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The corpse stands. He peers at his new master with his unblinking shadowy orbs.
“Go,” Arluin commands. “Purge the living from these streets. Do not stop until all are dead.”
The fallen mage turns and joins the rest of the undead as they rampage through the streets. He doesn’t attack with his hands and teeth like the other ghouls. He conjures bolts of darkness and hurls them at any in his path.
Pride plasters across Heston’s expression.“A wight? How impressive. I feared you would fail to raise a mere ghoul, let alone a wight.” Heston grins. “You will prove a greater asset to our cause than I expected, my boy.”
Arluin dips his head.
I don’t look at him again.
Grizela and Virion soon rejoin Heston, and the number of undead with them has tripled. They march down the road and turn onto Lenwick Street.
More necromancers gather here. Together they have turned a hundred ghouls into an army so large I fear Nolderan stands no chance against them.
Many wights now fight the magi alongside the ghouls. They return the bolts of frost and fire with bolts of darkness. And when the magi fall, the necromancers raise them as another wight to fuel their army of the dead.
Heston remains at the rear of his onslaught. As does Arluin, raising so many ghouls and wights that I’m certain his eyes will turn from magenta to gray at any moment.
The magi surround the undead, slowly pushing them back. Hope surges in my chest. Maybe Heston won’t win this fight. Maybe Nolderan will stand strong.
But that hope soon falters.
Heston releases my shoulder and strides into the sea of corpses.
“Arka-kyrat!”he shouts.
Shadows sweep over the fallen, magi and undead alike. As the dark magic touches them, each rises once more.
Even if the magi defeat a ghoul, Heston and his necromancers reanimate it—unless it was burned to ashes. Attacking the undead is futile. The only way Nolderan will succeed is if the necromancers fall. But the magi concentrate their attacks onto the foes nearest them, not onto the necromancers who remain far behind their undead minions.
Hands grab me, spinning me around.
I lift my head to see Arluin. As I look at him, I can only think of all those he has killed. All those he has risen from the dead.
After what he has done, how can he gaze at me with such softness?
Aether blooms in his hands. He closes his eyes and presses his index finger to the center of my forehead.
“Mundes.”
His spell cleanses the dark enchantment Heston cast on me. The obsidian chains wither away, returning to the shadows from which they were made.
I blink, unable to believe that he has freed me. That though he wields dark magic and has killed so many innocents, he has decided to save me.
Was this all an act? Did he resort to these measures so that his father would drop his guard? So that he would have this single chance to free me?
I want to believe that’s the case. But I can’t shake away the horrors he has committed.
Concern and fear fill his eyes. Fear for me.
Despite all he has done, gratitude blossoms in my chest.
“Go!” he whispers, just as Heston turns and witnesses his betrayal.
His father bellows with rage and merges with the shadows, charging straight for us.
I stumble back, my hands clasping Arluin’s tightly.
