Do you think the rift has something to do with what’s happening to rune magic?
Lirith said.
Grace curled up in the chair, hugging her legs to her chest.
I
suppose it’s too much to believe it’s a coincidence. And it’s not
just the Runelords. Lately, the witches here have been struggling with weaving spells.
That is troubling news
, came Aryn’s reply.
I confess, it was
more difficult than usual to reach you over the Weirding. Were it
not for Lirith’s aid, I’m not sure I would have succeeded.
So magic was being affected in the south, not just the north. That was troubling news.
I have to go
, Grace said reluctantly.
I have to talk to Melia
and Falken about what we’re going to do.
Wait, Grace
, Lirith said, and something in her voice made Grace sit up straight in the chair.
We have news ourselves. Such
strange news . . .
Grace stared, her body going numb, as she listened to Lirith speak of the letter she had received from Sareth just last night, brought to Calavere by a rider from the south. After three thousand years, Morindu the Dark, lost city of sorcerers, had been found. But it was not so much the news that stunned Grace as the name of the dervish who had brought this knowledge to the Mournish.
Grace, I’m getting tired
, Aryn said when Lirith finished.
I
know there’s so much to talk about, but I can’t hold on to this
thread any longer. It keeps slipping through my fingers. We’ll
have to talk again later.
“No, wait!” Grace cried out, standing. “Please don’t go!” But their threads had already slipped away.
She moved to the window, gazing outside, letting the morning sun fall on her face. A hawk wheeled against the flawless blue sky.
“How?” she murmured, her hand creeping up her chest, pressing against her heart. “How did you get here, Hadrian?”
That was a question that would have to wait. However, this news changed everything. Grace no longer needed Melia and Falken to help her decide what to do. She already knew.
Seek the one who destroyed this world
, the dragon had said.
He will come in search of it. . . .
Travis would help her find the Last Rune—the rune that had the power to stop the rift.
And now she knew where she would find Travis.
Grace turned from the window, opened the door, and went downstairs to tell Melia and Falken that she was leaving Malachor.
12.
Vani and Beltan were already moving toward the back of the flat before the sound of falling glass ceased. The blond man paused to grab his sword from the wall above the sofa. Its broad blade gleamed, a decoration no longer.
“Travis,” he said gruffly, “you and Deirdre stay in here.”
Travis gave a wordless nod, then the knight and the
T’gol
vanished into the darkened hallway. His heart raced, but all it would take was a single spell cast by a sorcerer and its beating would stop forever.
He bent down on one knee. “Come here, Nim.”
The girl walked to him, her gold-flecked eyes solemn, and pressed a small hand against his cheek. “You shouldn’t be afraid. Mother always sends the gold men away, and this time she has my father Beltan to help her. He’s very strong, you know.”
Despite his fear, Travis couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, he is.” He scooped the girl into his arms, amazed at how light she was, and stood. Deirdre was frantically dialing a number on her cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Travis whispered.
She held the phone to her ear and ran a hand through her shaggy red-black hair. “Calling for backup.”
Holding Nim, Travis took a step toward the hallway. He couldn’t see Beltan and Vani anymore; they must have slipped into the bedroom. There was no sound now. What was happening in there?
By the hand of Olrig, why don’t you go find out for yourself? Jack Graystone’s voice spoke in his mind.
You’re a Runelord,
Travis. You can take out a mere sorcerer. You’ve done it before.
Yes, he had slain a sorcerer before, but not with rune magic. It had been in Castle City, in the year 1883, when he had finally come face-to-face with the Scirathi who had followed them through the gate. A drop of blood from the scarab had entered Travis’s veins, and that blood of power had allowed him to turn the death spell back on the Scirathi, slaying him.
That’s right, I quite forgot
, Jack’s voice spoke excitedly in his mind.
Runes won’t be much help on this world without the
Great Stones to lend them some punch. But you’re a sorcerer
now yourself, and a fine one at that. You have nothing to fear
from them, my boy.
Travis was quite certain Jack was wrong about that. All the same, he started toward the kitchen to get a knife.
Behind him, Deirdre swore softly. Travis halted and turned around. “What’s the matter?”
She lowered the cell phone. “My partner, Anders, wasn’t home. I was leaving a message on his machine, only then there was a burst of static and the phone went dead.”
Nim tightened her arms around Travis’s neck. “The air feels funny,” she said. “It’s all tickly.”
Travis tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He didn’t know how she had sensed it, but Nim was right. Power crackled on the air.
His eyes snapped open. “Deirdre, get away from the—”
The front door of the flat burst open in a spray of wood.
Deirdre stumbled to her knees under the force of the blast, the cell phone flying out of her hands. Travis hugged Nim to him. In the doorway stood a figure clad in black, a serene gold face nestled into the cowl of its robe. Before Travis could think, the sorcerer raised a hand, stretching its fingers toward him.
Nim screamed, and Travis felt his heart lurch in his chest.
“Meleq!” he shouted.
The rune was weak—weaker than he would have expected even here on Earth—but it was enough to lift a chunk of wood from the floor and fling it at the sorcerer. The blow was far too feeble to cause damage, but on instinct the sorcerer moved his hand to bat the chunk of wood aside. Travis felt his heart resume its rapid cadence.
“Sinfath!”
A sick feeling came over him, just as when he had tried to bind the broken plate and failed. The sorcerer stepped through the door. Travis swallowed the bile in his throat.
“Sinfath!” he shouted again.
This time it worked, though again the rune was pitifully weak. All the same, a foggy patch of gloom precipitated out of thin air around the sorcerer. It would obscure his vision, but only for a moment.
“Come on,” he croaked, grabbing Deirdre’s hand and hauling her to her feet. Clutching Nim to his chest, Travis ran toward the hallway, Deirdre stumbling on his heels.
They were only halfway across the living room when the windows shattered, knives of glass slicing the curtains to shreds. Black gloves parted the tatters of cloth, and a second figure hopped down from the windowsill, robe fluttering like shadowy wings as it alighted on the floor.
Travis stopped short, and Deirdre crashed into him. He shot a glance over his shoulder in time to see the last effects of his runespell dissipate. The first sorcerer stalked toward them, while the second positioned himself in front of the entrance to the hallway, blocking their egress.
“What do we do?” Deirdre hissed, grabbing his arm.
“Nothing,” he said.
Behind the second sorcerer, the air in the hallway rippled, like the surface of a pool disturbed by a falling stone. Travis’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral grin, and the Scirathi tilted his gold mask to one side in what seemed a quizzical expression.
“You forgot something,” Travis said.
The dim air of the hallway condensed in on itself, solidifying into a thing of sleek fury. The Scirathi started to turn, but he was too slow. A fist lashed out, striking him in the face. There was a bright flash of gold, and the sorcerer screamed. He groped with trembling fingers, touching the scarred ruin of what had once been his face. His gold mask clattered to the floor across the room.
For eons, the Scirathi had poured all their will and energy into the forging of the golden masks. The masks channeled their magic, focused it, granting a sorcerer abilities that otherwise would lay beyond his skill. Yet there was a price. Over time, the Scirathi had become dependent on the masks, and so without the devices they were powerless.
The sorcerer started to stumble toward the mask, but Vani landed soundlessly next to him. She laid her hands on either side of his head and made a motion so gentle it seemed a caress. There was a popping sound, and the sorcerer slumped to the floor.
Beltan jumped over the corpse, sword before him.
“Travis,” he growled. “Duck.”
Travis knew not to question. He grabbed Deirdre, pulling her to the floor along with Nim, and rolled to one side. He looked up in time to see the remaining sorcerer reach a hand toward Beltan’s chest to cast a death spell. However, the blond man’s sword was already moving. The Scirathi’s hand flew off, hitting the floor with a thud. A hiss escaped the mouth slit of the sorcerer’s mask, and he clutched the stump of his wrist to his chest. Beltan pulled his sword back, preparing a killing blow.
“No, Beltan,” Travis said, the words sharp. “Wait.”
Beltan gave him a puzzled look, but he did as Travis asked. Travis set Nim on the floor next to Deirdre and stood. The sorcerer let out another venomous hiss, reaching toward Travis’s chest. Only his hand was gone. Blood rained from the stump.
The red fluid vanished before it touched the floor.
Travis could hear it now: a buzzing noise, growing louder. The sorcerer jerked his gold face upward. Yes, he heard, too.
“You called them to you with your spell,” Travis said softly. “Now they’re coming.”
The sorcerer frantically clutched the wounded stump of his wrist, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his robe.
It was no use. They howled in through the window like a swarm of angry insects. Travis knew they would be invisible to the eyes of the others, but he could see them as tiny motes whirling on the air: sparks of blackness rather than light. Travis knelt and shielded Nim’s eyes with a hand.
A part of him watched with disinterested fascination. He had always wondered if the
morndari
existed on this world. But of course they had to; otherwise the magic of the sorcerers would not work here. The spirits had passed through the crack Travis had opened between the worlds in 1883, just like the power of rune magic.
Only just like rune magic, the
morndari
were far weaker here on Earth. They should have consumed the sorcerer’s blood swiftly, granting him a quick, if not painless, end.
Instead it was slow. Horribly slow. He waved his remaining hand in frantic motions, as if he could beat them away, though that was impossible, for they had no substance, no form. They swarmed around the stump of his hand like bees around a flower dripping nectar, consuming the blood that poured from it. Then, hungry for more, they passed through the wound into his veins. He fell to the floor, back arching, crimson froth bubbling through the mouth slit of his mask.
At last the sorcerer went still. His body was an empty husk; there was no more blood to drink. The
morndari
buzzed away and were gone. They had been sated, for now at least.
Deirdre wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What the hell just happened?”
“A sorcerer must control the flow of his blood,” Vani said. “He did not, and so the
morndari
he summoned turned on him.” She moved forward and picked up Nim. “Are you well, daughter?”
The girl gave a somber nod. “My father Travis is a powerful sorcerer.”
Travis felt Vani’s gold eyes on him.
“Yes,” the
T’gol
said. “He is.”
“What was in the bedroom?” Deirdre said, looking as if she was trying hard not to vomit.
“A stone through the window,” Beltan said. “It was a distraction, meant to separate us. It nearly worked. I should have known the Scirathi would try a trick like that. They’re sly dogs.” He looked at Vani. “I wonder how they knew you and Nim were here.”
Travis crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to think of the way his own blood surged through his veins. “I have a better question: How are the sorcerers here on Earth at all? Sareth has the one gate artifact, and the other was lost when the Etherion collapsed.”
“Perhaps it was found,” Vani said.
Beltan pulled the robes of the sorcerers over their faces. “And maybe they still had some of the fairy’s blood. I mean Sindar’s blood. He gave himself up to the Scirathi so he could get to Earth and find you, Travis, to give you the Stone of Twilight. The sorcerers might have preserved some of his blood.”
Travis couldn’t help a grim smile. As usual Beltan saw the simple solution the rest of them had overlooked. “That explains how the Scirathi got here, but how did they know you were here, Vani?”
“I would give much to know the answer to that,” the
T’gol
said. “I cannot believe they followed me.”
Nor could Travis. The
T’gol
could make herself virtually invisible when she wanted. No one could have followed her, not even a sorcerer. All the same, somehow they had known she and Nim were there.
Beltan picked up the gold mask, which had fallen to the floor. “Vani, do the Scirathi usually attack in twos?”
The
T’gol
shook her head. “There will be more. We must go.”
“Go where?” the blond knight said.
“The Seeker Charterhouse,” Deirdre said, gripping Travis’s arm. “There’s no place in the city with tighter security. Not even Buckingham Palace.”
Beltan tossed down the mask. “We’ll take my cab.”
Vani moved down the hallway. “We will take the fire escape and go through the alley. The front of the building might be watched.”
However, by the time they peered around the corner of the alley, the street beyond was dark and silent.
“Can you see anything?” Beltan whispered to Travis.
Travis could see in the dark better than even Vani; it was one of the ways he had been changed by the Stone of Fire. But there was nothing there. In fact, he had never seen the street so utterly devoid of signs of life. Every window was dark; even the street-lamps seemed dim, their circles of light contracted.
Beltan motioned for the others to follow and led the way to his cab. They climbed in—Beltan and Vani up front, Travis, Nim, and Deirdre in the back. Beltan cranked the key in the ignition.
Nothing happened. Beltan made a growling sound low in his throat. “By the Holy Bull’s Big Bloody B—”
Vani slapped the blond man’s cheek. Hard.
He shot her a wounded look. “What was that for?”
“I think it was for swearing when children are present,” Deirdre said, hugging Nim on her lap.
“No,” Vani said, then reconsidered. “Well, yes, now that you mention it. But it was mostly for this.”
She opened her hand. On her palm was what looked at first like a crumpled piece of gold foil.
“Get out of the car,” Travis said. “Now!”
They scrambled out of the taxi. Travis grabbed Deirdre, spinning her around, searching for any signs of them on her or on Nim.
“Are you trying to make me throw up?” the Seeker said, staggering.
“Gold spiders,” Travis said. “Do you see any gold spiders on you or Nim? The Scirathi create them. They move like they’re alive, only they’re not. They’re more like little machines, filled with venom. One bite and you’re—” He clamped his mouth shut, aware of Nim’s wide eyes locked on him.
“I don’t like spiders,” the girl said, pronouncing the word
thpiderth
. “They have too many legs.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Deirdre said in a cheerful voice. “But look—they’re all gone now.”
They were, as far as Travis could tell, though there could be more of them in the taxi, hiding in niches and recesses, waiting to crawl out when a hand passed nearby. It didn’t matter. The car was dead.
“We must go,” Vani said, giving him a sharp look.
Travis started to reply, then froze. He saw them before the others possibly could have, making out the hump-backed shapes against the gloom. They loped down the street, moving swiftly on both feet and knuckles. A moment later Beltan swore, and Vani went rigid. So they had seen the things as well.
“Run,” Travis said. “Now.”
They turned and careened down the street. Travis muttered the runes of twilight and shadow through clenched teeth. They only seemed to work half the time, and when they did they were pitifully frail, but he had to hope their magic would conceal the five of them. Because there was no way they could outrun the things that were after them.