City of Fractured Souls Page 17

  The men left their cover and joined her, each of them taking in the sight of what was left of the vexsnare, and each looked at Sophia with an expression of shock and awe. She met their gazes, panting to catch her breath. Their eyes roamed the entire length of her body, searching for injuries. But Sophia stood unscathed.

  Ezekiel shook his head as a grin pulled on his lips. “Sophia, you never cease to amaze me.”

  Sophia smiled. She felt powerful, and more importantly, in control.

  Andreas floated closer and shifted back to his human form. Haris emerged from the tunnel and quickly leaned into him, helping to hold him up.

  Sophia gasped at the sight of his blood-soaked clothes. Haris’s form glowed and encompassed Andreas. She stared in awe as she watched Haris lend some of his magic to Andreas. It helped to heal him enough so he could stand on his own, but not enough to stave off the injury.

  Ezekiel and Edric lent a hand to Andreas, each wrapping an arm around him to help steady him.

  Sophia watched citizens coming out from around the corners and quickly uttered the word to have Haris return to her forearm. Haris dissolved into bright, glowing, green mist and floated to her arm, returning as the vibrant reflection of himself. She patted the spot with a smile and whispered a word of thanks for his help. She would have to release him later, when they were alone, to thank him in person. For now, she was comforted that he was safe and out of sight from people who enjoyed the idea of kill first and ask questions later.

  Exhaustion started to run its course through her as she approached the monster and knelt before it.

  More citizens appeared, and they stood around, gawking at the creature, Sophia, and her men. She slowly stood, hoping there wouldn’t be another fight. Afterall, she was exposed as an anima contritum—a thing that shouldn’t exist—and her men were convicted as being her accomplices.

  A fight, she could expect and deal with. But what happened next shocked her most of all.

  One by one, the citizens of Nighthelm gathered around her, cheering and applauding her and her men. They all approached and kicked the beast, then shook her hand. She looked to her men as they beamed, shaking hands with the citizens as well.

  The people lifted them into the air, bouncing them up and down.

  Sophia had never expected fame or recognition for protecting the people of the only home she ever really knew. But having their acceptance and praise—their thanks—she found the sensation to her liking. She enjoyed it, for she knew that it wouldn’t last forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sophia

  The celebration came to a swift end as all of Nighthelm’s army filled the streets. Archers stood on building tops and at the tallest windows with arrows pointed directly at them. The citizens slowly set Sophia and her men down and backed away, fear contorting their faces.

  So much for the praise and acceptance.

  Even the wraith army filtered into the streets. She turned toward Andreas, and the frown that pulled at his lips said it all. He wasn’t expecting them to side with Nighthelm. To stand against him.

  Her and her men formed a circle with their backs toward each other. She knew they were drained, but they still prepared to fight. Ezekiel seemed far improved from the skeletal appearance he had from before. It seemed the longer he was topside, the better he felt. Even Edric had more color in his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes were nearly gone.

  Sophia, however, felt just as strong and in control as she did in the mountain. She suspected that she would feel weaker outside of the range of the magic, but she didn’t. It was like all of her magic stayed with her.

  Booing echoed through the crowd as the soldiers made every effort to push the people back and surround Sophia and her team. Her eyes darted over the number of faces and was surprised to find that the people were defending her and her men.

  Some of the people started to push back and the soldiers used rough shoves to force them away from her and her men.

  A shuffle happened behind Sophia. She twisted slightly to look over her shoulder as Andreas’s people shifted to their wraith forms and protectively surrounded Sophia, Edric, Ezekiel and Andreas. She felt a burst of pride and joy at the sight of the guards’ faces. She forced herself not to giggle, but the men looked completely terrified.

  She didn’t blame them. Several dozen wraith soldiers daring to stand against the soldiers of Nighthelm. The wraiths had always been feared. They were misunderstood, outcasted, shunned because they were different than normal humans. Served them right, just about now. The only people that didn’t cower away were the citizens, albeit standing by a bit more cautiously.

  Andreas said, “They stand for you, Sophia.”

  A pinch formed in the middle of her forehead. “Why?”

  “They support your magic,” he said.

  “Well, I for one,” Edric said, “am happy to see them.”

  Ezekiel said, “I as well. Though, it looked a bit questionable for a moment there.”

  “I agree,” Andreas said. “But we are loyal to a fault. Even when appearances suggest otherwise.”

  The soldiers attacked. The wraiths took on the first ones to step forward. Edric and Ezekiel separated from Andreas and Sophia. While the other two were handling themselves rather well in the fight, Andreas was not.

  Sophia worried for him. He could barely stand, and that injury he sustained in the mountain really took a sizable chunk of his strength with it. She couldn’t leave him to fight alone, even with his wraith brethren.

  She helped him take on two of the three men that filtered through the wall of wraiths.

  Three against one didn’t seem like a fair fight, even though on his better days, Andreas would make that look too easy. Three against two? Now that was some better odds. Sophia took on the first, quickly deflecting the swing of his sword and shoving hers into his gut. She then turned and jabbed with her blade again, but he saw it coming. He parried and lunged, narrowly missing Sophia’s arm. She sidestepped and kicked him in his gut then ran her blade across his throat. When she turned, Andreas had taken out his soldier and readied for the next.

  There was a part in the cluster of wraiths and soldiers, revealing Winston as he ran away.

  “Winston, that coward,” Sophia said. “He’s running away again.”

  “Go after him. I’ll be okay. My brothers will help me.”

  She faced him, worry filling her. “Are you sure?”

  He smiled and nodded just as another soldier came. Andreas winced as he took out the soldier, and a wraith joined his side. “Yeah,” he said. “Kick his ass.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Don’t die.” Before he could say anything, she darted into the crowd, heading in the direction she saw Winston go.

  Something told her, despite everything that had already happened. Her long day of fighting was just beginning.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Ezekiel

  At some point, Ezekiel was separated from Edric. He managed to keep himself free of any injuries, but he was starting to wear down. His movements slowed, and his energy was drained. After taking out a group of soldiers, Tryce Klatrix approached him.

  Ezekiel took in a slow, deep breath. Of all the times to face the top sorcerer of his time, this wasn’t it.

  Tryce nodded once. Ezekiel did the same.

  “I’ve heard a great deal about you, young one,” Tryce said. His voice came out strong despite his age. Ezekiel realized he hadn’t really heard the man speak before.

  “Your reputation precedes you as well,” Ezekiel said.

  Tryce nodded. “Indeed.”

  The man went to turn and walk away, or so Ezekiel thought. But he spun around and threw a gale of wind toward him. Ezekiel quickly crossed his arms in front of him, slid his palms down the length of his arms, and ended with his hands crossed, fingers splayed out wide to block the wind. His feet slid along the ground and he let out a grunt as the force hit him.

  So that’
s how you want to play it…

  Ezekiel summoned a ball of bright white light and threw it at the sorcerer, who easily dissolved the blinding spell with a wave of his hand.

  “Not bad,” Tryce said. “I believe you can do better. Come on, boy.”

  Ezekiel didn’t want to know what the man thought he was doing. The last thing he needed was to be exhausted from the fight and end up bed-ridden for days on end. It was bad enough he felt that was the direction he headed in to begin with. But to face off with a man like Tryce? That was insanity. However, it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice in the matter. Ezekiel stared dumbfounded at the sorcerer.

  Tryce shook his head and threw a bolt of lightning at Ezekiel’s feet. “Fight me.”

  Ezekiel shook his head. A fight with the great sorcerer, Tryce Klatix, would end in death for sure. Despite being the top sorcerer of Nighthelm, Ezekiel’s skills weren’t quite as powerful as the old man’s. As it were, it was frowned upon for any sorcerer to reject a challenge. Even if that challenge would result in certain death.

  Ezekiel sighed. Very well. If it is a fight he wants, then it will be a fight he gets. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart and narrowed his eyes on the sorcerer. The man was quite a few years older than him. Legendary in his skill and in manipulation of magical energy. Defeating him would not be easy. In fact, it would be impossible. It would take years—decades, even—to even begin to touch the level that Tryce stood at in terms of skill and power. Ezekiel would have to outwit the man and pray that he didn’t die in the process.

  He started uttering words, moving his hands and fingers in the arcane ways, pulling the energy from around him into his solar plexus. His body started to glow with blue, pulsing energy.

  Tryce prepared himself, pulling energy into his own body, moving expertly. Each rotation of a wrist or downward stroke of an arm was careful and smooth. His lips moved with his own incantations. Ezekiel knew the man saw what he was doing and that led him to switch up his tactic.

  He threw a ball of fire at the man’s feet. Tryce dismissed it without so much as missing a beat in his chant.

  Damn it. He saw that coming.

  Tryce flicked his wrist and the ground shook beneath Ezekiel’s feet. His chanting faltered, causing him to quickly refocus to regain his momentum.

  Once he had pulled enough energy into him, Ezekiel let the energy pulse from his hands straight toward the old man. Ezekiel uttered, “Infernicus,” and the beam turned to fire.

  Tryce shot out a powerful force of his own, meeting Ezekiel’s about halfway between them. Steam rose from the center.

  Ezekiel realized that the sorcerer met his spell with ice.

  Switching it up, he uttered “Fulgur.” His fire was replaced with purple lightning, cutting through Tryce’s ice like nothing.

  The sorcerer’s lips pressed into a thin line as his ice quickly changed to bluish-white lightning, causing a loud crack and burst of air where the two currents met. Men from around them staggered and fell to their knees.

  Ezekiel took a hard step forward in an effort to close the gap between the two. Tryce met his movements. His arms shook from the pulse of energy, the force of the resistance, and he questioned just how smart it was to make that move. But there was no turning back now. He had to finish this. He had to try to survive this.

  Step-by-step, the gap closed until they were just a few paces from each other. Sparks and light and electrical arcs flew around them, reaching out to the soldiers that stopped fighting to watch the dual between sorcerers. Ezekiel maintained his spell with great difficulty. His arms started to shake from the strain of his spell against his opponent. Sweat trickled down the side of his head, soaking the collar of his shirt while it seemed Tryce had yet to even have so much as a bead of wetness along his.

  Ezekiel closed his eyes against the end he knew was coming any second. There was a shudder in the magic between them. His eyes opened.

  Red dots dribbled down the sorcerer’s forehead. Ezekiel almost lost focus with the realization that Tryce struggled in their magical duel—against him. It would be easy to defeat the man in that moment, to send a spell flying toward him and quickly cutting him down. But something within Ezekiel wouldn’t allow him to. The look in Tryce’s eyes told him that he knew the same thing and just waited for him to end it and take the place of the greatest sorcerer alive.

  No.

  He stepped to the side, releasing the pulse of energy between them, creating a loud thunderclap. Tryce fell to his knees. Ezekiel approached the man and held out a hand to help him up. Tryce nodded once. Ezekiel did the same. Tryce faced him as he worked to catch his breath.

  “You have done well,” he said. “Not many people could hold up for as long as you have or so easily withstand me as an opponent.”

  Ezekiel stared at the man like he started speaking a different language. “Thank you?” He didn’t mean for it to come out like a question. But it had.

  Tryce held out his hand and said, “No. Thank you, boy. You fought with honor, and where I come from, it’s something we hold in high regard. You showed me respect, and you stood your ground. You are not what Winston would have us all believe—and might I add, as a sorcerer, you are an equal.”

  Ezekiel slowly took the man’s hand. He gave it a firm shake. “It’s an honor, sir.”

  He smiled, released Ezekiel’s hand and walked off. Just like that. Nothing else said or done. Ezekiel continued to stare after the sorcerer long after he disappeared. He still wasn’t sure what had happened or just quite how to process everything. The last thing he thought he would ever earn was the respect of a man so revered and feared as Tryce Klatrix.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Edric

  Edric lost track of who was friend or foe. So many of the men he served with now fought him. And so many of those men he used to consider friends. It pained him that they were blinded by greed and led to believe the lies that Winston had spread. Their deaths were ultimately meaningless. Their honor stripped because they followed a corrupt leader.

  He couldn’t blame them. Had it been him in their shoes, he probably would’ve done the same. He was such a devoted solider, believing in serving justice and protecting the city—his city—above all else.

  But that was before he met Sophia. She changed him. She changed everything.

  More men whom he had served with stood toe-to-toe with him. And he cut them down. It was him or them.

  Eventually, he pushed his feelings down. He hated the guilt that came with fighting his old comrades. That feeling only increased with each man he knew, practically raised with, and watched the light from their eyes fade away. He had no choice but to move automatically, shutting down feelings and going into full survival mode.

  That was until Marlow.

  Edric spun around, pulling his sword from another fallen ally to lock blades with him. Marlow’s eyes widened in recognition, and a smile crossed the man’s face.

  “I always knew you would fall off your pedestal someday, Commander.”

  Edric shrugged off the way he emphasized commander and said, “And I always knew you would be the first in line to try and replace me.”

  The man chuckled low and dark. “Oh, I didn’t try. I did. And you will now taste my blade with the other traitors that refused to abandon loyalty to you.”

  Edric pushed him off his sword and the man stepped back completely at ease, as though he saw the opportunity to fight him as nothing more than a regular sparring match. But this wasn’t practice. And Marlow knew better than to underestimate Edric’s ability to strategize and exploit weaknesses of his opponents.

  Marlow held his sword at the ready, same ridiculous grin on his face. “Just like old times, eh?”

  Edric shook his head. “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”

  Marlow shrugged. “Sure, I do. I kill you, and then the duchess will promote me to commander.”

  “You may try to kill me, but I assure you, Marlow, I.
Will. Not. Fall.” Edric lunged.

  Marlow parried Edric’s sword thrust with an attack of his own, landing the blade nearly in the center of Edric’s forearm. Had he not moved at the right time, he would have lost an arm.

  Edric glared at the man who just smiled in return.

  “I’ve been practicing,” Marlow said, prideful grin and all. “Can’t you tell?”

  Edric didn’t answer, instead he followed Marlow’s steps, carefully watching for each twitch and movement. Marlow never sucked at being a swordsman. Quite the contrary. But when it came to skill versus skill, Edric always stood heads above the rest. He was bred for things like this. Marlow was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and enough money to buy his way into the academy and avoiding the dirty jobs that the rest of the new recruits had to do. His money also bought him the best trainers and tutors.

  He almost came close to earning Edric’s respect during a sparring match. The way he held himself was almost like that of a seasoned soldier. It impressed Edric to see the skill. But then he saw through the man. Trying to buy his way through the ranks.

  Bile rose in his throat as he lunged for another attack. He missed Marlow. But just barely. He shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like all those training sessions did you any good. You can hold a sword. And your stance is correct. But you lack an inherent concept all soldiers have.”

  Marlow parried the next attack and said, “And what would that be, great, fallen commander?”

  Edric moved, crossing his sword over Marlow’s and flicking his wrist. Marlow’s sword landed feet from him. His eyes widened in fear. Edric forced down the satisfaction of seeing the apprehension in his eyes as it would never do to let his guard down, even for a show of pride.

  As Marlow scrambled to reclaim his blade, Edric said, “Lack of fear for getting hurt.”