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THE RYUVEN VANISHED from the cellar with a crack of closing air. Shianan Becknam’s limp body slammed into the stone pavers and flipped once. It slid with momentum and did not move again.
Luca shoved through the crowd, heedless of the mages he elbowed, and threw himself beside his master. “No, no, please, no,” he begged aloud. He seized Shianan’s shoulder and turned him. Blood ran jaggedly over the unblinking left eye and down his slack face.
Luca could not move. “Help,” he whispered. “Someone, help...”
THE SILVER MAGE KNELT beside Hazelrig, one hand rooting madly though the little bag at her waist. “Clear a space!” she snapped as others pressed close. She tore an amulet free of the bag and activated it, leaning over the white-robed form. “Don’t you leave us, Ewan,” she said fiercely. “Stay with me. Ewan, do you hear me?”
The White Mage groaned. “Ariana?”
Parma’s relief was visible. “Thank the Holy One.” She pressed the amulet against his torso and folded his hands over it, leaving hers atop his. “She’s not here, Ewan. But she wasn’t killed. She went to the Ryuven again, but we did not see her harmed.”
Hazelrig blinked. “So many of you...”
Parma glanced around at the crowding mages. “It’s not often we see you fall. You frightened us. Stand back, all of you, and give him some air.”
As they shifted, Hazelrig looked blearily to the other figure on the floor. “Who’s that?”
“None of us, Ewan. We’re singed and sore, but you’re the only serious injury. That’s Bailaha. He’s dead.”
A man shook Becknam’s body as if to wake him, his face twisted with shock and grief.
Hazelrig’s voice cracked. “Dead?”
Parma hesitated. “He took two bolts directly, full bolts. If he’s not dead yet, it’s only because he wasn’t mage enough to die instantly, but no ordinary man can take that and live, either.”
“Save him.” Hazelrig grasped for Parma’s hand. “Luca... Call Luca.”
The Silver Mage looked around uncertainly, knowing no one by that name, and guessed at the young man bending over the commander’s sprawled body. “Luca!”
He did not respond, but he did not seem to hear anything as he wept. A friend, she supposed—no, she saw, a slave. A grieving slave.
“Help him, Elysia. Save him, for me.”
“Ewan, it’s impossible. He will be dead in a moment, if he’s not already.”
“It can be done.” He drew breath, fighting for strength. “Help me up.”
“Ewan! Lie still.”
But he had rolled to his side and was struggling upright, and several hands reached to support him. “You must work as if you would create an amulet, but do it within him, at the site where the energy entered.”
Parma shook her head. “It can’t be done, Ewan.”
“It can! It is possible, Elysia, for magical injury, trust me. I will—”
“You will do nothing! You will rest, Ewan, by all that’s holy.” She glared at a grey mage, who jumped and rushed forward to kneel behind the White Mage, taking his weight. “We’ll try to help him.”
“It will need multiple mages. Do it—do it for me.” He squeezed her hand weakly.
She looked at the watching mages around them. “If several of us funnel power together as if to rapidly create a single amulet—but inside him? That could kill him itself.” She hesitated, looked at Hazelrig, and then sighed. “But I suppose we have nothing to lose, right?”
“Save him, Elysia.”
“You’re unreasonable, Ewan.” She gave his hand a quick encouraging pressure and then straightened. “Crimson, Forest, Amber, stay with the soldiers, in case they have need of you. There may be more Ryuven. We don’t know how these came here, and they obviously had something to disguise their energy auras. Gold, Emerald, get to the royal family and keep them safe. Orange, stay with the White and keep him on the mend. Scarlet, Violet, come with me. You, grey—run and fetch some amulet gel, hurry!”
LUCA TWISTED HANDFULS of Shianan’s tunic and tugged weakly at it, making the body shift. “No...”
“Move aside,” ordered a voice, and the Silver Mage knelt across from him. She placed a hand on Shianan’s forehead and eyed him for a moment, finally shaking her head. “There’s nearly nothing—but we’ll try. Gather round!” She looked sharply at Luca. “Move aside, I said.”
Luca stared at her, barely comprehending her words. “He’s dead!”
“We’re going to try to remedy that. Where’s that amulet gel?” She pulled at Shianan’s tunic, but the laces caught.
Luca blinked and then ripped at the cloth. “Save him! Please, my lady mage, save him!”
She snatched a jar from an extended grey arm and began smearing a fat globule over Shianan’s bare chest. “Where’s Callahan?” she demanded.
“Here,” answered a scarred man in dark blue robes.
She gave him a hard look. “If you have any special skill,” she said in a brittle voice, “this would be an ideal time to use it.”
His marred face stiffened. “I’ve told you all again and again, I am no tapper,” he snapped. “I do not know myself how I survived. And even in tales I’ve never heard of even a tapper drawing strength from one person and giving it to another.”
“Then find another way to help. Hazelrig wants this one to live.” She placed her spread hands across Shianan’s chest. “I’ll provide the focal point, and the rest of you feed power. Steadily, don’t overwhelm me. Ready.”
The Violet Mage began, “I don’t understand—”
“Work exactly as you would set an amulet! But instead of using a reservoir token over months, we’re going to pool it directly inside him now. Enough questions, now act.”
The Indigo Mage knelt with the others. Luca waited, but it seemed nothing happened. They only sat around his master, doing nothing. A long moment passed, and he fought the urge to shout at them to get away, to let Shianan die in peace, at least...
“He’s right,” breathed the Silver Mage. “He’s right, it could work, if it doesn’t kill him. Easy, keep it steady.”
Luca’s lungs ached for air. He had forgotten to breathe.
“Parma...” warned the mage in red.
“I’m aware.” She looked sharply at Luca. “You, be ready to hold—”
Shianan convulsed, his back arching high off the floor as he wheezed suddenly for air, a drowning man’s gasp. Luca dove for his shoulders and pressed him to the floor.
“Hold him!” Parma snapped. She moved her hands slightly. “A little more, Callahan. Easy, Vana, keep it slow and steady.”
“Right,” the Violet Mage replied.
“Hold him steady, Luca.” Hazelrig’s voice was strained as he was lowered to the floor beside them. “This is uncharted magic. Some of the energy may touch things in his mind.”
“My lord!” The sight of the White Mage infused Luca with irrational hope. He leaned into Shianan’s shoulders as the commander’s fingers jerked. “Can they save him?”
“Possibly.” Hazelrig clutched a healing amulet closer to his chest. “I hope so.”
Parma was sweating, lines of concentration etched into her face. Luca’s attention was torn from her when Shianan spoke. “Bright round...”
“Master Shianan! Are you—can you hear me? What is it?”
“Give face for it,” he muttered, staring upward with glassy eyes. “Bread quarrels.”
Fresh horror shocked through Luca. “Shianan,” he whispered. He looked beneath his arm at Hazelrig. “My lord, is that—?”
Hazelrig leaned heavily against a grey mage. “This isn’t something we’ve done before.”
Shianan shook, making Luca press harder, and his face crumpled into bloody tears. “It goes on... the race...” His body slackened. “Lonely grooming shiny metal, kissing clay feet.”
“Concentrate!” ordered Parma. “Don’t be distracted.”
Luca’s own cheeks were damp with tears. If they could not save him, or if he were left raving and mad...
Shianan giggled. “Hammer steely honied scripting.” His eyes rolled loosely, unseeing. Luca wanted to wipe the bloody haze from the left eye but dared not release him.
Parma’s breath was coming quick and shallow. “I’m tiring,” she said levelly. “Callahan, I want you to take my place directing. Do you see it?”
The Indigo Mage nodded. “I don’t believe it, but I see it. King’s oats, has anyone ever done this before?”
“We don’t have leisure to discuss that now. Take it.”
She moved back as he cupped his own hands over Shianan’s chest. She sat panting for a long moment, and then she spoke again. “Vana, you’ll take it next. Soldier! Go and bring those of the Circle who aren’t engaged elsewhere. We’ll need rounds. And I want reports on the royal family.” She shifted around Luca toward Hazelrig. “Ewan—how are you?”
“I’ll live.”
She looked toward the commander, dropping her voice for Hazelrig, though Luca could hear if he listened. “It’s working. I don’t know exactly how, but it’s working. How did you know it would?”
Hazelrig shook his head. “I did not. I only hoped. I’ve seen it just once before.” His voice trembled. “He’s the bravest man I know, Elysia.”
“There aren’t many men who’ve singly challenged Pairvyn ni’Ai.” She shook her head. “He tried to save her. After you fell, he tried to save her.”
Hazelrig looked at Shianan, mumbling now about woven carpets. “I’d be proud to call him my son.”
“Careful, Ewan, you’ve never been one to let your tongue slip.” She rubbed her temple. “He’s a very lucky fellow. A mage would have died instantly under that, and even a fit fighting man should not have lasted more than a few minutes. If he’d not had the whole of the Circle here to—”
“Not the whole of the Circle.”
She took his hand. “Ewan... They returned her once. We’ll pray they do so again.”