Crown (The Manhunters Book 3) Read online

  Roth wrapped his arms around Gale and Gale let out a hitched sob. Tate held Gale, too.

  “We are fine,” Tate said. As much as he claimed to hate Gale, he did not shove the man away. He patted his head and whispered. “We made it out alright. We have an ally there now, and we—”

  “We will go get the sword,” Ithyryyn said. “We will find a way. I swear it to you.”

  “What does that mean?” Tate snapped. He pushed Gale away and Roth stepped before them both. He turned to Ithyryyn and smiled a shy kind of grin.

  “We got the sword.”

  Purgatory fell silent.

  “We did it without your help,” Tate said. “So what do you mean, you swear?”

  Thrak laughed. Everyone turned to him and he shook his head. “Tate Mestlven and Roth Callden crafted their rings to get to Hell, went in, and came back victorious and unharmed.” Thrak grinned. “Of course they did. I’m proud of you boys.”

  “Proud?” Quill said. She slapped Thrak. “How dare you be proud?”

  “It was reckless,” Ithyryyn said.

  “Very!” Gale said.

  “But impressive,” Ithyryyn said.

  “Agreed,” Thrak said. “I am not sure I would have held up. I’m sure you have a story to tell, but first, we need you to amend our rings and outfit them with the same powers.” Thrak opened a portal back to the meeting room and they all walked in.

  “You got the sword?” Ithyryyn asked.

  “We did,” Roth said. “We got into a fight and—”

  “Roth dropped a building on a bazaar,” Tate said with a giggle.

  “I—” was as far as Roth got before the screams of gargoyles erupted and everyone froze. They all looked at each other and spoke their own names.

  Roth disappeared into the air and reformed on his disc at the door. Around him stood every member of the Collective. The alarm had gone off.

  They were being attacked.

  Crystal

  Rayph was met at the door to the Candle Tower and he never broke stride as he stormed into the building. “Is she ready?” Rayph asked. He was climbing the stairs as Collette answered.

  “She is an assassin, Rayph, I don’t understand,” the wizardess said. “You tell us no evil. You chide Trevonne for instructing Eloam, then you bring an assassin to our tower and tell us to help her?” Collette grabbed Rayph’s robe cuff and turned him around.

  “I need you to make sense of this for me,” Collette said. She looked angry, but more than that, she looked confused.

  “There is evil, and there is evil. Cable is darkness for sure. She kills for money and I don’t like it but people like her are necessary. I hate it, but they are. I have known her for a long time. Used her and her brother a few times, too. They are not evil. Right now, I need her. They took her jaw, Collette. Brody has Cable’s jaw in his collection right now. I need her to bring him to heel.”

  Rayph turned and walked up the stairs. Collette followed. “He took her jaw?” She hissed. “How is that even possible?”

  “Surgery,” Rayph said. “He held her down and performed surgery on her. He most likely used healing potions to keep her alive, a drop here, a dab there. He took the jaw off and pulled it out of her mouth whole. He is a monster. That is true evil. That is what I am trying to stop. He is dug into this city. He has his teeth in deep. I can’t pry him off of this city’s vein unless I have this woman.”

  They reached a room much larger than the building would allow for. This was not meant to be an operating room. This table was never meant to have a body resting on it. Rayph had been forced to have the restraints bolted on. He looked Cable in the eye and took her hands. He could still not bear to look in the ruin of her mouth.

  “I failed you. I know that. I have not the power to heal you back to what you were. That is not within me anymore. Once it was. I was once much more than I am today but what I am is resourceful. And I have a plan. I need you to trust me. I need you to lie as still as possible. I’m going to bind you.” Cable’s eyes flared. Rayph nodded.

  “I know. You hate that. I hate it, too. Ty is not here because he would never let me tie you down. And you don’t have to, either. Leave now if you want to. Walk out of this room and back out into the streets. I won’t think any less of you. But if you stay, I have to bind you to this table. This is going to hurt. It will hurt terribly and I have to have you still if I am going to make this real.”

  Eloam walked into the room carrying a tray with an object on it, covered with a small silk cloth. Cable’s eyes landed on the object and Rayph summoned him over. Eloam walked carefully to her side, his eyes never leaving the tray.

  “Show it to her,” Rayph said. Eloam stared at the cloth as if he had not heard, as if he was incapable of hearing. Rayph gritted his teeth and pulled away the cloth himself.

  Cable gasped.

  She stared in horror at the object Rayph had requested from Trevonne and Collette, the object the two wizardesses had been working on for days. Cable could not pry her eyes from the piece of art Rayph had called for. He stared at it, stunned by its beauty and horrified by its design. He looked up at her, took her face in his hands. He directed her eyes to his and shook his head.

  “This is my only idea,” Rayph said. “This is all I’ve got. I have thought about it for days and this is the only thing that makes sense. It is perfectly rendered. Made into exactly what I asked for it to be. I can do this. You will be able to talk, to eat, to drink. But you will never be normal again,” Rayph said. Her eyes leaked tears, and Rayph looked down and growled. “I know,” he said. “I know it’s terrible. Tell me not to put it on you, and I won’t. Tell me to let you live as you are now and I will do so. Walk away from this if you can.”

  Her eyes closed, two tears fell, and when she opened them, Rayph saw her in all her glory. An unbreakable purity was fixed into her eyes, hard as diamond and just as clear, her eyes were dangerous and terrible. They had made a decision. Rayph knew this was a sight only Ty and the victims she hated got to see. This was Cable, determined and ready.

  She nodded and sat on the table. She was a victim of Brody no more. She became herself again. Edged and dangerous, sharp as steel and just as deadly. Rayph motioned to the restraints and Cable let them bind her. He took a small blade sharp as a razor and he made the first incision.

  For hours he worked. He had spent this long on an operation before, but he couldn’t remember when. Rayph was brought back to the days at the Crystal Citadel when he was under the tutelage of Glimmer and the other Trimerian Knights. They had taught him then how to take a body apart with a knife and how to stitch it back together. He thought himself ready for anything after those lessons, but he never envisioned anything quite like this. This was not surgery. This was something else. Something abominable. Something otherworldly.

  He nodded to the three spellcasters beside him, and they began to cast. He kept stitching. He kept cutting, and as he did his work, the diamond eyes of Cable stared at him.

  When Rayph pushed himself away from the table, he nearly collapsed. He stepped back and Eloam dropped to sit on the ground. Trevonne stumbled to a chair and Collette walked away to lean against a wall. As Cable thrashed herself to a sitting position, she slapped the bright white light that had hovered over the table for so many hours. The globe was knocked free. It darted through the room, off-kilter and fighting for balance. Shadows spun uncontrollably around the room and Cable was shielded by darkness. It crawled from one side of her face to the other, never betraying exactly what Rayph had made her into, until she reached out with blinding speed and snatched the globe up with both hands. Her face was cast in glaring light and Rayph saw her in vivid detail. She snapped her teeth shut with a slight tinking noise. Rayph stared at her crystal jaw with horror. The glass lips he had formed for her, the steel teeth all crafted together to create a monster of the woman’s bottom jaw. Her black leather tongue slipped out of her mouth to lick her crystal lips and she nodded.

  “He crafte
d a victim with a blade and a few spritzes of healing potion.” Her voice rang with a clarity Rayph had never heard. It was a bell. A chime. “You crafted a monster with a blade and a spell.” She was mesmerizing to look upon, and Rayph shuddered at the horror of what he had done.

  The Audit

  Gale cast on the front double doors of the castle, and they wavered and ran like liquid wood. They could all see directly through the doors, out into the courtyard.

  A cadre of wizards stood in a group outside, staring at the castle, waiting with hoods up and weapons bared.

  They carried staffs and rods, more than a few wands, and other implements of wizardry. The effects of the spell only worked on this side of the door, and Roth knew those outside had no way of knowing what was happening in the college.

  Quill cast her binding spell. She had written it after many lessons with Gale. It allowed any spell they cast upon themselves to immediately affect the other members. The spell snapped around Roth like a tight skin and it comforted him.

  Over the sounds of the gargoyles screaming outside, Thrak ran his fingers through his mohawk and looked at the rest of them. “We protect the city. If this gets dark, we have to contain it. We can’t let them attack the innocents around us.”

  “Agreed,” Roth said.

  “If we can be diplomatic, we will,” Ithyryyn said. “We have to keep our tempers in check.”

  Ithyryyn didn’t look at Tate, but the comment was directed his way. Roth was glad Tate did not rise to the words.

  “What do they want?” Quill asked.

  “Whatever they are after, they won’t like what they end up getting,” Tate said.

  Roth sighed. Thrak laughed.

  Gale waved a hand and the door parted. They stepped out into the light of a lovely day, and when their feet touched the first step, the gargoyles behind them stopped screaming and turned back to their positions on the castle.

  As they stepped out, Roth noticed Decard, the court wizard of Victor Dreadnaught, standing in the mix.

  “Who am I speaking to?” a mage said as he stepped forward. His yellowing robes and black, eyeless mask marked him a Reaver. Roth knew this was not going to go well. The Reaver carried a long staff, slick black, and the man’s fingers were covered with gaudy jewelry. Roth cast a counting spell and instantly knew there were twenty men in front of them.

  “You now address the Callden Collective,” Ithyryyn said.

  “We know that much,” Decard said.

  The Reaver looked over his shoulder to set a glare upon the man, and Roth smiled.

  “You address all of us when you come before the Collective,” Quill said. “There are six masters here.”

  The man shook his head. “How many students?”

  “Six,” Tate sneered.

  “Get them out here. We need to address all of you.”

  “We are all here,” Roth said.

  The man shook his head. Decard spat the ground. “That is the issue at hand. I will not waste everyone’s time and I will get to it quick. We grow concerned with your ineptitude, and have come to give you direction,” the Reaver said.

  Roth pulled his sword and drove it into the ground. He gripped the handle and felt the power of the spell rush below them and shoot out in all directions. Within a breath, it sprouted up outside the courtyard as a slight green bubble that rose to the air.

  The cadre before them looked around nervously, even a few of them looking up at the closing ceiling of power longingly, as if wishing to fly away. Roth left his sword standing in the ground. He stepped up beside Tate and the Reaver shook his finger at Roth.

  “No, young man, no. You drop that spell this instant.”

  Roth turned his gaze for Decard, who looked around at the men surrounding him then back at Roth with a gleam in his eyes bordering on panic.

  “Why don’t you tell us about this direction you are giving us?” Gale said. His hand dropped to his side. His fingers twitched. Roth could tell he itched to pull his rod, but he didn’t. Gale at least was trying to get out of this peacefully.

  “We have ignored your group ’til now because you are weak and your order is young, but we have been watching your progress.”

  Roth knew this was nonsense. On any scale, the Collective was the most powerful wizard coven in the world. In five worlds.

  “We find your ways disturbing and have gotten together as a group and discussed how you will proceed.” The man stood stock still, his hand resting on his staff. He looked in every way calm and confident, but when he wiped his palm on his robe Roth knew the man was sweating. “Gale at least should know what magic is supposed to look like. He was a highly valued member of our order at one time. He knows the laws and traditions that make magic the most powerful force in the world.”

  “Let’s say it has been a long time and I have forgotten,” Gale said. “Just remind me of what I once knew.”

  “Well, magic is taught in a particular fashion. A wizard master will take in a student. That student will serve the master as a servant for a few years, then as an apprentice when the time has come. He will learn what he is taught, and when he has learned all his lessons, he will be allowed to venture out and find his own way. Maybe become a court wizard or raise up a tower of his own. He then takes students and the cycle goes on for another generation.” The man looked at the bubble around them and he waved a hand at the sword. “Really now, young man, I must insist you dissipate this spell now.”

  “You do it,” Roth said. He felt power in the words, felt confident his spell could not be dismissed by any but him or the Collective. “If you find my spell offensive, I invite you to dismiss it yourself.”

  Thrak threw his head back and looked at the sky. He laughed loud and obnoxious, and it echoed strangely off the dome overhead. The sound of the laughing sent a shot of pure power through Roth’s body and suddenly he was trembling.

  “The dome stays then?” Thrak said.

  The man shook his head as if Thrak had been nothing but a minor annoyance, then continued.

  “We have looked at your breach of tradition and we have decided to correct it for you,” the Reaver said. “We have chosen a master for you to study under.”

  A man stepped forward wearing red robes. He wore a golden sash around his waist and carried a wicked-looking black wand. He spoke a word, his hood disappeared, and he pointed at them with a crooked finger. His skin was pale as milk and his eyes white. They were the kind of eyes that bore into a person, the kind of eyes that seemed to possess secrets, and when he spoke, his hair blew back from his face.

  “My name is—”

  “You are Grastion the White. They call you the Chalice, though I cannot divine why,” Thrak said. “You taught wizardry at a school in Drine for a while before the war, but after that, you ran here. You have been looking for a new tower ever since. You’re an exile.”

  “I am your new master. And you will never interrupt me again,” the man said. His voice issued from him like a volley of horns. The echo, though, was less impressive. “I will be merciful this time, but never again. You are talking to me now. Direct all your comments at me. And I choose you to speak for your people,” he said, pointing at Gale.

  “His name is Gale,” Quill said, stepping forward. “Gale Summerstone. I’m Quill. This is Ithyryyn and Thrak Debane, and these are Roth Callden and Tate Mestlven. When you address us, you will call us by name.”

  “I was not talking to you, woman,” the wizard said. “I named him your voice piece. If you wish to speak, tell him what you want to say and he will tell me.”

  “No,” Tate said. He stepped forward and slipped his hands in his gloves. As one, the entire group stepped back except the White, but Roth saw him struggling to swallow. “We don’t work that way.”

  “Your insolence is intolerable.”

  “Then smite me,” Tate said. He sat down on the stairs.

  The White seemed about to scream at the motion. To sit in front of a master was a grave insult. T
ate dusted off his thighs and smiled up at Grastion.

  “I will be merciful this time, for you obviously have not been taught how to address a master.”

  “Is this it, then?” Ithyryyn said. “You have decided we need a master.”

  “There is more,” the White said. “We disapprove of this library you have been collecting.”

  “What’s wrong with our library?” Thrak said. Roth could hear the rage in the wizard’s voice. The library was Thrak’s obsession. It was the finest library reputed to exist. Anywhere.

  “This much knowledge is insecure.”

  “Again please?” Gale said.

  “It is unwise to allow so much knowledge to exist in one place. If there is a fire and this castle goes to flame, how would the world recover from the loss of books? No, we will dismantle the library straight away, dividing the books as we see fit so they can be secured properly.”

  Roth knew then, all these men were going to have to die.

  “Any other services you will perform for us?” Roth asked. He fought hard to keep the anger from his voice, but everyone heard it.

  “There is the small matter of the audit,” Grastion said.

  “What audit?” Quill said.

  “We have chosen a group within our numbers to enter the- what do you call this?” the man said, waving his hand at the castle. “It’s not a tower. It’s not a court, no nobleman or king commands this place. Is there a name for this bastardization of a tower?”

  “We call it the College,” Gale said.

  “Well, we will enter it and audit the magical items and weapons. We have heard whispers of theft and dirty dealings to build the arsenal of this ‘college’. We will sift through it and redistribute the power. At this time, I would like for you to place the items you carry with you on the ground and disrobe so that you might put on these robes I have brought for you. My students wear maroon at your level.”