I held the shield of power before me, trying to think of some sort of really witty comeback. “Oh, fuck off, you limp-dicked, piece-of-shit fuckstain,” I yelled. Hey, it wasn’t all that witty, but it would have to do.
His face went dark with rage as he cast the potency at me. I crouched in the utterly wild hope it would miss me. A shadow passed over, and everything exploded in motion as two reyza, locked in combat, crashed hard between Amkir and me, absorbing much of the strike in their own shielding. The rest struck them and seared past me, shattering the stone of the pathway behind and to my left. I swallowed hard. That wasn’t meant to take me down. It was meant to take me out.
I glanced over at the two reyza still locked in combat challenge, and did a double-take. Kehlirik and Safar grappled, potency burns marring both, but the instant I looked toward them, they turned their heads in unison to me for a bare moment, eyes meeting mine. A heartbeat later, they snarled and broke into limping flight, buffeting each other and resuming their challenge in the air. What the hell? Had the two deliberately taken that strike to save me?
I didn’t have time to think about it. Potency crackled, and Amkir gave an angry cry. My eyes snapped to him, and I blinked in surprise to see that Vahl had lassoed Amkir’s wrist with a strand of potency. Amkir, holding a partially prepared strike, turned fully on Vahl.
Vahl spoke in demon to Amkir, but with the grove power running through me, I got the meaning. No, she is not to be killed.
Amkir ripped the lasso away. “You dare to interfere with me?” he growled, calling more power to hand. I didn’t stick around to see how this would play out. I got my ass out of there and sprinted for the diagram. I couldn’t complete the last ring without support, but I could damn well channel everything to Mzatal from there.
In my peripheral vision I saw Idris rapidly completing his defense diagram, and found myself hoping it would be enough to save his ass. A moment later I felt his patterns flare. I did a stutter step in shocked realization and glanced over to him. You gutsy son of a bitch. He’d danced the first seven rings of the fucking shikvihr as a foundation—not for defense but for new support. Well, he’s certainly learning how to deal with distraction, I thought. Doing it on the column would be a walk in the park after this.
With the attention of the various lords diverted, I managed to make it back to the diagram and slide through the sigils. Already I sensed Idris rebuilding support. But will it be enough and in time? Mzatal was damn close to getting his ass kicked. Amkir had abandoned his retaliation against Vahl and had joined Rhyzkahl and Jesral in their attack.
I traced a pygah first and took a precious second to breathe it in, then quickly began to trace the final ring. So close. The ritual spiraled up into a perfect harmony of power. Vsuhl. The name resonated from and with my very essence. Mzatal, with his back against a column at the perimeter of the ritual, took a devastating triple strike that sent him to his knees. I lifted my right hand up above my head as I finished tracing the final sigil with my left. The three lords advanced upon the downed Mzatal.
“Vsuhl!” The name leapt from my throat with startling potency. I felt the glorious heat of the blade coalesce in my hand. White-hot fire surged down my arm and through my core, filling me with intimately familiar power. Gripping the hilt tightly, I lowered the blade. My whole body vibrated from the inside out with the promise of potential, like a swarm of angry bees confined in a sack. I smiled, then sent out a burst of power that knocked the three lords back on their asses.
I breathed deeply. That was more like it. With the combined power of the grove, the culminating ritual, and Vsuhl, I was a motherfucking badass.
Like ripples in a pond, the ritual flared in rings around me. When the perimeter ignited, a sound like a massive gong reverberated, and the carvings on the surrounding columns blazed with prismatic light. Clear tones rang out one after the other around me, unique for each column. The flowering vines encasing three of them vanished in instant incineration. The tones united in a continuous low thrum that fueled me like gas on a fire. The swarm of bees in me doubled in number and furor. I didn’t know how my skin held together with the intensity of the vibration, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
Mzatal was on his hands and knees just beyond a column. He tried to speak but coughed up blood instead. The lords got to their feet but I simply knocked them down again, laughing. I didn’t feel at all helpless now. Fuckers. You’re mine now.
Rhyzkahl and Jesral dragged Amkir up and then retreated a good distance away. I took the time to make sure that Idris and Mzatal were all right, though I kept an eye on the three lords. Mzatal struggled up to a standing position, keeping his feet in a wide stance for stability. He turned toward me, breathing heavily, bleeding from mouth and nose, with a deeply troubled expression on his face.
“Kara,” he said, holding a hand up toward me. “Ease your grip.”
I looked down at the blade in my hand and then back up to him. “Why would I do that?” I asked. “It’s okay. It’s perfect.” And it was. Why wouldn’t it be?
Mzatal took a staggering step toward me. I felt him extending and touching me on a level beyond the physical. “Because it is too much too soon,” he said. His voice was ragged, lacking its usual strength. “Remember what happened in the grove conflict. Just ease your grip. Trust me.”
I looked over at the three. They clustered together at least twenty yards away, but I couldn’t tell what they were doing. I frowned, hesitating. But I trusted Mzatal. That much I knew. The power of the grove leapt within me. It wanted to fully join with the blade energy again, wanted to meld into something perfect and huge. Again? The eagerness of the grove lit my cells, a glorious overlay on the supercharged blade energy. More. More! There was an ancient taste to it, but I remembered how easily I’d succumbed to the lure of the power during the previous battle with Rhyzkahl.
I eased my grip on the blade, shuddering at the decrease in power. Vsuhl touched me with whisper-traces of assent. The thrum of the columns eased to barely audible, and the bees settled into a milling mass. Mzatal let out a breath as if he’d just watched a pin put back in a grenade, then began to work his way through the ritual sigils to me. “Good. Keep hold, and balance,” he said. He glanced back at the three, brow furrowing. I followed his gaze and saw that all had their hands on the hilt of Rhyzkahl’s blade. What the hell were they doing?
My cop-sense lit up, that vibe that had served me so well in the past of “something’s wrong.” Those three were up to something. They hadn’t retreated. But we had the blade now. If we could get through the passage and get the hell out of here, then everything would be okay. But they’re not gonna let us just walk out.
“My Lord!” Idris suddenly called out, alarm coloring his voice. “Kara! The perimeter. Something’s happening to it!”
Even as the words left his mouth my bad vibe feeling increased about a hundredfold, and my upper chest, abdomen and right side ignited in a burning itch. Shit! Three of the sigils carved into my torso flared. I shot Mzatal an anxious look. He continued to work his way through the diagram to me, moving with utmost caution through the pattern so as to not leave behind any weaknesses or breaches in the protections. The ritual was over and the blade in my hand, but now we had to keep what we’d fought so hard to gain.
“Mzatal,” I said as the burning itch increased. “The sigil scars—”