The Warlord's Legacy by Ari Marmell Page B

come out again.”
    “True,” Kaleb said. “But Corvis Rebaine was one of them.”
    Jassion scowled and stalked toward the trees, the smirking sorcerer trailing in his wake.

    C AREFULLY THEY WORMED THROUGH THE BOLES , pushing and occasionally chopping branches out of their way: Jassion with Talon, Kaleb with a broad-tipped falchion he drew from gods-knew-where. But after fewer than a dozen paces, their progress stalled. The briars and the foliage grew too thick for Kaleb’s blade, and while the Kholben Shiar was not so easily ensnarled, the close press of the branches provided Jassion inadequate room to swing.
    Branches twisted, contrary to any breeze, to block their path, scraping and tearing at exposed flesh. Thorns pierced leather and wool and even, at times, between links of chain, seeking blood. The air grew thick with pollen and the scents of growing things, cloying and disorienting. Somehow, though they could see the gleaming sunlight behind them, its illumination failed to reach them. They stood surrounded in a pall of darkness as heavy as the plant life.
    A distant wolf howled, swiftly drowned out by the flapping of a hundred wings and the chittering of unseen rodents. And when
that
faded away, replaced by dozens of tiny chewing mouths and the whimpering of predator turned prey, even the jaded Jassion blanched, glad now for the shadows that hid his weakness from his companion.
    “We should never have come.” The baron was shocked to recognize his own voice in that whisper, to feel his lips moving, driven by a fear growing stronger than his will. “Oh, gods …”
    Kaleb’s own face remained as wooden as the trees, and if the same soul-deep terror churned through him, it would have required more than a brighter light to see it. With two fingers, he pushed against the nearest branch, watched as it swiftly sprang back to block his way. He pushed it again, then sniffed carefully at his fingers, apparently oblivious to the panicked whimpering beside him.
    He slid the falchion beneath his cloak, back to wherever he’d kept it hidden, and raised both hands before him. He spoke, and though hisvoice barely rose above a whisper, his words were clearly intended for ears other than Jassion’s.
    “You brought this on yourself.”
    From upraised palms poured a sheet of incandescent flame, a torrent of obliteration. It burned a furious blue at its core, leaving spots dancing before Jassion’s eyes, but at its edge, where it licked hungrily at tree and leaf and grass, its all-consuming fury was an angry red. On it came, a geyser of fire that seemed to draw strength from the pits of hell itself. And perhaps there
was
something unholy in Kaleb’s spell, for the smoke that snaked upward, curled around the trees like a lover’s caress, smelled overwhelmingly of brimstone.
    Still it continued, until Jassion could see only the blinding light, hear only the furious crackling of the fire. He fell to his knees, hands clasped over his ears, rocking back and forth and praying for it to end. He felt the heat wash back over him, singeing the hairs on his hands, and wondered if his supposed ally were mad enough to incinerate them both.
    So overpowering were the reverberations in Jassion’s ears, indeed in his
mind
, that when the torrent finally ceased, he took a moment to notice.
    Small embers flickered, marking the edges of the clearing that Kaleb had burned into the flesh of Theaghl-gohlatch, though already they were beginning to fade, overwhelmed by the wood’s unnatural darkness. Layers of ash coated the soil, and more fell in gentle flurries. Animals wailed from all directions, cries of agony and endless rage, and Jassion was certain he heard words—subtle, alien, unintelligible—intertwined within those calls.
    Hands still limned in a cerulean aura, smoke leaking from beneath his nails, Kaleb stepped into the path his fires had gouged. “I can do it again!” he called, and his voice carried far into the forest, passing