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  Emerald light gushed out of his hand, carrying his awareness through the door to the tunnel beyond and away from his son. The Queen of All Trees defeated those killer tentacles. Ran will be okay, Sarn told himself as the distance between them mounted, stretching the tie binding them. He held his son huddled against his chest tight, but he could just barely feel the boy trembling at his side. His mind raced away from his body and his nervous son, riding the magic’s sparkling wave.

  His magic swept over everything it passed in its relentless search for answers. Candles lit on his head map. They marked every person his magic encountered, turning them into a cloud of fireflies all heading somewhere. What galvanized them? Some new danger, a resurgence of one already defeated or did they know something he didn’t? Is the Queen of All Trees in danger?

  Sarn searched his mental map for her silver symbol as he followed the twisting tunnels deeper into the lowest level under the mountain. A wall of white light sprang up, knocking his magic and his sight away from the Ægeldar. How did I get here?

  Her light stabbed the darkness. This shield reminded him of the one around the Queen of All Trees’ glade. It must be her doing.

  Are you still in there, my Queen? Earlier she'd had trouble getting around the Litherians' wards—until he'd done something to help. Bear still needed to explain that.

  When Sarn ran his hands over the sparkling wall, patterns emerged. He counted a hundred and forty-four interlocking circles before realizing there were chains within chains. It was the most elegant spell work he’d ever seen. Was this barrier meant to keep something in or out?

  Had the Queen of All Trees defeated that many-armed monster, or was it still in there trying to escape?

  Just the thought of that creature from the pit sent a cold shudder through Sarn. He reeled as something hooked his magic and yanked him through the bowels of the mountain—and the wall of his cave. What the hell?

  Sarn flew right over the head of his kneeling son. A breeze ruffled Ran’s hair and the boy looked up, still chewing on his stuffed bear’s ear. But if he saw anything other than the finger-long stalactites dripping on his head, his little face didn’t show it. Sarn caught one last glimpse of his discarded body, still clutching his son in a one-armed embrace, then he passed through a wall into yet another dim tunnel. The Lower Quarters had miles of them because the Litherians had gotten lazy when carving them out.

  Where’s this thing taking me?

  Outside Mount Eredren, a lone man opened and closed his mouth and the most inconceivable things fell out. Dirk wanted to go into the enchanted forest? Why the hell would he want to go there? It was about to be destroyed.

  The Adversary stared at the fortyish fellow. Feeling his disguise slip, he pulled his everyman’s face into a mask of skepticism. Some of his dark presence spilled through before he could stop it, and Dirk shivered.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Dirk nodded and gestured to those confounded standing stones. “I want to see what they want to show me. I can meet your interested buyer—what's his name? —later.”

  “You mean Straymos.”

  Dirk ignored the Adversary and regarded those menhirs. Their double ring of trouble enclosed the meadow. Well, there went that plan, for now.

  Beyond those creepy standing stones, the enchanted forest extended massive branches, and they arched over the invisible cordon those damned menhirs maintained. Both the forest and the menhirs were a relic of a dead age. Someone should rip them out of the ground and toss them out like all the other rubbish left over from the so-called ‘Age of Magic.'

  “Dirk! Listen to me.”

  But the man wasn’t listening to anyone. Without a backward glance, Dirk broke into a run heading for those damned menhirs and the forest giants beckoning to him. Dirk looked ridiculous with his dirt-smeared clothes flapping in the wind. Blood had soaked into the hem of his trousers and ichor had streaked his tunic. What a picture the conman made to the tradesman and green-uniformed Rangers he passed. Of course, they didn’t give Dirk more than a passing glance as they strode toward the mountain brooding behind the Adversary.

  Run along to your little lives, your petty concerns. Pay no attention to the dark force tearing your world apart. The Adversary finger-waved to those oblivious mortals. His bland countenance fell into shadow as a pawn dropped onto the grass at his feet.

  The Adversary picked it up and cursed. The Queen of All Trees had made her play right under his nose. Damn, she was good. He hadn’t seen nor sensed her meddling. But she’d drawn Dirk off the path he’d laid out for the conman. Damn her!

  Setting his plans to send more black lumir crystals out into the world aside, the Adversary examined the black pawn. The irony of it made his lips quirk into a crooked smile under his deep hood. Finally, he’d found a worthy opponent. Now it’s my turn, Queenie, he sent on the wind blowing out of the northwest. And what a turn I’ll take.

  She didn’t answer. Rumor claimed she never did. Talking was beneath her. But she would beg in the end, they all did. And he would bring her into the darkness and bind her like all the rest of the mighty who’d fallen at his feet.

  Whistling a jaunty tune, the Adversary tossed the pawn into the air. It spun nine times widdershins—a good sign—then vanished into his pocket. In a swirl of dark cloth, the Adversary turned to follow Dirk. This round wasn’t over yet. Nor could the conman escape so easily, not while he carried a piece of the Adversary in his heart.

  Before the Adversary had taken more than a couple of steps, a reverberation in the magic dragged his attention to a black hole cut in the mountain’s feet. Well, well, well, what have we here?

  Every strain of magic had its own key, and every spell, its own song. But this one was strange. Either there were several mages or one mage slinging spells from more than one magical discipline.

  Perhaps Aralore’s merry band of zealots had left a few mages alive. That didn’t seem possible given the sword-loving priestess’ proclivities. Might this be a distraction?

  What are you up to Queenie? The Adversary strained his ears for more information. His bones were tuning forks. Each one vibrated in sequence until he identified the tones he was hearing.

  Three distinct tunes merged into two somewhere close judging by their volume. The Adversary rushed through that vertical bar of black back into the mountain. He could reclaim Dirk later. After all, there was no escape from the Adversary, not for a man who’d sold his soul for a few precious coins.

  Tunnels flashed past at dizzying speeds away from the Ægeldar. Sarn struggled but couldn’t break free. What caught me? And how did it catch me?

  Sarn felt around for it, but he had no idea what he was looking for. What did a ‘capture’ spell look like? Was that even what had ensnared him?

  The magic infecting his blood and bones didn’t come with a grimoire. Other than creating shields, mapping the area around him and jumping long distances, most of the magic he worked was accidental. None of the magic he’d ever touched required crafting an actual spell.

  Sarn poked his gift—he had two of them, but only the green one peered out of his eyes. It didn’t offer any insights. His other gift slept curled around his heart like a giant white cat made of fire. It didn’t even twitch when he prodded it.

  Ahead, a swarm of fireflies—no, people—flowed toward a hole in the ground leading to the sunlit outdoors. They halted, and the invisible force ceased towing him.

  Did the crowd call me? Or was she out there calling all her subjects? Is the Queen of All Trees in danger?

  Something blocked the restive crowd's egress. Sarn sent his magic over the barrier seeking her radiant presence and ignited a dozen new symbols on his map—Guards. No doubt someone had dispatched them to keep the Indentured underground where they belonged.

  As if he’d heard his unkind thoughts, one of the Guards turned. He was a thirtyish man washed out by the magic’s warm green light.

  “Papa? I want to go out, now.” Ran tug
ged Sarn’s tunic to get his attention, but the sensation was muted by distance, and so was his son’s voice.

  I just need a few more minutes. Sarn tried to say to his son. But when he opened his mouth, no words issued. His body wasn’t there, just his mind, and the connection between them wasn’t strong enough to send speech back. Oh well, he only needed another moment.

  There was something strange about the Guard digging his hands into the magic. Familiarity sparked a disjointed memory of a shadow falling across iron bars, a bucket of vomit and lines of agony crisscrossing his back. Then it was gone, leaving Sarn even more bewildered than before.

  Do I know him? Indeed, there was something familiar about that Guard. What is that Guard feeling around for? Did he drop something? Or could he feel the magic surrounding Sarn.

  Magic is a sliding scale, Bear had said. Where did this Guard fall on that scale?

  A flick of the Guard’s wrist answered that question. He twisted the magic into a lariat and tossed it before Sarn could dodge. A fiery loop dropped over his head and dragged Sarn down toward the sharp shadows rising around the man in Guardsman blue. But they were just inanimate shadows. The black mist was gone and so were the things that had swum in it, hopefully for good.

  “How did you do that?” Sarn asked.

  “Who are you?” The Guard tightened the noose.

  Sarn shook his head. “I thought I knew, but now I don’t know.”

  It hurt to admit that, but the truth refused to be denied, watered down or sugar-coated. Bear’s revelation hours’ earlier that everything had an opposite repeated, and so did the question it raised.

  What am I the opposite of?

  Not the Guard who’d caught him. A quick scan proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt. The constricting lariat didn’t balance this magical equation. On the contrary, Sarn’s magic massed around him, encasing him in light. Sarn gripped the lariat, but before he could wrench it out of the Guard’s hands, that damned question repeated.

  What am I the opposite of?

  He’d never had a chance to ask Bear during their harrowing escape and afterward, the stuffed annoyance had gone mute again. The question hung over Sarn’s head like an ax ready to fall. And on its heels, an even more disturbing question waited—what will happen when I meet my opposite?

  Because that confrontation was coming. Sarn felt it as keenly as the tie binding him to his son. This Guard wasn’t his opposite, but he wasn’t a mage either. He lived in that gray area between normal and magical—a class of people I didn’t know existed before today.

  “What are you?” Sarn started to ask, but Ran yanked on the tie between them with all his might.

  “Papa!” Ran packed all the desperation a four-year-old could muster into the shout echoing in Sarn’s soul.

  Something must be wrong. But he’d left his son in their cave under the Queen of All Trees’ protection. Ran should be safe there. Then why is he calling me?

  Ran tugged harder on the tie between them and a shimmering chain appeared. Promises to his son had forged each link. They were unbreakable, like his will. I must go.

  As Sarn thought that, a green flash severed the lariat, freeing him. His magic changed to a pale green cloud, riding the dispersing crowd until something lashed out and grabbed hold of him. This current was stronger than the one before. It sucked him down a black funnel away from everything including his son.

  “Papa, come back! I don’t want to lose you.”

  I don’t want to be lost, son. His magic screamed, and Ran’s shouts became more frantic as the blackness closed in on Sarn.

  I See You, Boy

  “Go back to your homes,” Nulthir shouted. He held his hands palm out to stop the crowd building in front of him. A sea of heads filled the tunnel and stretched on for a half mile to a bend and likely beyond that point as well.

  Every man, woman, and child in the Lower Quarters was on the move for no goddamned reason. The Litherians had built their mountain-fortress-turned city tough enough to withstand a frigging earthquake. Yet each time one shook the bowels of the mountain, its denizens fled in fear.

  You’d think they’d be used to this by now. Nulthir glared at the crowd, letting them know he meant business.

  Why the hell were there so many quakes? There’d been a whole slew of them a month ago, then a couple more two weeks ago and now more today. What in the name of the magic were those miners doing—tunneling to hell and back?

  Probably. The rich bastards who ran Mount Eredren had little regard for anything except profit and the purity of their bloodlines. Most of the foremen in the mines were good people, but a few would go to any lengths to make their quota. If they didn’t break the law, Nulthir couldn’t do anything about it. Sweat trickled down his back.

  The sunlight shafting through the hole behind Nulthir threatened to cook him in his uniform. It was a golden laser burning through his clothes, and it was only June. Shayari was in for a scorcher this summer, or so claimed the Augurs.

  Something brushed his senses. It sparkled at the edges of his sight, and Nulthir squinted at it until a wave of emerald light broke over him. There was someone surfing it and instinct made him reach for that scintillating energy.

  Power crackled around Nulthir and he inhaled, sucking that glorious magic down into his core. God, it had been so long since he’d found a power source. On his skin, runes warmed as magic ignited them. Nulthir twisted the power connecting him to the unknown mage. On his knees before him materialized a young man with burning emerald eyes. Something dark—a cloak maybe—swirled around him obscuring his face. But those eyes, they stared at him in shock.

  “Who are you?”

  “I thought I knew, but—” the boy shook his head then vanished into a flash of emerald light.

  Hadn’t the Seekers killed all mages centuries ago? That was the lore, but they’d obviously missed one. Staggered by the implication, Nulthir leaned against the nearest rock formation until his balance steadied.

  How could there be a mage alive today? That one question beat in his brain as six pairs of eyes turned in his direction, and something pulled on the magic he'd taken.

  Oh no, you don't. That power is mine. Nulthir traced a quick rune on his mail shirt—the first one he'd learned, sealing in that boy’s power. To the men watching him, it looked like he'd sketched the sign of that new triune God those market square preachers were all afire for.

  Sunlight glinted off the crosses a few of his fellow Guards wore reminding Nulthir he needed to check out this new God’s teachings sooner rather than later. If that new God respected the balance and had a place for magic users in his ranks, then He might be alright.

  Guards held spears at the ready and more of his people waited beyond the sunlight baking Nulthir’s back. He shook himself and stared at the emptying tunnel. Only a few Indentured men and women remained, but they too were drifting away as if called.

  Had the crowd felt that boy’s magic? Or the tug of whatever had just tried to leech his newly acquired power? Was that mage Indentured too?

  He must be. Where else could such a gifted young man hide? No one ever gave the Indentured a second glance. They were nonentities scurrying beneath their betters’ notice like the rats infesting this place.

  “Well that was weird,” Agalthar commented as he doffed his barbute and held it in the crook of his arm.

  “What was?” Nulthir asked. What had his Guards seen? Did they suspect he was magic-touched? A shiver shot through Nulthir.

  “They just turned and fled like rats to their burrows. You didn’t even have to threaten them. I feel cheated.” Agalthar scratched his scalp through his sweat-dampened hair.

  “That was odd. Tell the rest of the men to stand down. Set up a watch, and barricade that hole.” Nulthir gestured to the three-foot-wide aperture pouring sunlight on their helmed heads.

  “Won’t do any good. They’ll just tear it down.”

  “Not this time.”

  Nulthir cracked his k
nuckles feeling the power coiled there, waiting for release. The rock wall beside him called to the magic he’d siphoned from that kid. The boy had earth magic—fan-fricking-tastic. Earth magic was the most useful kind, especially in a mountain stronghold. Nulthir shook his head at his good fortune.

  I must find that boy.

  ‘That boy’—the thought triggered a vague memory of a youth with a bloody ruin for a back sprawled in a dank cell reeking of piss and vomit. Then the image drained into a black pool which contracted into a mote in Jerlo’s impenetrable black eyes.

  Whoa, why did I just imagine the commander of the Rangers?

  “Captain? Are you, all right?” Agalthar shook Nulthir’s shoulder then lowered his voice so the guards hauling rocks to block the hole wouldn’t hear. “Maybe you’d better take a rest. You’ve been driving yourself into the ground since that jailbreak two weeks ago. I can manage things here. I doubt they’ll give us any further trouble.”

  “I’m all right but thank you for the offer.” Nulthir clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I want to be here in case there’s more trouble afoot.” Or a certain green-eyed youth passes this way. I’ll find you, boy. Though just what he’d do with a mage, Nulthir had no idea.

  Ran bit his lip and hugged Bear—the stuffed version. Its spiritual counterpart had remained silent since they’d returned from the Queen of All Trees’ magical glade.

  Papa had gone so still he scarce breathed. Was he okay?

  Sometimes Papa had strange fits. Papa wasn’t shaking—yet, but the ground was. Every vibration made Ran look up to make sure the ceiling wasn’t caving in. So far there were no cracks. Please don't form any. I'm too little to carry Papa.

  Mount Eredren listened to Papa. Maybe it would listen to him too. Ran hugged Bear as the ground shook again. Come back Papa, I'm scared.

  And Papa’s eyes weren’t right. In each iris, twin wheels of flame turned—one inside the other. But the left iris was spinning widdershins and the right, sunward. They both usually spun in the same direction, sunward.