Take Back Worlds (Diamond Universe: Sierra Walker #3)

Chapter 2

N o one does this. It’s suicidal. The grand magi don’t agree on things, but they definitely don’t reverse decisions, and demanding they face me personally is like demanding not just punishment, but worse punishment. They will have to make an example of me.

But I do demand they see me.

I will be an example.

And I’m not going to go up there and wait for their judgment, and the Council must know it.

“Sierra,” Nariel says quietly beside me.

“If the Council acknowledges my challenge, no one here can touch me,” I explain softly. “The Council’s claim supersedes their previous order. We go straight to the top and deal with them directly.”

Which means fighting them.

The Council of Grand Magi, the most powerful and experienced mages alive, in a seat of their power. Where they—and here, specifically, Evram—have had centuries to amass power and spells I haven’t studied.

I barely beat Evram once before, and this will be much harder.

I’m stronger now.

But I’m also way less practiced in the power I’m dealing with, and the ground gives me a disadvantage.

So like. Yes, this might solve our immediate problem of fighting everyone at once, but only to replace it with an even more dangerous problem.

When I said it was a bad idea, I did mean it.

“And if they don’t acknowledge you?” Nariel asks.

I honestly don’t know. Ignoring my challenge might make them look bad, or it might make it look like they don’t consider me worthwhile.

No announcement has come through.

Mages all around grip their wands, ready.

I’m instants away from calling up the shield again, wondering when is too soon and I’ll look weak, or too late and we’ll be hit, the tension driving my adrenaline to new heights—

And then Destien speaks with an amplified voice. “All mages stand down. Wizard Master Sierra Walker and Prince Nariel of Makora are invited guests and ambassadors.”

The mages don’t fire, but they absolutely don’t stand down, either.

While I absolutely appreciate that Destien is willing to stand up for me in a situation like this—and it’s a risk for him, too, because he’s effectively undercutting the Council in making this decision for them, even if he technically has the right to—I also don’t want anyone thinking I need him to rescue me.

So I add, “I will, of course, be happy to answer any of your questions personally once the Grand Magi have asked theirs, provided you ask on the dueling grounds.”

Because if there’s one thing people in this world will remember me for, it’s what I was like on the dueling grounds.

If that’s the only respect—the only acknowledgement, that they know me, that this was my home —I can command, then so be it.

The rumbles grow, but no one casts a spell.

For now.

Awesome. So, anyone will feel free to attack me if they think Destien won’t see, because they think I’m less than them and the Council hasn’t specifically forbidden it, but they also know I’m dangerous so they’ll be as underhanded as possible. Fabulous, I definitely did us a favor there.

Destien casts me a look I’m not sure how to interpret—exasperation but also amusement, I think? Ugh.

“If you could find it within yourself to not absorb any magic from High Earth, that will make your job easier,” Destien tells me.

I’m not about to tell him I didn’t do that on purpose. Instead I say, “I literally just set up an official path for High Earth to borrow magic from Low Earth, for those who missed that. But if you attack me with magic, expect to lose it.”

This time I can’t read Destien’s expression. But I think he’s decided to just get me out of here before I can make this situation worse because he only says, “Lances, please make a path for us. We’ll be going straight to the Council of Grand Magi.”

And that’s all it takes for the wands around us to lower, even though the murmurs increase.

Gods, he’s so much better at politics than I am. Two sentences, and he’s defused the whole room.

First, by reminding them that he’s currently commanding Lances, and making it so they’ll have to go through the Lances first to get to me.

And second, because if he’s leading me straight to the grand magi, presumably they’ll handle me in a dramatic fashion that won’t be improved by them risking themselves.

Without another word, Destien starts walking, and the Lances form up around me and Nariel as we follow behind him.

I let go of Nariel’s hand, though it takes another moment for him to let go of mine , and in that second my heart constricts. But it feels weird now that everyone is staring at us, like they’ll think I’m clutching onto him like a child rather than leading him through this hostile den, or presenting ourselves like a unit.

The world is once again silence, but this time I can see.

I can see all their fear and anger, and it’s directed at me and Nariel. I’m walking with him, but separately—am I really choosing to stand on my own, or am I allowing these people to put space between us? Is that what he thinks this is?

I feel their judgment as we process through the room. I’m back, like this. Already fighting the box they put me into before, that they want to put me into now. Already, before I took a single step on the ground, turning people against me, putting others at risk.

And it’s only going to get worse from here.

I am ostensibly here to help them with their plague problem and make alliances in so doing.

But how in the worlds am I supposed to successfully navigate interdimensional politics in High Earth, not just for myself, but for everyone , when my whole history here is as a pawn?

Everyone—Nariel and Brook, the wizards of Low Earth and the spirits of Dark Earth, Destien and the entire plagued population of High Earth—needs something from me.

Can I be all of what they need? And can I still be myself, and know who that is?

When we’ve moved into the stairs winding up out of the underground chamber, Destien says, “The Lances will attend to ensure you are delivered safely to the Council. To do what you claim you can do, you will need to come to an agreement with them.”

That’s code for “don’t piss them off, or they’ll make my life harder.” Like arranging ambushes of mages from everywhere.

Is there a way I can fight them and demonstrate myself as a potential asset rather than an obstacle?

Because what I need to do is locate the source of the plague, figure out how it’s happening to prevent another one, and undo it. And also prevent High Earth from working against us in the future in the doing.

“No problem,” I say, which is perhaps the most bald-faced lie I’ve ever uttered in my life.

T he tension is thick as we walk.

Destien leads the way, followed by me, then Nariel, then the Lances.

No one is under any illusions that they are here for our safety.

They’re delivering us to the grand magi without a fight.

All of us walking casually together toward the ring where there is absolutely, no question, going to be a fight.

I’m as ready as I’m going to be for that, though, so now I switch gears to maybe distract them from readying seven times as many spells as I can.

“Normally that would be the level where we go out,” I tell Nariel as we continue climbing the circular staircase forever. “But that spell Destien just cast is like a key to a hidden doorway that lets us keep climbing forever until we reach the fancypants council chamber at the top.”

We still have a ways to go yet. The meeting rooms for the parts of the government that actually manage day-to-day practicalities here are on the ground level. In Sarenac City, the Council of the Grand Magi has its own space spelled to the gills in a turret—think, like, climbing up Isengard—and the only way up is through these stairs. It’s a stupid dominance thing, giving people time to get anxious about what’s to come or feel overwhelmed.

No one I’m walking with today is overwhelmed, or even out of breath.

Probably because we’re all carefully plotting.

I didn’t have a fancy shield ready to go when we crossed through the portal, but sandwiched as we are between Destien on one end and the Lances behind us, I sure do now!

The Lances haven’t made any moves, and I don’t expect them to—until we get to the top of the tower.

Then they’ll be part of the example the grand magi attempt to make of me.

Once upon a time, I would have taken it as a compliment to have the most powerful battle mages targeting me specifically, but right now I’m having trouble not holding it against them.

I already beat them, and now I have to do it again , but harder ? Come the fuck on.

Destien glances back at me. “You’ve been up here? When?”

“Just once. Remember that time I beat everyone at the international dueling competition, and the other grand magi sued Evram over whether it was legal for me to have been a competitor at all, since I wasn’t a citizen or even from High Earth?”

Destien snorts. “That’s right, he wanted to rub you in their faces. He was smug about that for weeks.”

And I’d been thrilled. I thought I’d finally proven how good I was and that my mentor wouldn’t possibly send me back to Low Earth.

Those days feel very different to me now.

“You guys have all been, too?” I ask the Lances, looking behind me down the staircase.

The only one I can see behind nods.

“This is considered a privilege, then?” Nariel asks.

“More often a punishment, but one of those, yeah. It’s usually only the grand magi. And their apprentices, but we probably won’t be able to see them.”

“ You were Evram’s apprentice,“ Nariel points out.

I smile bitterly. And how much more prepared would I be now if he’d actually treated me like one?

Then again: Would I have been able to do all that I have in the last... oh gods, has it really only been weeks? if I hadn’t spent every available second learning magic?

“Destien went in my stead,” I say simply.

“Ahh.” Nariel raised his voice slightly. “They will not expect you to be willing to work with Destien, then.”

I glance back at Nariel, and he nods.

Which just tells me there’s something in what he said that I should be taking some more meaning from.

This bond would be way more useful if we were actually telepathic, dammit.

Nariel tilts his head back toward the Lances behind us, then nods ahead at where Destien is.

I still don’t get it.

In my defense, I have had a very long day , and I was much better equipped for the punching people in the face with magical lightning portion of it.

The one silver lining of this disastrous plan is that I’ll definitely have another round of that coming up.

“When did you all start working together?” I ask Destien. “With the Lances, I mean.”

“When I got myself assigned responsible for the Sierra Walker Problem,” Destien answers.

That derails my train of thought as I let out a startled crack of laughter. “Is that really what they’re calling it? Are you serious?”

“Oh yes,” a Lance’s voice echoes up. It’s not the woman who was so audibly angry with me in Low Earth, whom I’d assumed was the leader. This guy sounds laid back, which is almost certainly a tactic.

Pretend we’re all friends now that we’ve finished fighting each other. We have all just been through a remarkable battle experience, but not exactly together , so I’m not buying this.

I mean, maybe he’s just a friendly guy with no hard feelings. There are probably people like that who don’t hold grudges.

I am definitely not one of them, though.

“And I have to admit,” Friendly Lance says, “we all thought Destien’s approach for you was overkill.”

I look back. “Did you think me bringing magic back to Low Earth was a fluke?”

“You’d had years to plan that maneuver; responding under pressure is different,” he said.

I hadn’t planned that maneuver, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to admit that now. He wasn’t wrong otherwise.

“You hadn’t faced a real combat situation in years, and while obviously you were able to step up against Grand Magus Evram, he hadn’t led field operations in years. And in your last battle against him, you had help from a demon prince who was now out of the picture, or so we thought.”

“She didn’t need my help to break the angelic weapon,” Nariel says.

I’m surprised he’s volunteering that. Nariel’s generally all about playing to be underestimated—though I’m not. Probably he wants them to think twice about attacking me, but where we’re going, it’s not up to them.

The Lance pauses. “Did she have it anyway, though?”

“I would have helped her, of course.” Nariel turns to look the Lance in the eye. “But I did not.”

Another beat. “You lied to the angel.”

Nariel turns back forward, and I can see his smirk. “Quite.”

The Lance nods. “Yeah. That puts what’s happened since in more perspective.” His gaze flicks back to me. “Where’s your current angelic weapon from, anyway? It’s not documented in our archives.”

He’s using his candor to get us to lower our guard to release information.

Happily, there’s plenty of information I want them to have.

“Oh, didn’t I mention? That’s because I made it.”

Evidently the Lance did not expect me to double-down on this. “You what?”

They must have thought I was joking before about what I could do.

They’ll learn.

“Yeah, same capacity and process as an angelic weapon, but it took me a little bit to get the hang of, since I’m not actually an angel myself.”

The Lance doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that.

Destien calls dryly from the front, “Don’t mind Sierra, she’s trying to goad me into wanting to strangle her.”

That, unexpectedly, draws a laugh from me. “I did used to do that a lot, didn’t I? In my defense, I was a child.”

But he wasn’t.

And now I’m wondering how different he really is now—and how much he was playing the long game back then, too.

Oh, that’s what Nariel wanted me to notice.

If the Lances really thought Destien’s plan was overkill, they don’t realize how long of a game he’s been playing. They don’t realize he was always intending to bring me back, that he orchestrated this on purpose. They respect his decision now, but before, they thought he was grandstanding.

Which means they aren’t loyal to him, which in turn means he wanted them as “objective,” indisputable authorities who can testify that he did his utmost to kill me and there was nothing more that could have stopped me.

Why he thinks he needs that is a piece I suspect I’m about to learn, because we’re finally at the top of the stairs.

And Destien stops and says to me simply, “I know.”

There are so many things I could infer from that. That he knows I was mistreated. That he knows I was astounding for my age, for any age. That he knows that he was practically an older brother to me.

But I don’t get to ask, because we’re at the entrance to the council chamber, and that means they’re already watching.

At the top of the spiral staircase, the stone wall vanishes as if it were an illusion leaving an archway.

Destien waits for me at the top, and when I reach him, our eyes meet.

A flash of understanding passes between me and this man who was my biggest rival for so many years.

And without a word, I step into the chamber first.

Alone.