any god, but one of the thirteen Primes: the Reaver, Lord of Death himself. At that moment, he suddenly understood the nature of the poison afflicting Salazar.
He opened one eye and peered at the Augmentors waiting anxiously behind him. ‘He needs to be bled,’ he said. ‘Open his wrists. I will do the rest.’
The Supreme Augmentor looked as though he was about to protest but then his mouth set in a grim line. He nodded and walked over to the bed. Then he drew his longsword in one smooth motion and placed the edge of the blade over the Magelord’s left arm.
‘If you are lying,’ he said, ‘you will hang in the Hook. You will be fed and watered to ensure you do not die quickly. I trust you understand this.’
Eremul rolled his eyes. ‘Just cut his fucking wrists,’ he said. The Supreme Augmentor bent to his work.
He summoned all the magic he could muster. He felt it blossom within him. Now I must decide, he thought. I can save a tyrant and damn a city… or I can save a city and condemn myself.
He was a double agent who had deceived a great many potential allies to maintain the fallacy that he was a loyal servant of the Magelord. He had ratted on the foolish, the desperate, those who never had a hope of bringing about any real change. They were the scapegoats that needed to be sacrificed to give him an opportunity like this.
To pass up that opportunity now would be the greatest betrayal of all – a slap in the face to all those he had sentenced to death.
He frowned. No one in the city cared a damn for him. He wasn’t loved. He wasn’t even respected. He wanted Salazar dead – but after a lifetime of suffering, the prospect of a drawn-out, agonizing death was not appealing. No, the Tyrant of Dorminia would die, but on Eremul’s terms. He would not sacrifice himself. Not here. Not now. He wasn’t a hero.
Coward, his brain screamed at him, but he ignored it and focused on the corrupted presence within Salazar. He poured his magic against it. Magic was life, the potentiality of creation, and it was anathema to supernatural poison flooding the ancient Gharzian wizard’s veins.
Black blood began to seep from Salazar’s wrists. It dribbled out, running down his arms to gather in thick oily pools as the essence of the Reaver, the Lord of Death, was slowly purged from its withered old host.
The Magelord’s pulse quickened. His breathing became audible. His eyelids began to flutter until finally they opened.
‘Barandas,’ he croaked. The Supreme Augmentor leaned over him, his eyes suspiciously moist and a joyous expression on his face.
‘My lord! You are back with us. Lie still. Do not strain yourself. You have suffered a great deal.’
Salazar glanced at his wrists. The black ooze had ceased, and now his arms leaked simple, clean blood rather than living poison. He whispered something inaudible and the wounds began to smoke.
Eremul gasped. The Magelord’s skin was knitting itself back together. Such power, he thought, aghast. Such terrifying power.
The Tyrant of Dorminia sat up. His gaze swept over the Augmentors assembled around him and settled on Eremul, who felt a shiver pass through him.
‘Ah. The Halfmage. You have repaid my mercy most handsomely.’ His voice became harder, growing stronger even as he spoke. ‘You will say nothing of what you saw while our minds were linked. I will have your word or I will have your tongue. Which shall it be?’
Eremul swallowed hard. ‘My word,’ he said.
‘Good. Help me up, Supreme Augmentor. There is no time to waste.’
‘My lord?’ the blond-haired warrior asked uncertainly.
Salazar looked at his wrinkled palms and brought them slowly together in front of his face. ‘War,’ he said. ‘This attempt on my life was the White Lady’s doing. Only she has the means to use the Reaver’s own blood to poison me. We must prepare for war.’
The Measure of a Man
He cut through the water like an arrow, blinking stinging tears from his eyes. He was closing on Soeman fast. The engineer was only a hundred yards away. The flailing man went under again, and for a moment Cole thought he wasn’t going to surface.
Don’t you dare die on me, he thought angrily, spurring himself on. This is my moment. I’ll never forgive you if you drown.
Of all his many qualities, Cole had always prided himself most on his athleticism. He could run faster and further than any