Annoyance was not the best sort of power to tap. It was almost alien to Rory, who had spent most of his life working to stay calm in the face of aggravating situations at Court and the Temple. Annoyance did not come naturally to him.
Now he had to work fast to learn how to control it. Two of the threads had already attached to his legs and tried to force him to move toward Pyrida.
And besides that, the guards were still fighting Zorian as if they felt no change. The magical strings had meant nothing to them at all.
Yes, that was annoying.
Rory leaned over and grabbed both threads, fought them from twining around his arms, and shoved them at each other, surging magic through his hands to divert them from him and back to Pyrida.
The former Temple Master was not pleased when they snapped their attention to him and surged to take hold of his legs.
Rory knew he had the power to fight Pyrida. He also knew he had never worked hard enough on offensive moves. His plan had always been to protect himself and others, and Rory dared not hold to that idea now. Pyrida would just bombard him until he could no longer help anyone.
"Eket, help me," he whispered as he had so often back at the Temple.
Forgetting he was the high priest now and Eket was far too close by.
"Why do you call me?"
Zorian had moved closer to Rory. Now he leapt aside in haste. Pyrida all but howled at what must have looked like a betrayal to him. It upset him, and it upset his magic.
That was all Rory needed.
"My apologies," he said with a bow of his head to Eket. He thought he ought to do more than that, but not now. Pyrida had started to yell, and Rory rushed past Eket and threw himself at Pyrida.
Pyrida would never have taught Rory such a move, and Rory knew that made it better than any of the movements they'd studied at the Temple. He had to consciously not follow what Pyrida had all but worked into his soul after all the years of training under him.
It was not easy, especially when Pyrida, unsettled, even more, lost control and stumbled backward -- and his nightmare world surged up around them, even worse than before.
Before this, Rory had seen the nightmare. Now he felt it. Blackness caressed his face with promises of evil he could not even name. He heard Zorian make a sound of disgust and tried to move closer to his companion. They needed to join powers before they were both forever lost. Pyrida's control would grow stronger.
Rory brushed against Zorian and grabbed his arm.
Pyrida, not Zorian.
This was both dangerous and the best opportunity he'd had so far. Rory had shocked Pyrida. The man's pale face had a covering of thin black lines that moved with frantic haste and even more so once Pyrida realized the danger to himself.
Rory had no idea what the lines were ... except they reminded him of ink on a page, writing something too fast to read. It could not be a good story.
Rory could do nothing until he knew the magic of the lines. He had to take a chance, so he quickly slapped his hand on the side of Pyrida's face, feeling the magic out as best he could.
It was the wrong thing to do.
The magic swarmed from Pyrida to him, covering his hand in a moving black glove of burning power. It wanted him, and he would not let it -- as long as he could hold the power back from his head. Not easy. Pyrida, although he didn't want to lose that power, didn't help except to weaken Rory every time he had to fight the man away again.
He dared not lose. Rory realized his own powers would be subsumed to another purpose and one he would not like. Someone long dead held this power, taking over Pyrida but finding him lacking.
Rory would not fall. He kept the burning lines to his hand, forced himself to fight it despite the pain -- pushed it away.
It would not go.
He would fail.
Except he was not alone. Zorian arrived in a flash of light, his sword in hand and a look of worry and determination on his face. He grabbed Rory by the shoulder, and new magic swept down his arm and helped hold it at bay.
But even with Zorian's power, they could not win.
"Kill me."
"No," Zorian said with an emphatic shake of his head. "Wouldn't work. It would still take you and your power. I have a different idea. I'm sorry."
The sword whipped around and drove point first into his hand. Not an ordinary sword, and it glowed with power. The new pain finally drove Rory to his knees, losing his battle for control. He thought the lines would take him then, but he became slowly aware that the sword burnt away that magic line-by-line.
Rory believed he would not survive. His heart labored, and his hand bled in dozens of scratches while Zorian held to his arm and chanted magic that Rory could not feel. The world was going darker than the nightmare.
Pyrida fell first, and the link between him and Rory disappeared, though the last of the lines still tried to win their place. Zorian still fought, his body trembling, the sword moving more erratically now. With the last of his own power, and despite the pain, Rory reached out and steadied his friend's hand.
Zorian looked down at him with unfeigned shock.
"Thank you, my friend," Rory whispered.
And then he closed his eyes. The last of the lines had been destroyed, the sword pulled away -- and Rory let go.
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