Griffin
Whyborne burned.
I saw the lacework of scars on his arm, glowing even through the layers of clothing. His eyes streamed blue flame, and the sheer power of the arcane energy he’d absorbed felt like a banked fire against my skin. His spiky hair crackled with it, like static.
Even when I’d been at my most suspect of his sorcery, watching him cast spells always moved me. His confidence, the look on his face when the world changed according to his will: haughty and heated at the same time. I wanted to beg him to master me, the way he mastered the very forces of nature, to do anything and everything he wished with me, to me.
The burn and friction of magic on my nerves as he manipulated the energy around us, the feel of his teeth on my neck, had been too much, and I’d spent in my drawers like a youth. But I still wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg him to fuck my mouth.
I needed to focus, damn it. The seals had fallen, but we still had to catch up with Turner. He might be in Hoarfrost by now.
I paused just long enough to pull out a handkerchief and hastily clean up. Then we joined Christine, Iskander, and Jack at the top of the ramp. Soldiers hovered in the vast space, waiting for us, I thought. I could still hear them talking with the Mother of Shadows in a faint hum, like a whispered conversation in another room.
“Thank heavens!” Christine exclaimed on seeing us. Then she made a fist with her good hand and punched Whyborne in the shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you we’d find a way out?”
“Yes, yes.” He scowled back at her.
She frowned. “Are you all right?”
They couldn’t see him the way I could. “I absorbed the energy from the seals.” His voice was taut, the words clipped, as if half his concentration was elsewhere. “In case I need to use it against Turner. But I’m not certain how long I can hold on to it before I’m forced to let it dissipate.”
She looked worried, but nodded. “Then let’s hurry. Perhaps if he left us any sleds, the umbrae can pull them for us in place of the dogs. I imagine they’d be much faster.”
“Hitching umbrae to a sled? Only you would come up with such an idea, Christine,” Whyborne muttered.
“Oh, don’t be jealous I thought of it first.”
“Do we need to face Turner at all?” Iskander asked. “Surely the umbrae can retrieve the chrysalis without our help.”
“Please, let me at least talk to Nicholas,” Jack said with pleading in his eyes. “Perhaps I can convince him to hand over the chrysalis on his own. That way no one else has to be hurt.”
I didn’t think it likely, but as Jack said, it was worth trying. We’d be no worse off if Turner proved unable to be reasoned with. “All right, Jack. We’ll try it your way.”
We made our way through the series of interconnected rooms. As the last one leading to the rift opened up, the light of Iskander’s lantern fell across a figure lying like a discarded heap of rags in one corner.
“Scarrow!” Jack exclaimed, and ran to him.
I hastened to help Jack. The reverend let out a little moan as we rolled him onto his back—alive, thank God.
Blood caked the side of his face, and one eye swelled shut. The clothing over his left leg was charred, revealing blackened skin underneath. Pain contorted his features, but he managed to shift into a sitting position with Jack’s help. “You’re alive,” Scarrow said with a grin that was more grimace. “A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Whyborne, Dr. Putnam.”
I studied Scarrow carefully. He didn’t look different to me the way Whyborne had, but there was something about him, some shift of shadow or brightness of eye, which whispered he’d been touched by arcane power. If we managed to survive this, at least I could be certain of never being tricked by a sorcerer again.
“What happened?” I asked. “I take it you caught up with Turner. Did he escape?”
“In a way. I found him in the rift. Atop the temple straddling the old river.” He shifted his weight and winced. Clear fluid oozed from the cracked skin of his leg.
“We need to tend your wound,” I said. “Iskander, do you have—”
“No time,” Scarrow cut in. “Listen to me. Turner changed his plans, I assume because he stole a queen rather than the soldier he’d expected to find. He’s not taking her back to Cornwall. He’s performing a ritual to force her to hatch early.”
“What, here?” Whyborne demanded.
Scarrow nodded. “Yes. Your guess as to why is as good as mine.”
“He felt slighted by the Endicotts,” Whyborne said with a glance at me.
“Why doesn’t matter, only that he’s still here, and we have a real chance to catch him,” Christine said.
Iskander nodded. “Indeed. Christine, you stay here with Reverend Scarrow.”
Her eyes widened and I half expected her to puff up like an angry cobra. “I most certainly will not!”
“You aren’t in any condition to fight, and you sodding well know it.” His lips tightened. “I won’t stand by and watch you get yourself killed out of stubbornness.”
“The reverend has a rifle,” Christine shot back. “If I have something to prop it on, I can at least aim and pull a trigger.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Whyborne cut in. “Iskander is right. Turner has only one guard left alive. We’re more than a match for him.”
He didn’t wait for her to argue, only turned and strode toward the entrance leading out to the rift. Wind whispered through the room in his wake, power trembling in the air. Christine looked furious, but I thought Whyborne had made the right decision. We couldn’t wait for the wounded to slow us down. I didn’t know what would happen if Turner forced the queen to hatch prematurely, other than it would do her no good.
It likely wouldn’t do us any good, either.
We emerged onto a balcony with a low wall, overlooking the great rift dividing the city. Below us lay the ancient watercourse, long dead. The delicate bridges leapt it at various intervals, and I could see the magic wrapped about the stones, holding them together long after the ravages of time should have torn them down. The glowing slime cast an eerie blue light over everything, and high above us the belly of the glacier groaned as it crawled slowly down the mountain.
Turner stood atop the temple, as if waiting for us. The body of the last guard lay at his feet, gutted in sacrifice by his knife.
“Nicholas,” Jack whispered. “No. Damn it, no. Why would you do this?”
Magic twisted in the air around the platform, forming a net, which pierced and bound the dark shape behind Turner. The Mother of Shadows had been inhuman, terrible, all coils and feelers. And yet her form possessed its own symmetry, its own rightness.
The creature squirming on the platform behind Turner looked painfully incomplete. Forced too soon from her chrysalis, her glowing eye had three separate pupils, and her feelers were stunted. Rudimentary wings unfurled from her back, no doubt meant to be shed after a mating flight, but they curled and twisted into uselessness.
Whyborne tensed beside me. Energy snapped around him, seeking release. A cry of pain echoed in my head, whether from the Mother of Shadows or the young queen in front of me, I couldn’t say. The umbrae rushed past us, intent on freeing the stolen queen.
The cry sharpened, crystallized. Some of the umbrae jerked, as if struck.
Then, without hesitation, they turned on their fellows. Acid-coated feelers lashed out, and wings tried to envelop. They made no sound, but I could hear their shrieks in my head as they grappled wildly. I stumbled, felt Whyborne grab my elbow to keep me on my feet.
“The little queen,” I gasped. “She’s strong—some of the umbrae hear her now, instead of the Mother of Shadows.”
“Oh hell,” Jack whispered, staring up at where Turner stood laughing now high above us. “We just brought him an army.”