Promise of Wrath (The Hellequin Chronicles Book 6) by Steve McHugh Page B
Authors: Steve McHugh
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and used as much blood magic as possible to mix with my fire magic, giving me the power I needed. And I breathed out.
The flame that left my mouth was almost white hot. I was glad I’d used my air magic to coat my throat, lungs, and mouth before trying this trick. The flame hit Asag’s face before he even had time to register it. Just as he was about to speak, he screamed in pain as the flame torched the inside of his mouth, along with his eyes, blinding him instantly. It was then that I saw that the rock plates didn’t quite overlap by his neck, leaving the skin beneath exposed.
I reignited the flame blade and drove it up into a gap between the rocky plates of Asag’s neck before removing it, stepping around to his exposed flank, and driving it back into where his liver would be, cutting through the plates as if they weren’t there.
Asag dropped to his knees as a silver tar-like substance flowed out of his wounds. He swiped at me once again, but I’d already removed the blade and stepped around him to his back, where I drove the blade into his spine.
Asag fell to the ground as the gate to the city slowly opened. Irkalla ran out, followed by Nabu, who steadied me as my blood magic shut off and my body roared in pain. He helped lower me to the ground and placed me up against a tree.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
Irkalla shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s not trying to kill us, so quite possibly, yes.”
“Gilgamesh fell down there.” I pointed to where I’d seen him fall and Irkalla ordered the soldiers to go and check.
“The other gates held,” Nabu told me, his voice completely neutral, giving nothing away.
“What aren’t you telling me? Did Mordred escape?”
“No, Mordred is fine: he’s unconscious, but alive. Isabel was taken. Three human guards were killed in the fight.”
“Do you know by whom?” I asked, trying to get back to my feet, but Nabu held me in place until I gave up on the idea.
“Siris.” Nanshe’s tone betrayed the hurt that her expression didn’t give away. “We were betrayed by one of our own.”
CHAPTER 8
Now. London, England.
I do hope you’re comfortable,” Mordred said as he sat on the chair beside me.
The half-dozen golems that had stopped me from being crushed by the collapsing building stood there, stoic and emotionless, as if holding up several tons of rubble was nothing to them. Which it probably was, considering they were a magical construct.
The tranquilizer was beginning to wear off, and once it did, I’d be able to free myself and stop Mordred before he did anything to hurt someone.
Mordred reached out and, before I could move, slipped a sorcerer’s band onto my wrist. I tried to push him away, but was too weak, and the second the clasp shut I felt my magic vanish from my body.
“Now don’t try to take that off; you know what happens. I don’t want you being silly.”
If I tried to remove the band, the runes inscribed on the metal touching my skin would instantly ignite, setting off the equivalent of a magical napalm bomb. It would be too quick for me to set up any kind of defense, and all I’d be able to do would be to die quickly and painfully. If it were possible, I hated Mordred even more for making me wear one, for removing my magic from me, but I pushed the anger down. I was in no position to make demands. Instead, I stayed still and stared at the man I had once called a friend.
“Why are you here?”
“To talk to you. I brought someone with me.” He pointed over to his right.
I turned and saw a woman. Her hair had been cut short since I’d last seen her over a thousand years ago, and was dyed bright green, but I couldn’t mistake the woman I’d once loved. The woman who’d betrayed Arthur, betrayed Avalon—betrayed me. Morgan.
“I wouldn’t distract her if I was you,” Mordred told me. “She’s all that’s keeping those golems from letting that roof fall onto you. So here’s how it’s going to go: you’re going to
The flame that left my mouth was almost white hot. I was glad I’d used my air magic to coat my throat, lungs, and mouth before trying this trick. The flame hit Asag’s face before he even had time to register it. Just as he was about to speak, he screamed in pain as the flame torched the inside of his mouth, along with his eyes, blinding him instantly. It was then that I saw that the rock plates didn’t quite overlap by his neck, leaving the skin beneath exposed.
I reignited the flame blade and drove it up into a gap between the rocky plates of Asag’s neck before removing it, stepping around to his exposed flank, and driving it back into where his liver would be, cutting through the plates as if they weren’t there.
Asag dropped to his knees as a silver tar-like substance flowed out of his wounds. He swiped at me once again, but I’d already removed the blade and stepped around him to his back, where I drove the blade into his spine.
Asag fell to the ground as the gate to the city slowly opened. Irkalla ran out, followed by Nabu, who steadied me as my blood magic shut off and my body roared in pain. He helped lower me to the ground and placed me up against a tree.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
Irkalla shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s not trying to kill us, so quite possibly, yes.”
“Gilgamesh fell down there.” I pointed to where I’d seen him fall and Irkalla ordered the soldiers to go and check.
“The other gates held,” Nabu told me, his voice completely neutral, giving nothing away.
“What aren’t you telling me? Did Mordred escape?”
“No, Mordred is fine: he’s unconscious, but alive. Isabel was taken. Three human guards were killed in the fight.”
“Do you know by whom?” I asked, trying to get back to my feet, but Nabu held me in place until I gave up on the idea.
“Siris.” Nanshe’s tone betrayed the hurt that her expression didn’t give away. “We were betrayed by one of our own.”
CHAPTER 8
Now. London, England.
I do hope you’re comfortable,” Mordred said as he sat on the chair beside me.
The half-dozen golems that had stopped me from being crushed by the collapsing building stood there, stoic and emotionless, as if holding up several tons of rubble was nothing to them. Which it probably was, considering they were a magical construct.
The tranquilizer was beginning to wear off, and once it did, I’d be able to free myself and stop Mordred before he did anything to hurt someone.
Mordred reached out and, before I could move, slipped a sorcerer’s band onto my wrist. I tried to push him away, but was too weak, and the second the clasp shut I felt my magic vanish from my body.
“Now don’t try to take that off; you know what happens. I don’t want you being silly.”
If I tried to remove the band, the runes inscribed on the metal touching my skin would instantly ignite, setting off the equivalent of a magical napalm bomb. It would be too quick for me to set up any kind of defense, and all I’d be able to do would be to die quickly and painfully. If it were possible, I hated Mordred even more for making me wear one, for removing my magic from me, but I pushed the anger down. I was in no position to make demands. Instead, I stayed still and stared at the man I had once called a friend.
“Why are you here?”
“To talk to you. I brought someone with me.” He pointed over to his right.
I turned and saw a woman. Her hair had been cut short since I’d last seen her over a thousand years ago, and was dyed bright green, but I couldn’t mistake the woman I’d once loved. The woman who’d betrayed Arthur, betrayed Avalon—betrayed me. Morgan.
“I wouldn’t distract her if I was you,” Mordred told me. “She’s all that’s keeping those golems from letting that roof fall onto you. So here’s how it’s going to go: you’re going to
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