“By all means,” Evain says.
So Leth doesn’t draw his sword as they approach the frayed edge of another world. Instead, he fumbles under his coat for the pendant Evain gave him. He can’t feel the engraving through his glove, but he knows the runes by heart, and the silver map of a solution gives him courage to face the rift itself.
Which he needs, because the rift iswrong.
What was once the village’s main street is now a gash of twisting shadows, twenty feet high and thirty feet long. Leth’s brain instinctively rejects the visuals. False. Wrong. Not of this world. Red and black fog—or yellow and gray—a sickening green—pools in the great gap of it, swirling too thickly for Leth to see anything of the realm beyond. If he squints, maybe he can make sense of the moving shapes.
Evain squeezes the back of his neck, the touch muffled through his glove and Leth’s scarf. “Don’t look too close.”
“Fuck off,” Leth mutters, but his retort lacks heat. He’s annoyed by how unannoyed he is. How stupidly comforting he finds Evain’s low laugh in response.
“The first vaidkos is crossing over,” Evain says, as the rift pulses ominously. “Start the spell—we’ve got your back.”
He steps away, but Leth still feels his touch on the back of his neck. Lights flash against the rift: Marta’s magic shield and Haldis’s shining blade. Leth clutches his pendant and focuses inward. Tapping into the depths of his own magic, the only small strength he was born with, he begins to chant.
The words have a grammarless pattern. Names of runes in Charaini and Lyrisenian. Layers of denotation and connotation, familiar and foreign, overlap and echo each other. Leth’s eyes are open, but he sees little besides flashing lights and swirling power. Wild rift magic rushes towards him, a gust of scouring wind—
The next line of the spell isprotection, and Leth shakes not from the force of the rift but from the force of his own spell. Evain’s spell, pouring from his lips, surrounding him.
Silver light pierces the cracks between his fingers as the pendant glows. Leth sees the array etched in his vision, overlaying the rest of the world. The rift. The paladins chasing a vaidkos back into the void. The demon-mage standing close by, supporting the paladins at range and never leaving Leth’s side.
Leth doesn’t have time to wonder where Evain found so much power, when he hasn’t flirted with anyone in days. He speaks the final line, and the rift implodes. The smoke and terror suck back into the vanishing gap, until all that remains is the empty street.
Still clasping the pendant, Leth stands stunned. That was… easier than he expected.
Light snowflakes glitter in the pearlescence of Marta’s shield spell. Daziroth trots over, great hooves muffled, and butts his head affectionately against Evain’s back.
Evain turns to Leth, a faint smirk on his lips. Some strands of hair have fallen loose from his braid, fluttering with sparks of lingering magic. “How was it?”
Leth’s heart thuds, and his daze has nothing to do with exhaustion. He’s not nearly as tired as he should be from working a spell that powerful—and that’s due to the skill of the spellcrafting, the efficient harnessing and dispersal of power. The spell mostly used the rift’s own magic instead of drawing too deep on the caster’s reserves.
Conservation of magic isn’t a consideration for most mages, because the truly powerful all have access to divine or demonic power. Crafting a spell like this with uncontracted mages in mind is highly unusual.
Leth unclenches his hand from the pendant. “How long did it take you to write this?”
“I know, I’m very impressive, aren’t I?” Evain’s smirk deepens, and in his daze, Leth doesn’t even mind. “Why don’t I tell you over—”
Daziroth’s scream breaks through the peace, and dark power explodes behind Evain. Smoke and fear, light and despair. A new rift severs the veil between realms.
Evain swears and starts to chant, but there’s no time. It’s too close. Leth moves on instinct, dodging Daziroth’s scrambling retreat, and seizes hold of Evain’s arm. He needs to pull Evain out of harm’s way—but the rift is still too close. There’s still no time. Evain can’t finish the spell, and Leth can’t drag either of them to safety.
Dark magic pulses and sweeps them away.
?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EVAIN
Oh, fuck no. Evain isnotgoing home.
The rift isn’t full-formed yet. Just a swirl of wild magic flaring along the faults between worlds. Evain, Leth, and Daziroth tumble through roiling clouds of black and red, waves of magnetic terror, spiraling towards—even the gods don’t know.
Evain refuses to follow. Not just for himself, but for the pretty sword-witch gripping his forearm with iron strength. Leth’s face is bloodless white, but his lips move in a spell Evain can’t hear. A bead in his hair flashes, and a shield shimmers around them, weaving silver through the blood-red of Evain’s magic.
Nothing else happens. There’s no way Leth knows how to counter this, but Leth’s grip doesn’t waver. He doesn’t stop trying to fight the magical onslaught. Evain can’t waver either, because he’s the reason Leth is in this mess. The rift only draws in creatures of demonic origin like Evain and Daziroth. Even demon-contracted mages wouldn’t be dragged in so easily. Had Leth not leaped towards him, had Leth not grabbed his arm and tried to protect him, he would still be safe with Marta and Haldis in the mortal world.
But Leth did leap towards him, because that’s the kind of person Leth is. It would be heartwarming, if the results weren’t so terrifying.
