lapped over me like a wave. So
much easier to just close my eyes. My knees grew weak, and I
stumbled. Perhaps I should just lie down. Sleep.
“No,” Whyborne said, like a man trapped in a
nightmare. “G-get back.”
I forced open eyes I hadn’t even realized
I’d closed. The cultist with his dagger was almost on Whyborne now.
There came the clink of metal from somewhere on the thief’s person,
and I saw some sort of shackles hanging from his belt.
They meant to use those on Whyborne. Do
something to him.
Hurt my Ival.
No.
It took every ounce of stubbornness I
possessed, but I forced my legs forward: one, then the other. “Get
away from him,” I snarled, and lifted a revolver that felt heavy as
an anvil.
The one-eyed man spat a curse. Keeping his
knife raised defensively, he grabbed for me with his other
hand.
Only it wasn’t a hand that emerged from his
odd, loose sleeve.
I had but a glimpse, before a thick, slimy
tentacle wrapped itself around my throat.
The spell fell away from me and the world
went dark, save for the lantern light. The anti-magic of the witch
hunter’s blade blinded my shadowsight. I would have cried out if
the tentacle around my neck hadn’t squeezed tight. I clawed at it
madly, trying to breathe. Suckers gripped my flesh, squirming
nauseously against my skin.
“How dare you, worm?” the cultist said.
“Your blood will feed—”
“No,” Whyborne growled, and grabbed at the
tentacle arm.
He missed, the spell of lethargy sending him
staggering. Instead, his hand closed around my shoulder.
The world exploded. Heat burned through me,
and my skin tingled. I felt as if I’d grabbed a live wire,
electricity surging through my veins.
Whyborne gasped, and I felt it in my mouth.
His heartbeat seemed to thunder in my chest alongside my own.
Flashes of emotion and fragments of thought sparkled in my brain,
there and gone too fast for me to comprehend.
The one-eyed man shouted and leapt back,
tentacle whipping free, as if we’d scorched him. The world around
me lit up once again, filled with arcane radiance. Whyborne made a
slashing gesture with his hand, and the sticky web of the spell was
obliterated in surging magic, burned away by the power of the
maelstrom.
All four of the other cultists shrieked and
released their wands. Christine let out a blistering string of
curses, and her rifle fired at almost the same instant Iskander
threw his knives. Two of the men went to the ground, dead or dying,
and the other two beat a hasty retreat.
The taste of blood filled my mouth,
accompanied by the scent of burning and hot iron. The rat creature
fled, and the one-eyed man ran after it, both vanishing into the
darkness.
Silence fell, and we were left amidst the
stones and the dead. The wands lay scattered about the clearing,
their glow soft now, the magic quiescent.
Whyborne released my shoulder. “Griffin?” he
asked, but the sound of his voice was faint and far away. The
ground was close, though, and drawing rapidly nearer. Even so, I
fell into darkness before reaching it.
Chapter 23
Griffin
“How are you feeling, darling?” Whyborne
asked.
I lay on our couch at home, Saul curled up
on my legs. Whyborne perched on the edge of the cushion, holding
out the steaming cup of tea he’d made me.
I’d awoken as Whyborne and Iskander hauled
me out of the boat. My mouth tasted of blood, and my throat was
mottled with bruises and sucker marks. A look in the mirror once
we’d returned home showed the whites of my eyes had gone red with
burst capillaries.
“The powder has taken care of the worst of
my headache,” I assured him. I took the tea, inhaling the scent of
bergamot. “I’m certain this will do me wonders.”
He watched me anxiously as I sipped the tea.
Guilt stirred in my gut—I’d frightened him, even though I certainly
hadn’t meant to do so. I reached out and took his left hand in
mine. The light from the lamp burnished the deep gold of our
wedding rings.
“What
much easier to just close my eyes. My knees grew weak, and I
stumbled. Perhaps I should just lie down. Sleep.
“No,” Whyborne said, like a man trapped in a
nightmare. “G-get back.”
I forced open eyes I hadn’t even realized
I’d closed. The cultist with his dagger was almost on Whyborne now.
There came the clink of metal from somewhere on the thief’s person,
and I saw some sort of shackles hanging from his belt.
They meant to use those on Whyborne. Do
something to him.
Hurt my Ival.
No.
It took every ounce of stubbornness I
possessed, but I forced my legs forward: one, then the other. “Get
away from him,” I snarled, and lifted a revolver that felt heavy as
an anvil.
The one-eyed man spat a curse. Keeping his
knife raised defensively, he grabbed for me with his other
hand.
Only it wasn’t a hand that emerged from his
odd, loose sleeve.
I had but a glimpse, before a thick, slimy
tentacle wrapped itself around my throat.
The spell fell away from me and the world
went dark, save for the lantern light. The anti-magic of the witch
hunter’s blade blinded my shadowsight. I would have cried out if
the tentacle around my neck hadn’t squeezed tight. I clawed at it
madly, trying to breathe. Suckers gripped my flesh, squirming
nauseously against my skin.
“How dare you, worm?” the cultist said.
“Your blood will feed—”
“No,” Whyborne growled, and grabbed at the
tentacle arm.
He missed, the spell of lethargy sending him
staggering. Instead, his hand closed around my shoulder.
The world exploded. Heat burned through me,
and my skin tingled. I felt as if I’d grabbed a live wire,
electricity surging through my veins.
Whyborne gasped, and I felt it in my mouth.
His heartbeat seemed to thunder in my chest alongside my own.
Flashes of emotion and fragments of thought sparkled in my brain,
there and gone too fast for me to comprehend.
The one-eyed man shouted and leapt back,
tentacle whipping free, as if we’d scorched him. The world around
me lit up once again, filled with arcane radiance. Whyborne made a
slashing gesture with his hand, and the sticky web of the spell was
obliterated in surging magic, burned away by the power of the
maelstrom.
All four of the other cultists shrieked and
released their wands. Christine let out a blistering string of
curses, and her rifle fired at almost the same instant Iskander
threw his knives. Two of the men went to the ground, dead or dying,
and the other two beat a hasty retreat.
The taste of blood filled my mouth,
accompanied by the scent of burning and hot iron. The rat creature
fled, and the one-eyed man ran after it, both vanishing into the
darkness.
Silence fell, and we were left amidst the
stones and the dead. The wands lay scattered about the clearing,
their glow soft now, the magic quiescent.
Whyborne released my shoulder. “Griffin?” he
asked, but the sound of his voice was faint and far away. The
ground was close, though, and drawing rapidly nearer. Even so, I
fell into darkness before reaching it.
Chapter 23
Griffin
“How are you feeling, darling?” Whyborne
asked.
I lay on our couch at home, Saul curled up
on my legs. Whyborne perched on the edge of the cushion, holding
out the steaming cup of tea he’d made me.
I’d awoken as Whyborne and Iskander hauled
me out of the boat. My mouth tasted of blood, and my throat was
mottled with bruises and sucker marks. A look in the mirror once
we’d returned home showed the whites of my eyes had gone red with
burst capillaries.
“The powder has taken care of the worst of
my headache,” I assured him. I took the tea, inhaling the scent of
bergamot. “I’m certain this will do me wonders.”
He watched me anxiously as I sipped the tea.
Guilt stirred in my gut—I’d frightened him, even though I certainly
hadn’t meant to do so. I reached out and took his left hand in
mine. The light from the lamp burnished the deep gold of our
wedding rings.
“What
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