Servants of the Nexus (Wayfarer Chronicles #1)

Chapter 4

Saenu had her sword in her hand before the eerie laugh had fully died away. She couldn’t pinpoint its location in a room so plagued by echoes, but when movement flickered atop a rickety balcony in the corner of the warehouse, she was ready.
Not that there was much to be ready for. A figure came to the balcony’s edge, leaning casually on the precarious railing. The chuckle came again and she shivered in response. Even without words, Saenu knew who watched them. All too well.
“Saenumandua.” A male voice, honeyed and beguiling, softened by amusement. “Out of all the Kin to track me here, I should have known it would be you. Or is this sheer coincidence? Were you here to scry for your supper?”
The latter, through and through, but Saenu wasn’t about to admit it. Sometimes coincidence, or Fate, worked in strange ways - and she wasn’t surprised this particular Kin would share her interest in scrying; he always had been partial to a little magic. She raised her sword. “Come down here, Gaesten.”
Another laugh, though with a darker edge. “Still carrying that sword, I see. I hope its curse isn’t wearing off on you.”
Now it was Saenu’s turn to laugh. Rumours abounded amongst the older Kin when it came to her blackened blade and its ability to negate magic. Funnily enough, she’d never found it ought but a boon. “Return the Box,” she said, watching for a shift in Gaesten’s pose. “Hand it over-”
“And no-one has to get hurt?” Gaesten finished. “Oh, Saenu. That’s hardly your style.”
Saenu flashed a smile, showing her teeth. “You’re right, it’s not. Maybe I’ll just spill a little less blood than usual.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Gaesten moved, one hand going to the railing. Saenu tensed, ready to lunge, but the other Kin merely vaulted off the edge of the balcony, landing lightly on the floor in a puff of dust. Behind Saenu, Cam was circling sideways, the hand holding his dagger tucked behind his back. Nice try, at least. He might almost have been retreating, but Gaesten, of all people, would see right through it.
Sure enough, he tutted and actually wagged a finger at Cam. “I see you, little mouse. It’s going to take a bigger weapon than that to stand in my way.”
Cam wasn’t stupid enough to show he was affronted, though Saenu was fairly certain Gaesten’s words had struck a nerve. Cam was no fighter, though - she’d known that when she asked for his aid. No, when it came to waving a sword around, Saenu could handle herself well enough.
“The Box,” she demanded, striding forwards to put herself between the two men. “I’ll kill you have if have to, Gaesten. I’m not leaving here without it.”
Gaesten spread his hands and purplish light played at his fingertips. Whatever world he’d originated from, as a Wayfarer it had given him a great propensity for magic, as Saenu had discovered all too well. Gaesten was, to her knowledge, the oldest rogue Kin remaining; whilst he might be a stranger to Cam, she’d clashed with the sorceror a dozen times over as many centuries. Unfortunately, she’d never yet run him to ground.
“If that’s the case,” Gaesten said, “I’m afraid you won’t be leaving here at all. I won’t pretend I’d give you the Box if I could, because we both know I wouldn’t... But the point is moot. I don’t have it.”
A bluff? Saenu considered that, then ruled it out within half a heartbeat. If the Tremontine Box had been present, she’d have felt it, a beacon against her mind. Whilst she was certain it was somewhere in Howl, it wasn’t close, and that meant - loathe as she was to admit it - Gaesten was telling the truth.
“All right then.” Saenu flexed her sword arm, a little flurry to remind Gaesten how good she was. “New deal: you tell me everything you know about the theft, and I’ll let you live.”
Gaesten laughed. “I’m getting short shrift in these bargains, I feel. Allow me to make a counter-offer.”
He struck without warning, a stream of liquid flame that lit the warehouse like the heart of a bonfire. Saenu weathered the strike behind her raised sword, the metal remaining dull and ashen even as magic poured into it. By the time Gaesten was done, her fingers were tingling and her arms stiff, but the sword looked untouched.
Gaesten was gone, only a paler patch amidst the scorched floor showing where he’d stood. Saenu turned a slow circle, sword held steady, but there was nothing to see save shadows.
She’d retreated to the other side of the pool when Cam gave a shout. Saenu whirled, sword clanging off a phantom blade in Gaesten’s hand. Their weapons locked together, Saenu holding steady as Gaesten pushed against her. And, glimpsed between the blades, he smiled.
“I almost had you there, Saenu.” The smile widened. “You’re getting sloppy.”
Saenu pushed him off, following with a blow to the side that Gaesten easily parried. Frustratingly, he was right: she wasn’t fighting at her best. She should never have needed Cam’s shout to warn her of the incoming strike.
She took a deep breath, falling into the rhythm of the fight. Gaesten was skilled, and his conjured blade was a blur of purple mist that tricked the gaze, always a fingers-width away from where it looked to be. Every time she blinked, Saenu could see it, branded on the back of her eyelids in a streak of light. Except, in those brief moments in which she closed her eyes, Saenu realised she was seeing something else - not the afterimage of the blade at all, but the magic of the sword itself.
This time, when he swung for her head, Saenu was ready. She countered easily, throwing Gaesten off-balance as she stepped into the blow. He stumbled back and she pressed the advantage, driving forward again and again, hammering at his sword until, with a cry of frustration, it clattered from his fingers.
Not that that was an end to it. Gaesten might have underestimated her once, but he was quick as a viper, and with one swipe of his hand threw a wall of flames between them. Saenu took the brunt of it on her sword, but a retreat was inevitable, allowing Gaesten a moment to regain his composure.
“Was it you?” Saenu asked. “Did you take the Box?”
Beyond the flames, Gaesten found enough equilibrium to smile anew. “I told you, Saenumandua: I don’t have it.”
“Not now, but did you? Was it you, in my home?” She tensed against the answer, teeth gritted. In truth, Gaesten was no worse than any rogue Kin, but the thought of him invading her domain made her skin crawl.
His expression turned almost sympathetic, as if he understood how little she liked that possibility. “It wasn’t me,” he replied, raising his hands again. “I confess to having been otherwise occupied.”
This time, the magic almost took her by surprise. There was no blaze of fire, no lightning strike, only a creaking sound, like footsteps across lake ice. She hesitated a second too long, watching Gaesten for a sign, an opening, only for something to grasp at her ankle from behind, rooting her to the floor.
She tried to turn but couldn’t wrench her foot free. The creaking continued, rising in pitch, and when Saenu twisted her torso, she caught a glimpse of gleaming white ice snaking across the floor to encase her boot. Not just that, either: an entire wall of it had cut off the rest of the room, a blue-white sheet inches thick. She hadn’t known Gaesten had such elemental magic in him, to have conjured such a creation so quickly; Cam was a silhouette on the other side, beating his fists against the ice as though it were soundproof glass. If he’d shouted a warning this time, she hadn’t heard it.
Saenu twisted back, bringing her sword to bear on the ice around her foot. Magic poured forth, melting the ice into steam, but too slowly - already, fresh frost was spiralling up her other leg, chilling and burning her flesh in equal measure.
And on her other side, the flames, from behind which Gaesten watched her with an interest that belied the concentration this must be costing him. For the first time, as Saenu stared into his watchful dark eyes, she both wondered at how greatly Gaesten’s power had grown since their last meeting, and feared she’d got in over her head.
Doubts were useless, though. Gaesten might be eldest of the rogue Kin, but she was older still. She had wielded her sword and her duty for ages untold, watching over the realms as any true Wayfarer must. A few tricks from Gaesten, a little fire and ice distraction, could never slow her down for long.
With a grunt of exertion, Saenu lifted her sword, then slammed it into the ground. The blade sank deep into the earth floor, bending her almost double as ice reached her knees. She tightened her grip on its hilt, expending all her energy on the weapon, willing its power to stretch out across the room even as Gaesten raised his hand and the ice around her calves tightened its grip in a clenching fist.
Saenu gritted her teeth at the pain, feeling her flesh contract and her bones grind. Still she kept her hold on the sword and - finally - it responded.
First there was a whisper in her ear, as of the spirits calling her name. There were no spirits here, though, not in this glittering city, where nothing but humans and their inhuman creations could survive. No, this was the blade itself and the anti-magic that fuelled it, all the sorcery it had consumed over the years. Saenu didn’t like to ascribe sentience to objects that clearly couldn’t possess it, but there had always been something other about the sword: a pull against her consciousness, a hunger that could never be assuaged - or never yet had been, anyway. That wouldn’t stop Saenu trying.
Even as Gaesten began to chant, fuelling his wavering magic with the words, Saenu closed her eyes. She felt, for a moment, as though a yawning void was opening beneath her feet, not just blackness but the space between the worlds, cold and empty and terrible. It was gone just as suddenly, snapping shut, as Gaesten’s magic funnelled into the sword with the force of a tornado.
There was a great cracking snap as the wall of ice behind Saenu failed. In the same moment, the chill encasing her lower legs exploded into shards that pattered off the inside of her coat. Leaving her blade sheathed in the ground, Saenu launched herself forwards. One hand drew a dagger from her hip; the other reached for Gaesten’s throat.
He staggered back, too slowly. Saenu flung herself through the waning flames, punching into Gaesten and throwing them both to the ground. Gaesten struggled, fresh flames blossoming at his fingertips, but Saenu batted his hands away. With her blade at his throat, Gaesten didn’t try a second time.
“Well now, Gaesten.” Blood tingling back into her frozen legs, Saenu let the dagger bite deeper. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”
Even now, as blood trickled across his bared throat, there was a twinge of amusement at the corner of Gaesten’s lips. He let his head fall to the floor, all fight leaving him. “Talk away, Saenu. I’ll listen, if you’ll let me live.”
That sounded like a challenge: Saenu had to loosen her grip on the dagger, to force herself not to plunge it home. “If you didn’t take the Tremontine Box,” she ground out, “who did, and what do they want it for?”
“The former is of little consequence. They were working for me, as you’ve no doubt already surmised. And the latter...” Gaesten attempted a shrug, but Saenu’s weight on his chest cut it short. “Well, I could tell you, I suppose, but where would be the fun in that?”
With her free hand, Saenu gripped Gaesten’s coat, preparing to drag him upright. Gaesten might think himself terribly clever, but there were ways to make even a rogue Wayfarer talk - ways she wouldn’t hesitate to use, if he kept up this game.
Saenu let her lips curl into a snarl. “It’s fun you want, is it? I’ll see if I can oblige.”
“I’m sure you can, Saenumandua.” A fresh smile crossed Gaesten’s face. “But I’m afraid I have other appointments to keep.”
There was a rush of wind, a shift in pressure like an impending storm, and Gaesten was gone.