Free The Traitor's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Page B

direction. I shouted and thrust my staff, my
will driving the magic forward, and the curtain of flame rolled
into the charging cockroaches. The fire was not particularly hot,
not when spread over such a large area, but it was hot enough for
what I needed. The outer shells of the charging cockroaches caught
flame, and they fell back with horrid shrieks, trying to fight the
elemental fire that chewed into their corrupted flesh.
    But the older cockroaches, the more powerful ones,
the ones that had feasted on many lives, were not so easily
daunted. They had the ability to wield minor magic themselves, and
they cast spells to ward themselves against flame. They pushed
through the wall of flame, step by step, like men forcing their way
through a gale. My firestorm would not last for much longer, and if
those cockroaches reached me, they would tear me apart.
    It would take something more serious to deal with
them.
    I took several quick steps back, feeling the storm of
the Warden’s gate. I raised the blackened staff in my right hand
and concentrated, its sigils flaring. A tight sphere of white-hot
flame, perhaps three inches across, appeared at the end of the
staff. My ancient flesh felt neither pleasure nor pain, but
nonetheless I could feel the sheer heat of the little sphere
pulsing against me. I poured more strength into the sphere, all the
flame and magic I could summon, forcing the power into the enclosed
construct. The sphere began to swell, wobbling and spinning, until
it was almost the size of my head.
    The greater cockroaches had almost forced their way
through my wall of flame, the gray light of their wards flickering
around them. I turned and ran, my coat flapping around my legs, the
increasingly unstable sphere of fire spinning above my staff faster
and faster. A hideous shriek ran out, and I looked over my shoulder
as the first of the greater cockroaches burst from the dwindling
wall of flame. Six others followed, and they changed shapes again
as they charged, their bodies twisting into a misshapen combination
of squid and hunting insect. Their new shapes let them race forward
in leaps and bounds, halving the distance between us in a matter of
seconds.
    I stopped, turned, and planted my feet as I faced the
charging creatures. The whirling sphere of white fire let out a
steady hissing sound. I focused all my will and power upon the
sphere, and thrust the staff.
    The sphere leaped from the staff in a lazy arc and
struck the ground at the feet of the charging cockroaches.
    There was a blinding flash of white light, followed
by a tremendous thunderclap and a howling gale of hot wind. I
staggered several steps, my coat snapping out behind me like a
banner caught in the wind. I saw one of the cockroaches go tumbling
high overhead, shrieking madly, fire devouring its limbs and
tentacles. Three more of the creatures had been reduced to charred
piles of smoking coals, while a few more ran back and forth,
desperately fighting the flames devouring their flesh. My wall of
flame had faded, but the surviving creatures had seen enough. The
cockroaches fled in all directions, leaving behind dozens slain by
my fire.
    I lowered my staff and let out a long breath. Not
that I actually needed to breathe very much, but the old habits of
battle never went away. The cockroaches would be back soon enough.
They were cowardly, but once they had gathered sufficient numbers
they would return. By then, I hoped to be long gone.
    To the new world of the Keeper.
    I wondered what it would be like. Both Morigna and
Mara had spoken Latin, albeit with a peculiar accent and occasional
unfamiliar words, but it had nonetheless been the style of Latin
that had been spoken in Britannia fifteen centuries past. Clearly
Malahan and the Keeper had taken their language to this new realm
of theirs, to Andomhaim.
    I also wondered what they had found upon the new
world. Mara had not been entirely human. The pointed ears had
revealed her alien heritage, to say nothing