He and Luc were alone with his father’s murderous band.
“Strider,”Luc growled.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” said Rabb. He didn’t even acknowledge Rolan’s presence. He glared curiously at Luc. “How did you do it? What else are you hiding from us?”
Then his eyes dropped to the ground.
Rolan saw what his pa was looking at. Shining there, nestled in mud and as blue as the sky, lay one of the Cryptic’s tusks.
The relic.
“HOFF!”Rabb shouted. “NOW!”
The guard captain burst forward, his teeth bared in a snarl.
Luc was twenty paces behind Rolan. He’d never reach it before the former guard captain. Hoff knew the power relics held. Rolan had seen him use Arcana before. And a relic from a beast like that? With such power, he could cut down Rolan and Luc in seconds, and they’d be powerless to stop him.
Rolan broke into a sprint.
Seeing him, Hoff snarled and quickened his pace.
Rolan’s blood roared in his ears. He could hear Luc shouting, running far behind him, but he was too focused on the relic to make out the words. All he knew was that he couldnotlet Hoff have that power.
The guard captain reached the relic first, stretching out his hand.
But Rolan threw himself through the air, leaping for all he was worth, tapping the very last reserves of his sword’s Arcana. The moment seemed to drag over minutes instead of seconds: Rolan hurtling over the ground, stretching himself as long as he could, Hoff’s fingers straining for the tusk, his lips twisted to the side by the strange scales on his cheek…
Then the point of Rolan’s blade cracked the surface of the tusk a merewhisperbefore Hoff could snatch it up.
With a shriek of fury, Hoff grabbed Rolan about the neck and shook him, but it was too late.
Rolan sucked in power from the blade, and it roared through him like a breaking storm. Threads of blue lightning danced over his skin and burrowed into his veins like vipers, coursing pathways to his heart and sinking teeth into the organ. A mighty shudder went through him. His vision went pure blue, the world washed away by a wave of Arcana. It blasted through his brain with the fury of a sun,painfulin its intensity, its ruthlessness.
This wasn’t like the other times, when the Arcana he’d drawn in had brought relief from pain and gave him immediate strength. Instead it was like he’d swallowed a Cryptic alive, and now it was trapped under his skin and trying to claw its way out. Fangs sunk into his liver. Spikes scored his lungs. Wiry tentacles corded about his spine. He fought to keep control of his own body, writhing in agony.
Rolanscreamed.
But then his vision faded back to his eyes, the light relenting enough to let him see Hoff gaping at him in horror.
“Do… not… TOUCH ME!”Rolan’s voice came low and feral, like the snarl of a wolf.
He wrapped his hand around Hoff’s and peeled the fingers off his neck, one by one. The man’s bones felt as limp as noodles in Rolan’s grip, his strength pitiful. How had he ever been afraid of this puny man?
Hoff gave a strangled cry and retreated, eyes wide, cradling his hand.
“Fool!” Rabb Strider cursed. “Hoff, you craven, witlesscur!”
Rolan’s pa took a step forward, as if he intended to clobber Hoff with his cane. But then a look of fear spread over his face, and he backed away.
Rolan turned to see the duke riding forth from his palace, dressed in armor, carrying a sword, as if he hadn’t just missed the entire fight. Behind him rode two dozen guards, also having mysteriously found their courage.
With a whimper, Hoff turned and fled. Cabbot and the others followed, with Rabb Strider last to go. His eyes fell on Rolan at last, and he pointed his cane.
“One day,” he rasped, “you’ll realize how big of a mistake you’ve made, boy.”
Then he turned and sped away, as fast as his limp would allow. In moments he and his men were gone, vanished like rats into the smoking, wrecked city.
With a sudden wave of exhaustion, Rolan fell to his knees, sucking in air. He felt Luc’s hand on his shoulder.
