The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,104

silver, and cried out as needling agony swept over him.

A small smile played about the mage’s mouth. “Surely Ruslan bound your magic as a child.”

Kiran forced himself upright despite the trembling of his muscles. True enough that Ruslan had blocked both him and Mikail for years, claiming mere proximity to the powerful forces of the confluence would destroy the mind of any mageborn child without such protection. But Ruslan had used a specialized form of a blood-binding, not a physical charm.

“Who are you?” Kiran asked, his voice husky with disuse. Ruslan and Lizaveta rarely spoke of other akheli. Yet if they’d ever mentioned this man, perhaps he could recall something of use.

“My name is Simon Levanian.” The mage sounded as if he expected Kiran to recognize the name. It meant nothing to Kiran.

Simon’s brown eyes turned cold. “I should have known. How very like Ruslan, to assume in his arrogance that his apprentices need not know my name.”

“Why should we know the name of some street conjurer exiled to Alathia?” Kiran imitated Ruslan’s most derisive tone, despite the fear chilling his heart. If this man was anything like Ruslan, defiance would easily provoke him to anger. Anger might drive Simon to a mistake; or perhaps Simon would kill him in a rage, as Ruslan had not. Kiran thought of his blood vow to Lizaveta with bitter regret. Any effort toward death more direct than this would be impossible. Already he skirted the edges of her binding, making it hard to speak.

Simon’s eyes narrowed. Kiran felt a small, fierce surge of satisfaction.

Despite his narrowed eyes, Simon’s voice remained calm. “Brave words, young Kiran, when I hold your soul in my hands.”

“You hold nothing of the kind.” Without the hennanwort blurring his thoughts, Kiran remembered quite well the supposed advantages of the binding Ruslan had cast on him during the akhelashva ritual. The mark-bond gave Ruslan near total control over Kiran; yet the bond’s very nature meant no other mage could supplant or dissolve it, and it protected Kiran’s mind and magic from many of the worst bindings an enemy mage might cast.

Though Simon could cast far nastier spells on Kiran’s body than a mere snare-binding. Kiran shoved down memories of Ruslan’s more vicious punishments, and kept his expression contemptuous.

“I’m not a fool,” he told Simon. “You can block my power, or kill me, but you cannot touch my will.”

“Did Ruslan tell you that?” Simon’s gaze dropped to Ruslan’s mark, half revealed by the ragged tear in Kiran’s shirt. “What faith you have in him. He’d be so pleased, if he knew.”

Kiran bit back his first furious denial. “I should have faith in your words instead? A powerless mage skulking behind the border, afraid to face the one who defeated him?”

He’d hoped to provoke Simon further, but Simon only looked amused. “The only powerless mage I see here is you.”

Kiran refused to look at the hateful charms spiraling over his skin. “What do you want with me? I don’t care what you claim, I know the meaning of a mark-bond. You can’t control my mind, or use my magic against Ruslan.”

“Not as long as you are mark-bound,” Simon agreed, mildly. “But you lack imagination if you believe that is the only use I’d have for an apprentice of Ruslan’s.” He drew the slender silver dagger from his belt.

Kiran scrabbled backward on the bed. Simon flicked a hand. Power rippled under Kiran’s skin. His muscles went slack, dumping him flat on his back.

Curse the man, of course he’d kept his snare-binding in place. Kiran watched in helpless frustration as Simon nicked his own finger. Simon traced a bloody rune on Kiran’s forehead, and spoke soft words. The blood burned on Kiran’s skin, power pressing inward. The room dissolved before his eyes.

“Ow!” Kiran yanked his hands back from the spell channel, his fingers already blistering. Magefire erupted in crackling arcs, only to subside as the exercise room wards blazed to life and damped the energies back to safe levels.

“Watch it, stupid.” Mikail scowled at him from across the silver tangle of channels laid out on the floor. “What were you thinking, disrupting the channels like that? Now we’ll have to start all over again.” His aggrieved expression changed to one of concern, as Kiran hissed and sucked on his burned fingers. “Are you all right? Did I channel too much power for you to hold?”

“No.” Ruslan’s voice made Kiran start and jerk his fingers from his mouth. He hadn’t heard Ruslan come in, but