Chapter Twenty-One
Shrouded by the long, wild mass of her hair hanging in her face and blinded by pain, Ellysetta struggled to find her bearings.
Den had slung her over one beefy shoulder, with no regard for the way his every motion drove the sel’dor needles deeper into her flesh, scraping metal against bone.
Eight searing needles, each one topped by a voracious, evil crystal, fought to consume her blood and soul.
She hung on to consciousness by will alone. If she let them take her into the Well, she—the person who was Ellysetta—would never return.
?Ellysetta! Shei’tani!? Rain’s call pierced the fractured shields surrounding the Solarus, and she almost wept with relief. Never had a sound been so welcome.
“We’re out of time. Get her into the Well, now!” Nivane cried.
Den sped up, rounding the corner of the altar table. Ellysetta’s hair dragged across one of the velvet-topped marble benches. And there, still open, its evil implements winking in the bright light of the Solarus, sat the exorcist’s leather case.
Her hand shot out. Her fingertips snagged the corner of the case lid, and she yanked it towards her. Half a dozen needles spilled to the floor, but she managed to snatch up a handful of the torturous implements before she lost her grip on the case.
With every ounce of strength she possessed, she drove the razor-sharp points into the back of Den’s leg.
The butcher’s son howled and dropped to his knees, spilling Ellysetta onto the floor. She landed hard. Her head cracked against the marble floor with enough force to leave her dizzy.
“Scorching thrice-damned slut!”
Ellysetta forced her eyes open. Den Brodson was sprawled on the floor nearby, his torso twisted around as he tried to pull a handful of needles out of his leg.
“Don’t pull those out, you fool.” The pale-haired exorcist snapped the order.
“You can’t enter the Well bloody. You’ll drive the demons into a frenzy.
Sel’dor wounds don’t bleed as long as the metal stays in the flesh.
” Muttering a curse, Nivane started towards Ellysetta.
“I’ll get the girl,” he barked. “Selianne, get the mother into the Well.”
Mama. Ellysetta caught a glimpse of her mother’s tearstained face and the knife at her ribs. Ellysetta yanked the gag out of her mouth. “Selianne, no!” She scrambled back as Nivane approached. “Don’t listen to them! Fight them! Don’t let them use you for evil!”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Nivane sneered. “She traded her soul to the High Mage’s apprentice, and through him to the High Mage himself. And now, my dear, it’s time for you to renew your own acquaintance with the great Master Maur.”
Her fingers ripped at the sel’dor needles at her hips and thighs. The needles fought extraction, causing excruciating pain as she pulled them free. One . . . two . . . by the third, she was screaming. She flung the needles away and reached for another.
“Foolish girl. Do you really think that will help you?”
“You can’t take me into the Well bloody, can you?” she countered raggedly. “And without sel’dor, my wounds will bleed.”
Nivane reached for her leg. She kicked out, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her towards him. “True. But that just means I get the pleasure of piercing you myself.”
She kicked again, catching Nivane’s jaw with the edge of her foot. His head snapped back, and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
“Petchka!” His fist shot out. Pain exploded across the left side of her face, and the force of the blow sent her skidding backwards across the slick marble floor and halfway under the altar table.
Her hands tangled in the bloody folds of Greatfather Tivrest’s robes, and her fingers brushed against something hard and cold.
The scepter.
Tivrest’s crystal-topped scepter, which he’d used to generate the five-fold weave around the chamber.
She was a long way from understanding the intricacies of magic, but she’d spent a lifetime reading Fey tales and Fey poetry.
Crystals were objects of power. If Rain could close a demon portal by smashing the crystal that summoned it, it only stood to reason that smashing the scepter’s crystal would destroy the five-fold weave it had created.
She tried to grab the scepter, but Nivane pulled her out from under the altar before she could get a good grip. She screamed as he plunged an exorcist’s needle back into the bleeding wound at her hip.
?Mama!? Her body arched in torment as sel’dor punished her use of Spirit. ?The archbishop’s scepter! Smash it! Hurry!?
“Brodson, you sniveling porgil,” Nivane snapped, “grab those needles and get over here. Help me plug her wounds.”
From the corner of her eye, Ellysetta saw her mother break free of Selianne’s grip and lunge towards the archbishop’s body. Lauriana grabbed the scepter and lifted it high.
As she brought it smashing down towards the unforgiving marble of the altar, Selianne snatched the scepter from her grasp and gave a brutal shove that sent Lauriana sprawling. Her head cracked hard against the edge of the altar table, and her body crumpled to the floor, where she lay motionless.
“Mama!” Ellysetta tried to crawl to her aid, but Nivane still held her ankle and Den was limping towards them, gathering the needles she’d pulled out of her body as he approached.
A cold smile curved Selianne’s lips. “A worthy effort,” she said, but the voice that issued from her lips was not her own.
“What strength you possess, to weave such powerful Spirit despite the amount of sel’dor in your flesh.
I daresay twenty rings will not be enough to hold you. My master has done well indeed.”
A loud thud boomed through the Solarus as something rammed hard against the door. The door shuddered and began to give way. Selianne—or rather, the creature controlling Selianne—cast a backwards glance.
“Nivane, Brodson, have done with your fumbling. Bind her remaining wounds tight. Even with the scepter’s weave intact, it won’t be long before the Fey break through. I am coming to you now. Bring the girl to me in the Well!”
Ellysetta glimpsed what looked like glittering stars moving in the darkness of the Well of Souls. As the lights drew closer, she realized the stars were actually reflections off the collection of jewels fastened to the sash of an Elden Mage. He was approaching the Solarus.
There was no time left. She turned back to Selianne. The awful, mocking black eyes stared back at her from her friend’s face.
Ellysetta’s teeth clenched, and her muscles drew instinctively tight. Waves of torment shuddered through her as she reached for her magic. Please, gods, help me.
“Smash the scepter, Selianne!”
Every needle in her flesh shivered, and each tiniest tremble sent bolts of discordant energy stabbing through her body.
The threads of her magic, never cooperative to begin with, bucked and fought her will only to unravel helplessly as sel’dor worked its evil.
Screaming in torment, Ellysetta redoubled her efforts.
She could feel the barriers in her mind rebelling against the call, restricting the flow of her power even as sel’dor punished her for the attempt.
Writhing, she shrieked aloud, “Gods help me!”
She felt a tiny snap, like a soap bubble popping on the skin. An ephemeral wisp of cool, sweet, tingling magic breathed through her. An unfamiliar thread, untouched by the bane of sel’dor, throbbing with power.
She seized it, formed it, and thrust it into Selianne’s mind with a dagger-sharp command.
Selianne’s head reared back. Black eyes flickered, darkness fading to bright, familiar blue. Horror and confusion were etched upon Selianne’s face. “Ellie?”
“Smash the scepter’s crystal, Selianne!”
“Ellie . . . I . . .” Selianne put a hand to her head. Already her eyes were darkening again.
“For the gods’ sake, do it! Quickly!” Ellysetta pushed the compulsion deeper, only to reel back in sudden terror and comprehension as she brushed against Vadim Maur’s familiar evil, gloating consciousness.
Excellent, wonderful girl, he hissed.
She had a split-second image of a pale, triumphant face and glowing silver eyes. A voice murmured words in a tongue she did not know. A phantom blade plunged deep into her chest, piercing her heart with ice. She shrieked in denial as the terrible dark descended upon her.
Lauriana stirred. Dazed consciousness returned, girded with nauseating pain. Dear, sweet Lord of Light.
She heard Ellie’s voice cry out, “Smash the scepter, Selianne! For the gods’ sake, do it! Quickly!” And then she heard a terrible scream. Ellie’s scream.
Lauriana’s eyes snapped open.
Her daughter lay on the Solarus floor, weeping brokenly. Blood smeared her gown where she had yanked out half a dozen of the exorcists’ needles in defiance of her attackers, but her fierce resistance was over.
Sel’dor manacles clanked against stone as Nivane and Den grabbed Ellie’s arms and hauled her to her feet. She dangled limply between them, her head lolling forward on her neck.
“Time to take you home, girl.” A man Lauriana didn’t recognize stepped out of the gaping black portal into the light of the Solarus.
He was dressed in long, flowing scarlet robes, a sash studded with sparkling jewels tied round his waist. Memories of childhood lessons and picture books filled with illustrations of evil magic wielders gave her a name to put to the stranger.
Elden Mage.
“You’ve led my master on a long chase all these years,” the Mage said, stepping closer to Ellie.
“But your days of hiding are over.” He nodded his head at the men holding Ellie.
“Get her into the Well,” he commanded. “Primages Severn and Gobel are leading the Black Guard not far behind me. They’ll keep the Fey off our heels. Selianne, bring me that scepter.”
“No, Sel.” Ellie groaned and lifted her head with obvious effort. “Don’t do it.”
“Obey me now, girl! Remember your sweet Cerlissa.”