by Beam, Brian
“Korin, look,” Ithan gasped, sending himself into a coughing fit from sucking in smoke and plaster dust.
My eyes followed Ithan’s outstretched finger to the hole that had been blown into the house’s second-floor corner. Where the dust was clearing, below the now sagging thatch, was a figure rising unsteadily to their feet. Wavy hair spilled down over their shoulders. Though dressed in a Wizard Guard tabard—except colored in black and gold—it was, without question, Sal’. From her hair, to the glint of rings on her fingers, to her posture, I knew it was her.
My heart unclenched and danced a little jig until I thought about the battle surrounding the house. From where we hid, it was hard to make out much, but I could tell that Sal’ was barely keeping on her feet as she turned and disappeared behind the intact portion of the wall. She looked to be in no shape to fight anyone. Numbing dread traveled through my limbs. I had to force myself to breathe.
“I cannot believe she did that,” Max said, turning his head as if to gauge how far the person she’d blasted from the house had flown.
“I’ve got to go after her,” I spoke, standing from our cover, sword in hand. As I started briskly forward, I felt tiny daggers stabbing into my shoulder.
“Korin, you cannot get through that mess.” Max’s eyes conveyed sincerity, if not exhaustion. Well, I think. Reading squirrel eyes isn’t an exact science.
“Then lift me up there,” I suggested, thinking back to when Max had once levitated Sal’ to save my ass at Galius’s manor in Byweather.
“Do you want me to explain all the things wrong with that suggestion, or just call you stupid and save us all some time?”
I raised an eyebrow. Max sighed.
“First, I do not have a source to pull that much magic energy from, nor the energy to direct the spell.”
My gaze settled on a weary Ithan. “Then maybe Ithan could—”
“What? Lift you above a mass of enemy forces who will most likely notice you floating above their heads? Do you really think you would be allowed to enter the house that way? Even if the enemy did not try to stop you, those two wizards from the Wizard Guard would,” Max explained in vexation.
“But why would the Wizard Guard—?”
“Open your eyes, Korin,” Max snapped. “Can you not see that they are trying to keep the enemy from entering the house? They have no way to know that you are on their side.”
Max was right. Again. Stupid squirrel. “Then clear me a path,” I growled.
“Korin, you cannot take the risk,” Max shot back sternly.
“Then you two can try to stop me,” I challenged. “I came here for Sal’, and I’m not going to let anything happen to her. We may need her, Max.” Then, to myself, I do need her.
“Let him go,” Ithan advised. Ithan had a hand on Fleet, a poignant sense of acceptance in his eyes. “I can cover him.”
“No,” Max reiterated. “I will go in and—”
“Max,” I interjected, “you are in no condition to help her. You may be able to help Ithan get me in, though.”
“And if you do get to her, then what?” Max retorted, scrunching his nose in irritation.
“Just keep an eye out for me,” I answered, pointing to the house’s missing corner. “Clear me an escape route.”
Max’s eyes locked directly onto mine, and he let out a deep breath. “Korin, I know that you have feelings for Salmaea. I care for her as well, but I care for you even more. Whether or not the prophecy truly means that you need to live for Raijom to be stopped, and whether or not it means that you are able to do something about this war, I care about you. That said, sometimes sacrifices must be made—”
“Max—” I could tell that Max’s words were not spoken easily; he’d never been one to express sentimental feelings in words. However, I didn’t like his insinuating that Sal’ should be sacrificed.
“Sometimes sacrifices must be made,” he repeated, cutting off my interruption, “and I will make this one. For you. Go get her.” Max smiled through tired eyes. I smiled back and gave an appreciative nod.
We quickly came up with a plan of the formulated-on-the-fly variety.
I sheathed my sword and took a deep breath as I mentally prepared myself. My thoughts drifted. I hoped that Til’ was safe. I hoped that Briscott had gotten the infant to the survivors. I hoped that I could get to Sal’ in time. I hoped that I could get her out of the house without getting the both of us killed. I hoped that I didn’t soil my pants, given what I was about to do.
I turned to Ithan. He was cradling Fleet in one arm, with Max sitting atop the poor owl. At one time, that would’ve set off Fleet’s hunter instincts. Now, she didn’t even blink.
“Are you sure you can do this?” I wasn’t referring to the magic necessary for the plan, but what it would mean for Fleet.
“Yes.” Ithan’s tone was resolute, though his eyes were distant.
“We will do our part,” Max assured me. “You just worry about yours. Be careful.”
I smiled. “Max, when has being careful ever worked for me?”
Chapter 43
Reunited and it Feels so . . . We’re Going to Die, Aren’t We?
For the moment, I was invisible. Not literally invisible, but pretty damn close.
Max, using Fleet for magic energy, had created an illusion of heavy snowfall around my body, heavier than what was already falling over Terafall. The illusion followed my movements, keeping me mostly obscured behind the image of cascading snowflakes. The dim light from the overcast sky, added to the chaos of the heated battle before us, all but ensured that my shadowed form wouldn’t be noticed under the combination of real and delusory snow.
Ithan wanted to know how Max had accomplished such an illusion. Max wanted Ithan to just worry about getting me into the house before he passed out and his spell faded. Max claimed we had about half a minute.
So I ran.
My sights were on an overturned, two-wheeled cart that we’d spotted amongst the fighting. All I had to do was make it to that cart in less than a minute, hopefully without taking a stray sword to my person as I weaved precariously through the skirmishing troops. Max’s words had actually been, “half a minute at most,” so there was no telling exactly how long it would be before I became a target. No need to stress, right?
Charging through the battle, only narrowly avoiding troops and their weapons, I made my way to the cart. It wasn’t easy, given that the illusion surrounding me also obscured my own vision. I stumbled over a few lifeless bodies and slipped a couple of times, but I quickly arrived at my destination.
Dodging around two men locked in swordplay, I pushed off the ground with my right foot and leapt. I intended to use my momentum to propel myself forward once I landed upon the cart, all the while praying to Vesteir that Ithan would be able to make out my position through Max’s illusion.
Instead, my left foot slid forward across the slick wood, and my right thigh slammed into the cart. My momentum was stopped cold. I slid backwards and fell to the ground, my back and head slamming into the frozen earth. My pride and the soon-to-be knot forming on the back of my head cried out in anguish.
I didn’t have time to curse my luck. I’d drawn the attention of a pair of undead that had just taken down two light-armored troops a few short paces from where I’d fallen. One of the undead, the lower half of its face simply missing, ambled towards me. I didn’t know if it could see me through Max’s illusion or not; I just knew that even if it couldn’t yet, it was only a matter of moments before it could.
Against the pain in my right leg, I hurriedly hoisted myself up onto the cart, hoping that my lack of forward propulsion wouldn’t hurt my chances of living through the next part of the plan. Atop the cart, I swiftly scraped some snow aside with my boot to gain some purchase against the wood. I then kicked off the cart, hurtling myself forward with as much strength as I could.
As I sailed above an enemy wizard, a massive ball of sweltering fire hovering before his hands in
the direction of the house, fear began to set in. I realized that if our plan failed, I’d probably land right in front of him and no longer have a reason to complain about the cold. Or anything else. Ever again.
During that second-guessing instant of fear, I was caught by a sudden gust of wind. When I say a gust of wind, I mean a powerful, tempestuous force that thrust me upwards through the air towards the hole that had been blasted through the house’s corner. It felt as if someone had swung a mountain at my back.
In that infinitesimal moment in which I took flight, I thought back to our planning. With my idea of being gently floated up to the house’s gaping hole having been dismissed, Ithan had suggested that he could blast me in on a strong wind current. Sal’s explosion of air—and the resultant catapulting of an enemy across the town—had given him the idea.
With the inclement weather, Max had been concerned about whether or not Ithan’s spell would be accurate enough to carry me to the intended destination. Ithan believed he could pull it off despite the weather conditions, and that he could even pad my landing. Max wasn’t exactly happy about the plan, making sure to let me know that I had a more-than-decent chance of dying. Or having my spine and various other bones broken by the force of the air. At the time, I just reasoned that Sal’ was worth the risk.
As I was propelled through the air with absolutely no sense of control and at a speed that humans are simply not meant to travel, I questioned that last sentiment.
I screamed, my voice lost amid the din of those fighting and dying below me. The glacial air burned my eyes, and the snow plastered me with white frost. My arms flailed as I soared over the bloody battle. Not that I looked down to see it; I couldn’t take my widened eyes away from my forward trajectory as I sped towards the house.
The two heartbeats worth of flight gave me enough time to realize that I wasn’t going to make it. The angle was all wrong. The house’s outer wall just to the side of the hole was about to give me a painful lesson on the breaking of an idiot’s body—or more precisely, a lunkhead’s.
I threw my arms in front of my face as if that would help protect me at the speed I traveled. I waited for my life to flash before my eyes.
And then another burst of powerful wind slammed into me from my left, painfully whipping my head to the side as my body abruptly changed direction. I was thrust down and to the right, only there was a little too much down. Everything below my chest smacked into the side of the house under the hole. Ithan must have cushioned my landing as promised, since it felt like I’d hit a dense mattress as opposed to a solid wall.
Throwing my arms forward, I scrabbled for purchase as I slid backwards. The entire world shrunk down to a narrow point where my hands were my only lifeline.
Just before I went completely over the edge, my hands clasped an exposed plank of wood jutting sharply from the bottom of the hole. Hanging against the outside wall, my arms completely outstretched, my left shoulder blossomed into a new dimension of pain. Splinters stabbed piercingly into my palms through my gloves. But I was still alive. I almost laughed.
And then, as I stared at my life-saving hands, I noticed that there was no longer an illusion of heavy snowfall around me. My heart stopped and my lungs shriveled as I looked down to see a burst of blue flame shooting forth from one member of the Wizard Guard. It was aimed at me.
Before I could break into further panic, my legs were yanked away from the wall and flung upwards, sending me into a backflip onto the floor of the exposed upper story of the house. My back slammed against the bare-wood floor, knocking the breath from my lungs with a painful whoosh. Between that and the fact that I was a little startled by my sudden rescue—presumably by Ithan—I almost let the wizard’s flame engulf my head, which was still hanging over the lip of the hole.
I rolled into the room, feeling the blistering heat of the fire as it passed behind me. It actually felt nice after spending so much time in the cold, even if it only lasted a brief moment and left the scent of singed wool emitting from my cloak.
Having rolled onto my stomach, I started to push myself up with my hands. As I did, something smashed into my back and knocked me down, slamming my cheek against the floor’s rough wooden planks. My entire body was held down, keeping me from rising.
Black-booted feet appeared before me. I couldn’t turn my head, so I shifted my eyes, following the person’s legs up to a gold and black tabard. When my eyes reached the person’s face, my heart stuttered, and gooseflesh ran down my entire body. Sal’ looked upon me with one silver-ringed hand held palm out towards me, the other in a wicker case at her right hip. Her source of magic energy, which had been mice in my experience, would be crammed in that case.
Her face was covered in scratches and dark bruises, and her shoulder-length, wavy hair stuck out frizzily in all directions. Dark circles rested beneath her pale blue eyes. Her pouty lips were ashen, her nose red. There was a diagonal rip across the chest of her tabard, revealing a tight black garment underneath that accentuated her . . .
Anyway, Sal’ may have been a little worse for wear, but she was alive. And she was beautiful.
And, given the reddish glow forming around her hand and the cold anger in her eyes, I was a breath away from being killed by her.
“Korin?” Sal’ gasped, her typically soft tone shrill with surprise. Hearing her voice was like a soothing balm applied to the chaos that had been my life in recent weeks.
“Who else would be stupid enough to come up here after what you just did to that wall and the guy that you shot through it?” I returned as playfully as I was able to with my turbulent emotions and various body pains.
The light around Sal’s hand and the pressure against my back vanished. She dropped to her knees before me as I achingly rolled over and sat up. She stared concernedly into my eyes. Her face and hair were filthy, and she looked ready to collapse, but there was the slightest hint of a smile peeking out from behind her tired eyes.
“You look horrible,” Sal’ insisted, drawing a finger along my cheek, just below the cut from Briscott’s arrow. Her touch sent an impulse throughout my body, making me want to simply pull her into my arms. Of course, me being me, I instead decided to let my mouth have free reign to make smarmy comments.
“And here I was thinking I’d fixed myself up nicely for you.”
Sal’ rolled her eyes and leaned away from me, peeking over the edge of the floor to the fighting below. Her expression immediately sobered.
“Get up,” she ordered, pulling on my arm as she stood. I rose with her, and we retreated to an open door on the other side of the room, out of sight from the clamorous fighting. Through the doorway, a narrow set of stairs led down to another door, this one closed. There were several dead bodies slumped on the steps, some twice-dead, some not. One of them wore a blue and black tabard.
The thought of what Sal’ had been enduring alone in this room made me feel as if an eldrhim had ripped open my stomach and poured some of its corrosive blood into the wound.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her lower lip trembling slightly. I could barely hear her over the raucous battle outside.
Several responses popped into my head. I came here to save you. Saiyre sent me to make sure you were okay. It doesn’t matter why I’m here; are you okay? I want you to help me end this war. There were a good dozen more.
Not one of those thoughts formed on my tongue.
Not even close.
Instead, “Sal’, I love you.”
Sal’ straightened with a jerk, her eyebrows lifting as her lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. She blinked her eyes erratically as if trying to process my words.
I stood there dumbly, not sure what to do. My feelings were out. I hadn’t meant for them to be so sudden—or to be conveyed while our lives were in peril, for that matter—but I guess my problem with speaking before thinking had surfaced once again to give me a swift kick in the ass. My entire body went numb, and it had nothing to do with the freezing air a
nd swirling snow drifting into the room from the ruined wall behind me.
Sal’ continued to stare at me in stark disbelief. Her silence kept me from breathing. My heart thumped irregularly in my chest.
“Korin . . . I . . .” Sal’s mouth kept moving, but no words issued forth.
“Sal’, I know about Saiyre. He’s the one who sent me after you.” Unable to meet Sal’s eyes, I held Saiyre’s ring out to her in my upraised palm, the half truth lying bitter on my tongue. I was coming after you well before I met him, I thought. “He gave me this ring and your journal, I think as a way to let me know that you are to be his.”
Sal’ picked the ring from my hand and stared at it silently, sorrow reflecting in her eyes.
“I understand,” I continued. “I shouldn’t have said anything, not with what’s going on out there.” I swallowed the impending catch in my throat. “But I just needed to let you know in case . . . well, in case this was my only chance.” I closed my eyes and gave a wry chuckle. “That, and a friend made me promise I’d tell you how I felt.”
“Korin . . .”
My words kept pouring forth. “I know that Saiyre loves you and that he’ll treat you well.”
“Korin.” Sal’s voice was growing harsher, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Tears threatened to betray me, but I fought with all my might to prevent the treasonous drops from escaping. When had I turned into such an emotional mess with women? “I also know that you can’t go against your father’s wishes . . .”
Sal’s nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. She stepped back and lifted her hand towards me. I didn’t have time to react. I simply cringed as what looked to be a lightning bolt shot from her fingers.
Behind me, an inhuman cry pierced through the sounds of the battle outside. I braved a glance and saw what appeared to be an undead’s rotted arm lying on the floor by the broken wall. Only its arm. Where it had been severed, the flesh was blackened and smoking. The stench was nauseating.