Chapter 48: In Which All Is Lost

Marning and Burgen sat in the section specially marked for courtiers. Marning noted, with a raise of his eyebrow, that Burgen was strangely excited to be the one watching the Tournament for a change rather than being watched. The moment the fight began, however, Burgen's excitement waned and instead he wore a frown.

"What's wrong with him?' he wondered. "Is he ill? Something's wrong."

"Erbaun is stronger than him," the Grand Master decreed.

"Stronger?" Burgen sounded exasperated at the thought. His love of knowledge and magic had turned him into one of Rat's greatest supporters. "How could she be stronger?" He snorted at the absurdity of the idea.

"She isn't a child," Marning began in a low voice. "She had time to learn and mature and master. That, Winterstarch, is what a real war magician looks like; she is one in a million. In time, Rat might be able to defeat her, but not today."

"Then we never really stood a chance to begin with?" Burgen shook his head, "at least Rat's right, who would want to conquer a kingdom with a curse?"

"Perhaps that is why Cooper left us this curse," Marning said, without quite believing his own words. Of course, it was a plausible reason, but not the only one.

"Poor Rat," Burgen sighed. "He's going to be so depressed."

How little that would matter by the end of that day. Burgen ooh'd and aah'd at all the right moments, Marning was left with his chin in his palm; trying to navigate through the tension he was feeling. The air was filled with sparks of magic, the friction was enough to make anyone's hair stand on end. Wouldn't this be the obvious moment for a disaster to strike?

It would.

Except in the younger years of his life, Marning had been acute to the magical side of himself. It was a part of him that was at the same time located within him and outside of his body entirely. It was there all the time in every moment, present like his legs and arms and nose. While he wasn't fully aware of his chin in every waking second, he would certainly notice when it suddenly disappeared.

And the magic disappeared. It felt like part of him was sucked away, as if from merely being sick and tired he had stepped onto the threshold of death and had lost his vitality. He gasped and grasped his chest, not because it pained him, but because he needed to know that his heart was still beating.

Next to him, Burgen whimpered. "What's that?" he asked suddenly pointing out onto the arena.

Marning leaned forward and stared at the little naked figure crossing the sand. "It's Erich," he murmured before the sound made his world explode.

When he opened his eyes, the sky was black, No, not black, what he was seeing was the absence of sky, the absence of magic, the absence of time. Burgen was grasping both his shoulders, the young man's arms shaking. Even though there was no sun, no stars, everything was illuminated by a sickly green glow that came from the place where the darkness above them met the earth. That place that should have been the horizon.

Marning looked toward the man sitting on his left, Lord Midregy of Slaq. The man sat frozen in his seat, his gaze directed forward wearing a calmly confused expression, his one hand in the middle of scratching his chin and his other resting in his lap. The Grand Master waved his hand before Midregy's face but the man might as well have been a wax doll. Here and there some others were doing the same, but the vast majoring of people sitting in the stands were frozen solid. "Only Wielders have time," Marning concluded. "Everyone else has been frozen."

Someone in their row got to their feet – it was Angelique. She was fixated on the child who stood still in the centre of the arena. She began walking, drawn to him. "Stop her," Marning breathed.

At his bidding, Burgen lunged forward, grasping her by her brittle shoulders. "My lady, you mustn't," he said gently.

"Erich," she said weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Marning limped over, "He is not your Erich, Lady Pergam."

She answered with a stifled sob.

"Maybe if you live through this you will have other children who will give you less grief," the Grand Master said, "but you cannot save him. We must flee. Winterstarch, we must get everyone who could move to the train station, it is our only escape."

Burgen nodded, and he looked all about at the straggling Wielders, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at the top of his voice. "To the trains! Everyone to the trains!"

His voice carried over the silence, louder than was possible. It was as if the world was empty, and Burgen's cries had filled it for a moment. Anyone who could look up, turned their head toward him, and slowly, individually and in groups, they all began moving in the same direction. Some of them took the initiative and repeated Burgen's words for whoever might not have heard. Marning looked around the arena, Rat and Erbaun were not there. He nodded, reassured, he would meet the boy at the train station.

Walking was hard, and with every step it became increasingly harder, the air he breathed was dry and still and somehow dulling. Burgen kept his hands on the painfully thin Angelique, who appeared to have difficulty walking as well. As they descended the stairs that led from the stadium to the main street of the Tournament village, more Wielders joined them. While fear and panic rode high in the air, no one ran.

"Winterstarch," Marning said, "how're you feeling?"

Burgen's shoulders were slouched and his Adam's apple danced in his throat as he swallowed. "It's – it's suffocating here," he whispered. "There's Erbaun!" he suddenly exclaimed.

It was easy to find the tall, dark-haired woman in the crowd; it was not so easy to find a boy. "Can you see Rat?" Marning asked, trying to crane his neck.

"He's not with her."

"He's probably already waiting for us next to the trains." Marning said.

The way was long; it stretched on for an eternity. It was when the wide, white platform of the newly built train station was in sight that Marning's legs suddenly betrayed him; he fell to his knees, stopping his fall with his hands. Burgen cried out, letting go of Angelique as he jumped to Marning's side, taking the Grand Master's arm and slinging it over his shoulder.

Up until that moment, Burgen had been surprisingly composed, but then the young man's blue eyes danced frantically and his breathing turned heavy. "Hold in there," he said in a strained voice. "We're almost there. Just a few more steps."

Marning nodded, he could not utter words.

At the platform there was quite a crowd, not only the Wielders from the Tournament, but also whoever had been in the city. One train stood there, all its doors open, but its engines silent, frozen in time like everything else that wasn't a Wielder. There was confusion and panic here, the silence was full of talk in many languages, everyone saying the same thing over and over.

Gruitfeld from Bordinary approached them. "We can't start the engines," he informed them. "We need fire to light the engines but we can't light one without either time or magic. All the Lines of Flight have disappeared with the magic."

"We're trapped here?" Burgen asked.

"Where's Rat?" Marning demanded. "Has anyone seen Rat?"

Gruitfeld shook his head. "I've been looking for him, he isn't here."

A scream cut through the air, clear, sharp and blood curling. Somewhere, a little way away, a man collapsed. Burgen and Gruitfeld exchanged horrified glances.

A second later, like a marionette that lost her strings, Lady Pergam lost consciousness and fell to the cobbled floor. Marning separated himself from Burgen and moved forward to reach her, feeling as if he were wading through water.

The darkness grew and spread, the lack of sky became the lack of everything.

He wanted to see if she was alive, but he never managed to.