Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (ebook reader for surface pro txt) 📕

next? He wouldn’t come downstairs himself; he would send a lackey. He would send Bastion. She knelt by the tall crate and opened it, gathering up the loose straw and throwing it to the side. She laid out the pieces of armour on the rug, then began to strap them on over her clothes. She had no mail or padding, but the pieces fit her well, and weren’t too uncomfortable. She attached the Weathervane to her belt, then stood and looked at her reflection. The armoured woman in the mirror frowned back at her, her eyes seared with a ferocious determination.

She would not be marrying Edmond, and she would not be abandoning Lostwell without a fight. It was her realm, and she was its Queen. If the land died, then so would she, fighting in its defence.

Her front door opened.

‘Third Ascendant,’ said Bastion; ‘come with me.’

‘No.’

He smiled. ‘Found your courage at last, have you? I wondered when you’d break. The Second Ascendant is blinded by his love for you, but I can see the fear and hatred in your eyes whenever you look at him. How long have you known that the sword was the piece required for the Sextant to function?’

Belinda said nothing, her eyes still on her reflection.

‘Third Ascendant, I order you to hand over the sword.’

She turned to face him. ‘Come and take it.’

Bastion moved to the side, and a tall warrior in armour walked in, a studded club gripped in both hands.

‘Renko,’ said Bastion; ‘take the sword from her.’

The dead Ancient lifted his empty eyes towards Belinda, then charged at her. He swung the club at her head, and she leapt backwards, her battle-vision flowing. He swung again, and the club glanced off the armour on her right shoulder, missing her head by an inch. She drew the Weathervane, and caught a glimpse of Bastion’s eyes narrowing as he watched. Renko swung again, his longer reach keeping her back. She ducked under a fourth swing, then darted forward, gripping the Weathervane in both hands as she powered it through the air. It connected with the steel collar protecting Renko’s neck and sliced right through and carried on, severing his head. The corpse fell to its knees, then toppled over onto the floor, the head rolling to a stop by Bastion’s feet.

Bastion glanced down at it. ‘The Second Ascendant is watching,’ he said. ‘I hoped that you would betray yourself by your actions, and you have proved me right. By attempting to keep the sword from us, you are deliberately disobeying a direct command of the Second Ascendant, and I’m sure you appreciate that there will be consequences.’

‘Shut up, Bastion,’ said Belinda. ‘Admit that you’re scared to fight me. If you come any closer, I will kill you, and you know it. You are nothing without your death powers, nothing but Edmond’s slave.’

‘We’ll see if a month in the mask changes your attitude,’ he said. ‘If it doesn’t, then perhaps a year would suffice? A century? A millennium? We have time; we can wait. Imagine, Belinda, what that length of time in the mask would do to you. I have seen proud gods on their knees begging for death to release them; you will be no different.’

Rage burned through Belinda, and she lunged forward, the dark blade swinging, but Bastion was fast, as fast as she was, and he calmly moved aside, a smile on his lips.

‘You are doomed,’ he said, ‘and the last thing you will see before the mask is fitted onto your face, is me laughing.’

She raised her hand without knowing what she was doing, as anger flooded her. She reached within herself, pointed at Bastion, and willed him to die. A surge of raw power burst from her, a power she had never sensed or used before, and Bastion’s body flew back from the impact. He collided with the wall in the hallway outside her rooms, his skin melting from his body like wax. Belinda went after him as he struggled to his feet, blood dripping from every part of him.

She raised her hand again. ‘Die.’

Blood showered the hallway as Bastion’s body was slammed backwards. He tottered on the edge of the lift shaft, the remnants of his skin hanging from him in ragged strips, then fell. Belinda rushed to the edge and looked down. His body was lying crumpled on the lift platform two floors below, a mangled mess of blood, bone and naked tissue. A soldier cried out in horror and leaned over the body. A bloody hand, stripped of its skin, reached out and grabbed hold of the soldier’s arm. The soldier screamed in agony, and seemed to crumple before Belinda’s eyes, while the body of Bastion began to regenerate. The soldier’s cries ceased, and his dried-up, withered body fell onto the lift platform. Bastion reached out again, plucked a vial of salve from the soldier’s tunic and drank it all. He stood, his skin re-forming, and glanced up.

Belinda froze, then ran for the stairs, leaping up them two at a time. She reached the landing by Leksandr’s old rooms and cut down the two soldiers standing guard by the entrance, the Weathervane’s keen edge ending their lives in seconds. She burst through into the study, and locked the door behind her. She shoved the couch over to block the entrance, then piled up everything she could find, her heart racing in panic. She upended a table, and rammed it between the couch and the door handle, then stood back, panting.

They would be coming; she didn’t have long.

She turned to face the Sextant. The room was in semi-darkness, the only light coming from an open window, and she walked through the shadows towards the huge device, the Weathervane in her right hand. She had the key to make it work, but she had no idea where it was supposed to go. She crouched by the Sextant, scanning its surface, looking for anywhere the dark blade of the sword would fit.