A Spell of Seven

Chapter 10

 Falan carefully gauged how many Brothers surrounded him. Ten had been left outside the throne room. Four more had departed under orders from Hammurabi to retrieve some Order warrior. There were eleven left. He didn't know how quickly his magic would come back when the chains broke, so better to snap the bindings now.

He tried to pull them apart subtly, but he didn't have the strength. Subtlety aside. Falan yanked his hands hard in both directions, and the chain snapped easily. He stumbled forward in shock as hot magic rushed through him, and he channelled that heat beneath the fireproof armor of the Brothers around him.

Commotion erupted. The Brothers howled in fury and agony as they burned from the unexpected inferno. Falan himself hadn't realized that he could make flames erupt wherever he wanted, but it had seemed like the best plan. He pushed more heat into the fires, and too slowly the soldiers dropped one by one. It did not escape him that Hammurabi, ironically, was the first.

The shouts of unseen Brothers echoed up the corridor, and Falan ran back toward the throne room. He turned a corner just before reaching the hall to the doors: without the element of surprise, he did not think he could kill all ten of the guards in time, and they would surely see him coming.

He turned again, left, following what he thought was likely the outline of the throne room. Surely Alexander would not keep this Chamber of Seven far away.

*          *           *

Freya pulled on her manacles. She hoped that Falan would get away. "No, Alec, perhaps we haven't. I see you're still the same, though.

"You've become sharp, sister." Alexander glanced around himself. "How did you survive, that day a year ago? You were a grieving wreck, if I remember correctly."

"None of your business." Freya wondered if that kind of answer would keep him on his toes. Hopefully, it would, because she was furious at a different thing she'd just heard. "And you, Alexander, are building a Spell of Seven? You can't." A Spell of Seven was an ancient and horrible enchantment that Freya had thought was a myth. It required the magic – the lives – of seven mages of different disciplines, and when completed... the myth had only said that it created the first corporeal beings to be considered gods by mortal men. Real gods, not the Order. From that man or men the line of Egyptian pharaohs had been constructed, cementing the legend that the pharaohs were gods. "That's not possible. Even if it is, it's the darkest of magic!"

"It's very possible, sister, and I have found the way to do it. It will give me more power than any man, creature, or mage. Besides, do you think I care about dark magic? We two are made from dark magic, Ahra. Show some respect. On the topic of impossible things, let's talk about you befriending a mageling. I was under the impression that you would hate magic."

"They've grown on me. More than I can say for you. What have you done with them?" She thought she knew, but anything to keep him talking aimlessly like this. His guards would not disturb him here even if Falan had escaped, so she was buying as much time as she could. She was also skirting Alexander's taunts, but she didn't like to admit that to herself.

"The shadow mage will go to the Spell of Seven. The fire mage will be kept in captivity... I suppose I can't harm him, after what I promised his brother. Maybe I can get him to work for rewards. That will be annoying."

"At least you keep your own promises." Freya's mind raced for a way to destroy the Spell of Seven.

"Not always, sister, but I have to keep up an impression, or no one will believe a word I say. Maybe I will torture him, quietly, after I kill the shadow mage. If I keep you around, I might just bring you to watch." He laughed at Freya's expression.