Барб Хенди - First and Last Sorcerer

She would be unstoppable, should she ever serve the Enemy. That could not happen, and neither could he allow the orbs to return to their maker. The Ancient Enemy of many names could not rise again, no matter what the cost. And now Magiere had been visited over and over by the undead spirit of an ancient sorcerer who had served—perhaps still served—that enemy.

Chap’s dread of what might come mixed with self-loathing for his own choices. He kept both to himself, hidden from the others as best he could, but talk of sorcery had raised one of his worst memories, one he could not now banish.

Too long past, in a return to Magiere’s homeland, another undead sorcerer in flesh had engulfed him in a terrifying phantasm. He’d found himself running through a dying forest where all life withered around him. Trees and brush wilted and rotted as shadowy silhouettes moved in a wave through the forest. And it was all his fault—his failure.

Spirits were wrenched from the trees and the earth to be swallowed by walking shadows, their numbers growing in the darkness. Nothing was left alive in their wake as they came ever closer. And a lone figure led them, a heavy single-edged sword glinting in her grip.

Magiere’s eyes were fully black, unlike the colorless crystalline eyes of the ravenous undead who followed her. Her filthy hair hung in matted tendrils around a deathly pale face, twisted feral around her mouth. Her armor was made of large black scales, as might have come from a massive serpent.

She roared, as if no longer recognizing him, and exposed long fangs amid yellowed teeth. Behind her, those black silhouettes gathered in a horde for as far as he could see among the dead trees. All of their glittering eyes were upon her in waiting.

Chap had sacrificed eternity among his brethren Fay to keep Magiere in the light through Leesil and to keep her from the Enemy’s hands and the purpose of her birth. But he saw her standing like a general before this horde.

“Majay-hì,” she spit at him.

Sorrow welled and spilled from him in a wail as she looked upon him as her enemy. And when she rushed forward, raising her falchion, the horde surged, leveling all living things in its path. He had stood listless within that phantasm as her blade fell and bit deep between his shoulder and neck ...

“Chap, what’s wrong? Did I get soap in your eyes?”

Chap opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them.

Wynn studied him as Wayfarer tried to dry him with a blanket, and he had not even felt it. He began to tremble.

Wynn’s brow wrinkled. “Chap?”

Are you finished?

“No, you’re still a bit wet.”

I am fine.

Chap shrugged off the dampened blanket and Wayfarer’s small hands. Stepping away, he paused at the sight of Magiere trying to comb out Leesil’s hair.

For a moon, he had waited for her to stop screaming—for all of it to end. Knowing Leesil and Wayfarer would never have been freed, he would wait for them to pass, giving them what little comfort he could offer. And finally, he would force the guards to kill him.

No one would have ever found the orbs he had hidden.

The life of this world meant more than a paw’s count of lives here in this hidden place—but those lives meant something to him. For what he had done—would have done—he should not have asked forgiveness. That Magiere had given it to him so quickly in understanding what was necessary had brought him no relief. It was another shame among many he bore.

And now this Domin il’Sänke wanted them to hunt the undead who had questioned Magiere.

Chap agreed.

In life versus death, this was the only action to be taken. Perhaps Magiere would be safe only once this specter, Khalidah, was destroyed. But could Chap ever again make a choice between the world and those he had come to love?

Wayfarer helped gather up blankets and damp sheets, and then tried using the least damp blanket to mop up the floor. The simple action brought a kind of comfort.

On the inside, she did not exactly feel better, but this short time had comprised nothing more than bathing and dressing and speaking of things that didn’t matter and helping to wash Chap. This reprieve made her believe that, in time, she might feel better. She might put the terror of that dark cell behind her.

Last night, when she had first seen Wynn, anger like she had never before felt rose up within her.

Wynn had been the reason Osha had abandoned her.

But after the night’s flight to this hidden place, Wynn had paid no special attention to Osha, and this left Wayfarer wondering.

Wynn was never impolite to Osha but barely spoke to him either. She had remained focused mostly on caring for the others. This morning, she had returned with warm food and clean clothes, and again turned her full attention to caring for others.

Wayfarer wallowed in guilt. She had judged her old friend wrongly, for Wynn was not to blame.

Osha had made his own choice—and he had not chosen her.

Now he stood near the door, as if uncertain what else to do. When her gaze swept in his direction, she found his eyes locked on her, and surprise filled them.

“Leanâl—” he began, and stopped short, but the damage was done. He kept calling her by that hated name—“Child of Sorrow”—only slightly less awful than the one the ancestors had put upon her: Sheli’câlhad, “To a Lost Way.” Everyone else had accepted the final name that Magiere, Léshil, and Chap had given her, but not Osha.

Wayfarer turned away. Why had he been staring at her at all? She knew how little she meant to him compared with ...

She looked up at Chap’s sudden snarl.

The others had begun talking among themselves, and for some reason, Chap was glaring and bearing his teeth at Brot’ân’duivé. Whatever the greimasg’äh had said to anger the majay-hì again, she had missed it. Then she noticed Léshil had turned his head with a hard look toward the room’s rear corner.

Shade stood there, seeming to guard over Chane.

Tension hung in the air.

Although Magiere was healing faster than anyone, Wayfarer did not see how they would all manage to live in this small, hidden place until Magiere grew strong enough to fight. The prospect was almost unbearable. Perhaps out of habit, she glanced over her shoulder and caught Osha watching her again.

He instantly looked away, and the walls felt too close.

“Léshil,” Wayfarer breathed. “I ... I need ... some air. Please, even in the alley for a few moments. Please.”

He frowned at her in puzzlement; she knew her request sounded foolish and was an unnecessary risk. Magiere, sitting above him in the chair, patted his shoulder, and he got up.

They might not understand what she felt, but at least they understood a simple need: to leave this close and crowded place, even for a moment, after having been imprisoned for so long.

“Of course,” Léshil answered. “I’ll get us cloaks and take you out back of—”

“No, I ... will,” Osha interrupted in Belaskian. “No one see us, promise.”

Wayfarer cringed and ducked her head.

“All right, I should stay with Magiere anyway,” Léshil said. “Keep out of sight and knock on the fake window’s frame when you come back up.”

Wayfarer kept her eyes down. It was right that Léshil stay with his wife, so she either accepted Osha as her escort or she remained here—and that thought was unbearable.

She could not look at Léshil as he handed her a cloak and tossed another to Osha somewhere behind her. When she turned, she looked at only the door. If Osha wished to offer excuses or pretend he had done no wrong, then that was fine.

Wayfarer had nothing to say to him.