He took a deep breath, a dangerous gambit forming in his mind. One that could either save him or damn him, but at this point, he didn’t have much to lose. “It’s a . . . a focusing array,” he said, the words coming slowly as he searched for a way to buy himself more time. “For channeling magical energy over long distances. But it’s highly unstable. It would take a tremendous amount of power to activate, and even then, there’s no guarantee it wouldn’t backfire.”
Vizra’s eyes narrowed, and Aric’s heart pounded in his ears. He was making this up as he went along, but he had to sell the lie. “Show me how it works.”
She was calling his bluff, and he knew it. But he also knew that Vizra was far from stupid. If he could sell her on the potential danger of the weapon, maybe he could buy himself enough time to come up with a real plan.
Aric’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. “It’s all in the alignment of the mirrors,” he said, his voice gaining confidence with each passing second. “If you don’t get the angles exactly right, the whole thing will backfire.” He smiled sweetly. “If you want to ask Prince Malekith to loosen my bonds, then I would be happy to show you.”
Vizra listened intently, her molten gold eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And how do you know this, human?” she asked, her voice like velvet wrapped around a dagger.
Aric hesitated for just a moment too long. “I . . . I read about it. In one of the human mages’ treatises. A friend of mine. He—he was designing something similar before I left.”
Vizra’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Lies. There is no such book.” She raised a hand, and Aric flinched, instinctively trying to summon a shield. But his magic was still out of reach, tauntingly close yet agonizingly beyond his grasp. “Enough.” Vizra’s voice was a low, dangerous hiss. “I tire of your words, human. Let’s see what truths your mind holds.”
Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as Vizra wove a complex spell, her power crackling in the air around them. He tried to brace himself, to strengthen his mental shields, but he was so exhausted, his mind and body drained. He was defenseless, and Vizra knew it.
The first tendril of Vizra’s magic slithered into his mind, and Aric gritted his teeth, trying to hold himself together. He couldn’t let her see the truth, couldn’t let her know about the prisoners. He couldn’t risk everything he’d worked for being undone.
But Vizra’s power was relentless, a storm battering at the walls of his mind. Agony lanced through him, white-hot and searing, and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer. Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought to keep his secrets hidden, but it was only a matter of time before Vizra tore them from his mind.
Aric’s mental shields were a fortress, honed through years of discipline and training. He pushed back against Vizra’s probing, trying to deflect her spells, but she was relentless, a tide wearing away at the stone. Images flashed through his mind—memories of his friends in the Silver Tower, long dead, their bodies broken and bloodied in a demon attack. The faces of his fellow mages, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and despair as they fought a losing battle. The weight of his duty, his desperate need to protect his people at any cost. The years of research and study, the sacrifices he’d made in his quest to understand the demons and find a way to end the war.
Each memory was a fresh wound, a dagger twisting in his side. The pain of them threatened to overwhelm him, but still he fought to keep them hidden. He couldn’t let Vizra see, couldn’t let her know the depths of his determination. He had come too far, risked too much. He would not let it all be for nothing.
But Vizra’s magic was insidious, a poison seeping through his veins. It clouded his thoughts, muddied his memories, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she found what she was looking for.
White-hot pain seared through him, and he couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from his throat. His muscles were coiled tight, every sinew and tendon thrumming with the effort to keep Vizra at bay. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard, his teeth threatening to shatter. He was teetering on the edge of a precipice, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to hold on.
“Aric.” Vizra’s voice was a taunt, a challenge. “You can’t keep this up forever. You will tell me what I want to know. It’s only a matter of time.”
Aric’s vision swam, the world narrowing down to a pinpoint of light. He was drowning in pain, in memories he’d long since buried. The smell of smoke and blood, the taste of ashes on his tongue. He had been so sure of his path, so certain of the sacrifices he was willing to make. But now, as Vizra’s magic tore through him, he felt himself coming undone.
Maybe it would be easier to let go. Easier to tell her what she wanted to know, to stop fighting and surrender to the darkness that threatened to consume him. The other captives would be safe, and maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to turn this to his advantage.
But the thought of giving up made him sick. He had come too far, fought too hard. He couldn’t let it all be for nothing. With a last, desperate surge of will, he pushed back against Vizra’s magic, a lone figure standing against the storm.
And then, with a final, ear-splitting crack, the storm broke over his head.
The tent flap flew open with a violent snap, and through the haze of pain clouding his vision, Aric saw a familiar silhouette. Malekith strode in, his presence filling the space with an almost palpable energy. Malekith’s dark eyes swept over the scene, narrowing dangerously when they landed on Vizra.
“What is the meaning of this?” Malekith asked, a deceptively calm frost riming his tone.
The psychic assault abruptly ceased, leaving Aric gasping for air. His legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath him as the sudden absence of pain left him dizzy and disoriented. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and focus on the confrontation unfolding before him.
Vizra’s molten gold eyes flashed with defiance, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in them as she faced Malekith. “My lord, I was merely questioning the prisoner about—”
“Questioning?” Malekith’s voice cut through her explanation like a blade. “It looked more like torture to me.”
Aric slumped against the table, his muscles turning to water as the adrenaline that had sustained him drained away. He was so tired, bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleep could cure. His body ached, every nerve and sinew throbbing with pain. And his mind . . . His mind was a jumbled mess, a tangle of memories and thoughts that he couldn’t sort out.
He forced himself to focus on the present, on the confrontation unfolding before him. Malekith and Vizra were circling each other like predators, the air thick with tension. Aric was the prize, the source of the conflict, and he knew that whatever happened next would have far-reaching consequences.
“You overstep your bounds, Vizra.” Malekith’s voice was like a whipcrack, the force of his anger almost a physical blow. “This is not your domain.”
“And he is not yours alone.” Vizra’s eyes flashed with defiance as she turned to face Malekith. “You have no claim on him. Not when he can aid our assault. When he can show us how to turn this weapon against the humans who wield it—”
“He is under my protection. His use begins and ends with me.” Malekith’s gaze never wavered from Vizra’s. “And that is all you need to know.”
Vizra’s molten gold eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, Aric thought she might defy Malekith’s command. But then the tension seemed to drain from her, and she bowed her head in submission. “Of course, my lord. But this weapon . . .”
Slowly, Malekith turned from Vizra to Aric. “A weapon? Human?”
“Indeed.” Her face flashed with triumph. “And your little pet is going to decipher it for us.”
Aric’s heart was racing, his mind still muddled from Vizra’s assault. But he forced himself to stand up straight, to look Malekith in the eye. Malekith’s gaze was a challenge, a silent dare, and Aric knew that his life, and perhaps the fate of the entire human realm, depended on how he answered.
With a nod from Malekith, Vizra summoned the guards forward, and Aric’s arms were seized once more. He winced as they jerked him toward the command table once more, but forced himself to remain silent. He had been through worse, and he could endure whatever was coming, so long as it gave him a chance to protect his people.
Malekith gestured to the schematics that were still spread out on the table. “Explain.”
Aric’s mouth felt dry, his tongue thick and unwieldy. He was a mage, a scholar, not a warrior. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of subterfuge, this dangerous game of deceit and manipulation. But it was too late to turn back now. He had to see it through, no matter what the cost.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. This was his chance to sell the story, not just to Vizra, but to Malekith as well. He had to make them believe.
“It’s a focusing array,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s possible they may be able to use it to focus on the magical signature of a being—demonic, for example—and use it to target over vast distances.”
Aric’s hands shook as he pointed to the array’s central hub.
“This is the key here, I think. It has to be powered by a mage’s own life force to work. The energy transfer it appears to require, however, is . . . intense.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “And as unstable as it is, it seems quite likely to cause some magical anomalies as a result. A—powerful feedback, as it were.”
