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“Now,” Mak said.
Lio spun the first filament of mind magic into their creation. Power emanated from Tuura’s node across the miles of fields and villages and tents. The structure of the spell took hold of Lio and locked within his chest, binding him to each of his fellow casters.
Without warning, a tremor of magic went through the link, then slammed into Lio’s heart. As he slid to his knees, Mak and Lyros grunted in pain.
Lio caught himself on one hand, clutching his chest with the other, and shot a thelemantic probe through their spell. The whole structure shook, ready to shatter. What was happening?
When his mind magic met Tuura’s aura, pain tore through him.
“It’s Tuura,” he shouted over the roar in his ears. “Should I go to her? Or one of you?”
“You go,” Lyros called back. “Mak and I will try to stabilize the spell.”
Lio released the power he held in reserve, letting it sink into their ward. The moment he let go, it began to fade from the spell structure. It wouldn’t be long before his magic drained from their ward completely.
Leaping to his feet, he stepped to Tuura. He landed on a grassy hillside, where Karege knelt with Tuura’s limp form in his arms.
Lio sank down beside them. “What happened?”
“It’s the channeling,” Karege said. “This is what I was afraid of. She insisted she could last through the spell, but I knew she would pay the price.”
Eudias, standing nearby, dug a hand through his hair. “She collapsed as she was pouring her power into the spell.”
“I can’t wake her.” Ariadne rubbed Tuura’s hand, healing magic flowing out of the young mage into the diviner.
“This is because of the Silence?” Lio asked.
Karege cradled Tuura to him with one hand on her cheek. “Since she can’t channel from the spirit phase, she draws ancestral power through herself. It’s almost as if she becomes a spirit gate. And tonight…the gate collapsed.”
“I’m collapsing the spell,” Lio said.
He pulled his magic out of their carefully crafted ward structure. The spell lock cracked under his ribcage, and he swayed.
Mak and Lyros appeared beside him, Mak bracing Lio before he fell over.
“I’m sorry—” Lio gasped. “I had to.”
“Of course,” Lyros said, taking in the situation with the speed of a Steward trained for a crisis.
Tuura drew in a breath. But she did not wake.
“What can we do for her?” Lio asked.
“She needs a healer who understands ancestral magic,” Karege said.
“We can’t bring Rudhira here,” said Lyros.
“Is she stable enough for us to step her?” Mak asked.
“I don’t know.” Karege’s aura raged with anger at forces beyond his control.
“I’ll get your First Blade,” Lyros said. “Lio, stay on the alert. If the Collector has been waiting for his moment to strike, this is it.”
“I’ll keep my wards ready,” Mak said.
Lyros stepped away, and Lio let his thelemantic senses expand to their widest range. He ran his power over mortal minds, and they ruffled under his touch like soft dandelions, ready to puff away in the breeze before a thelemancer’s power.
Tuura’s heartbeat did not weaken, but the turmoil in her aura grew, as if her magic were an angry wind without direction.
