Page 129 of Sword & Sacrifice

Alistair raised his hand to block the blow. Instead of a barrier this time, a shield formed along his arm. It was thicker than his barriers and the blade glanced right off it, but it also wasn’t as fluid. He had to wield it himself.

“What have you done with your life?” Alistair snarled. “You bowed to the men who abused you.” An icicle blade formed in his other hand that he slashed at Val’s exposed legs. “Killed for men who cared nothing about you. Even the woman you loved abandoned you because she couldn’t stand to see you simper and grovel at someone else’s feet.”

Valerian ignored the taunts and dodged each of Alistair’s strikes. The other mage chased him around the trees, more focused on trying to use Valerian’s past against him than landing proper blows. It was clear that Alistair had not wielded a sword in decades, if ever.

It was also clear that he was struggling to control his magic.

Val’s brow furrowed. Why is he making so many mistakes? Valerian had barely damaged the invasive tree in his mind. The fact that it was standing tall and strong, but Alistair could only conjure two simple ice weapons, meant his magic was being used elsewhere. “What are you doing out there?”

Alistair smiled, but it was the smile of a man carved open and hollowed out. A man with nothing left to lose. “Arnsveld has always been an eyesore, so I’ll flatten its mountains. And they’re all going to know you’re the one responsible.”

The pit dropped out of Val’s stomach. This was no longer a personal matter of forcing the invader from his mind. If this continued, Penn and everyone else in Arnsveld would fall along with the mountain.

Determination powered Valerian’s attacks, each blow heavier than the last. Alistair struggled to block and dodge and had no time or opportunities to launch his own counterattacks. He was so focused on the swinging axe, that he didn’t see the flames spreading around their feet.

When the first ember touched his tree, pain flashed across Alistair’s features. His steps faltered and his head whipped around to gaze wide-eyed at the trees. The bright orange spark quickly devoured the pure white leaves.

Thinking he’d finally found an opening for a killing blow, Valerian brought his axe down with all his strength. Alistair stepped aside at the last moment, barely dodging the attack. Valerian’s momentum carried him forward and he crashed into the mage, sending them both through the tree’s white bark.

With the other memories, the transition had been seamless. One moment, Valerian would be walking through the forest, the next he’d be sitting in a classroom. This time was like jumping off a cliff. He could feel the years passing, see flashes of memories out of the corner of his eye, as they plunged into the abyss.

When they finally slammed down, the shift forced the breath from Valerian’s lungs. Dazed, weak, he could barely see his surroundings and had no control of his body. Yet he could feel his body moving, his arms clasped tightly behind his back as he paced a room. “Dammit!” the voice coming from him didn’t belong to him or anyone he recognized. “He hates me, I know it. He’s searching for ways not to make me his heir! That’s the only reason he married her, isn’t it? If he produces a spare, he’ll do whatever it takes to get rid of me. He might even kill me!”

“I would never let that happen,” another voice, young and earnest.

Valerian turned on his heel to look at the young man standing behind him. Alistair looked barely twenty, though it was impossible to guess a mage’s age by their appearance. His hair was a darker blond, though still fine and delicate as it framed a startlingly pretty face. Those blue eyes, usually so cold and calculating, were as warm as the summer sky. He grabbed Valerian’s hand, clasping it tightly to his chest. “You’ll be king one day, I promise. I’ll do everything in my power to make it so. Not just of this kingdom—every kingdom you set your heart to. Do you want the whole world? Say the word, and everyone will bow before you.”

“That’s quite the promise from a pretty little mage,” Valerian murmured. He raised his other hand to Alistair’s cheek, brushed an affectionate thumb over the smooth, youthful skin. “What do you ask in return?”

Alistair’s pale lashes fluttered as he nuzzled into the touch. “You know what I want.”

“Say it.”

“You.”

“To rule with me?” Valerian asked, the voice faintly amused. Usually, when he entered these memories, he could feel an echo of the emotions at the time. This time, everything was distant, as if the memories didn’t know how he felt during this scene

Alistair hesitated for a moment before saying, “Yes, to rule beside you.”

The next lines of the script supplied themselves to Valerian, but he swallowed them down, forced them into a mental cage so he could speak his own mind. “Who would ever want to be with you?”

Shock and hurt flashed across the young mage’s face. “W-what?”

“You’re a monster, Alistair. All you do is take, take, take.”

“Stop,” Alistair shook his head. He tried to pull away from Valerian, but he grabbed the mage’s jaw and held it firmly.

“Everything you touch, you stain in blood.” One of the memories Valerian had glimpsed during his descent hadn’t made sense at the time—just a rush of colors and sorrow—but it solidified in his mind now. Alistair leaning over a coffin, looking at the dead king inside. Most thought Jareth had died of old age—after all, a blood curse was hard to detect. “Even me, in the end.”

Alistair clawed at Valerian’s arm, drawing blood, but he couldn’t escape the grasp. Couldn’t escape the truth of his actions. “No!”

“I didn’t give you what you wanted, did I? No, I took a wife, made her queen, produced an heir with her. And you cursed me for it, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t! I wouldn’t! Jareth, please!” Tears streamed down Alistair’s cheeks. “I don’t care what it costs me. I will give you everything you ever wanted!”

“The only thing I want is to watch you die alone.” He wrapped both hands around the mage’s throat and squeezed.

Shadows crept in, the memory fading around the edges. Alistair choked and scrabbled at Valerian’s arm, but he was too young to fight back properly, and with Valerian changing the events of the memory, he couldn’t rely on the same old script. All he could do was struggle in vain.