“You called me a peacock, a spoiled rich brat. I never really thought about the fact that you were a commoner originally.”

  Will sighed. “Listen, I was overwrought. I’d just been to Hell and back, quite literally. I didn’t mean that.”

  Emory was facing away, and he shook his head. “No. You meant it. It might only be because you were tired, but you meant what you said.”

  He couldn’t argue with the truth. “I don’t hate you, Emory. I chose you as a team leader right before the war, remember?”

  “But you didn’t like me. You liked Bug. I never understood why, but it makes sense now. He grew up like you,” said the nobleman.

  Bug had been Will’s other team leader when he’d trained his sorcerer corps for the war with Darrow. Will had counted him as a friend, but Bug had kept a secret. His family had been held hostage, and he had been forced to assassinate Will. He’d nearly succeeded. “I did like Bug,” said Will, “but I liked you too.”

  “No. That’s why you objected to me courting Samantha too.” After a pause, he added, “Now that I understand, it’s probably why she rejected me.”

  Will stood and pointed to the clothes. “You’re warm enough. Put these on.” He separated one uniform and carried it over to dress his cousin. Emory obeyed, and neither of them spoke while they worked on their tasks. Will got the loose clothes onto Sammy’s small frame, then cinched them as tight as he could around her waist and wrists. He wrapped her feet and slipped the ridiculously large boots over them primarily to keep the cloth from coming loose. As he finished, he said, “She didn’t reject you because you were born noble.”

  “Why then?”

  “I barely understand it myself,” admitted Will. “I thought she would be happy about it, but she told me she has no plans to settle down.”

  “I love her,” said Emory emphatically.

  Will nodded. “She doesn’t believe it, but I don’t think it would matter. Sammy’s a lot more cynical than I realized. She might be a friend or a lover, but you’ve got a long row to hoe if you want to convince her to marry you.”

  “Row to hoe?”

  Will chuckled. “A peasant saying. It means a lot of work.”

  “I’ve never thought of you as a peasant, nor her,” said Emory. “I’ve never really cared about class and station. It’s not how I think.”

  “That’s because you were born to it. You didn’t have to,” said Will. Emory opened his mouth to protest, but Will held up his hand. “Let me finish. I married the queen, so I’ve thought about this a few times. I know there’s a lot of decent noblemen, but even though the ones like you might not think about it, we have to. Commoners face it every day. If they don’t show proper respect to the right people, they could be whipped or worse, and that’s just the beginning of all the differences we have drummed into us. I may be a duke now—”

  “Prince consort is your highest title currently, I believe,” corrected Emory.

  Will rolled his eyes. “You make my point for me. Even without thinking about it, you subconsciously keep track of everyone’s rank and station.”

  “So we can’t be friends?”

  He shook his head. “Let me apologize. I’ve been too hard on you, but that’s not what I mean. I’m prejudiced against noblemen, I’ll admit that, but I still married a princess.” Will held out his hand. “I think you’re a good man, Emory. I’ve thought so for quite a while, though I’ve been a real ass because you were interested in Sammy. I’d like to be your friend, if you’re willing.”

  The young nobleman looked at his hand and started to reach for it, then stopped. “I don’t intend to give up on her. Even if she’s a long hoe to row, I can wait, centuries if need be.”

  Will fought hard to stifle a laugh at Emory’s mixed-up idiom. “I’m fine with that.” The two men clasped hands. They let go several seconds later, and Will added somberly, “Your determination is admirable, but you’ll only have centuries if she’s still a wizard.”

  He regretted saying it when he saw the misery and self-recrimination in Emory’s eyes. I didn’t need to say that, he told himself.

  Chapter 44

  Will teleported them to the outskirts of Myrsta and then restored his anti-possession spell. He intended to use it continuously from that point, except for brief periods when he needed to teleport again. He didn’t want to be found, observed, or otherwise tracked.

  After a quick introductions with Mark Nerrow, Will and Emory prepared to leave with Sammy. They needed a stretcher to carry his cousin, which he hadn’t thought of, but his father saved them the trouble of trying to make one. The governor left and returned a short time later with one he’d taken from the army hospital.

  Mark Nerrow strongly suggested they leave Sammy there to be tended, but Will refused. Emory almost took sides against him, until he demonstrated his reasoning. “Notice anything different about her turyn?”

  “It seems low,” noted Emory.

  Will nodded. “I told you I went through something like this once. It was different for me. I still had a spell enforcing the compression of my source, but she doesn’t. Nevertheless, she’s still a third-order wizard, at least in the sense that her source is still restricted. It isn’t producing enough turyn to sustain her, but since her will is broken, her body can’t absorb and convert turyn.”

  Mark frowned. “I thought will to be a conscious aspect of magical ability.”

  “For you, that’s all it is,” he agreed. “For Emory, Sammy, and myself, it’s more than that. Not only have we trained ourselves to restrict our sources even when sleeping, or unconscious, but we’ve trained our bodies to supplement the missing energy with turyn we absorb from around us. To do that while sleeping or comatose means our wills are functioning even when we aren’t aware of it, manipulating turyn to keep us alive.” Will took a moment to brush the hair away from Sammy’s face. “Given what happened, her will has broken. She can’t do anything with turyn, whether she’s awake or asleep, but her source is still compressed. Without regular infusions, she’ll probably die.”

  Matching her turyn, Will slowly pressed more energy into Sammy’s body. Watching him work, Emory asked, “If her source is still compressed, does that mean she’s still a wizard? That she’ll recover?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Will. “If and when she wakes up, we will have to warn her not to try anything. After a few weeks, if she seems well, we can ask her to try a little magic. If that hurts, she can wait months before trying again.”

  “If she starts absorbing turyn again, that will mean she’s getting better,” suggested Emory.

  “Maybe,” said Will. “I’m doing a lot of guessing. For the present, though, we will have to keep a close watch and keep her turyn levels stable.”

  They said their goodbyes and left, two wizards on force travel disks, carrying a stretcher between them. The Cath Bawlg rode with Sammy, curled up against her neck. When night fell, Will refused to stop. Darkness was preferable since it meant they were unlikely to be observed. He could see in the dark anyway, so he led and Emory followed, maintaining a constant distance between them. By the time dawn found them, it had been nearly two full days since Will had slept, so they made camp in a secluded copse of trees.

  Sammy woke during the day, but she didn’t speak. She tried to move, but she seemed too weak to do much. Emory helped her drink and eat some bread before waking Will.

  Will was gratified to see Sammy’s pupils were responding normally, but she wouldn’t answer his questions and grew increasingly agitated the more he talked. She also seemed quite confused by her surroundings, but although she clearly wasn’t happy, Sammy was too weak to fight or even sit up. At Will’s suggestion, they removed her trousers and helped her into a position so that she could pee.

  That made his cousin furious, but nothing emerged from her lips but incoherent grunts. Will refused to relent until she peed, though, then they dressed her once more and put her back on the stretcher. When night returned, they resumed their journey, and by the second day, they reached the place Will had chosen—the abandoned town of Cotswold.

  He’d picked out the best house during his previous visits, so he took them directly to it, and they started settling in. Emory started a fire, and Will unpacked some of the sundries he had stored in his limnthal. He cooked a simple porridge using dried peas and salted ham.

  Sammy had regained enough strength to sit up on her own, and she had the coordination necessary to feed herself, but she still wouldn’t speak. If they talked too much in front of her, she became agitated, so the two men learned to stay quiet. She understood gestures though, so they quickly adapted to communicating with their hands as much as possible. Emory tried writing messages on parchment, but that upset Sammy as well.

  Sitting outside on the third day after Will’s return from Hell, Emory asked again, “What do you think is wrong with her?”

  Will tapped his temple. “Something’s not working. Mom told me once that people who hit their heads sometimes forget how to talk or speak. In her case, it might be both, as well as written language. She gets frustrated because she hears the words but can’t understand what we’re saying.”

  “She hit her head?”

  He nodded. “When she fell, but it could’ve been the turyn feedback, or a stroke afterward. Only someone like Doctor Morris would be able to suss out the exact reason. I don’t know enough.” Will was glum already, so he changed the subject. “After I went to Hell, how did things go?”

  “We took the demon-steel up to where the wagons were, and they hauled it away,” said the other man. “All according to plan. It should be halfway to Cerria by now.”

  “You gave them the message pouch, too?”

  Emory nodded. “We didn’t forget. I saw Samantha hand it to the lead driver.”

  Although he’d been shaky the first day, Emory had been solid and dependable over the past few days. Living without others to cook, clean, or fetch things for him, he’d had to learn a number of simple tasks from Will. Emory had probably been embarrassed by his ignorance, but he’d kept his chin up and hadn’t complained. Once Sammy had started walking, she’d taught the nobleman how to make tea using a kettle from the kitchen. Though she couldn’t speak, her other faculties seemed to be intact.

  Will remained with them in Cotswold for almost a full month, and during that time, he only removed the anti-possession spell four times, to try and contact Selene. Each time, she was shielded, and Janice was apparently with her. Tiny was also blocked. Will supposed the three of them must be in the middle of preparations for the golem or whatever Selene was building.

  He considered contacting Blake, since he knew the man must have been worried, but he would have to teleport physically to do that. Rimberlin was probably full of similar enchantments to spy on him, though, so even if he trusted Blake, he couldn’t tell the man anything. Only Mark Nerrow knew they were in Darrow, and only Emory, Sammy, and Evie knew they were in the abandoned town of Cotswold.

  The lich was supposedly protecting his loved ones, but Will didn’t fully trust the undead wizard. Not when it was probably the lich who had been spying on him. Grim Talek must have known what had happened in Spela. Unless the entire nation had been razed, one of the lich’s underlings would have contacted their master. He knew I was walking into a hopeless situation with no way to escape, thought Will. If I hadn’t been planning to double-cross the demons, I would still be there, and probably dead.

  Maybe the lich would keep his promises, but at least Will knew Sammy was safe. His mother, his wife, and his other friends and family, they were still at Grim Talek’s mercy. Will intended to go back for them, but he’d given up his foolish hope of saving everyone. First the dragon, then the lich, he told himself. He had to kill those two for his family, his friends, for anyone to be safe. He’d given up on trying to make sure he was the only one to suffer, and if Grim Talek tried to use his mother, Selene, or anyone else as leverage against him, that would be on the lich’s head, not his own. I’m only responsible for my own sins and fuck ups.

  He practiced relentlessly during that time, an hour a day for his usual spell practice, then four hours for the newer spells he wanted to become instinctive. That list included the new cooling spell, teleportation, an ethereal transition spell, and a spell he named ‘Erica’s Abyssal Barrier.’ Erica was the name of the tenth writer, and while she hadn’t named the spell in the ancient journal, it seemed appropriate. The spell was meant to protect the caster from unknown entities that somehow existed outside reality.

  Unfortunately, the spell was far too complex for him to have any hope of reflex casting it in that period of time. The teleport spell was, too, but he’d been using that one for long enough already that he could tell he was on the cusp of making it instinctive.

  But Will had bargained with Aislinn not just for her help teaching his students to open gates; he’d insisted on a spell she suggested would help him with his plan for the lich. Will held up a one-inch cube he’d whittled from a cow bone. Technically, it wasn’t as much a spell as an enchantment, and it was called a ward-cube. Similar to the way he used embroidered cloth strips to quickly layout and empower wards, the ward-cube could be used to set up much more complicated wards, including wards with three dimensions.

  The Abyssal Barrier was similar to a ward, though it was meant to be cast like a spell. Will took some risks and managed to modify it in such a way that he could use it as a ward, then he made a ward-cube to deploy it. With the cube in hand, Will could deploy the spell/ward repeatedly with the same ease as if he had prepared and stored the spell in advance, but without using up any of his prepared spell slots.

  Being able to use the spell at a moment’s notice was important if he wanted to catch the lich, and he needed to be able to repeat it if he failed to catch his foe the first, second, or even the third time. Will wasn’t about to underestimate the ancient wizard.

  The spell practice took up five hours a day, but with the rest of his time, Will experimented with his greater talents. Mainly, that meant learning to better use the sonic barrier he’d devised, but Will didn’t limit himself. In the past, he’d never spent time developing them, since they seemed like a natural and inevitable outgrowth of his wizardly growth.

  That was the old Will, though. He wasn’t taking anything for granted now. He explored his control over simple sounds and complex auditory illusions. He played with empty buildings, trees, and stones, learning the frequencies that they resonated with and how they could be destroyed. At other times, he practiced with Emory, who also sought to improve his skills and was always happy to assist Will with unusual requests.

  Beyond all that, Will touched the power that hid beyond the clouds, the distant fury hidden within even the calmest sky. After his battle with the king, the people had taken to calling him the Stormking. Will hadn’t liked it, but after a conversation with someone he couldn’t quite recall, he decided to claim the title for his own. The common folk might call him that in fear, but he would make sure he deserved the name.

  The final battle would probably take place far underground, in a pocket dimension where Lognion’s nest was hidden, but according to Grim Talek, the pocket dimension was sustained by the ley-line nexus. If they fought next to that, Will would have access to as much turyn as he could want, even if the sky was far beyond his reach.

  Sammy came out to watch him practice some days, her expression wistful as she saw him using magic now denied to her, but she always smiled when he came over to rest beside her. She cried at night sometimes, when she thought she was alone, and Will wondered if that was why, but he couldn’t ask her. Even after a month, she couldn’t understand speech, couldn’t talk, and couldn’t write. Will and Emory took turns keeping her turyn levels stable, otherwise she would have surely died.

  A week before he thought he might need to leave, Emory asked him, “Where’s your cat? I haven’t seen her since we came here.”

  “She’s keeping an eye on things for me,” said Will.

  “A spy?”

  “More than that, but essentially, yes. I have to know when the time is right.”

  Emory had gained even more humility of late, and he asked, “Are you going to let me help?”

  Will honestly would have liked to say yes, but his eyes traveled to where Sammy was sitting and peeling onions they’d found in a nearby garden. “I’m not that selfish,” he answered. “She needs you more.”

  Emory let out a slow sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “I wish it was different, but I’m also relieved. I couldn’t abandon her, nor do I envy you what lies ahead.” The nobleman picked at his fingernails. “You shouldn’t go either.”

  “You love me that much?” teased Will, hitting the other man with his shoulder.

  His student didn’t take the bait. Instead, he answered seriously, “Yes. I don’t want you to die. You don’t even have a weapon to use.”

  By that, Emory meant the demon-steel they’d gotten from Hell. As far as they knew it was the only thing capable of killing a dragon. “Selene and the lich have it. I trust them to make good use of it.”

  “Then let them kill the dragon! You don’t need to do this.”

  Will gave his friend a curious look. “Are you counseling me to abandon my wife, your queen, and leave her to kill a dragon by herself?”

  “Yes,” said Emory emphatically. He looked around at the empty town for a second. “I’m nobody here. Neither are you. You didn’t like me because I grew up with privilege, but these past days here have been some of the best I can remember. Just the three of us.”

  Will snorted. “I’m going to ignore your open treason and point out that you’re enjoying it mainly because she’s here.”

  “So? What’s your point? I’ll stay here forever if it makes her happy, whether it’s as her husband or simply as a fool who doesn’t know when to give up.”

  Despite himself, Will felt his eyes grow damp. “Damn it, Emory. You keep that up and I’m going to fall in love with you, even if she doesn’t!” He seized the other man’s neck and pulled him close, kissing him fiercely on the cheek. “I’ll call you my brother, whether you marry her or not.”