by Brandon Barr
Lightning flashed, and she saw their wide eyes full of fear as she charged toward them. In the flash of light, she’d also seen a pair of large rose bushes on either side of the stone entryway. Seizing control of the plant, she brought the sturdy thin roots out and tied them around their boots. With a yank, she brought the man on her left off balance, and he fell into the bush with a cry. She quickly wrapped him in the bushes thorny embrace and a howl of terror sounded from the plant as the man thrashed and screamed. The raider on the right had reacted fast to the root as it wrapped around his foot, cutting it with a swing of his sword before she could pull him down, and now he fled into the darkness of the house.
Payetta located him with her Eartheye, making sure he wasn’t waiting for her at the door, but he had retreated deeper inside the house, and there she saw a form lying prostrate on the ground.
Titannus.
Childhood memories flooded her mind. Her mother’s swollen face marked with her father’s handprint. Her father’s red rimmed eyes as he came home with a bottle in his hand. A memory of herself, alone in her room, talking to the mouse that lived in the hole in her floorboards as slaps and shouts sounded outside her bedroom door. Her heart had ached to go out and scream for her father to stop, but fear held her feet and strangled the voice in her throat.
The last memory was of her and Justen fleeing into the woods. She turned back to look one last time toward her home. Dark emotions swirled inside her like the hot ash and glowing embers she had glimpsed rising over the treetops four years ago.
Nothing could stop her feet from moving now, nor quiet the rage in her voice when she chose to unleash it. She rushed through the door into the pitch dark and swiftly moved toward the room where Titannus lay, her boots thudding softly on creaking floorboards.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
“Who’s there?” she hissed.
“It’s Percy. I’ve come to help you.”
“Keep behind me. I’ll do the killing.”
She was pleased the snide idiot was there to watch. It was a revenge of a different sort having him present and repentant.
She continued forward in the dark, nearing the place where Titannus lay. She knew his exact location, as well as the raider waiting for her in the dark. Excitement and adrenaline coursed through her body
This was her moment of truth.
A flash of lightning lit the thin glass windows, and in that bright light, she saw the raider five paces ahead and close behind, Titannus upon the gurney which was laid upon a table. The mage’s pale, open eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. Caught in that brief strike of lightning was a tranquil look of peace beaming from Titannus’s face.
A chill ran up her spine at the sight. Something felt wrong. Where was the blood? Where was his injury?
A loud thud sounded behind her, and then pain hit her like a club to her back, and she jerked forward, her breath crushed from her lungs.
She gasped for breath, then screamed from the pain of it.
Blinding fire seared her chest and her cry turned to a gurgle. Another storm flash from the window glinted off the tip of a red slicked blade protruding through her chest. A hand gripped her throat from behind, then twisted the blade deeper.
She shuddered and closed her eyes, consciousness slipping into a void of black. The next thing she knew, she was on her knees, held up by the sword impaling her.
“Goodbye, young mage,” came Percy’s voice. “If you had become my pupil, I would have made you great. It is a pity you are a fool.”
She felt the press of his boot on her back, the force of the blade sliding through her body, grinding against her ribs as it exited.
Darkness pulled her into its mercy. She didn’t feel anything when her body crashed to the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Justen heard the scream from inside the farmhouse and froze. Payetta.
He knew that voice intimately. To hear such a wretched cry pass through the lips of his wife nearly overwhelmed him.
His entire focus shifted. He had to reach her. Two Raiders blocked his and Ian’s path. The two no longer twisted and fidgeted about as the mice clawed and bit at them, and the bees seemed to have been washed away by the hammering rain.
“We got her,” said one of the raiders, his white teeth glinting through the sneer plastered on his face. “Her magic can’t help now. No more pests to distract us. We’ll hang your corpses by their balls right and proper when we’re through with you.”
The second raider laughed, but then his head quivered and compressed down into his neck. A stream of blood gushed from a line cut into his face. Justen realized his head had been split down the center. A dark figure emerged from behind, a massive sword extending from his hand into the man’s head that had been cleaved like a ripe melon. Justen hadn’t seen the stranger approach, but now that his eyes were on him, he saw clearly Daeken’s large form standing in the downpour.
Justen’s acknowledgment of him was short. He leapt upon the last raider, who blocked his sword strike with a quick parry, but Justen loosed a flurry of powerful blows, relentlessly driving the man back. Desperately the raider blocked, but on his back heels he lacked the strength to match Justen’s fury and Justen’s blade found him again and again, leaving deep bloody cuts along his arms and legs.
Then the man spun around and fled inside the darkened entrance of the farmhouse, and slammed the door shut.
Justen bounded after him.
“Wait!” called Daeken. “There’s sure to be a trap waiting in there.”
Justen shouted without looking back, “I have to—Payetta’s been hurt.”
Please, Justen prayed silently. Let it not be more.
“I’m behind you,” grunted Daeken. “Be on your guard.”
“I’m with you too,” shouted Ian.
“No,” called Justen, “Stay at the door. If anything happens to us, go for help.”
Justen turned, eyed the closed door, then charged with a roar, lowering his shoulder as he met the barrier.
The door exploded in half as Justen slammed his way through the center like an enraged bull. Inside, he was met by a sheer black interior. Justen glanced back at the wreckage. Through the splintered hole at the center of the door, he saw Daeken reach out and grab the doorknob. It swung open easily.
Standing in the entry, Daeken’s voice rang dryly. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“Come on,” snapped Justen, turning down a hallway.
A hand gripped his shoulder. “We stay together,” whispered Daeken. “Wait for the storm to light our path. Otherwise, we’re walking in blind.”
Justen forced himself to comply, hating the idea of waiting but knowing it was what he would do if his emotions were not pushed beyond the brink of reason. He crouched down and counted the seconds.
His fears began to wrap around Payetta and what kind of state she was in. Patience was torturous. He wanted to run to her and to know she was still alive.
And where was Percy? Other than the rain pounding the roof, it was quiet. Percy had followed her inside. Had he been incapacitated or killed?
Light lit the windows in a blaze so bright, the entire house was illuminated as if by daylight. Thunder shook the walls with a deafening CRACK that vibrated through every bone in his body. He leapt up, seeing the end of a short hall way and an open room. He only hoped he’d chosen the right direction.
Again the lightning came. And again. The cracking whip of thunder blasted his ears, shaking through his entire frame. The light was constant—and Justen fought the fear of such an unnatural occurrence. Magic was behind this.
Justen burst into the room in the blaze of another lightning blast that shattered the windows, spewing glass onto the floor of a large room—a kitchen with table, chairs, and a fireplace. In the stark white glow he saw Payetta’s body lying in a pool of blood in an empty space at the middle of the room. Standing over her were the two raiders, and lying on the tabletop behind them was Titannus�
��s motionless body.
Out of the corner of his eye, Justen saw movement but he had no time to react as a sword swung down for his head.
Daeken kicked him hard in the back, thrusting him forward, and Justen heard the slap of steel on steel as he ducked and rolled.
Coming to his feet he saw Percy and Daeken bound in a clash of muscle, their swords locked together in a battle for the dominant position. Percy’s eyes were alight with a wild energy, the chaotic lightning forking outside seemed to emanate and swirl within them.
Justen was about to turn for Titannus and his two men when Percy went suddenly limp. Daeken’s sword slashed down at the sudden release of tension, cutting open a bloody line of flesh across Percy’s chest.
There was something odd about the way Percy had melted away at the last moment, but Justen didn’t have the time to ponder it.
He pivoted back to Titannus. The mage was sitting up, haloed in the piercing light streaming through the windows. The shattering roar of thunder cracked the air with the mind-numbing ring of a pot being hammered by an angry child.
Somehow, this was all Titannus’s doing, but an odd expression marked the mage’s face. Fear? Surprise?
Surely Titannus wasn’t bothered by the sight of Daeken and himself. Something else was troubling him.
Suddenly a bolt exploded through the window, hitting a kettle hanging over the hearth and forking into the wood beams above.
The ceiling burst into flames.
Then the blinding light that had been constant ceased and the thunder stilled. The room descended into an all-encompassing silence.
The two raiders looked back at Titannus in the light of the fire spreading over the ceiling.
“Come!” Titannus barked, wide-eyed. His cloak swirled as he spun for a door at the opposite end of the kitchen.
Any desire Justen had to pursue the mage was swallowed up by the sight of Payetta. He knelt at her side and took in her awful wound. He bent his head to her heart and listened.
“She’s still alive,” he shouted, and felt the tears streaming down his face. He placed his hand over her wound, summoning what little healing magic he’d attained under her teaching. Somehow, he had to try and stem the damage. In the past, his meager power had managed to heal cuts and abrasions, but nothing on the scale of a mortal wound like this.
“He made me do it,” rasped a frail voice. Justen looked and saw Percy staring up at him from the floor.
“What are you talking about, you traitor?!” shouted Justen.
Percy coughed and blood spilled from his mouth. “He took over my tongue…my body,” Percy gargled.
“He’s telling the truth,” cut in Daeken. “Titannus has the power to take over a man’s mind. Didn’t Payetta tell you about the attack on your hideout?”
Justen looked down at his wife. “She didn’t tell me that part.” He shook his head. “I’ve been tasked with her life and I won’t fail her. She can’t die. I won’t let her!”
***
Daeken removed his wet cloak and pressed it against the ceiling, a feat most men were not tall enough to attempt. The cloak smothering a portion of the flames. He’d spotted a row of candles lined up on top of the hearth and took one, touching the wick to the subdued flames. Once lit, he placed it on the ground and put out the last meager flicker still licking from the wood.
The sound of boots echoed from the hallway. Daeken spun, Wickedbane ready for action.
Ian rounded the corner cautiously, blade in hand. Daeken relaxed at the sight of him, then watched as the brigade member’s eyes immediately fell to Payetta and the blood stained floor.
“Oh shit,” sputtered Ian hoarsely. “Is she…?”
“Barely,” replied Justen, pressing the white linens Daeken had retrieved hard against her chest and back, trying to stem the bleeding from the impaling wound. “I have to heal her—I have to try.”
Daeken found it difficult to look at Justen knowing he was just a seventeen-year-old kid holding his dying wife. Of everyone he’d met in the Meadowlands, Justen held his highest respect. He was Payetta’s anchor and the balancing force in her life. Justen’s quiet confidence and devout heart were the hidden strength behind her power.
But now, he hoped Justen could be even more. Payetta was on the verge of death, and only he had the potential to save her.
Ian’s lips thinned as he shook his head slowly. “I believe in you, Justen. Payetta taught you well, I know you can do it.”
“I have to do it. The farmers need her. And I need her.”
Daeken had never seen the young man so solemn and steely eyed.
“I’ll be right back,” said Ian. “There’s someone waiting outside I need to bring in.”
Daeken was about to kneel beside Justen when Ian came in with a little boy’s small frame tucked in his arms.
“Shepherd,” shouted Daeken, dropping his cloak and rushing to the boy. He immediately scooped him up in his arms. “What are you doing here? Blast! Why can’t you listen and stay put!”
The boy gazed around the room, ignoring Daeken’s anger. His eyes stopped on Payetta, and his brows wrinkled.
“Spotted him outside,” Ian shrugged, handing the boy over to Daeken. “He was just standing there out in the rain when that wild lightning hit. I didn’t know Titannus had that kind of power. Thought me and the kid were both goners.”
Daeken shook his head and looked out a shattered window. The boy clung tightly to him, and when Daeken followed Shepherd’s gaze, he found himself staring at Payetta’s pale face. “I don’t know exactly what happened…and I’m not certain who was responsible for that lightning show, but I do know it worked in our favor.”
Daeken sat the boy on the ground and squeezed his hand. Scooping his cloak from the floor, he put it back on, then came alongside Justen and knelt. It was time to strengthen the young man. He needed life and hope breathed into his soul. “Do you believe God has more work for her to do?” asked Daeken.
A flame lit in Justen’s eyes. “I believe he does.”
“Then heal her.”
Justen hesitated, but then the doubt vanished from his face and he returned Daeken’s hard gaze with one of his own.
One further thought of inspiration came to Daeken, and he smirked. “When she regains consciousness, she’s going to be pissed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Daeken stood like a statue by the window holding the candle as he peered past the shattered glass into the bleak darkness outside. The rain was lighter now, but the moon was still hidden from sight and he did not like the idea of being holed up in a room where he couldn’t see out but others could see in.
Where had Titannus run to?
Somehow Daeken sensed he would be back…and soon.
Something had spooked him off, but eventually he would come to his senses and return to finish off Payetta.
“We need to warn Ferren and the men at Hargstead,” said Justen. “They need to know about Payetta, and they have to have a plan for when the other half of Titannus’s army arrives.”
“How are they going to fight without Payetta?” questioned Ian, kneeling beside Percy, who lay unconscious, his bloody wound soaking through the linens pressed against his chest. “Between the raiders behind the walls at Hargstead, and the second force of the mage’s men, Payetta is the only hope we have. The farmers have hay forks and kitchen knives. We’d have to have raver brains to try and fight trained men with those—that is, without mice and squirrels biting their dicks and asses.”
Daeken stepped away from the window and glanced at Shepherd who sat on the hearth, eating some cherries from a basket he found on a shelf.
“You’re right,” replied Daeken. “There’s no fight without Payetta. Not with those numbers. They have to be prepared to run for now.” Daeken’s raised an eyebrow at Ian. “You up for being the messenger?”
“I’ll go,” volunteered Ian. “I’m already soaking wet from the trip here. What’s a little more cold misery?”
Daeken grunted. “When you get there, send back a few good men. At the first break in the rain, we need to move Payetta. We cannot stay here much longer.”
Ian gave a stiff nod and rose from Percy’s side. “I’ll be back with help.”
Daeken watched Ian leave the room. He hoped time was on their side, but he couldn’t predict what Titannus might do. He walked across the room to where Percy lay and knelt, pulling back the linens briefly to have a look at the wound. It was deep and nasty and had cut to the bone, but Daeken sensed he would live as long as the redness surrounding the laceration didn’t spread, or the wound didn’t grow a stink.
Through the soft patter of rain came a sound at the far end of the room. Daeken stood, Wickedbane gripped tight in his hand.
He moved silently past Justen, who had one hand on the grip of his sheathed sword, the other hand remaining on Payetta.
The sound came again. A scraping against the wood door that Titannus and his men had departed through. Daeken slid against the wall beside the door, then drew back his sword to skewer whatever lay on the opposite side. Slowly, he turned the knob, then all at once, threw the door open.
A streak of dark fur darted past his knees into the room.
“Hold it!” shouted Justen. “It’s a friend.”
A large ragged dog darted straight up to where Justen sat on the floor. More dark-furred bodies entered the room. Daeken would have begun to cut them down with his sword if Justen hadn’t taken his hand from his weapon to scratch the first dog behind the ears.
In just seconds, the heavy stench of wet dog filled the room. Daeken counted eleven dogs inside the house, and when he turned and looked out the door, he saw the shadows of more in the weak reach of the candle light.
“What’s going on?” demanded Daeken, eyeing two dogs erratically sniffing at Payetta, their ears back. He then glanced at Shepherd. The boy had gotten off the hearth and was standing in the middle of four dogs, being sniffed.