Arcane Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 2)

by Kara Jaynes

  Two men ran at Adaryn, spears raised. Aaric pulled his feet from the stirrups and threw himself at one of them. He and the man tumbled on the dusty ground. Aaric frantically tried to remember everything he had read about fighting, but couldn't seem to remember any of it. He grappled with the man's sword, trying to wrench it from him. Adrenaline raced through his blood, his breath coming in quick gasps. He heard chaos and noise around him, but his attention was focused on the man trying to kill him. Snarling with effort, the man shoved harder, trying to loosen Aaric’s grip. Inch by inch, the sword came closer to Aaric’s face. Aaric’s muscles shook with strain. He only hoped that Adaryn would have time to escape.

  11

  Adaryn

  My heart clenched in fear as I saw Aaric and one of the men collide. Aaric had hold of the hilt of the man's sword and was trying to take it. I wheeled my horse to help him but another one of the strangers jumped into view, slashing at my mount. I lost my grip on the horse's mane as it reared, and fell in a heap on the ground. I jumped up, and, concentrating on the magic, formed a spear of white-blue fire. I turned with a snarl, facing my attacker. He was a good head taller than me, with a sun-darkened face and sun-bleached messy hair. He had a white scar that ran down one cheek, and pale, colorless eyes. He lunged at me, sword raised. I deflected it with my spear, stumbling back. He was strong.

  He slashed again. I jumped aside and swiftly jabbed my spear. The side of his tunic tore beneath the assault, the sharp point piercing his side. The man howled and fell back, holding an arm to his wound. He face was contorted in a snarl and he countered with frightening speed.

  I held my spear like a quarterstaff, trying to block his onslaught. I had sparred with Bran and my father in the past, but hadn't done so since my capture. I was out of practice. Within minutes my clothing was damp with sweat, and my breath came in ragged gasps. My limbs shook. My assailant smiled. He knew I was running out of stamina.

  Aaric leapt to my side. He was breathing heavily, but held a sword clutched in his fist. Our opponent jumped back, his eyes narrowing before he turned and ran toward the sparse thicket where I had seen movement only a few minutes before. He whistled, and a small white horse bolted from the cover, running to him. The man didn't hesitate or break stride before swinging himself up into the saddle. He thundered away, head bent low over his steed.

  I turned and looked for Bran. He was locked in combat with the remaining ambusher, three men lying dead around them. I ran toward him, hoping to help.

  Bran flicked his wrist, sending the man's sword spinning over his head.

  “Why did you attack us?” Bran barked. He had blood trickling down his face.

  The man fell back, fumbling at his belt pouch. He pulled a long dagger out of its sheath. I tensed, preparing to throw myself in front of Bran, but the stranger plunged the dagger into his own chest, ending his life.

  The three of us crowded together, looking down at the dead man. Bran nudged him gingerly with the toe of his boot. “He's dead, all right.” He frowned, kneeling down to inspect him better, his brow creased in puzzlement. “Why did he do it?”

  “Maybe it's a brigand thing,” Aaric said, chewing his lower lip pensively. “I've read stories about them. Men who would die before giving up their band secrets.”

  “Maybe . . .” Bran stood there for a moment longer, staring down at the dead man. “They were brigands, at least. No doubt about that.”

  I knelt down next to Aaric, and began searching the man's clothing.

  Aaric stared at me, shocked. “What are you doing?”

  “They might have money, or some items of value,” I said, not stopping my search.

  “Shouldn't we, I don't know, bury them or something?” Aaric cast his eyes around the area, eyeing the rocky terrain. “It seems like the humane thing to do.”

  Bran snorted. “Bury the filthy brigands who tried to kill us?”

  Aaric didn't say anything, but glancing at him, I saw the steely set to his jaw.

  “Bran is right, Aaric,” I said, ignoring Bran's startled look. We had agreed on precious little in the past few weeks.

  Aaric glowered at me, but I pressed on. “There could be more in the immediate area, and one escaped, remember?”

  Aaric hesitated a moment, then nodded reluctantly, standing. I stood up as well, having found a small pouch of coins on the man. Bran searched the other corpses. I pointed toward the small stand of trees.

  “The man who escaped had a horse over there. Maybe there's more.” Aaric and I walked over together. He clutched his sword like a lifeline, his face pale.

  “Are you all right?” I asked. He shook his head.

  “I . . . I've never killed before.” I looked at his sword again, noticing for the first time the blood smears on it. Aaric looked ready to faint.

  I touched his arm, feeling my heart brim with compassion. I didn't know what to say. I had never killed someone, and caught up in my scramble for survival, it hadn't occurred to me how it might affect me if I did.

  “It gets easier.” Bran caught up to us, ignoring the glare I shot at him over my shoulder. “Give it time, Oppressor.”

  Aaric took a deep, shaky breath and moved his arm, avoiding contact with me.

  We reached the copse of trees. There were indeed five horses there, none of them tethered, waiting patiently.

  Bran whistled admiringly. “They've been trained well, and they're beautiful horses. Let's have you try one, Adaryn. Any one of these looks to be of better stock than that dumpling you've been riding.”

  “Russet is not a dumpling,” I said sourly. “He's a perfectly fine steed.”

  I had to admit, though, looking at the sleek, lithe creatures before me, that maybe it was time to get a new horse. My eyes locked on one in particular—a magnificent beast the color of midnight. I stepped forward, and, taking it by the reins, swung into the saddle.

  A moment later I was flat on my back on the dusty ground, gasping for air. I couldn't breathe.

  Aaric stood over me, concern in his face. “Adaryn, are you all right?” He held out a hand, and I took it, climbing shakily to my feet.

  Bran couldn't breathe either: the fool man was doubled over, laughing.

  I glared at him, thinking quite seriously of summoning my spear again. “You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?”

  Bran shook his head, grinning ear to ear. “Nomad's honor, I didn't.” He gestured toward the other horses. “Maybe those ones are a little less well trained. Why don't you try another?”

  I wanted to smack him, but merely sniffed, turning away from him. “No, thank you. Russet is much better behaved than these mules.”

  Bran arched an eyebrow, and I decided it was time to change the subject.

  “Did you search the other bodies?” I asked.

  “Just some gold. Their weapons are good, but we don't really need them.”

  I nodded. Who needed weapons when you had magic?

  “Nomads use weapons.” Aaric spoke. “I've seen your people use knives around camp, and that rock that hit me in the head was just a rock, not magic.”

  Bran shrugged. “Summoning too much magic can be draining. When the situation isn't dire, we'll use common weapons.”

  He smirked at Aaric, and Aaric glared back. I intervened. “Let's leave. I don't want to stick around any longer than is necessary.”

  After staring each other down for another moment, Bran and Aaric both nodded in agreement and we set back to get our horses. The two nomad horses knew better than to stray too far, and Russet for a wonder was only a few paces away, cropping grass.

  We left quickly, heeling our horses to a quick trot. If there were any more brigands in the area, it wouldn't do to get ambushed again. Bran took the lead this time, his eyes scanning every tree, bush and hollow. I brought up the rear, searching the surrounding land in much the same manner as Bran. Aaric rode in the middle, and surprisingly didn't have his nose in a book. I sent fervent thanks to the heavens that Bran and I h
ad come with him. It chilled me to think of him trying to face six armed men alone.

  It was a quiet camp we set up that night. Bran didn’t want us to risk a fire, so we ate a cold meal of bread and cheese.

  Bran gave himself the first watch. Looking at his lean, tall form standing a distance away from us, I felt my heart thaw a little. I didn't like his animosity toward Aaric, but he undoubtedly saved our lives today. I rolled out of my blankets and walked over to him.

  He glanced at me for a moment, then returned to watching the wild. “You should go to sleep,” he said quietly.

  I sat down by his feet, drawing my knees up to my chest. “Thanks,” I said. “And sorry.”

  “For what?” Bran asked.

  “Thank you for saving us today.” I said. “Aaric is a good man, but . . . doesn't fight very well.”

  Bran chuckled softly. “That, he does not. I'll have to remedy that, to even our odds of survival.”

  “And sorry,” I went on, “for being so cold toward you. It upset me that you and the others were hostile toward Aaric, but I suppose I can hardly blame you. If I didn't know him, I'd have a hard time believing he wasn't like the Oppressors, too.”

  Bran was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, I heard grudging respect in his tone. “He really does love you,” he said. “I wasn't sure at first, but the way he attacked that brigand who came at you, I know better, now.”

  I smiled, feeling warm at the thought of Aaric. “He does.”

  We sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes longer before I went back to my blankets. I wasn’t overly optimistic, but after today I hoped that time would thaw the tension between my two best friends.

  12

  Adaryn

  “There it is. Sen Altare.” It was dawn. We all stood together on a tall rise, looking down at the city. It was big. Bigger than Ruis, even. I hadn’t thought a city could be bigger than Ruis, with all its factories and mansions, but this city was both bigger and brighter. The city walls were white, and an impossibly tall edifice, snowy pale and thin, rose in the heart of the city. My memories of Sen Altare were dim, but I vaguely remembered my father calling that narrow structure a castle. My father had brought me down with the clan for trading.

  Bran had been the one who’d spoken. His face was flushed with excitement and he grinned at me. “Let's go.”

  I nodded and turned to Aaric, who was gawking at the city. He looked impressed. “It's . . . different from Ruis.”

  I smiled at him. “Much prettier than your city.”

  Aaric nodded, still staring down at it.

  I tugged at his arm, and he urged his horse to follow me. Bran and his stallion had already started down the hill.

  It had been a week since being ambushed by the brigands. We hadn't seen any other signs of them, fortunately. At one point we did see soldiers marching down the dry, dusty road ahead of us, but we stayed hidden and they passed without a glance in our direction.

  The road soon became crowded with farmers, peddlers and straggly, footsore travelers. Like us, I thought wryly.

  An hour later we stood in line to get through the gates. I felt shut in, and it was with some apprehension that I looked ahead as the gates drew nearer. I wasn't ready to enter another city.

  Aaric, next to me, leaned over and patted me on the shoulder. “You're going to do fine, Adaryn.” He almost had to shout over the din of the crowd. “Remember, our stay is temporary.”

  I nodded. Bran looked at me oddly, but didn't say anything.

  Another half hour we were through the gates and in the city. I had never entered the city before. The nomads did their trading right outside the gate.

  People clogged the streets, filling the air with a dull roar, but the similarities to Ruis ended there. It was completely unlike Ruis.

  The streets were unpaved, and the air seemed to hold a perpetual cloud of dust. Shopkeepers shouted from their doors, trying to lure passersby. Farmers and traders were just as loud, trying to entice people to stop and look at their produce and wares.

  Ruis' buildings had been drab and gray; here the buildings were white, yellow, or lime green stucco with bright red roofs. Chickens ran wild in the streets, clucking and flapping in every direction.

  The people’s clothing was often torn and dirty, but brightly colored. Men wore voluminous white shirts tucked in at the waist and breeches of vibrant color. Women dressed in white blouses and long, full skirts, with eye-jarring prints and patterns.

  I felt myself drifting; I didn't know which way to go. The sights, sounds and smells of this place were unfamiliar, but not unpleasant and entirely fascinating. There was something off about something, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

  Aaric took me by the arm, guiding me down the street. “We need to find an inn,” he said as we weaved through the crowds. Bran followed closely on our heels, holding the horses’ reins.

  The street rose gradually uphill, looking a little cleaner and less crowded as it inclined. The people looked slightly tidier in this part of the city.

  Aaric passed several inns before he finally stopped in front of a two-story building. It was painted bright yellow and had the same red tiled roof. A large sign hung above the door, depicting a cat standing on one foot, front paws flung up in the air.

  “The Dancing Cat,” Bran snorted. “Silly name.”

  Aaric shrugged. “Looks less dirty than some of the other inns we've passed. We'll try here.”

  Bran led the horses to the back of the inn where the stables would be kept, while Aaric and I went inside. The front room was huge—Aaric called it a common room—with two unlit fireplaces on either end and several tables, benches and chairs between. A young woman was sweeping the floor.

  The innkeeper was a fat, balding man wearing an apron, bright green trousers and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves. He bowed in greeting to us and, after quick introductions, led us up the staircase to show us our rooms. Aaric requested two—one room for him and Bran, and another for myself.

  My room was small, but bright and cheerful. The walls were painted a brilliant yellow, with blue curtains at the window. The bed was covered with a patchwork quilt of every color imaginable.

  I dumped my belongings on the floor and hurried out of the room as the innkeeper showed Aaric where he and Bran would stay. Their room was only slightly larger and looked similar to mine, with two beds instead of one.

  The innkeeper left, leaving Aaric and I standing alone. I walked over and slipped my arms around his waist, laying my head on his chest. His arms went around me.

  “What now?” I asked, not moving. It felt good to be alone again with him. Bran had warmed up a little since the brigand attack, but I missed the time Aaric and I spent alone in the woods.

  Aaric said nothing for a moment, reaching up to run a hand through my hair. It didn't work very well; his fingers kept snagging on matted strands. I winced.

  “Now we find the Scholar's Guild,” he said. “According to my father's notes, he spent a good deal of time with them. I hope to find some leads there.”

  I thought for a moment. “Seems like a long shot, doesn't it? I mean, they may not have even heard of the sky jewels this far south.”

  Aaric hesitated. I looked up and saw indecision on his face.

  “My . . . father believed in the sky jewels,” he said at last.

  I stared, thunderstruck. “Your father?” I asked, flabbergasted. “Why didn't you mention that sooner? You didn't tell Oisin that.”

  Aaric arched an eyebrow at my accusatory tone. “I wasn't going to tell Oisin any more than I had to. I don't trust people who want to kill me. Besides, despite my father's best efforts, he wasn't able to find one. For all I know, the sky jewels really are myths.”

  That made sense. I bit my lip, thinking. “So you think this . . . guild can help you find one?”

  Aaric shrugged. “I don't know. My father seemed to think that there might be one here.”

  “Why did your fat
her want one anyway?” That didn't add up to me. “He didn't use magic.”

  “I don't know.”

  We both fell silent as we heard light footsteps approach our door and a moment later, Bran came in. He looked at us, still in our embrace, but said nothing, stepping over to the window.

  “There's something wrong with the city.”

  I turned. He stood erect with his hands held behind his back, his hair tied in its customary tail. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The people here are afraid of something. Didn't you notice?”

  I’d noticed that there was something wrong, and now that he mentioned it, I could see what he said was true. Business seemed to go on as usual for a city, but the people moved furtively and quickly, almost as if they were afraid of something.

  “I didn't notice anything,” Aaric said.

  Bran snorted. “You wouldn't.”

  Aaric's eyes glittered as he turned to Bran, and I quickly spoke, hoping to dispel the tension. “We haven't eaten in a while. Why don't we go see if we can find some dinner?”

  Both men eyed me with irritation, seeing right through my ploy. It worked though—Aaric shrugged and headed for the door, Bran following. I took up the rear.

  As we went back outside, I puzzled over everything Aaric had said. I hadn't expected Aaric's father to know anything about magic, and was even more surprised that it was something he searched for. I desperately hoped that this Scholar's Guild Aaric mentioned would know something about it, or we’d come down here for nothing.

  A thought struck me, and I froze. Perhaps we hadn't come down here for nothing. If we couldn't find a sky jewel, who said we had to go back? We could just stay here. Perhaps my father would try to find me, but I knew Oisin wouldn't bother to relocate his entire tribe just to find me. They would come south eventually, but it would be for trade.

  Aaric called to me, several feet ahead, and I hurried to catch up, shoving the thoughts of my family aside. I would have to worry about it later.