Modern Magick

The Heart of Hyndorin: 18

'And where, exactly, are we going?' Jay said coldly.

'I think we are all feeling a little homesick, are we not?' said Fenella pleasantly.

'No!' I blurted, and backed away — as if that would help. 'I can't go home yet!'

Fenella looked oddly at me.

'So the plan is to kidnap the lot of us?' said Jay disgustedly. 'We work for you, whether we will or no?'

'That remains to be seen,' said Fenella. Her hostess smile had gone; her tone was now all business. 'The fact is, I can't have you trailing back to Mandridore with the copies of that research you have no doubt made. Or perhaps with an intact artefact you'd like me to imagine no longer exists. Ancestria Magicka will bring back British magick, and no one else.'

So that was it. Pure, naked ambition. I wasn't surprised, but I was... out-manoeuvred. My mind blanked, and I couldn't think. What could we do? Run for it? I made a break for the door, but Jay was there before me.

'Locked,' he said. 'Give me a moment.'

Okay, he was going to punch one of his void-space holes in it. Fine, but then what? We might be able to subdue Fenella, but that would do us little good. We were in her territory. We wouldn't get two steps beyond the door without running into more of her agents; overpowering them would slow us down. And George could be anywhere in the castle. We would never be able to find him in time to prevent him from dragging the building home.

'Quickly,' I said to Jay. Alban was at my elbow, and I caught a glimpse of Emellana's purple shirt out of the corner of my eye. If we could make it to the main doors in time—

The floor began to shake. I grabbed hold of Alban to steady myself, as my heart sank and terror turned my knees to water. This was it. The castle was moments away from a potentially fatal removal to the sixth Britain — fatal for me, because all the magick in me would go off like a firework and I'd burst like a rotten melon.

'Ves,' said a calm, but firm voice in my ear. Emellana. 'Help Zareen.' Her capable hands grasped my arms; she turned me to face Zar, and gave me a gentle shove.

Help Zareen with what? My brain gibbered helplessly, and I gulped down panic. Curse it. You'd think I could face my imminent demise with a bit more grace.

Hands steadied me again, and this time they were Alban's. 'Calm, Ves,' he said softly. 'Em is right. Zareen can't block George on her own, but with your help, perhaps she can.'

My help? I was no necromancer.

No, but I was presently functioning as a magickal power source all on my own. I was a human griffin. A magickal battery. I grabbed hold of Zareen, and tried to focus on emptying my unwanted magickal overflow into her. 'I have no idea what I'm doing,' I gasped.

Alban chuckled. 'And you'll pull it off anyway. You always do.'

But I wouldn't. Not this time. Because we were too late.

Even as I struggled to pump Zar full of all the power she'd need to wrest the castle away from George, the shaking of the floor intensified, and the walls began the slow, deep rumble of agitated brickwork. Someone screamed, a tearing noise that turned my insides to goo.

Zareen. She shrieked again, and began to babble, and I realised it wasn't her screaming; she was a conduit for the dead waymasters locked into the walls. She spoke — and keened — with their voices, all ten of them at once. Her face was a mask of agony. As I watched in horror, blood began to pour from the corners of her eyes.

'Shit,' I said. Never mind my imminent demise. Zareen was breaking into pieces before my stupid, helpless eyes.

I didn't have time to think. I just grabbed hold of her in a clumsy bearhug, my hands circling her wrists, and tried to make one entity of the two of us. We were not Zareen and Vesper, necromancer and magickal energiser bunny. We were Veseen, or Zaresper, one uber powerful necromancer. George was nothing to us.