His armshook with energy.
Berith’seyes reflected the light, hard and unblinking.
Slowly,a crown of sharpened bone emerged around Zaria’s neck, like the spiked collarof a dog.With a twitch, each of them could slit her throat.Necrotic tendrilsleaked from the tips of the bone, as green as a putrid bog.
Aroundthe stage, the Khador students picked themselves from the ground, theirmovements languid and unconcerned.Each of their hands churned with elementalmagic.Above them all, Berith braced himself against the bank of metal devices.He bashed his shoulder into the metal.The jointreconnected.He flinched back, growling at the pain.
Isaackept tracking him with the lance, the energy in his palm close to boiling.
Do it.
Do it.
His armshook.
Hecould barely see through the tears.
“Thisis your last warning,” his uncle said, rubbing his shoulder.Blood leaked fromthe shards of bone in his face.“Leave, and I will not pursue.”
Thebones constricted around Zaria, sharp and swirling.Necrotics wafted likesmoke.On either side of the stage, the thralls held their spells at the edgeof casting.
“If youdistract me again,” Berith said, “if you insist on meddling in the affair thathas ruined our family, I will kill you.I won’t be a coward, like I was before.If I have ever done anything nice for you, Isaac, this is it.This is my only,actual kindness.”
Thelance in Isaac’s hand grew into a bright, shining star.
“Starta new life, Isaac.Live for yourself.This is the only chance you’ll everhave.”
Slowly,Berith paced around the metal device, never taking his gaze from Isaac.Heretreated to the edge of the stage.His blue eyes grew brighter, the sigils onthe thralls responded, and a dozen young students helped him climb down to thefloor, like servants dressing a king.Once secure, the enslaved studentsgathered around him, shielding him with their bodies.Berith disappeared into asea of black robes and churning magic.
Above,on the stage, the bones continued to swirl around Zaria, sharpened limbssliding past her throat.A touch of necrotics had balded the fur on her chin.
Thecrowd of thralls retreated into the chamber, squeezing between the lines ofautomation, ignoring the crusted blood, watching for the slightest sign ofattack.Isaac never lowered his hand.After a short time, Berith had traveledso far down the pelvic cavity that he and his thralls almost disappeared intothe tangle of coffins, tanks, pipework, and dust.The gloom drank theirblackened robes.
Forjust a moment, Isaac saw his uncle again, his eyes glowing bright with parasitemagic, his face peeking between the heads of his thralls.
“Iconsider you my son,” Berith said, voice echoing down the chamber.
Isaacaimed directly between his eyes.
“Mybrother,” Berith continued, “is not your father.Not anymore.He gave you awaybefore you were even born.For all your life, the burden has belonged to me.”
Isaacimagined his light piercing through Berith’s head, melting the skin, boilingthe bone, his inner brain steaming out from the crater of his skull.Heimagined the sound of his uncle’s body slumping to the floor.He pictured thelook of shock still stamped into his gaze.
Hewanted it.
Hewanted it very badly.
Hewanted to kill his uncle.
For thelife of him, he could not stop his hands from shaking.
“I wantyou to know,” Berith said.“Despite everything ...I am proud of you.”
Isaacdropped his spell, screaming in rage.
Hisuncle disappeared into the dust and gloom, dragging the bodies of all hisstudents.The sound of marching footsteps drifted away.All at once, the bonesaround Zaria died, falling to the floor, the necrotic tendrils rusting themetal of the stage.She gasped, clutching at her neck.In the space above her,the stripes and stars gave a single flutter, as if the old necromancer godswere still watching from the grave.
For amoment, all that remained was the smell of blood.
