Warrior Witch: Malediction Trilogy Book Three

by Danielle L. Jensen

  Martin crawled through the small opening and disappeared.

  “Victoria,” I whispered, my tone causing her to look at me sharply. It was taking every ounce of control I had to keep from breaking down, from letting everyone know just how dire the situation was. I stared into her silver eyes: he’s not winning.

  Her jaw tightened and she gave a slight nod. Then Martin reappeared. “There’s a highway of magic stretched between Courville and a beach just outside of Trianon,” he said, squeezing back through the hole. “It’s covered in skiffs filled with humans – hundreds of them!”

  “Of humans?” Chris demanded.

  Martin shook his head, eyes wild. “Hundreds of skiffs.”

  Which meant thousands of people out over open water entirely at Roland’s mercy. Once again we’d underestimated Angoulême’s ingenuity: he hadn’t fallen into our trap. We’d fallen into his.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Tristan

  I ran like I had never before. Roland’s magic hammered against my shields, knocking me to my knees and leveling the forest, leaving nothing but smoking ruins and steam.

  I couldn’t kill him, not with a city full of civilians balanced precariously on his magic.

  I couldn’t flee, not without risking him dumping half of them into the ocean to lure me back.

  There was no option but for me to engage. I kept to the coast, sending out feelers of magic deep into the water to test the steadiness of Roland’s bridge. It was solid. That’s why he’d been sighted standing on the beach: not because he’d been fascinated with the water, but because he’d been building, preparing, for this moment. Holding up those thousands of people was costing him nothing, but if he dropped them and I had to catch them, it would cost me everything.

  Cutting down onto the sand, I risked a glance out to sea and confirmed my hope. The skiffs were moving, propelled by a dozen or so trolls that no doubt had been responsible for forcing the people into the wooden craft in the first place. All I had to do was keep him engaged until they were across. Never mind that it might take them hours.

  Skidding to a halt, I turned, waiting for Roland to cusp the hill so that I could launch an attack of my own.

  His short legs were pumping hard as he came into sight, tear-streaked face a twisted mixture of wrath and desperation, and never in my life had I hated Angoulême more. Who did this to a child? Who used an eight year-old boy as a tool to slaughter their enemies, especially when said enemies were the boy’s own family members?

  But conflicted or not, Roland didn’t hesitate to attack. Our powers collided with thunderclaps that shook the earth, explosions of heat melting snow for miles around. His strategy was nearly as mindless as my mother’s had been, but as with her, his total disregard for his own safety or the destruction he was causing allowed him to channel more power into his offensive.

  Not that it should matter: he was eight. A child. A decade from realizing the potential of his power.

  He struck again, and my magic shuddered violently. Again, and my heel slipped. Again, and I had to take a step backward or risk falling.

  A wicked little smile blossomed on his face, and fear twisted up my spine like a snake. Contrary to popular opinion, I was not the most powerful troll living.

  Not even close.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Cécile

  Fallen straight into Angoulême’s trap, and there was nothing we could do about it. This battle would be over in a matter of moments, and we were hours away. Tristan was on his own. Marc, Sabine, and all our friends in Trianon were on their own. There was nothing I could do to help.

  “What are our options?” I asked, staring down at my boots. Melted snow was pooling around them, seeping in to chill my toes, but I couldn’t be bothered to move.

  “If I travel light, I might be able to make it in time to do some good,” Victoria said.

  I knew what travel light meant – without me. “Go,” I said. “Take Vincent. Run.”

  “Cécile…”

  “It’s not a request,” I snapped. “It’s a command. Go. Now.”

  In a heartbeat, they were gone, leaving me alone with Chris and my grandmother.

  “We always knew it would come down to a battle between trolls,” Chris said, taking my hand. “We’ve done what we can. Now we wait to see who wins.”

  But his words were clipped, the muscles in his jaw standing out against his skin. Passiveness sat about as well with him as it did with me.

  And it sat not at all well with my gran. “Enough of this defeatism,” she snapped. “Those are human beings surrounding Trianon and some of them are hurt. Which we can do something about. Pack your bag, Cécile. Chris, you saddle those horses, and be quick about it.”

  We both gaped at her, but when she picked up a stick in a way that made it appear alarming like a switch, we scuttled in opposite directions to do her bidding.

  “Where is Martin?” I asked, shoving my things into my satchel.

  “Left while you two were whinging,” Gran replied, carefully packing the lobelia she’d gathered. “Said he was going to help.”

  I didn’t know what he thought he could accomplish, but I said nothing. If he’d stayed, I could well imagine myself frozen in place, watching through a tiny portal while Tristan was slaughtered by his brother. Which did no good for anyone.

  I stood and Gran moved with me, catching the front of my shirt and pulling me close. “No matter what happens to that boy, don’t you think about lying down to die, do you hear me?”

  It was too easy to remember what it had felt like; the moment the sluag venom had pulled him away from me and all my will to live had vanished in an instant. How the cold press of the guillotine had felt like mercy.

  “Do you hear me?” She jerked me closer with surprising strength for her frail frame. “It’s not just your life anymore.”

  She was right. Tristan not surviving this encounter did not excuse me from the fight. I had a responsibility and a duty to keep going until the bitter end, and my ability to do so wouldn’t come from a spell or potion, but from force of will. “I hear you,” I said, lifting my chin. “Now let’s ride.”

  But as we turned to the horses, a shriek filled the skies over our heads. A sound like an eagle, but far, far bigger. The horses went wild, tearing free from their pickets and galloping into the trees. The moment I looked up, I wanted to do the same, because cutting across the sky was a dragon.

  “I thought Tristan said they couldn’t come back,” Chris shouted as we ran to the trees.

  “He did.” Gran stumbled, and I hauled her up, risking a glance back as I did. The dragon had landed in the clearing, golden scales glittering in the sunlight. And I recognized it.

  “Winter,” I breathed. “The Winter fey can’t come back.”

  Letting go of her arm, I retreated to the clearing.

  “Are you mad?” Chris dragged me backwards.

  “Let me go,” I said, and his arms fell away.

  My pulse roared in my ears as I approached the dragon, my eyes flitting between its enormous claws and teeth the length of my hand. It snorted, and a gout of steam rose into the air. “Are you Melusina?” I asked, flinching as it lowered its massive head until it was only a few feet from my chest. Emerald eyes gleamed and it huffed out another breath that smelled of sulfur and flame.

  “Cécile!” Chris hissed my name from behind a tree as though the slender trunk would protect him from the enormous beast.

  “There’s a statue of it… of her in Trollus,” I said. “She’s a Summer dragon.” I reached out a hand and, though it was probably not prudent to do so, pressed it against the creature’s hide. Her scales were hard as steel, but through them, I felt the same sort of preternatural heat the trolls exuded. “Are you here to help us?”

  Melusina eyed me, then inclined her great head.

  “Can you take us to Trianon?” I asked, terrified and excited at the prospect.

  Wings snapped out with a crack, then tuck
ed against the dragon’s body as she lowered her bulk to the ground.

  “I think we’re going to need some rope,” I said.

  * * *

  I spent the bulk of the journey with my eyes squeezed shut and my face pressed between my gran’s shoulder blades. It wasn’t until Chris poked me in the side that I risked a glance downward. The sight of the hundreds of islanders surrounding the walls was as alarming as the distance from which I was seeing them. Gran had seemed confident we’d be able to help, but watching people desperately climb over one another in an attempt to breach the wall, I didn’t see how.

  Nor did I see any hope for the citizens of Courville, who were packed into skiffs across the open water of the bay, the other city only barely visible in the distance. The skiffs appeared to be floating on thin air, but I could see where the surf broke against the magic, froth and foam soaking those it supported.

  Melusina circled the city, and the three of us all gazed down the coast of the bay, past Trollus, to where Tristan and Roland still warred. The earth was razed for miles in either direction, clouds of black smoke filling the air, broken by the occasional gout of fire or steam.

  “Land us on the castle tower,” I shouted at the dragon, my stomach rising into my throat as she plunged. The castle grounds teemed with soldiers running frantically to their posts, hands gesturing skyward; and as we dropped, a cloaked figure stepped out onto one of the towers, concealed face tracking our progress. It was Marc.

  But my elation was short-lived. Melusina shrieked and pulled up as the air charged, all of us sliding to one side, barely holding on.

  “Marc,” I called. “Marc, it’s us!”

  The dragon screamed again, then dived, and I was sure we were done for. That Marc had pulled her from the sky. Then her wings snapped wide, and my spine cracked as she pulled up, hovering above the tower. With birdlike delicacy, she carefully took hold of the battlements and closed her wings to her side.

  “Cécile?” Marc demanded.

  “Get us down!”

  I rested on the icy stone of the tower to regain my equilibrium before staggering to the edge to look out over the water. The magic road trembled and shook, countless people falling into the sea. Swimming. Drowning. “We need to help them,” I said, and no sooner were the words out of my mouth then the ground shook.

  And all the skiffs plunged to the water.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Tristan

  My plan to let Roland hammer away at my shields for the next hour vanished out from under me. I wouldn’t last another ten minutes.

  Blocking his next blow, I dived into the woods, rolling behind a pile of boulders. The air whistled, an invisible blade slicing through the trees so cleanly that they didn’t topple, remaining upright until a gust of wind sent them falling like a series of dominos. A line of glowing red bisected the boulder next to me, molten rock dripping from where it was severed mere inches above my head.

  I pushed out a wave of heat, lighting the forest on fire, and set a barrier above to hold in the smoke. Under the choking cover, I ran blind, tripping over rocks and debris even as I ducked under Roland’s attacks, using magic only when needed, conserving my strength. But I couldn’t keep it up for long. Angoulême would realize I was buying time for the citizens of Courville to get across and would start drowning them or worse to lure me out.

  Killing Roland might be possible. He was more powerful, but I had years more training. Except there was every chance he’d rip the magic bridge out from under their feet in his death throes. I might be able to catch them, but I’d still have Lessa and the Duke to contend with. My only other option was to find Angoulême, kill him, and pray Roland wouldn’t turn to violence the second he was freed.

  They were terrible plans, every one.

  A massive tree, roots and all, flew over my head, crashing into the foliage where it was soon joined by another. Yet another hit home against my shield, exploding in a spray of splinters. Over my shoulder, I saw Roland had given up pursuit for the moment and was instead standing on top of an abandoned stone building lobbing everything in sight my direction. It was the chance I needed. Obscuring myself with magic and smoke, I sent an illusion of me running off in one direction while I turned back to where I’d last seen Angoulême and Lessa. The trick would only last as long as it took for Roland to land one of his projectiles, so I had to make every second count.

  They were gone by the time I reached the clearing, but I’d expected that. Keeping myself concealed, I looked for tracks, but the heat of the battle had turned the ground to a slushy mess.

  “Where are you?" I snarled, eyeing my surroundings. He’d need somewhere he could see the action without being exposed to the fallout of the battle. Somewhere nearby.

  But there was nothing. The ground was rolling, but none of the slopes were high enough to give him the vantage he needed. Turning in a circle, I glanced out at Roland’s bridge, and noticed an old lighthouse sitting on a cluster of rocks about a hundred yards from shore. The roof was caved-in, but it was still tall enough to provide the vantage the Duke needed.

  Sure enough, a shadow passed one of the narrow windows. Clever. But not clever enough.

  Smiling, I walked down to the edge of the sand and built an invisible bridge of my own over to the tiny island.

  It was harder to hide oneself in the brilliant sunlight of midday, but only someone watching carefully would see the distortion in the air caused by my illusion as it crossed over the water. And the ruckus Roland was causing as he searched for me was a substantial distraction.

  Swiftly across the bridge. Up onto the rocks. The rotten wooden door at the base was slightly ajar, but one gentle touch…

  The island and everything on it disappeared in a pillar of white-hot heat that seemed to stretch up to the sun itself.

  Stepping back into the shadows of the forest, I knelt down. And I waited for them to come ensure that I was dead.

  Moments later a hooded figure stepped out of the trees, arms crossed beneath the cloak that dangled to his heels. Part of me wanted to see the Duke’s face – for him to know it was me who had ended him. But enough was at risk without theatrics, and vengeance was vengeance.

  Magic honed as sharp as a razor flew from my hand, blood spraying as it sliced the Duke’s neck in two. The hooded head toppled even as the body slumped to the ground, rolling end over end until it stopped next to my feet, face up.

  It wasn’t Angoulême.

  Which meant he was still in control of my brother. And there was one very easy way for him to test as to whether I was still alive.

  Swearing, I threw all the magic I had toward the ocean, and prayed it would be enough.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Cécile

  Dismay echoed from the lips of everyone on the tower, followed by a collective sigh of relief as the skiffs were caught just above the waterline, visible fingers of magic grasping and clawing at the wood to keep them upright and steady.

  Marc swore. “That has to be Tristan holding them, but it isn’t sustainable.”

  There was no missing what he meant. What had been a straight and steady bridge over the water was now little more than a floating dock, waves pummeling both magic and skiffs, sending them swaying back and forth.

  Chris rounded on Melusina, who remained perched on the edge of the tower. “Will you take me closer?” She ruffled her wings and then dropped a shoulder for him to climb on, barely waiting for him to hook his feet into the ropes before taking off.

  The door slammed open and Tips clattered out on his crutch. “Are you seeing this?” he asked, his eyes widening at the sight of me.

  “Can you hold the wall?” Marc demanded.

  Tips nodded. “For now, anyway. Might not have to for much longer – they’re killing each other out there. Countless injured or dead.”

  “I’ll try to think of something,” I said. “Are there trolls amongst them?”

  “No, not yet,” he said. “Though I expect it�
�s only a matter of time – this human shield of theirs won’t do much good if they’re all dead.”

  “I’ll think of something,” I repeated, though I had no idea what I could do that would help in time.

  “Pray to your god that these people aren’t oath sworn to Roland,” Marc said, bracing himself against the stone. “Because I’m bringing them to shore.”

  We stood mutely as Marc plucked skiff after skiff off the failing bridge, dropping them on the beach. But people still over the water were climbing from their craft, trying to run toward shore. They slipped on the slick surface of the magic, unable to keep their balance as it bucked and plunged, sending them tumbling into the water.

  “Idiots,” Marc shouted, but his voice was full of desperation, not anger, as he abandoned the skiffs on the bridge to save those who’d fallen in the water.

  It was impossible to look away, especially knowing that Tristan’s power was beginning to fail. His panic was thick in my mind, as was his fear. There were still countless skiffs out there, and even more people in the water, but there was no more time.

  “Hurry, Marc,” I pleaded, knowing he was doing the best he could. “He can’t last much longer.”

  “Cécile?”

  I turned in time to see Sabine running toward me, Souris at her heels, barking like mad. I caught her and we went down in a heap. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, tears smearing against my cheeks. “We don’t know what to do. It’s madness outside the walls: they’re all so afraid, but they can’t seem to help themselves. So many people are dead or hurt, but no one knows what they’ll do if we let them in.”

  Gran was leaning against the wall next to Marc. “I’d say we put them to sleep or in a trance like you did in Revigny, but we haven’t the supplies for so much potion, and even if we did, I’ve no notion how we’d get them to drink it.”