The Tyrant of Dorminia bled into view.
The Magelord was gazing out at the city, his back to Cole, scarlet robes and cloak fluttering out behind him.
He edged closer, as silent as a ghost. The yards closed between them. Fifteen. Ten. Five. He reached under his own cloak, placed a hand on Magebane’s hilt. This was it. One thrust and it would all be over.
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
He froze. Salazar didn’t turn around. The Magelord’s voice was calm, measured. Cole’s mind raced. Should he charge, stick the bastard before he had the chance to react?
‘The White Lady sent you, did she not? A knife in the back. That was always her style.’
Salazar turned to face him.
Cole stared from beneath his hood. The most powerful man in the north seemed small up close. Small and very ancient. His skin was sagging and lined with wrinkles and he leaned on a cane, apparently unable to carry the weight of his withered body without support.
Tick tock tick tock.
The instrument at his belt, Garrett’s timepiece, reminded him of the folly of judging this man by his wretched appearance. He was a despot. A Godkiller. A Magelord.
‘I’m not here because of the White Lady,’ Cole said grimly. ‘I’m here because of the people of Dorminia. I’m here because of what you did to me.’
Salazar raised an eyebrow. ‘And what have I done to upset you, young man?’
Cole threw back his hood. ‘You had my father killed.’
The Magelord didn’t react. He simply stared at him. His eyes were sunk so far back in their sockets he looked as if he hadn’t slept in months. ‘Illarius,’ he said eventually. The ancient voice betrayed no emotion.
‘Illarius Cole,’ repeated the young Shard. ‘A hero. A hero you murdered for daring to stand against you.’
The Tyrant of Dorminia cocked his wizened head slightly. ‘Is that what they told you?’ he asked softly.
Cole could feel the anger rising within him. ‘That’s the truth! Don’t try and manipulate me. Your magic won’t work. My father’s legacy protects me.’
For the first time he saw a flicker of emotion on Salazar’s face. ‘You have Magebane, then.’
Triumph flooded Cole. He tore the glowing dagger free of its sheath and brandished it before him. ‘Yes. A hero’s weapon. And it will be your death.’
That pronouncement wasn’t met with the sudden fear he expected. Instead the Magelord closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he looked tired. So very tired. ‘You are aware Magebane’s power functions only for you. Did you ever question why?’
Cole shrugged. ‘What does it matter?’
‘The weapon you hold is tied to your father’s blood, which you alone share. It is bondmagic.’
‘No — that’s not true!’ Cole felt anger take hold. Bondmagic was something only Augmentors used.
Salazar raised the thin cane on which he leaned and pointed it at Magebane. ‘The blade is an alloy of unique potency. Abyssium is rarer than dragon’s teeth.’ He lowered the cane and leaned on it once more. ‘The process of enchanting the weapon was complicated. It took me ten days spent in isolation. It is perhaps my finest work.’
Cole’s mouth dropped open as the implications of what he was hearing sank in. ‘You created Magebane?’ he asked in astonishment.
Salazar nodded. ‘After a cabal of wizards attempted to have me assassinated, I decided the city must be purged of those with the gift.’ The tyrant sighed and shook his head. ‘It was not an easy decision. There was a time when I defied the very gods to protect my brothers and sisters from persecution.’
‘What does the Culling have to do with my father?’ Even as he asked the question, Cole could feel cold dread worming its way into his heart.
The ruler of Dorminia raised an age-spotted hand to stroke absently at his drooping moustache. ‘Illarius was a man of many qualities. Loyal. Reliable. Ruthless. He alone I deemed fitting of the weapon you hold. He served me well as an Augmentor for many years.’
My father… an Augmentor? One of Salazar’s killers? Cole wanted nothing more than to plunge his dagger into the wizard before more lies could spill from his mouth. ‘You’re lying!’ he shouted. ‘My father was a rebel leader! Everyone knows that!’
‘Do they? How many men and women in the street, when stopped and asked, have heard the name Illarius Cole?’
Despite his rage, Cole paused to consider this. Only the older Shards, it seemed, had ever mentioned his father: Garrett, and Remy and Vicard, on occasion. They had never been very effusive on the subject. But why would Garrett and the rest lie to him? Salazar’s trying to trick me into letting my guard down.
‘If he truly did serve you, why have him killed?’ Cole shot back, desperately hoping he had found a fatal flaw in the Magelord’s argument.
‘The abyssium that I used to forge Magebane did not react quite as expected to the binding spell. It left me… vulnerable.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Cole, now genuinely confused.
‘The bondmagic possessed by my Augmentors should remain bound to me. Yet I had no control over Magebane. I could not sense its presence, or that of its wielder. I could not siphon from it. Most troubling of all, I could not sever the weapon’s link to Illarius when it had fulfilled its purpose.’ He sighed, and there was a hint of regret in his voice. ‘It pained me to order his death. There was simply no alternative. Not after witnessing his efficacy during the Culling. The threat was too great.’
Cole wanted to refute that cold logic, ridicule the words as a pack of lies. He couldn’t, and so he played the last card he possessed. ‘My mother would never marry an Augmentor!’ he spat. ‘She was a good woman.’ Garrett had always told him so.
Salazar was silent for a time. ‘The Illarius Cole I knew never married,’ he said evenly, without humour or malice. ‘His son was begat on a whore.’
His son was begat on a whore.
Cole took a step towards Salazar. ‘My mother was named Sophia, you lying bastard! She was the daughter of a shipwright. We had a house on-’
‘-on Leviathan Walk just north of the harbour. Yes, I recall. I had offered him an estate in the Noble Quarter. Illarius was never much for ostentation.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Sophia… An exotic name. The kind a harlot would choose.’
Cole’s world was threatening to collapse around him. It all made sense now. The story about his father being a hero. His mother dying in childbirth. The false legacy he held in his hand, a few feet from Salazar’s wrinkled old neck. Lies. All lies.
He stared out past the Magelord, towards the fierce fighting that still raged far below them in the distance, and came within a whisker of tossing Magebane over the edge of the tower. What was the point? He wasn’t the hero they thought he was. He was a fraud. No better than Isaac. And Sasha had probably known it all along, which is why she had rejected him.
Tick tock tick tock. He reached down, pulled out Garrett’s pocket watch. His foster father had lied to him as well. He had known the truth. He had known that Davarus was the bastard offspring of a murdering Augmentor and a whore.
He stared down at the city again. Far in the distance he could just about see the old merchant’s estate west of the river. He had spent much of his time there, growing up. Despite his parentage, Garrett had taken him in. Offered him a home. Treated him like his very own son.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. Garrett had lied to protect him, he realized. Lied only because he didn’t want to see him hurt.
Tick tock tick tock.
He shifted Magebane slightly, brought his hand a fraction closer to Salazar. ‘We can’t change who our parents are,’ he said slowly. ‘But we can decide who we want to be. A chance you’ve denied to countless innocent people.’