Page 111 of Poisoned Empire

“I don’t have much control of my gift.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get,” Selene called back to him as she hurried back to Charis.

“What now?”

It was a good question. She searched the periphery of the training grounds, refusing to be hopelessly drawn in by the fight. If Nicephorus went on the attack and kept Mercurius distracted, she might be able to repeat what they’d done in the cells below. Charis had enough control and strength to launch her effectively using wind, but she ran the risk of becoming the berserker’s target, turning herself into fast-moving fodder. But what about striking from above? The roof of the colonnaded walkway would have to do. The risk of getting speared by blade or cooked by flame was real, so she would need to prepare for it.

“Get us up there,” Selene ordered, pointing to the roof.

Charis nodded. Concentrating, she whipped up a ball of currents between her hands.

“Brace yourself,” Charis muttered through gritted teeth.

A pummelling force shoved her upwards before fading. She scrabbled to grab hold of the smooth, arched roof. It took some doing, but she swung her foot up and got a proper hold. Charis used the same force to propel herself upwards with a great deal more grace and control. At Selene’s narrowed eyes, the wind mage blushed.

“It’s harder when it’s someone else.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you how to play dirty?”

At that arrogant tone, Selene swung her eyes around in time to see Mercurius bash Belisarius’ head in with the hilt of his sword. The prince fell to the ground, unconscious. She bit back a scream. He might not be dead yet. Before Mercurius could swing his sword to take Belisarius’ head, Nicephorus entered the ring with a crazed battle cry, longsword in hand. Despite his frenzy, he wielded the blade with consummate skill. He advanced faster than any man had a right to, his steel moving as if it were just another limb on his powerful body. His eyes had gone milky white. Mercurius was forced to retreat from Belisarius’ prone form and concentrate wholly on the unexpected assault. Any bloody wound Mercurius inflicted healed in the blink of an eye, the praetor unharmed. The Magistri were protesting loudly about the breach of protocol and the danger the frenzied praetor posed, but the guards held them back.

“Gods below. I’ve never seen a berserker.”

“If he fails to take him down, I want you to launch me at Mercurius with as much speed as you can give me.”

“If I do, you’ll only get the initial force. Launching you like that will throw me back as well. If he moves around, you’ll miss him.”

“We’ll have to take the chance. Once I make contact, protect Belisarius from whatever fumes or smoke my body produces, because it’ll be lethal to breathe. If I die, my body will produce a death fog that will kill everyone. Isolate it with your magic.”

A roar of flames interrupted whatever Charis was going to say next. With the prince downed, Mercurius was free to wield his gift as well as his sword. Nicephorus was taking the flames head on, lost to sense and reason.

Selene coated her body in the only toxin she knew to be just as potent when exposed to fire. Even if he left her charred, the smoke would kill him with a single breath. Only her palms were dripping with a different poison. Mercurius landed a devastating blow on the berserker, nearly detaching his hands. Nicephorus’ tendons severed, Mercurius knocked the blade from his grip, ending the frenzy which had consumed the praetor.

“Now!”

It was time to end this. A jarring pressure thrust her at the fire mage’s back. He caught sight of her at the last moment, his body half turned towards her. Skin touched skin before an excruciating blaze sent her flying. Her last impression was of Mercurius, covered in his own flames, screaming in anguish.

Chapter 39

Nicephoruswoke.Heshotup from a deep and disturbing dream of blood and pain, as he usually did whenever the berserker took over. The young notarios who had been seated by his bedside toppled off his stool and ran from the room before Nicephorus even had a chance to ask for water. He turned his wrists, opening and closing his hands. He should be dead, or at least deeply scarred from the burns he must have suffered, but only a flush of angry pink remained of the horror. It had always seemed monstrously unfair that a gift meant solely for violence and bloodshed should benefit his recovery.

Before he had much time to contemplate his health, the strategos burst into the room. He’d never seen the man so distraught. His curly hair was wild, his beard unruly, his clothes dishevelled, and he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in a few days. It was so alarming, Nicephorus wondered if Belisarius had died.

“Thank the gods you’re awake. I’ve been trying to run the damn place while you recovered. The papers, the endless nit-picking, it never stops, not even for an hour.”

“Belisarius, is he-”

“Alive, though it may be a few days yet before he wakes. The blow to his head should’ve been fatal.”

“What of Mercurius?”

“Dead. May he rot in the deepest of hells.” Marduk smiled. “His corpse was so toxic we had to entomb it in three metal coffins. Luckily Domina Opal was at hand to prevent the fumes from killing the rest of us.”

“Did…did she make it?”

“Selene? Yes, though she’s a little worse for wear. She doesn’t have a berserker’s innate healing. She’s awake now.”

Nicephorus got out of bed and put himself to rights as Marduk listed with growing hysteria the mountain of work, bickering, power-grabbing and political gamesmanship that had gone on over the past few days. It was to be expected, and it didn’t faze the praetor in the slightest. His mind was already buzzing with what needed to be done, energizing him.

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