Nix tensed his body and tried to angle himself slightly, but nothing prepared him for the force of the impact, the sudden cold. He might as well have crashed into a rock wall. The impact rattled his body, made him see sparks, forced the air from his lungs. He sank deep into the dark, quiet water, his body already turning numb from the frigid water.
Around him the water lightened then glowed brightly as the flaming guardian spirits knifed into the sea and floated toward them. Bubbles and steam boiled away from the flaming guards' forms as they descended, the holes of their eyes fixed on Nix.
Nix kicked his legs and recoiled, going deeper, until his back thumped against the rocky bottom. And still the guardians came, diminishing with each stroke as the water claimed more and more of their forms, but performing their vengeful duty even as it destroyed them. They descended closer, closer, and a flaming hand reached for Nix's face… and surrendered entirely to the sea before reaching him. The flaming bodies died out, dissipated with the faint echo of Afirion curses.
Nix's lungs burned. His clothes were soaked, weighing him down. He had no idea how deep he was, though he could perceive the filtered light of dusk. Panicked, he pushed off the bottom with what strength he had left and made for the surface.
Water, unending water. He needed to breathe, and the instinct to gulp air became overwhelming. He was lightheaded, failing.
A hand seized him by the cloak and jerked him to the surface. He broke the waterline into the gray light of twilight, felt cool air on his face, and drew it into his lungs in greedy, heaving gulps.
"Breathe," Egil said, gulping air himself and keeping Nix afloat. "Breathe."
Nix could not speak. He nodded, gasping, coughing. Egil held him by the collar and kept his head above water.
The waves surged them back and forth, driving their wounded, burned bodies into rocks, pushing them toward the cliff. Nix did not have the energy to resist the water's will. He and Egil just fended off the rocks as best they could with their legs and arms.
"Good," Nix said after a time. "I'm good."
"Anyone else get out?" Egil said.
"I don't think so," Nix said.
They called out, hoping to hear a response over the rush and hum of the surf. When they heard nothing, Egil uttered a short prayer to Ebenor, wishing the guards' souls a safe journey into the spheres of the afterlife.
"Let's get out of the water," Egil said. "We'll die of cold."
"Aye," Nix said.
"Got the horn still?"
A moment of panic seized Nix at the thought he might have lost it, but the strap hadn't broken. The horn still hung around his neck. For good measure, he felt for his satchel of magical and mundane paraphernalia, his weapons. He had everything. Except the men he'd come in with. Damn.
Abn Thuset's final ward had gotten some good men, but she hadn't gotten them all. Somewhere under him, he knew, the stone face of the wizardqueen's statue looked up at him with ire.
"You have a lovely home, milady," he said to her.
They fought the waves and their wounds as they tried to make for the distant beach, further exhausting themselves. They swam, floated, and sputtered along the cliff face toward the shoreline. By the time they made it, Nix felt as though he had swum a league. His arms hung dead from his shoulders. He was giddy when he felt a sandy bottom under his feet. He and Egil stood in the chest-high water and waded in, assisted by the rolling surf. Nix's body ached all over. He was burned in places, and he'd wrenched his right leg. He favored it as the water grew shallower, stumbled often.
Beside him, the priest looked slumped, bedraggled, his mustache, beard, and ruff of hair sodden. Burns pinked his face, forearms, and his tattooed scalp.
"Hurt the leg?" Egil asked Nix. "Can you walk?"
"Barely," Nix said, limping on the wounded leg. "Must have twisted it fleeing the flames."
Gulls flew around them, cawed irritably. Shouts sounded from their left, from atop the cliff. Nix saw figures there, and raised a hand to hail them, but they must not have seen him. More shouts from behind the rise that hid the beach from the plains. Sounded like Jyme.
"Here," Nix tried to call, but his raw throat mustered a poor shout. He stripped off his cloak and shirt as he plodded through the surf, wrung them out. Egil did the same. Both of them shivered in the cool air.
"Anything?" Nix said, holding his arms out and turning a circle so Egil could see his back.
"An unimpressive physique and a few burns, but nothing that'll kill you," Egil said, and held out his own arms and turned. "Me?"
Nix eyed the priest's broad back. "How am I supposed to see anything through all that back hair? No wonder you didn't get burned. You've a pelt."
"Fak you."
Nix chuckled. "No wounds that I can see through the thicket, save minor burns. You're good."
"I wouldn't say that," Egil said, and sagged to the sand. Nix did the same. He felt like he could have slept a week. They sat there shivering, too tired to stand. A few gulls approached, eyeing them warily.
More shouts from over the rise. Jyme was getting closer. Startled by Jyme's shouts, the gulls cawed and flew off.
Halfheartedly, Nix said, "Maybe we should kill Rakon now. What do you think?"
The spellworm rewarded his words and thoughts with a bout of nausea. The discomfort felt almost quaint after the pain of fire.
Egil clutched his stomach, grimaced against the pain of the worm. "Tempting, I admit. But I figure he was just aiding his sisters. We all do things to help those we love, right?"
"Right," Nix said, thinking of the Vwynn he'd killed to save Egil.
"We can't kill him just because he's a prick, can we?" Egil asked. "We make that our rule and our blades will be bloody until we're graybeards."
"Plenty of pricks in Ellerth," Nix agreed. "And yet… the sisters he seeks to help are witches."
"And he's a sorcerer," Egil said thoughtfully. He looked up. "Perhaps we should kill him, do the world a service."
The words made Egil groan with pain, the worm vexing him. He punched himself in the stomach.
"It's worth it, you fakkin' worm."
"I think we'd have to kill Baras and Jyme to get to him," Nix said. "I've no stomach for that."
"Baras, maybe," Egil said. "Not Jyme. But what if the Lord Mayor somehow learned we'd killed his Adjunct? We'd never be able to return to Dur Follin."
"I do sort of like it there," Nix said. He sighed. "Well enough. You make fair points. We let him live. I was just trying on a thought, is all. I get irritable when my flesh is nearly consumed in fire. Another time, maybe."
"Another time," Egil agreed.
Jyme's shouts sounded nearer.
"Over here!" Nix called, managing a creditable yell.
Jyme appeared atop the rise that overlooked the beach, his eyes wide, his face wearing an expression of shock.
"Gods, men! There you are! We saw that fire! Hells, the whole hill vibrated!" He shouted up at the cliff. "My lord! Baras! I've found them! They're here! Over here!"
Baras's shout answered from atop the cliff.
"On our way!"
In moments Rakon and Baras were hurrying down the hill, leading the horses.
Jyme hurried toward Egil and Nix, stumbling in the sand as he ran. "Where are the others?"
"It's just us," Nix said.
"Shite," Jyme said. He made the symbol of Orella with his hand.
"Aye," Egil said. "Shite. They were good men."
Nix stood and pulled on his shirt, wincing from various pains. Egil did the same.
"Is that it?" Jyme asked, nodding at the horn Nix had placed on the sand. "The horn?"
Nix had almost forgotten about it. He picked it up and examined it more closely. It felt heavier than it should, given its size and composition. His hands tingled from its enchantment.
"What's all that writing mean?" Jyme asked.
Nix shrugged. "I can't read it."
"How in the Pits do you rob all these tombs if you c
an't read Afirion?"
Egil shook his head. Nix sighed.
"Jyme, robbing tombs, as you so genteelly put it, involves avoiding traps, crawling through dirt, picking locks, and sometimes, sometimes, killing guardians. As a rule, poetry readings are not required. I can read enough, but not this. It's an older dialect, I think."
"I… I only meant…"
"Just shut up, Jyme," Egil said.
Rakon and Baras crested the rise, leaving the horses behind them. Rakon stood his ground atop it. Baras continued toward them.
"Do you have it?" Rakon called. He shifted from foot to foot. "The horn? Do you have it?"
"We have it, you bunghole," Nix muttered.
Jyme chuckled.
"My men?" Baras asked, looking up and down the beach.
Egil shook his head. "They didn't come out."
"Sorry, Baras," Nix said.
"Shite," Baras said.
"Do they have it, Baras?" Rakon called again, his voice tense.
Baras's face flashed irritation, but only for a moment. His eyes fell on the horn Nix held. Over his shoulder, he called, "They have it, my lord."
"Well done! Bring it to me, Baras."
Nix handed the instrument to Baras.
"It damned well better work after all this," Baras said softly, eyeing the horn. "Good men died for it."
"Uh, take anything else out of there?" Jyme asked. "Anything valuable?"
"Our lives," Nix said irritably. "But maybe you meant something else?"
"No offense meant," Jyme said. "Just asking, is all."
"It's forgotten," Nix said with a sigh. "I'm irritable, is all."
"Hurry, Baras," Rakon said, his voice greedy with anticipation. The sorcerer looked to the sky, the setting sun turning it red. "Hurry!"
Baras jogged the horn over to Rakon. Egil, Nix, and Jyme started for the rise. The moment Baras handed the horn to Rakon, Nix felt a sharp pain in his abdomen, as if he'd been stabbed. He doubled over, groaning. Egil did the same.
"What is it?" Jyme asked. "What's wrong?"
Nix tried to speak, but the squirming in his guts allowed him to do nothing but heave. He put his hands on his knees and puked bile, then a long, thick stream of sputum that seemed to go on forever. Beside him, Egil did the same.
"There's something wrong with them," Jyme called to Rakon.
"There's nothing wrong," Rakon said. "They completed their charge and now they're free of the spellworm."
The heaves went on for some time, Egil and Nix purging themselves of Rakon's compulsion. When they were done, twin snakes of greenish-black phlegm lay glistening in the sand.
"That's unpleasant," Egil said, wiping his mouth, kicking sand over the mucus.
"Seconded," Nix said.
"You all right?" Jyme asked. He'd lingered while they'd puked.
"As well as can be," Nix said. "Come on. Time to take our leave, I think."
By the time they reached the camp, Rakon and the eunuch had already laid his sisters on the ground. The horn hung from Rakon's neck and his satchel of needful things from his shoulder. Baras stood at a distance from Rakon, watching with a curious look on his face.
"What is he doing?" Jyme said.
Nix shrugged. "Breaking the curse, maybe? That's what this was all about."
"Was it?" Egil said.
"You have a thought?" Nix asked him.
"Suspicions," the priest answered. "Let's hold here."
"I want to get supplies and get clear," Nix said. "We're done. I'm done."
"Just hold," Egil said.
Baras walked toward Rakon and the eunuch. "My lord, your sisters need to be strapped to the horses for the return journey to Dur Follin. Unless you intend to lift the curse here?"
Rakon did not turn. "We won't be taking the horses, Baras. I cannot spare the time to return on foot. The Thin Veil is near."
"The Thin Veil, my lord? I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," Rakon said. He nodded at the eunuch and the huge man took Baras by the arms and steered him away from Rakon and his sisters. Meanwhile, Rakon rummaged through the pack on the ground until he found what he sought: a wristthick candle. He stood it in the sand, uttered the words to a cantrip, and a flame sprung from his finger. He touched it to the candle and thick black smoke rose into the twilight air.
"You've done me a service," Rakon said over his shoulder to Egil and Nix. "I won't soon forget it. Nor will I forget that all of this was necessary to begin with only due to your interference in matters beyond your ken. Tomb robbers and thieves almost brought down the house of my forefathers."
"You blather, man," Nix said. "We had nothing to do with any of this. At least I don't think we did. Did we, Egil?"
Egil didn't answer. He had his eyes on the sorcerer, his hand on a hammer. Jyme stood with them, lingered at a distance.
"And now those same imbeciles have saved it," Rakon said.
"Imbeciles!" Nix said.
"What's he doing?" Jyme asked in a hiss.
Nix shrugged.
Jyme said, "I thought you learned magic before dropping out of the Conclave?"
"He was expelled," Egil said absently.
Nix pointed an appreciative finger at his friend.
Smoke spiraled from the candle in a thick black line. The smoke smelled of burning flesh, pungent and foul. Rakon looked up to the darkening sky, held his hands aloft, and began to incant.
To Nix, the words Rakon used sounded much like the Language of Creation, but the inflection was off, the pronunciation harsher. Nix knew none of the words, but he didn't have to. He could see the result.
The wind picked up, swirled in tiny vortices around Rakon, sent sand churning into the air, a fog of grit.
"Maybe we should, uh, leave?" Jyme said.
Nix was thinking the same thing, but just as he was about to suggest as much, Rakon's incantation intensified, the candle wick flared, and the candle burned half its length in a flash, sending a column of foul black smoke into the whipping air. Rather than dissipate, the smoke lingered in the swirls, outlining a nebulous, shifting shape. Nix heard a voice in the wind, the words too soft to make out, a high-pitched, otherworldly titter similar to the one he'd heard back in the Wastes when he'd awakened from a dream.
"A sylph," Nix said. "I should've guessed before."
Rakon pointed at the air, where the smoke gathered and hinted at a huge, winged form. "Carry my sisters and me back to the prison, spirit."
The wind whispered in answer, the words audible only to Rakon.
Gusts formed a wall of whirling sand around Rakon, the desert orbiting him and his sisters. Baras pulled his cloak over his face and turned away. Egil, Nix, and Jyme shielded their faces. Only the eunuch, standing just outside the wall of sand, seemed unbothered. Rakon and his sisters sat in the center of the winds, untouched by the swirling sands.
"My lord!" Baras called over the swirl. "What is this? What about the horn, your sisters?"
"The horn will do its work and so will my sisters," Rakon answered. "Goodbye, Baras."
"Are you… leaving us?" Baras asked. "My lord, we'll die out here."
"Then die, Baras. You've done your work, too."
"My lord! I–"
"Enough, Baras!"
The wind picked up and the sylph, invisible now except when grains of sand momentarily defined its form, lifted Rakon and his sisters from the sand. Rakon glared at them as he rose higher into the air.
"Eater!" Rakon called down, and it took a moment for Nix to understand that he was addressing the eunuch. "When Egil and Nix are dead, you're free, the binding undone."
The eunuch grunted, turned, and fixed his vacant eyes on Egil and Nix.
"Really, that seems uncharitable," Nix muttered. "And a eunuch, no less? Not even a creditable assassin. I'm insulted. You hear me, Norristru? I'm insulted!"
Egil made an obscene gesture at Rakon as the sylph bore him and his sisters higher into the air on a blanket of air.
"Al
l that shite I said about not killing him… forget I said any of that. Next time we see him, we kill him."
"Agreed," Nix said, drawing his falchion and hand axe. He considered taking a shot with his sling at Rakon, but the sylph's winds would make it fruitless, like trying to shoot gulls at the Heap.