The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [109]
Imran fought like a classical duelist, his body straight and still behind layers of wards while his magic spun sharp as daggers around him—Zhirin was surprised he didn’t call a halt till they could find seconds and draw circles. She wasn’t strong enough to face his spellcraft head-on. Instead she dodged and wove, threw illusions and ribbons of fog to distract him while she twisted away from his assaults.
Magic dizzied her—for an instant she was quicksilver speed, elusive and untouchable. Then a gust of wind sharp as a blade sliced her cheek, and another tore her sleeve and the flesh beneath. The air thickened in her lungs and her throat tightened when she tried to draw breath. Her magic broke against his and rolled away as the pressure in her chest grew. Drowning on dry land. Her knees shook, but the vise around her throat wouldn’t let her fall. The night splintered into shards of black and red.
Then the grip vanished and she collapsed, knees cracking the stone hard enough to make her sob as air rushed into her aching lungs.
Imran stumbled and fell as well, groping toward his back. As Zhirin’s vision cleared, she saw Xinai’s knife hilt standing out of his shoulder. She and the mercenary stared at each other while Imran swore and bled on the stones.
Then he began to scream.
Isyllt stared at Asheris with otherwise eyes. Now that she knew how to look, she could see the truth. Such a simple disguise, but effective. Few would think to look for demons in the Emperor’s palace.
“They bound you.” The words left on a wondering breath. “They bound you in flesh and stone.”
Asheris nodded. “And they bound me well. I will do as I’m bid. I cannot free myself, and I must kill anyone who tries to free me. And even if I were rid of the stone, the chains of flesh cannot be broken—I am anathema now, demon. My own kind will never take me back.”
“There must be a way—”
He spread his arms, gave her a mocking bow. “Lady, you’re welcome to try, since I must kill you anyway. I won’t be as easy to stop as an animated corpse.” His smile fell away. “I’m sorry. This is not my will.”
She barely called her shields in time to stop the wall of flame that crashed over her. Heat and chill shattered each other. She flung witchlights in his face, but he batted them away like gnats. He was stronger than any other demon she’d fought; he was stronger than her. They might duel for a time, but eventually he’d wear her down.
She sent a ghost shrieking toward him—it couldn’t harm him, but he flinched. She closed the distance between them in three strides, slammed her shoulder into his chest. His flesh might not age or die, but it still functioned; the air left his lungs in a grunt and he stumbled back. Isyllt kept close, ripping his coat as she clawed for the collar.
It was ensorcelled, of course. Layers of spells wound the thick work-hardened wire, shielding and strengthening and reinforcing.
She expected him to throw her off, braced against the blow, but he only wrapped his arms around her, gentle as an embrace. Why fight, when he could burn her to ash?
Letting her ring hold the shields, she concentrated on the spells on the collar. It was cunningly wrought—a pity she couldn’t show it to the Arcanost. Three different mages had layered the wards, each style reinforcing the others’ weaknesses. She found a loose end and tugged, but the spell only unraveled a little before catching in another knot. It would have been a lovely puzzle if the air in her lungs weren’t already painfully hot. Sweat dripped from her face, slicked her hands and blurred her eyes. Asheris murmured something in her ear, but she couldn’t hear the throb of her pulse.
Abandoning finesse, she called the cold. Too soon since she’d last done it; a shudder racked her. Her bones ached, and the force of it scraped her veins like glass splinters. But it answered. Death, decay, the hungry cold that waited for the end of everything, spiraling through her like a maelstrom. She tightened numbing fingers in the collar’s loops and whorls.