The Shadow Companion - Laura Anne Gilman [59]
“Newt…has no magic,” Ailis protested. And yet, it was impossible to deny. It was not a magic as she knew inside herself, the gentle flowing of tides, or the forms Morgain showed her, the brutal powers of earth and blood; it was not even the air-magics Merlin rode.
“Berserks,” Morgain said. “Madman of the North. It will turn him into a beast. He will not be able to keep going as he is. We must be ready…when his own magic destroys him, that will be our chance. Strike at Nemesis and free me. Free us all.”
Ailis started to snap at Morgain—she was not willing to accept Newt’s death—when a crackling noise behind her caught her attention. Constans was happily writhing in the coals, the heat making its skin glow with a dark, red-tinged light. Exactly like Newt’s.
“It feeds off his heat,” Morgain said, following her glance. “When he dies, it will freeze to death, no doubt. Useless…”
The two fighters shifted stances, Newt’s blade trying another angle, Nemesis blocking it. Newt snarled, an animal sound rising from deep inside his chest. His flame darkened, the red tinge turning brighter, the band of it growing wider, inching toward his body.
“Not long now.”
“No!” Ailis’s cry was one of despair, cutting through the loud buzzing in Newt’s ears, resonating in his blood, fueling his strength, his ability to fight, to defend, to defeat, and to rend his enemy. Some small part still aware inside him heard it, recognized it: Ailis, in pain.
There is a cost, a voice whispered to him, speaking in tune with the small music still trying to hum in his bones.
You are glorious, another voice said. Glorious and powerful and unstoppable.
You will die, the first voice said.
All men die. Die in battle, as is your birthright!
Magic will kill you, my son. His mother’s voice, the faintest whisper, long-buried in his memory but never forgotten. Magic is not your destiny. Walk away from it. Refuse it. Live free of it.
There is a cost to magic—Morgain’s ties to the land, Merlin’s backward-aging and absentmindedness, and Ailis’s isolation. His price would be his life.
He didn’t want to die.
Then live, the soft hum said inside him.
The rage snapped at him, like a dog straining at the leash, a horse pulling against the rein. Like the dogs he had trained, Newt gentled the snapping hound, overwhelming it, forcing it down into a lower position within the pack, forcing it to accept him as pack-leader.
Inch by inch, muscle by muscle, Newt tamed the beast inside him, forced it back into the space it had slept in all his life, slammed a door shut, and slid the bolt home.
Well done, the Grail hummed to him, pleased.
And with a brutal back-swipe, Nemesis sent him flying across the grove, landing with a thud against the well. The red faded entirely to black and disappeared.
FOURTEEN
“Fools. Mortal barbarian fools.” Nemesis stood before Morgain, having discarded the hooded robe she had worn for so long. Terrible and awe-inspiring, beautiful and horrible; even if you did not believe in the old gods, the goddess was an impressive figure, from the hairless head and fire-lit eyes, all the way down to her clawed feet and back up to the massive wings, which even now flexed and flared behind her; white feathers tipped with purple.
“Did you think you could cheat Fate? Cheat me?” Nemesis’s rage was focused on Morgain, who had tried to play both sides against each other, clearly planning to take on whoever had won while they were still weakened from the battle.
The sorceress reacted to this renewed threat the only way she knew how—with arrogance and pride. Climbing to her feet, the sorceress faced down Nemesis. No more pretense, no more civility or shades of alliance. They were just two fierce and selfish powers, battling for dominance over each other.
Gerard saw all this through doubled vision. He had lost too much blood, first trying to keep up with Newt and Ailis, then in the battle with Nemesis. None of that was going to matter now. It was all over. They had been tricked. No matter what Morgain might