Chapter Fifty-One
The peak of Mount Bastepe was cold and barren. Wind howled around Penn, drowning out the fighting below. Normally from this vantage point, he would have been able to see all of Casselarn, but the dark night obscured the city.
Yet the figure before him glowed brighter than the stars. Valerian stood with his head tilted back, eyes closed, hands spread at his sides. Even with the mountain still rumbling beneath him, he stood firm, not moving an inch. As if the surrounding world could not affect him.
“Val!” Penn called, rushing forward. Cold wind buffeted his face and his foot slipped over a patch of ice. He caught himself on a protruding rock, heart pounding as he pictured himself tumbling all the way back down the mountain.
He looked down at the ice and his stomach clenched with dread.
Frozen blood glimmered up at him. In some places it created thick, swirling pools, while in others it had frozen in thin lines.
Tracking those lines, Penn realized they were symbols, like the wards protecting Valerian’s shop.
The intricate, bloody lines connected in a circle surrounding the mage.
“The mercenary can’t hear you,” the mage said, his raspy voice somehow carrying over the wind.
Penn swallowed roughly and searched the mage’s face, afraid of what it might reveal. For the first time, he was relieved to see those mismatched eyes. If they weren’t fully ice blue, Val was still holding on. “Alistair, please stop. At this rate, you’ll bring the whole mountain down.”
Alistair cocked his head to the side, sweat-dampened blond hair sticking to his forehead. “That’s the point.”
Penn’s heart stuck in his throat. “But … you’ll kill yourself too! I thought you wanted to be a king! You can’t rule over a kingdom if you’re dead!”
Alistair scoffed softly. “I’m already dead. It’s only fair I take the man responsible with me.”
What does he mean? Is he talking about Archer? Did he and Silas destroy Alistair’s body?
Dismissing Penn, Alistair tilted his head back once again. Another rumble shook the mountain. Penn imagined more creatures crawling out of the ground, hunting and killing the Arnsveldian citizens.
He clutched the potion bottle in his hand. He could only use it after Valerian died. With the blood still pouring out of him, Penn hoped Alistair would simply drop dead on his own, but it seemed Penn might have to help him along.
A dagger lay on the ground near Valerian’s feet. Apparently, the blood he’d already shed hadn’t been enough to feed the circle. Penn could barely see the edges of fresh cuts on the mage’s palm, the blood dripping from his fingertips to join the magic circle.
Penn took a deep breath and stepped over the edge of the circle.
Alistair’s brow furrowed as he watched Penn’s slow approach. “What are you doing?”
“You wanted me to stay with you.” He tucked the bottle into his pocket and held up his empty hands, showing that he was unarmed. “So here I am. Let’s go down together.”
Alistair’s expression softened. “I always said I’d give you the world. And here we are, right at the top of it.”
Penn remembered no such promises, but he smiled and nodded anyway. When he was within arm’s reach, he murmured, “Can I kiss you one last time, or will that interfere with the spell?”
Firelight flickered in Alistair’s eyes as he gazed at Penn. “Kiss me.”
Penn closed the distance and touched Alistair’s cheek. Dried blood had crusted in the golden stubble. “Close your eyes?”
To his surprise, Alistair obeyed, allowing his eyes to drift shut.
Using his foot, Penn carefully slid the dagger within reach. He would only have a few seconds to grab it and act. But he hesitated, truly wanting this one last kiss. He leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against Valerian’s.
The brief kiss was cut off as Valerian’s weight suddenly disappeared, followed by a heavy thump against the ground.
Penn’s eyes shot open, and he stared at Valerian’s collapsed body on the ground. His body shook roughly, feet kicking against the rocks. Blood poured from every opening, spilling onto the already gore-soaked ground.
Relieved, Penn sunk to his knees next to Valerian and clasped his hand. “You can win this fight, Val. You can win.”
With his other hand, Penn grabbed the handle of the dagger and held it near his side. If this wasn’t enough to kill him—if Val opened his eyes again—Penn had to be ready to finish the job.
Adelaide’s instructions were clear: Valerian had to die for Penn to save him.
Val swung his axe through the air before he realized he’d run out of targets. The axe completed its arc before hanging limply at his side. Panting, he searched the area, expecting another spider, Alistair, or some other horror to jump out at him.
Only death, fire, and his own tattered memories surrounded him.
Half of the trees now bore scorch marks. Who knew how many had burned completely? When Valerian searched his mind for the gaps, his thoughts shied away from the burned holes and guided him on a meandering route.
He hadn’t even realized he’d started walking until he almost walked right into an intact memory.
Master Imus clasped Valerian’s shoulders, pride gleaming on his youthful face.
Valerian watched his old teacher in a daze, a soft smile touching his lips.
He remembered that day—the first time he’d cast a successful glamour.
Master Imus had been impressed with the quality of it, and his praise led Valerian to study harder, until it was one of the first skills he mastered.
Val reached his hand out, hovering over the bark, tempted to experience the simple, happy memory once again. But if he did that, Alistair would remain in his head. He’d have a chance to revive his spider army, and all of Val’s hard work would be for nothing.
Dropping his hand, Valerian continued wandering through the forest. What am I doing? Where am I going? Even though he hadn’t touched that tree, for a moment, he was back in that classroom again, a thirteen-year-old boy excited to learn magic for the first time.
He shook his head and stumbled forward. Focus. I need to find a way to bring Alistair back.
While he was distracted, he tripped over a root and sprawled forward on the ground. He expected the root to tangle around him, drag him into the memories like it had done before. Instead, it remained inert, just like a normal root from a normal tree.
He rolled over and looked at it curiously.
A pure white root arched into the air before burrowing back into the ground. From the way it tapered, wider on one end, he guessed which direction it had come from
Valerian pushed himself to his feet and followed the root. Occasionally, it dipped up again, guiding him through the forest, until he glimpsed its source through the trees.
A massive white tree gleamed in the middle of the dark forest. The surrounding trees were all smothered in spider webs, but not this one. Like the spiders had formed a protective colony around this single tree. The webs were all empty now, every guardian slain.
Valerian approached slowly, the axe resting at his side. Unlike Valerian’s trees, this one didn’t show a single memory—it showed a whole lifetime of them. Every branch glimmered with a different scene, climbing endlessly into the sky.
Alistair’s whole mind, condensed into this one tree. No wonder the spiders had built their homes around it. Once this tree was destroyed, there would be nothing left of Alistair.
A wild grin stretched over Valerian’s lips until they ached.
He lifted the axe, savoring the weight of this moment, and chopped into the tree, slicing deeply into the pure white bark.
Blood sprayed from the wound, staining Valerian’s front, filling his mouth with the metallic taste of triumph.
Laughter bubbled within him as he ripped the axe out, widening the wound, and prepared a second swing.
A white hand clasped his wrist, thin fingers buried into his muscle, trembling from the effort of stopping the motion.
Valerian was taller and stronger—he easily ripped himself away from Alistair’s grip, but the interference worked.
With the mage returned and standing in his way, Valerian couldn’t reach the tree.
“If you want to die so badly, I’m happy to oblige,” Alistair panted, his chest heaving with exertion. Blood streamed from a thin cut on his chest, staining his already filthy robes, a perfect match for the wound in his tree.
“No more spiders, no more guardians, just you and me, Alistair!” Val said, grinning as he swung the axe through the air.
Alistair raised his hand to block the blow. Instead of a barrier this time, a shield formed along his arm. It was thicker than his barriers and the blade glanced right off it, but it also wasn’t as fluid. He had to wield it himself.
“What have you done with your life?” Alistair snarled.
“You bowed to the men who abused you.” An icicle blade formed in his other hand that he slashed at Val’s exposed legs.
“Killed for men who cared nothing about you. Even the woman you loved abandoned you because she couldn’t stand to see you simper and grovel at someone else’s feet. ”
Valerian ignored the taunts and dodged each of Alistair’s strikes. The other mage chased him around the trees, more focused on trying to use Valerian’s past against him than landing proper blows. It was clear that Alistair had not wielded a sword in decades, if ever.
It was also clear that he was struggling to control his magic.
Val’s brow furrowed. Why is he making so many mistakes? Valerian had barely damaged the invasive tree in his mind. The fact that it was standing tall and strong, but Alistair could only conjure two simple ice weapons, meant his magic was being used elsewhere. “What are you doing out there?”
Alistair smiled, but it was the smile of a man carved open and hollowed out. A man with nothing left to lose. “Arnsveld has always been an eyesore, so I’ll flatten its mountains. And they’re all going to know you’re the one responsible.”