Gates of Ruin (Magelands Eternal Siege, #6) by Christopher Mitchell (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📗

Arete said nothing, her eyes tight.

‘Are you going to flee, now that your little plan has failed?’ Belinda said. ‘Are you going to run back to Edmond?’

‘Bastion was right; you’ve gone completely insane. What are you trying to accomplish? You cannot hope to win.’

‘All I need to do is stop you from winning.’

Arete laughed. ‘You fool. Did you know that, even now, the blessed Second Ascendant thinks you can be saved? He doesn’t realise that it’s much too late for that.’

‘You should be careful what you say; he’s probably in your head right now, Arete, watching you fail to kill me.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he is. At least he’ll see the extent of your treachery. You’ve already killed four demigods this night, not to mention putting Renko out of his misery.’

‘They were sent here to arrest me, to place me in chains, or put me back in the mask.’

‘Lord Edmond wishes to offer you a deal.’

‘He does? Then why did you strike as soon as you arrived? Did he expect you to fail?’

‘Perhaps he did. If you leave this chamber voluntarily, he promises that you can walk free from the residence. Despite his feelings, the Sextant is worth more to him than you. What do you say to that, Belinda? I think it’s the best offer you’re going to get tonight.’

‘Do you believe his promises, Arete?’

Arete smirked. ‘What I believe is immaterial.’

‘If you give me the Quadrant, I’ll let you live. Do you believe me?’

Arete’s eyes wavered for a moment, and Belinda struck. She surged forward, swinging the dark blade in both hands. Arete raised her sword, but the Weathervane sliced through the steel blade as if it wasn’t there. Arete’s fingers brushed over the surface of the Quadrant just as the Weathervane connected with her neck. Her body vanished from the room, but her head remained. It fell to the floor and rolled onto the rug.

Belinda looked away, then bent down and picked it up by the hair, then hurled it through the open window. She wiped the blade on the rug, smearing it in blood.

She had just slain an Ascendant, one of the most powerful and ancient beings in existence, but she didn’t feel any different. Arete’s death hadn’t given her any joy or satisfaction, nor had it repelled her. Her only regret was that she had been a fraction of a second too slow. Any quicker, and she would have obtained a Quadrant, and now it was back in Edmond’s possession, along with the headless body of the Seventh Ascendant.

She sat down, her back to the Sextant. No sound was coming from beyond the half-burnt and smouldering barricade, and she wondered who would be coming next to try to defeat her. Bastion, perhaps? She could scarcely believe that Edmond would put himself at risk; he would prefer to send minion after minion, but what would happen when he tired of that? He had the power to destroy the entire western tower, crushing her under a thousand tons of rubble. She glanced at the Sextant. During a lull between the first and second waves of attackers, she had spent some time probing the device with the sword, looking for places where it could snugly fit. She had found a couple, but the device had remained inactive. Was it supposed to spring into life if she found the right spot? Some of the parts inside the device seemed to be made of the same dark metal as the sword, and she presumed that they were significant in some obscure way. She peered closely at the interior, her mind trying to make sense of the jumble of cogs and pipes. It looked fragile, but she had seen what it had gone through in Fordamere. If Edmond did decide to collapse the tower, the Sextant would probably be the only thing that would survive.

The chandelier above her tinkled as another earthquake rumbled through Alea Tanton. She longed to send her vision out to investigate, but if Bastion arrived with a sword and a Quadrant while she was gazing out onto the city, her resistance would be brought to a swift end.

She remembered the flames rising from the gatehouse in the walls; what did they signify? Were the mortals rising up against their overlords and assaulting Old Alea? She hoped so. If they were all doomed to die, then it was better that they met their ends with defiance in their hearts rather than despair. Her people were being exterminated, like vermin, so that Edmond could wash his hands of Lostwell; her Lostwell. Nathaniel may have made it, but she was its Queen.

* * *

A long, slow hour passed. The tower was in silence, though she could hear sounds coming from the streets of Old Alea. Fighting was going on, and she guessed she had been correct about there being an uprising, but she had remained in the seat, her eyes continually scanning the room, her right hand gripping the hilt of the Weathervane.

Where was Edmond? The last place she had seen him was up on the roof of the tower, but she doubted that he would still be there. Perhaps he was dealing with the uprising, knowing that Belinda was contained within Leksandr’s old rooms. Maybe the death of Arete had scared him, and he had already abandoned Lostwell to its fate. No, he wouldn’t have left without the Sextant, for it was his only route to securing the supply of salve. She suppressed her frustrations; she needed to stay alert, ready.

She heard a soft sound come from beyond the barricade. She got to her feet and raised her left hand, preparing her powers. A figure peered over the smoking couch blocking the entrance.

‘Corthie?’ she cried.

Belinda ran forward as the figure clambered into the room. She threw her arms around him, tears coming to her eyes.

‘Belinda,’ he said, ‘are you alright?’

‘You’re alive,’ she said, stepping back to look up at his face. ‘When Edmond sent the Banner