Aldrin's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Warwick's hands rose. Red light gathered between them. Aldrin pulled Selara toward the stair, but her knees buckled. She had hung in those chains for years. Her legs would not hold. She weighed almost nothing in his arms, and still she could not run. "Go," she said. "Leave me. You're faster alone." "No." He got an arm under her. "I didn't climb this tower to leave you." He took two steps. Warwick's spell flared brighter. Aldrin knew the shape of it now. Not fire. The Severing Rite, the same magic that killed his master. It would strip them both and mark Warwick's signature on their skin. If he ran, it would catch them on the stair. Selara could not move fast enough to clear it. His fist still held the gray gem. The stone had cracked when it broke her chains. It had burned itself out. But the dead mage's memory had told him one thing more: the gem answered fire, and it could turn dark magic aside. Aldrin let go of Selara and set her against the wall. "Hold here." "Aldrin—" He stepped between her and Warwick. The spell came. Red light tore across the room. Aldrin raised the gem and struck his blue magic against it, one hard spark. The cracked stone drank it. Color burst inside, brilliant and chromatic, the last of its life. He shoved that light forward like a shield. Warwick's spell hit it. The gem screamed with color. Red and gold and green flooded the room. The Severing Rite bent, slid sideways, and struck the far wall instead of them. The wall blackened. Stone ran like wax. The gem shattered in Aldrin's hand. Its pieces fell dark and dead. His palm bled where the edges cut. But the spell was gone. Warwick staggered. His white eyes dimmed. The rite had cost him. His failing tower shook harder now, stones dropping from above. He looked at Aldrin with hate and something close to fear. "You spent it," Warwick said. "You have nothing left." "I have her," Aldrin said. He grabbed Selara. She got one arm over his shoulders. Together they reached the stair. A cry rose behind them. Not words. A great red bird broke through a high window, feathers burning. The phoenix that had given him the gem swept down between them and Warwick, wings spread wide, buying them the stair. They went down fast, half falling. Behind them the tower groaned and cracked. Warwick's voice chased them, casting again, but the phoenix held the room above. They burst out the sealed door, now split open, into cold night air. Selara sank to the ground and breathed. Aldrin looked at his empty, bleeding hand. He had saved her. The gem was gone. His proof against Warwick was gone with it. And Warwick still lived, still cast, still knew his signature. Aldrin had no weapon left, only a name and a broken tower behind him.