The Mages of Royas Bay (Mages of Wrystan 1)

Chapter 20: Light

IT WAS THE screaming that did it. Hawk had been following the silver for a while and was starting to believe he'd never track Arien down. The soldiers at his back were restless and uneasy at being led so deep into Night Town. The mages were arguing, with the healers wanting to return to the devastated market and help the wounded. Only Sir Tobias remained with him; certain, sure and strong.

Then Hawk heard the screams and knew he'd found the right place. The door was small, set low in the street and the perfect height for him to slam with his shoulder.

Except it wasn't locked.

Feeling foolish, he fell through the open door, tumbling down the deep step into the oddly lit room. He landed hard on his shoulder, knocked breathless by the impact. A tiny girl hunched weeping over a slumped body, but it was the other two people in the room that held Hawk's horrified attention.

He knew that man, the tall one with the arrogant face, who held a copper chain in one hand and wrapped a second chain around Arien's throat with the other. He'd never heard him scream before, though.

For while the man held the young mage in a strangling grip, Arien clung to the slave-trader's face with his bare hands. Silver light radiated from them both, brightening with every passing moment as Arien poured the magic of the world into the body of a man who could not take it.

Nursing his aching shoulder, Hawk rose to his knees as the others dropped into the room behind him. Cyrus wriggled his way out of Hawk's coat, looking rumpled and annoyed as he flapped onto a chair. Hawk felt rather than saw the healers gather around the body, and almost passed out when Sir Tobias pulled him to his feet by his bad arm.

"Ry, should we stop him?" the knight asked, soft and worried.

A biting flow of ice jolted through Hawk's neck, shooting along his throbbing shoulder with the soothing balm of Mage Faron's magic. "I don't think we can. This is his moment. His demon. He has to fight it himself." There was a pause as the healer's magic flickered. "You've dislocated this, Hawk. No more heroics for you."

Hawk didn't care, he just waited for the pain to stop, the magic to fade and the mage's hand to lift. Then he darted forward, evading all attempts to stop him, until he stood by Arien's side.

The boy was almost all silver now. The magic poured from his eyes, ears, nose and open mouth, bleeding through every pore of his skin. His curly hair stood on end, crackling with silver lightning. How he could stand such power rushing through him, Hawk would never know, but he knew it was dangerous.

The slave-trader wasn't screaming now. He wasn't doing anything. His body was held up purely by the magic roaring through it. Where Arien was silver, the slave-trader had turned a burnt black and blistering red. His skin was peeling away. He was most definitely dead.

But Arien still lived. Although not for much longer if he didn't tamp down the magic.

"Ari," Hawk whispered, the power of the magic stealing the air from his lungs. He could feel the force of it trying to push him back, force him away, but he resisted. "Azarien. He's gone now. He's dead. It's done."

"Never," Arien said in a voice of pure magic. It drummed inside Hawk's head until his ears rang with it. Arien turned his head and Hawk's eyes burned at his brightness. "It will never be finished. They will always come."

"But not today," Hawk forced the words out, feeling the wild magic wrapping around him, searching out his weaknesses. The silver slicked across his skin, teasing, tasting. It was worse, far worse than anything the Hunger had ever done. That had been desperation and need, trying desperately to fill the void inside the boy. This was magic in its purest form, it cared for nothing and knew nothing but want.