Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,252

his turyn into it. Instead he activated one of his prepared spells, shoving half of his remaining power into the wind-wall spell. It exploded into violent fury, shredding the vampire’s body, but only into dust, yet again.

Androv laughed as he swirled through the air, and as the spell faded, he started to taunt his victim once again. “I thought you might have something original. I’d never seen the other spell, but I suppose it was just a decoy—”

His words cut off as Will pushed the rest of his power into the spell he had constructed and released it. Selene’s Solution expanded to fill the room, sweeping up dust, dirt, trash, particles, and filth. It collected the spilled blood and the debris on the floor, it cleaned their clothes, and even their wounds. But most of all, it swept Androv up and gathered him in, inexorable in its pull.

In the past he had often wondered what her spell did with the dirt it collected, for it had to go somewhere. So, he had studied its inner workings, only to be amazed once again at the intricacy of her design. The dirt and dross were collected and converted into two opposing forms of turyn, then it was mixed and dispersed. The spell’s organizing effect created a slight cooling effect in the area it cleaned, while the constructive destruction of the matter it collected created a warming effect that was dispersed widely at its boundaries.

Androv, master wizard and vampire, was converted into heat energy and absorbed by the cool earth that surrounded the chamber, and then he was no more.

Chapter 57

Will wished he couldn’t feel his legs, but he could. If he closed his eyes it felt as though someone was holding him over an open fire, roasting his lower half in the flames, but when he looked at them, they were fine, except for the fact that he couldn’t move them. By the same token, his entrails were a minor inconvenience, messy and sprawling across the floor, but they caused him little pain. How odd, observed the quiet voice in the back of his head. Maybe it was all relative and the pain in his lower body was so great that his brain simply had no time to process the pain from his other injuries.

He summoned the last regeneration potion from the limnthal and stared at it for a moment, his eyes going to the king. Selene’s father had bled out slowly from the wound on his wrist, but the blood loss wasn’t inconsiderable. Without prompt treatment, the man might die. If Lognion did die, the ramifications would be significant.

Still reeling from the damage to Cerria, Terabinia might fall victim to a fresh incursion from Darrow, especially if they were the ones who had sent the vampires in the first place. The nation would need a strong ruler to defeat such a powerful enemy. If Selene was back, she might take his place, but she wasn’t. Without a king, Terabinia would collapse into chaos and civil war.

But if I save him, I’ll die for certain. And that was ignoring the fact that he had sworn to kill the king eventually anyway.

He was fed up with stupid dilemmas. “To hell with all of it,” said Will angrily. “I’ve done enough for this goddamned nation.” Unstopping the vial, he drank its contents.

A new heat raced through him, and the burning in his legs changed to an intense sensation of electric pain. He cried out as it swept over him, and he felt the bones in his wrist and shoulder seek out their proper places and reunite. Glancing down, he saw his intestines snaking back into him, looking for all the world like parasitic worms racing to feast on his innards. Their movement was accompanied with a wave of nausea.

Once his bones were in place, Will scooted across the floor until he was beside the dying king. His healing was still intensely painful, but every minute counted. Summoning another spare tunic, he cut it into strips. I need to store some damned linen bandages in there, he thought, making a mental note. I keep cutting up perfectly good clothes. Will tightly wrapped the man’s wrist, then tied off the bandage with a quick knot.

“There, maybe you won’t die. Asshole,”