Except it wasn’t a leer any longer. The smile on the dead man’s face had smoothed out, stretching from ear to ear in a too-wide grin, its eyes flashing a bright green in the sunlight.
The demon had returned.
Roaring filled my ears, but it wasn’t the sea. It was my own life being squeezed out of me. Clawing at the fingers clamped around my throat with one hand, I stabbed at the demon-possessed revenant with the only weapon I had at hand—my boot knife—all the while dimly despairing that it would have no effect on a dead man able to disregard swords. But the small dagger slid into the frozen flesh as if it were butter—and the humming abruptly expanded, resonating both through me and the corpse. The demon and I stared at each other, its green eyes widening, its face contorting, its mouth gaping open in what looked like a silent scream of agony. As the demon’s hand spasmed away from my neck, behind it I could see Ranulf stand and rush towards us, his arm muscles contracting as he swung his battleaxe, the axe blade describing a silver arc in the sun.
Then there was a blinding flash and I found myself looking into a familiar room. One I’d seen in my dreams: the council chamber. However, this time, instead of being inside, I was at a window, looking in. Or maybe not a window. Pressing my forehead against the glass, I could just see the edges of a gilt frame. It was the cloudy mirror that hung on the wall.
Catching movement, I looked back into the room to see four people standing at the table with the alabaster half globe. They were all wearing dark, hooded robes that left their faces shadowed, but though I couldn’t see their expressions, their body stances showed worry as they stared down at the half globe. Instead of the steady, constant light of before, the globe’s glow was erratic, dimming down to almost nothing, then flaring bright, then dimming again.
Cracks zigzagged through the alabaster, spreading with each pulse.
“Kan!”
Blinking, I looked away from the globe to see one of the robed figures pointing at me. I frowned. His voice sounded familiar, as was the curve of his face just visible in the shadow of his hood. The others spun around, one reaching for what looked like a carved bone lying on the table. As he did, his sleeve fell back—and my eyes fastened on the splint and bandage on his wrist.
The effing sorcerer who started it all.
A low rumble filling my chest, I shoved against the glass, feeling it give. The sorcerer lifted the carved bone and aimed it at me. But the light contracted one more time, then the half globe exploded, sending alabaster shards flying. Everything seemed to slow. Those standing around the table were bowled over, their hoods falling back to reveal a blur of features—the bloated pudginess of the sorcerer, the gray hair of a woman, the firm, rounded chin of a younger woman, the twisting scar down the side of the familiar man’s face. Then he lifted his head and I saw blue eyes, as mild and inoffensive as the spring sky. Slevoic ibn Dru.
“Vicious!” I howled, shoving harder at the looking glass, but just then the explosion hit me, lifting me off my feet and flinging me back, the hum in my body growing in strength until I felt as though I was being shaken apart. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t get enough breath.
“Rabbit!”
My eyes flew open to see Menck’s face. It was some distance away where its head had rolled near the the alleyway mouth. I lay across the rest of the dead man’s body and I could feel a spreading wetness as if it were finally thawing. I tried to spring up, but fell over and sprawled on my back, holding one hand to my bruised throat as I gasped painful breaths. Folks crowded around, including Ranulf, the Marcher Lord leaning on his battleaxe. But he and most of the rest were turned away, their gazes raised over the rooftops to the mountains. A paw batted my face and I looked up to see Laurel bending over me, his mouth moving. I couldn’t hear, though, as roaring still filled my ears. But it wasn’t the aftereffects of being strangled. It was the wind. It sounded like a massive rock slide—a rumbling, grinding, furious torrent growing louder as it rushed towards us. It burst over the square, blowing most about like dolls while pulling others into its fury. Dyfrig hung in midair, half wind half man, the Staff of Office clenched in one hand as he fought against being consumed. The wind swirled into a funnel and slammed into my body, its hurricane howl raging through me.
There was another rumbling, this one underground. Hands pressed down on my shoulders. Wyln. “Contain it, Rabbit,” he shouted.
Contain what? I tried to say, but I only managed a croak. The rumbling increased and the ground began to shake, making the still-scattered coins and jewels dance. A moment later fire erupted out of the cracks of the paving stones, shooting up over buildings, sheets spreading across the sky, flaming tongues spearing those with the talent. Albe the blacksmith, Kresyl the baker, Wyln, Jusson, others were engulfed. I could just see Jusson amid the fire, holding his sword in a two-handed grip before him, his head bowed.
“Ah, effing hell!” Jeff shouted over sudden screams. The column of fire that had been burning over the charnel house floated out of the side street. Those that had been holding Ednoth captive scattered, fleeing before it as it passed over the coins and jewels to where to I lay. The world went yellow and white as it poured into me.
The roar of the fire died down and in its place arose the quietude of forests. But not the half-tamed Weald of my childhood. This was the quiet of a forest of ancient trees, secret glens and hidden grottos sheltering sacred pools. A wild and holy place.
“Dear God,” Arlis whispered, blessing himself. “Cover us and keep us safe.”
An enormous white stag stepped into the square, his rack of antlers spread wide and high. He walked to where I lay on the ground, the butterflies alighting on his horns, Laurel bowing low in reverence before him. The Stag lowered his head and breathed into my face. Looking into eyes the color of the night sky tinged with moonlight, I drew in the earth—birthing, living, growing, dying. He then lifted his head and bounded away with a clatter of hooves.
There was another moment of stillness before a bellow rent the cathedral quiet. A dragon, obsidian with gold-shot wings, rose in the heat created by the still-burning buildings. Suiden. But another bellow sounded and a second dragon sprang into the air, this one with silver eyes. It banked, its white scales shimmering purple in the sunlight. They soared around each other, spiraling higher and higher in the blue sky.
“Beollan!” shouted Ranulf. But his shout turned into a bear’s roar, which was then drowned out by other animal cries. A hawk glided overhead, lower than the dragons, but still circling up as he too rode the heat, his wings outspread. Griffins, one with blue-gray eyes, spread their own feathered wings, but remained on the ground, surrounding the torch that was the king. Chadde strode by, her ceremonial truncheon in one hand, balance scales outlined in light held in the other, a gray wolf with yellow eyes pacing by her side. The peacekeeper tackled Gawell, who was doing his best to steal away, while Captain Javes took off running and, with a skittering of claws, leapt, landing on the back of the fleeing Ednoth.