Chapter 40
The vile magic that flooded the building made the hairs rise on Evander’s nape. He knew instinctively that it had to do with the convergence.
“Rufus, can you get them out of here?!” he barked at the inspector as they swiftly exited the room, the ground trembling violently beneath their feet.
“The way we came in should still be clear.” Rufus shifted Shaw in his hold as they approached the staircase, a muscle jumping in his jawline. “I can get them to the shed and out through the wall.”
“Do it,” Evander said grimly as they took the steps rapidly.
“What about you?” Ginny asked anxiously.
“I need to stop Winchester.” Evander clenched his jaw. “I’m the only one who can.”
Ginny and Rufus exchanged a worried look before nodding reluctantly.
The quakes shaking the monastery intensified when they reached the ground floor. They raced through the dimly-lit building, Evander grinding his teeth at the corruption pressing down on them. He escorted Rufus, Ginny, and Shaw to the door they’d used to enter the building.
“Give them hell, your Grace,” Shaw mumbled as the three of them headed out into the night.
“I will.” Evander waited until their figures were safely swallowed by the whirling snow before turning and running back inside.
His heart pounded erratically as he navigated the twisting corridors, tracking the intensifying dark magic that seemed to emanate from the building’s very heart.
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with Viggo.
“Evander!” The Brute grabbed his shoulders, relief flooding his features. “You’re alright. Did you find—?!”
“Ginny and Shaw are safe. Rufus is getting them out.” Evander gripped Viggo’s arms in return. “The convergence! It was all true.”
Viggo nodded grimly. “We know. Lina Velghe told us.”
There was movement behind the Brute.
Evander’s eyes widened in surprise.
Solomon and Fairbridge appeared with a group of men and women who looked the worse for the wear, the state of their clothes and their injuries telling their own grim story. A young woman with dark hair and a refined if tattered dress seemed to be leading them.
“This is Lina,” Viggo explained briskly. “She told us the Codex fragment the Helnweins possessed was the final key to unlocking the convergence.”
“There’s an eighth fragment, your Grace,” Fairbridge said in a hard voice. “The body of the Crimson Codex was apparently hidden inside the convergence by the First Archmage, here in this very building. And it seems that Winchester is trying to open it right now.”
Evander’s breath locked in his throat.
The Codex was divided into eight fragments?!
He blinked dazedly before recovering his composure, his mind racing. “It’s under the main chapel. Ginny overheard them talking.” He looked tensely at Solomon. “Can you get these people to safety? Rufus is making his way down the mountain with Ginny and Shaw as we speak.”
A shudder of relief shook Solomon. He nodded curtly. The group disappeared into the gloom, Lina bobbing her head gratefully at Evander as she passed him.
Evander turned and ran, Viggo and Fairbridge on his heels.
They stumbled and almost fell as the tremors worsened, slowing them down.
The chapel finally emerged from the monastery’s northern wing.
It was a vaulted space that had once been beautiful but was now desecrated beyond recognition.
Pews had been torn out and piled against the walls.
The altar had been smashed, its sacred vessels scattered across the floor.
And covering every surface—walls, floor, the remnants of stained-glass windows—were arcane symbols drawn in what looked horribly like dried blood.
But it was what lay behind the ruined altar that turned Evander’s blood to ice.
A hole had been carved into the floor, revealing stone steps that descended into darkness. From below came pulses of corrupt power and the unmistakable stench of Blood Magic.
Evander started down the stairs with Viggo and Fairbridge.
The passage was narrow, forcing them to move in single file. The quaking walls pressed closer and the air soon grew thick and hot, carrying with it the copper tang of blood and something else—something so wrong it made his teeth ache and his skin crawl.
Evander reached for his magic and kept descending.
The stairs ended in a vast chamber that shouldn’t have been able to exist beneath the chapel.
It was easily a hundred feet across, its ceiling shrouded in shadows.
Torches burned at regular intervals around the perimeter, their shivering flames an unnatural red that cast everything in dancing shades of blood.
Evander’s gaze locked on the man in the middle of the chamber.
Mordecai Winchester was exactly as Richter had described; pale, gaunt, with burns scarring half his features in a grotesque mask.
He stood inside a complex ritual circle, his arms raised and his face a mask of concentration.
Dark energy swirled around him like a living thing from the arcane runes on the ground, feeding into a point of absolute blackness that hung in the air before him.
Evander stared at the fragments of parchment at the centre of the circle.
Das Blutbuch!
His heart stuttered when the inkiness above Winchester dissolved for a second and he saw what lay beyond.
It was something unreal. Something impossible.
A vast space filled with ethereal light and crackling energy, pieces of parchment and a torn book drifting like leaves in an invisible wind within it.
Evander knew he’d just caught a glimpse of the eighth fragment and main body of the Crimson Codex. From the enraptured expression that washed across Winchester’s face, the dark mage had seen it too.
Magic surged through Evander’s veins, the elements responding to his will with a power that made his very bones throb.
“Stop!” he roared.
Winchester’s head snapped down. Evander flinched.
The dark mage’s eyes glowed with an inner light that had nothing to do with humanity. Instead, they burned with the fervour of a zealot who’d found his promised land.
“Duke Ravenwood,” he sneered, his voice carrying across the chamber despite the howling dark energy and the groaning building above them. “I wondered when you’d find this place. My master will be so pleased.”
The shadows along the walls shifted. Dark mages emerged from swirling clouds of darkness around the chamber’s edge. There were half a dozen of them, their hands already wreathed in corrupt power.
“Kill the other two,” Winchester commanded, his attention flicking dismissively to Viggo and Fairbridge before fixing on Evander. “Take the Archmage prisoner.”
The chamber erupted into chaos.
Viggo charged into the nearest cluster of dark mages, scattering them like ninepins. Fairbridge’s wind magic detonated through the space, deflecting shadow bolts and buying precious seconds.
Evander had eyes only for Winchester.
He stormed toward the dark mage, magic spiralling around him in a devastating vortex that blocked out the attacks Winchester’s henchmen directed at him.
He reached the circle, felt a slight resistance as he breached it with the sheer force of his magic, and directed fire and ice lances at Winchester.
The dark mage met his attack with a wall of shadow that absorbed the elemental assault and hurled it back at him.
Evander barely managed to deflect his own magic, the force of the impact sending him skidding out of the circle and across the blood-slicked floor.
“Impressive,” Winchester said. “But you’re out of your depth, Ice Mage. I’ve been touched by a power you can’t begin to comprehend.”
He raised his hand. Shadows pooled around his feet.
The air itself seemed to scream in the next instant, dark magic and Blood Magic melding into an onslaught of pure evil.
Evander threw up every defence he had—wind, ice, fire, earth. He layered them in a desperate barrier as Winchester’s attack struck. The force was staggering and almost drove him to his knees.
“My master has waited years for this moment,” Winchester continued, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “The Codex will be his. And with it, the power to remake this pathetic world.”
He started raising his hand again and froze.
The air above them had just throbbed with a power that drowned out all noise.
Evander’s stomach plummeted when he raised his head.
The point of darkness was expanding.
The convergence opened with a tearing sound, the fabric of space ripping as if it were paper.
Winchester stared at the phenomenon, his burned face twisting with triumph.
“It’s opening,” he breathed. “At last, it’s opening!”
The blackness expanded vertically, forming a doorway large enough for a man to pass through. Beyond it, the dimension space created by the First Archmage blazed with ancient power, fragments of the Codex swirling in an impossible dance around the main body of the book.
Winchester stepped toward it.
Horror filled Evander. He didn’t think. He simply moved.
He slammed into Winchester with every ounce of strength he possessed, physical and magical alike. The dark mage snarled in fury, shadows lashing out to tear at Evander’s flesh. But it was too late.
They tumbled through the tear together, reality twisting around them.
Evander heard Viggo and Fairbridge’s distant shouts.
Then there was only light and the deafening roar of ancient magic.