From Iron and Ruin

Madness

Chapter Eleven: Madness.

How does one close the magical door to a land of Nirani and rotting earth?

Strangely, that question was never asked in Dratlan.

In all the tomes and scraps of notes that I had poured over in Haaling and in Adotlan, none of them prepared me for this. Kendon would have had a plan or maybe he would have known where to begin, but it had been months since I was able to turn to him for help.

But there were moments where I still turned to him for help. Over a decade of a habit ingrained in my very bones that turned my head and formed a question on my tongue. A decade of habit destroyed in a moment of cold realization.

But there was no time to question or to doubt.

Fyr let loose a screaming yell that could shatter windows and spur armies to retreat. There was no fog on her brain, no sluggishness to her movements as she advanced on Herve. The Fire Magister was awake.

The grand courtyard was a knot of fire and water. Sweat matted the back of my neck. Mahon held my elbow for a brief moment. "Remind me never to get her angry."

A joke?

"It might be tempting to see how you scramble," I spun around him, taking in a steady breath. Magic swelled in my veins with that breath.

His smile was brief. Then it faltered, splintering as he looked to his soldiers. "Go. Close that door."

The door lay beyond a waste of rubble, bodies and the clash of fire and water. The archway was trembling as Nirani began to peel from that door, now in sluggish numbers. "I – I don't know how."

"Are you doubting yourself Seeker?" The Captain asked coolly. "Why am I not surprised."

Anger rose swiftly. Baring my teeth at him, I hissed out a curse in Elvish. He just smiled indulgently at me as I stamped past him, determined to close that door so that I could demand that the Captain could give me something akin to an apology.

Body bruised and aching, I headed into the fray once more. The heat was sweltering. The ground seemed to tremble as Fyr and Aran fought each other, both as bitterly furious. Fyr did not seem to pause, only to suck in a lungful of air which only sparked the flames around her hands higher. Aran's eyes were dark and merciless, his lips tight but he was fluid and unstoppable.

I advanced, a shield thrown up to cover me from the spray of boiling water and thundering fire.

"You killed him!" Fyr snarled.

Without her staff, her magic was not streamlined and contained. The casting stone at her neck pulsed and spluttered wildly as her rage thundered through her hands and veins. Fire spun around her legs, whipping out her robes. Aran conceded a step, sweating glistening on his brow.

I vaulted over a piece of the destroyed statue of Valdur.

More Paladin soldiers poured into the courtyard. Magins fought Magins. Old friends faced each other, rigid in their beliefs that what they were doing was the right thing. On either side of me were my hounds, bounding ahead of me. Nirani who turned to catch me with too long fingers were mowed down and torn open by vicious fangs.

Their screaming followed me.

Water rushed from the fountain, spinning around Aran like a helix. It was fast enough to strip flesh from bone and as fire crashed against it, the water sizzled violently.