33

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how far she scrambled backwards, Miraveh could not escape what she had done. The remains of the Karline covered her. Smothered her. She choked upon blood that had entered her mouth as she screamed her defiance at the man, her hatred. She had torn him apart. Nothing remained but viscera and blood. So much blood.

She heard herself moaning, crying. She could feel her head shaking, drips of blood tossed from her like drops of scarlet rain, and then she felt something press upon her back. A wall. Fingers of one hand dug into the dust of the street but, in her other hand, she felt something else. Something digging into her palm and, as she unfurled her fingers, she let the relic fall from her shaking hand. She reached for that hand with her other, trying to stop the shaking, but it would not stop.

A noise distracted her and her head whipped around to see another fireball erupt into the sky but, along with that fireball, she saw a golden light reaching up to the cloudless sky. Strong. Defiant. The Candidate still lived and Miraveh had revealed herself too soon. Without her magic suppressed, she could feel it all. No wielder of magic was beyond her ability to sense them and now she felt several sources of magic coming closer.

As though learning to stand for the first time, she reached up for something to support her, her legs shaking as much as her hands, her heart racing. In a daze, she reached down for the sword that had become dislodged from her fingers as she crashed into the Karline and it took several attempts before her fingers closed tight enough around the leather-bound hilt.

The sources of magic were nearing. She had to move, had to force herself to move. This was not the place to make her stand. Enclosed. Nowhere to hide, or to escape. The open space of the square she had chosen to make her stand stood only a couple of streets away, but she had to hide her magic. Her mind clouded, in turmoil, confused and terrified, she wrinkled her forehead as she tried to suppress her magic.

For something that had become second nature to her, she found great difficulty in hiding her power now. As she stumbled away, a trail of blood following in her wake, she fought to suppress her magic until, eventually, she felt the presence of magic fade from her mind. For once she did not feel certain she could maintain her control over that magic. Not since she had first attempted it had it felt so difficult, but she managed it. For now.

There was little she could do about the blood, nor about her trembling legs finding it hard to even walk. With every step, her mind flashed back to that one, horrific moment. One second, the Karline pressed his body weight upon her, the next he had disappeared in a fog of red. She couldn't even remember seeing bones in the remains.

The corner of a building bit into her shoulder as she fell against it. Down this alley and she would find the place. The open space amid the warehouses and business premises of Comragon. Behind, she heard roars of anguish and outrage as her pursuers found what little remained of their comrade and Miraveh felt a swell of nausea rush through her. She turned her head and retched and then she felt her fist strike the nearby wall.

This was not helping. This self-flagellation. This regret and guilt and terror at what she had done. Alran would not have suffered so, not in the moment. He, her mentor and friend, would have tucked all those feelings away. He would have suffered, drowned in his fears and guilts, but only after he had completed his task.

Yusuvur would not have thought twice about it. Any of it. She would never second-guess herself. Yusuvur would never have allowed anything to get in her way, not even, especially not, her own feelings. They were a millstone about her neck that she would not tolerate. For all that Miraveh hated about Yusuvur, she needed that determination. That disconnection from humanity.

Once again, she punched the wall, feeling the skin upon her knuckles tear, adding her own blood to that of the dead Karline. She wiped her face, sloughing away blood and tears, and then pushed herself upright. Taking a deep breath through her nose, her jaw tightening, Miraveh began to run. Her legs still felt like spindly, bending branches of a young tree in a storm, but she forced herself onwards.

With a final effort, she burst forward, out of the mouth of the alley, into the wide-open square. In the centre, she saw a crude fountain and pool, filled with clear, fresh water, but the rest of the square remained empty. Even though they did not deserve it, she thanked the gods for that, at least. This was where she would make her stand and, if she was lucky, give the others a chance to escape.

She reached the fountain and thrust her head into the warm water, drinking in great gulps before splashing it over her head, face and hands. The blood, diluted now, fell into the pristine waters, defiling it with Miraveh's shame, but she had no time to dwell upon things she had done, only on those things she needed to do.

She closed her eyes, turning to face the direction of the warehouse. With a few more deep breaths, she opened her eyes once more and, as she did so, released her magic from her tight hold, allowing it to bloom outwards. With effort, she imagined that magic spreading out, across the town, high into the air, out, into fields and grasslands. A great dome of purple, squirming energy that encompassed everything and everyone.

It felt exciting. Other than using her magic without thinking, or for the purpose of choking the magic of others, she had never really given it free rein. In her mind, she had always held it tight. Now, she projected her magic outwards for all with even a sliver of magic to sense, if they were within range. In the instant that she revealed her power, all magic, that she could sense, stopped.

Everything became silent. Nothing moved. It almost felt as though the Sun stopped its inexorable march across the sky. Those magic wielders that were following Miraveh stopped moving. The attacks upon the warehouse paused and Miraveh could see that pillar of golden light shift as the Candidate moved. If it were at all possible, it felt as though the entire world had come to a grinding halt, all in awe of Miraveh's magic.

Though, now she had their attention, Miraveh had no idea what to do with it. The Karline, that had rushed towards where she had fought their brother, began to move once more, heading for Miraveh at great speed. The Karline that had remained near the warehouse had started to move towards her, also, presenting yet another problem. The possibility of attack from two sides.

It had worked, however. The sheer strength of Miraveh's potential had become the priority for the Karline and the Hunters O' The Dark. A few Witches with a certain amount of power, they could handle, it seemed. One person with the strength of Miraveh had become their priority. Miraveh almost laughed. She wondered how these people would react to Kay's power, or Yusuvur's. Both, as far as Miraveh knew, dwarfed her own power.

Something tapped at her leg. In the frantic race to reach this space, Miraveh hadn't noticed much of anything else. It seemed unimportant, an afterthought. The tip of the sword tap, tap, tapping against her, as though timing the approach of the enemy. But something else tapped her leg, also, and, to her horror, she couldn't remember picking it up.

The relic. It dangled from the cross guard of the sword and swung back and forth. It taunted her, teased her with the strength she could add to her own. With a vicious shake, she untangled the leather string from around the sword, allowing the relic to fall to her feet. She considered stomping on it, grinding it into the dust of the street, but other things pulled her attention away from the darkness of that necklace.

From two directions, Hunters O' The Dark began to emerge into the open space. Some carried swords and shields, others clasped hands to their chests. Miraveh could feel the swell of dark, hate-filled, dusty magic that flowed from the combination of Karline magic and that which infused the relics. Miraveh had felt strong magic before, but never such a collection of magic wielders. Not even in Coven Houses of Witches. This felt different. Focussed and amplified by sheer hatred. Hatred for her.

And, there, at the forefront of them all, stood Yaerual, the Karline with three relics to his name, and one finger short of a full hand. He did not bloom his magic, unlike the others. They expressed their magic like a bird in mating season, puffing out their magical chests, trying to prove how worthy they were. How strong. Yaerual had not expanded his magic.

Yaerual and his companion Hunters stood before the others, assessing Miraveh. Those three, with their white sashes across their chests, showed greater wariness, but also interest in Miraveh. Even from here, Miraveh could see that burned finger upon Yaerual's hand as his other hand turned the rings upon the healthy fingers that remained.

As though on a pleasant walk, Yaerual turned his attention away from Miraveh, his eyes roving upwards, one eye squinting as he examined the very air above, paying attention to the extent of Miraveh's power, and he nodded, his lips pursed in a half-smile. He seemed to appreciate Miraveh's strength.

"You aren't a Witch." It wasn't a question and Yaerual waved a dismissive hand back towards the warehouse. "Those others, those things, they horde their magic as if it were a precious, limited resource. But not you. You aren't one of them, yet you try to rescue them. You challenge us, but for what reason?"

A finger began to tap Yaerual's lips and his head began to turn, back towards the warehouse, and, in that moment, Miraveh knew she had to act, and act fast.

-+-

Miraveh could not waste any time, nor allow Yaerual to know what her intentions were. She could see the golden tower of light, the Candidate, moving away from where the warehouse stood. Her distraction had worked well enough for that, at least. She still found herself almost surrounded with little more to this plan than holding the attention of the gathered Hunters.

Somehow, deep in her mind, she knew she would not survive this and, to her surprise, she did not fear it. All the guilt she held within herself had brought her to this point. All those accusing faces within her dreams would finally find their justice. Not yet, though. Not until she felt certain the others had escaped.

With a flicker of a thought, she sent out her magic, reaching towards Yaerual, grasping for the aura of magic that surrounded the man. He had influence, the respect of those around him, that much seemed obvious. Remove him from the field of battle and she could win this with fear alone. That was, of course, a foolish notion, no army fled at the defeat of one soldier, but she still clung to that hope.

Her magic gripped that of Yaerual and Miraveh prepared to cut it away from the man, as she had done with the other Karline. The Karline that she had reduced to nothing but blood and shreds of flesh and, in that single flash of a memory, Yaerual countered her attack. His own magic, fuelled by one or more of those relics upon his fingers, flexed and bloomed outwards, battering her magic aside as though it were nothing.

"Impressive." Yaerual's hand moved to the other, fingers rubbing at the flesh around one of the rings. She heard the tiniest of cracks in his voice. "Impressive in power, but not execution. We could use someone like you. A power like yours could tame and capture even the strongest of Witches. With training."

Miraveh held her silence. The Karline had spoken true. She had the power, but not the skills with which to use it. No experience in moulding magic to her will. Now her reticence to train with Sialira had returned to haunt her. All she could rely upon here were her instincts and, so far, her instincts had proved well-founded. Up to now.

Except, every time she had used her powers upon others, they were either surprised or distracted. She had never used her magic upon someone aware and anticipating her attacks. To the sides, she could see a number of other Karline and Hunters O' The Dark, all awaiting Yaerual's victory, it appeared. If they all attacked at once, she wouldn't stand a chance.

She chanced a look behind the Hunters and saw the tower of golden light making steady progress through Comragon. Only they mattered. The prisoners, those Witches, elves and goblins that would surely die should Miraveh fail here. Sialira and Daras, who should never have become a part of this. If she could see them safe out of the town, everything would be worth it.

"There is one problem with that." Miraveh assessed her situation, sliding her eyes over the assembled Hunters and their surroundings. "I may not be a good person, but I'm not evil. Like you."

With every ounce of power she could command, Miraveh sent out a wave of magic. The purple, wriggling energy passed by every Hunter and Karline. Yaerual's eyes widened as his entire body tensed, his body turning to watch where Miraveh's magic flowed, until the purple energy spread upon the walls and roofs of the surrounding buildings.

Without knowing exactly what she was doing, Miraveh remembered the Karline that had hit her with pieces of stone, out in the grasslands. The effort felt painful as she imagined gripping those walls and roofs and, with one intense thought, she ripped away shingles, slates and clay bricks, sending them flying back towards the gathered Hunters.

"To the ground!" The order from Yaerual came too late for many of the Hunters.

With that one attack, Miraveh found her chest heaving, pain arching through her body, but it had worked. Pieces of the surrounding buildings smashed into the Hunters. Some struck heads, sending the Hunters crashing to the ground, unconscious or dead, Miraveh could not tell. Others pieces struck other parts of Hunter bodies, breaking bones, piercing flesh, while yet other pieces flew past, hitting nothing.

Yaerual had crouched, his dark blue, dirty magic surrounded him like a shield. Pieces of buildings bouncing from the magical energy and, elsewhere, other Karline had tried to perform the same action, with varying success. Miraveh had not known magic could be used like that. One building, at the back, began to collapse and Miraveh tried to ignore the sounds of shouting from within. There were still innocent people around her. She had miscalculated on that.

Still, she could not give the Hunters the chance to regroup. She threw her hand out to the side, where one Karline had stepped forward, hand raised while the other clutched the relic at his chest. Miraveh could see the filthy magic gathering about the man but she gave him no chance to finish whatever spell he had begun. Remembering Sialira's favourite spells, she clutched her fingers in the shape of a claw and sent out her own magic.

Roots, thin and straggly, at first, followed by thick, gnarled and twisted ones, exploded from the dusty, packed ground, rising up. The roots squirmed as they burrowed into the flesh of the Karline, snaking through him to emerge out of every orifice upon his head. As soon as Miraveh turned away, she knew she would remember that sight for whatever remained of her life.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. Something lifted her, bodily, into the air and then brought her slamming back to the ground. Pain lanced through her chest as she heard two cracks and she knew she now had broken ribs. In a daze, trying to remain conscious, she saw Yaerual's dirty blue magic retreat from her. As she had used her magic to move objects, he had used his to move her. She coughed, spitting blood into the dust and groaned.

Not so much in pain, though it felt like every bone could have broken, but because she could see the blood covered relic she had taken from the Karline that she had torn apart. It sat on the ground, dust kicked over it, taunting her. All she needed to do was take the relic in her hand. Take the relic and add its power to her own. None would stand against her.

"No." With effort, she pushed herself to her knees and saw vague visions of others coming towards her. "No! I won't!"

She imagined a ball. A tiny, insignificant purple ball where she had crushed all her magic inside. So much magic that the ball pulsed and wavered, ready to explode. Then, as booted feet came before her eyes, as hands reached out for her, she allowed that ball to expand. She allowed it to explode. The wave of compressed magical energy grew in an instant and, of a sudden, there were no boots near Miraveh. No hands reaching for her.

Lifting her head, she saw only through one eye. The other had become swollen, as had most of that side of her face from the impact against the hard packed ground. Away, beyond the confines of Comragon, she could see that tower of golden light moving, getting further and further away. She tried to smile, but the muscles in her face felt tight and painful.

Around her, she saw the Hunters that had almost reached her, laying upon the ground, nursing arms and legs, groaning from her attack. She had done enough. There, only ten feet from her, she saw Yaerual, the glowing, corrupted energy of his magic dissipating from around him. He nursed his arm, also, clutching it to his chest. Another of his fingers had become nothing but a burned stub.

"I've never seen the like." Yaerual collapsed to one knee, shaking his head as he gazed around at the devastated group of Hunters. "We could never use you. Never tame you. We cannot allow such an abhorrent thing to live."

Without warning, Yaerual stretched out his damaged hand, a look of intense concentration furrowing his brow, and Miraveh felt the attack before she even saw the tendrils of magic. Not thinking, she remembered how Yaerual had battered her magic aside, imagining a magical hand swatting away Yaerual's magic. It worked, for the moment.

He attacked again, sending out waves of magical energy towards her, but she then remembered the magical shield. Somehow, she managed to create one of her own, but Yaerual would not stop his attack. His magic continued to batter at Miraveh's own and could see a third finger on the man's hand begin to burn. Tears poured down Yaerual's cheeks as he fought to overcome Miraveh's magic.

Miraveh could not allow it to go on any longer. With a yell, she raised both her fists into the air, bringing them down upon the surface of the street and, as she did so, dust jumped into the air. Not only the dust beneath her fists, but all the dust. The entire street became blanketed by dust, hanging in the air, and then she began to move it, to turn it, to send the dust flying around and around.

Faster and faster the dust turned until Miraveh could not see the dust, only a thick curtain of movement that flashed around and around. To the sides, she heard Hunters screaming and, as she turned her head to look, she saw the dust scouring their clothing, their hair, their flesh, making millions and millions of tiny cuts as the dust became a storm.

"Miraveh!" The voice came from far away, right beside her ear, and she recognised it. "That's enough! You have to stop!"

But she couldn't stop, she had to finish what she had started. She had to punish those that deserved her ire. Those pitiful fools that sought to remove magic from the world once again. They could never remove magic. She wouldn't let them!

Something tugged at her fingers and she tried to pull her hand away until something sharp dug into her hand. In an instant, the dust storm stopped, the dust dropping back to the street, and Miraveh saw someone she knew. Turotara, her face and clothing scoured by the dusty turmoil. And, beside her, the Karline, Brothimir. From Brothimir's hand dangled the relic. Somehow, without thinking, she had picked it up once again.

The sound of Brothimir crushing the relic with the butt of his dagger made Miraveh jump more than she expected.