Twenty-three days before the Black Mausoleum
The alchemist they’d set him to guard had been stupid enough to leave the Purple Spur and come to the Pinnacles. Rumour said there had been others, a group of them. Some rebel faction, or else a delegation from the speaker under the Spur. Came with a company of Adamantine Men, who either fought like demons or surrendered like lambs, depending on who was doing the saying. They made him her watcher, but they were always going to kill her. Something brutal and pointless, full of harsh words and empty ceremony. Seemed like a waste. And he hadn’t had a woman for far too long. And he was an Adamantine Man, at war with the dragons, and that gave him the right to have her.
Except then she’d reached into his head with her witchery and they’d fled the Pinnacles on Prince Lai’s wings, him with a half-dead fool over his shoulders, and here he was. Comforting himself with steel and hard sinew instead of soft skin and writhing flesh.
Either was a pleasure. When the feral men came a second time, he saw his own death and saw that that was no bad thing. He let the fury drive him among them, sure that none would be able to stand against him, but knowing that in the end their numbers were too many. He took that knowledge and forged it into strength and fell upon them like a storm.
‘Mage!’ Another one, lurching out of the shadows. Barely seen. Hurt and half blind. Not a threat. Skjorl ignored him.
The cry jarred the others. He saw one fall back, another beside him hesitate, and that was all he needed to leap and cut the man in two.
‘No!’ That was the alchemist. He felt her cry more than heard it, twisting inside him through whatever tether she’d made to him. Blood and anger and pain, all to feed his own.
‘Mage! Blood-mage! Abomination!’ Someone unseen in the shadows, back where he’d left the outsider. The feral men around him fell away, and when he lunged and rushed them, they turned and fled and he was still alive, and this wasn’t going to be his death after all.
He let them go. Took an effort of will to do that. When he was sure they were gone, he shouldered Dragon-blooded and went straight to the outsider. Keep him alive. That was what he had to do. Didn’t want to, but the alchemist demanded it. He was compelled.
A few steps later and he almost trod on her in the dark, stretched out at his feet. Might be dead, but he knew straight away that she wasn’t, before he even touched her. He could feel her, tied to him, could feel the faint flicker of her life, heart still strong. Could feel all that inside him.
Covered in her own blood, when he took a closer look. He crouched beside her and took the knife out of her hand
‘What have you done to me?’ he asked but she couldn’t answer. He thought about touching her. Finishing what he’d started back in her cell. Thought about it, but did nothing, because another thought crushed it: he could kill her. Would that end what she’d done to him? Surely it would.
Kill her. Leave her body. Leave the other one too. Go down to the tunnels, fight his way to the underground gates of the Pinnacles. That would be easy. Go back to the fortress of no hope and take what punishment would come for stealing Prince Lai’s wings.
Kill her and be free. Tempting, but his hand didn’t move.
She stirred.
‘Alchemist?’ Now! Now or not at all! And still his hand didn’t move, and then her eyes flickered open and he felt something slam inside him, hurling him away from her.
No! Back away!
He stumbled, silently cursing. ‘If I was going to do anything, alchemist, I would have done it by now.’
Begged the question why he hadn’t, though.
‘You chased them off. They thought you were a demon.’ He gave her back her knife. Blood-magic. Wasn’t that supposed to be against everything an alchemist stood for? He poked at the wound on her shoulder. Small for so much blood. Looked like an old wound, one that had closed days ago, but it hadn’t been there when she’d been in her cell, he was quite sure of that. Was that something that alchemists could do?
‘So now what?’ she asked.
He laughed. Now there was a question. To go with Why didn’t I kill you when I could? He shrugged and picked up the outsider. Now what? Down, that was what. Down into the tunnels to Farakkan. At least that far they’d be safe from dragons.
She shivered. She looked so weak most of the time. He should have killed her. A part of him knew that with a stone-cold certainty. Should have killed her and set himself free while she’d lain flat out on the stone.
‘Suppose I’ll be showing you the way then. Best be under the ground before any dragons wake up. Can’t promise we won’t have more of this lot to deal with either.’ He kicked one of the bodies. He didn’t offer her a hand; he didn’t even look back at her.