“I’m gonna stay behind to take out these ghasts,” Peak told him. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but this storm’s a bit dicier than we thought. And we can’t afford to waste time—”
“You’re taking on all four of these ghastsalone?”
Peak’s sickle-edged smile looked all the sharper in his wand’s orange glow. “Oh, don’t go worrying about me and Targath. But Dom, I need to hear that you can do this.Can you do this?”
Domenic’s throat clamped shut. But he couldn’t admit his cowardice to the very man risking his life for the sake of the mission. “Y-yes. I think so.”
Peak winked. “Good, ’cause I know you can.”
Domenic and the remaining pair of magicians ran off. Their formation shifted into a triangle, and Domenic happily claimed one of the spots at the rear. Shards of frost whirled past, scraping like claws across their shield.
“In a category four, there will be six ghasts. Maybe seven,” one of the others said—Osakwe, Domenic thought. “That means wehave two or three left to hunt down. So keep your eyes peeled for any—”
Abruptly, Osakwe stopped, and Domenic barreled into his back.
Without warning, the winds quickened. The snowflakes thickened into a barrage, and a glowing silver shape coalesced above them. It had wings. Talons like scythes, a beak like a raptor.
“Look out!” Osakwe called.
The three of them threw themselves aside as the ghast swooped. It grasped the other magician by the leg, wrenching him up as if to carry off its prey. Then flames spewed from Osakwe’s wand, and the ghast released him with a screech.
As Domenic scrambled upright, the winds hurled him back onto his side, and he rolled until he cast a rooting spell to tether him to the ground. While Osakwe yanked the other magician to his feet, Domenic pointed Valmordion at the ghast. Light exploded from his wand, so gigantic it utterly consumed the ghast—and in an instant, obliterated it.
Domenic shuddered with relief as he lowered his wand. Yet there was no chance to celebrate. Even with the ghast gone, the winds continued to accelerate, and the darkness crushed down on them, a force unto itself.
Osakwe cursed. “This is a category five.”
Category five storms were caused by ghasts gathered in the greatest numbers. They could level an undefended city, could freeze civilians solid in their own beds.
“Wh-what do we do, sir?” stuttered the second magician.
Domenic waited for Osakwe to respond, only to realize he’d been askinghim.“What?” he croaked.
“Peak sent us to slay a few ghasts—not an army of them. And even if we could hunt them down, we’re getting tired, and if our shields give out…” The magician shivered as he clutched his wand against his chest.
Domenic agreed. This wasn’t the mission Peak had givenhim. Which meant, no matter how much the storm worsened, it wasn’t Domenic’s responsibility.
And yet, it was. Because even if Domenic would give anything to thrust this burden on someone else, someone better, he didn’twantto do nothing while a category five scurge decimated Oldermere. He didn’twantthe Council to think he was worthless. He didn’twantFloyd-fucking-Wilder broadcasting across the nation that they were all doomed.
“I’m gonna stop the scurge,” Domenic said. “How far is it to the eye?”
“Theeye?” Osakwe repeated. “Sir, the last magician who fell into an eye was literally shredded. And that was a category three—”
“I’ll be fine. Go find Peak, both of you.”
“But—”
“That’s an order.”
Domenic tried to match Peak’s authoritative tenor. He was pretty sure he sounded like a cartoon.
But to his surprise, Osakwe said, “The eye is at the storm’s center, where the dark is deepest. G-good luck. Sir.”
And just like that, Domenic was alone.
Heart hammering, Domenic raised Valmordion higher. He spun, and in Valmordion’s filter, even the blackness of the scurge had color, layers and layers of it. But there, to his right. It was as though the darkness had substance.
He ran into it.
