuirass, where his tunic was sticky with his own blood. The odds, never favorable, appeared to be getting worse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
AT the entrance to the throne room Vahanian and Kiara hung back a pace, their weapons ready, as Tris approached the heavy double doors. Kiara's sword was ready in her hand. Vahanian notched a quarrel into his crossbow. Tris touched the doors, and the world around them seemed to turn inside out. In a heartbeat, Tris and the throne room were gone and Vahanian was falling through total darkness, into a hole so deep it had no bottom. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard Kiara cry out. Then, just as quickly as it began, the wrenching shift was over. Vahanian found himself tumbled out onto a hard stone floor, his crossbow still notched and ready in his hand. An instant later, Kiara appeared from nowhere beside him. A sense of foreboding filled Vahanian as he took in the room around them—a room that could be nothing other than a wizard's study.
Tapestries covered the walls. Thick candles and torches illuminated the room. One wall was lined with books from floor to ceiling. Scattered over tables and on shelves were a hodgepodge of vials and bowls, stoppered bottles, and unfamiliar tools. Over the mantle, above a darkened fireplace, a nearly life-sized portrait of Jared Drayke glared down with a haughty disdain. As dark as Tris was fair, Jared Drayke still bore a striking likeness to his younger brother. They shared the same high cheekbones, fine nose, and wild mane of hair, though Jared's hair fell in a dark cloud around his face, making the cruel turn to his lips even more pronounced.
Vahanian and Kiara climbed to their feet, weapons ready. At the far side of the large room, laughing at their folly, stood a dark-haired man in the red robes of a Fire Clan mage. Beside him, on a pedestal worthy of the Goddess, was a large crystal orb that pulsed like a living heart.
Moving on instinct, Vahanian leveled his crossbow and sent its arrow flying. With a muttered word, Arontala plucked the quarrel from midair. The mage gave a flick of his wrist; unseen hands slammed Vahanian across the room and against the stone wall, pinning him above the floor. Vahanian cried out as the bones in his right wrist snapped, forcing him to drop the bow. With a sound of dry sticks cracking, his right arm and right leg broke as well. Satisfied Arontala released him. Vahanian fell to the floor, gasping in pain.