* * * *
Anders ripped the collar of my tunic, and Jackson bound my wrists tighter than I expected. “Lords of the sea, Anders—” I stopped, appalled at the fear in my voice.
His fists caught in my cloak as he started to rip the edge of the material. Cool seagray eyes met my troubled gaze. “I won’t let them touch you, or Maylen.”
“There are five of them.”
“And four of us.” With a quick apologetic smile at Maylen, he added contritely, “Mages, I mean.”
“I always prefer the advantage.”
Anders took my face in his gloved hands and lifted my chin. “We have the advantage.” He kissed me with tenderness all pretense at being witty vanished. “We have you.”
“Flatterer.”
He grinned and winked at my brother. “I want to enjoy some private time with you when this adventure is all over. Ready?”
I rested my head against his chest for a moment, anxious to feel his warmth, and then nodded. Anders led the way. He sent Jackson scurrying behind to coordinate the plan with his guards. Once outside the safety of the hidden clearing, no one talked. If we were near their camp, there’d be sentries about. I eyed Maylen, whose own clothes had been ripped and muddied, and fretted about her safety. My brother caught my eye and gave me a reassuring smile.
We stopped to rest after a short while as the woods grew denser, trees menacing in their closeness and unseen heights, roots reaching out to catch our awkward feet and slow our movements to a crawl. Even I, who knew nothing about trees, sensed the vast age of this part of the forest. My body shivered involuntarily, instincts alert.
Gwynn inched ahead to see whether their camp was still where Tunney’s escort had last found it. As stealthy as ever, he crept back, catching me off guard. Maylen and I huddled together against the late afternoon chill.
“There is a sentry beyond the next cluster of oak.” With a grin for me, he added, “I will tell Lady Barlow on our return that you could not ever make a good scout since you do not know the difference between an oak and a rose bush.” The imp scampered out of reach as my bound hands darted in the direction of his head. Serious again, he glanced at Anders. “If we announce ourselves as we get nearer, it will alert Jackson Tunney, and his people can take their positions. I saw him hidden at the far end of the camp,” he said quietly. “Alex? Can we…”
Something in Gwynn’s voice and the hesitation in his question prickled my instinct into further wakefulness. “What?”
Gwynn studied his hands, wrapped in smooth leather gloves.
“What is it?” Anders prompted my brother after exchanging a worried look with Maylen and me.
Gwynn sighed, tugging at his fingers, his gesture painfully reminiscent of me when I was reluctant to express what I was thinking. “Can we trust Mage Tunney?” He glanced up to meet my gaze, brown eyes wide, looking no more than a frightened boy of six.
“We’ll have to, won’t we?” When he nodded, I whispered, shoving him playfully, “Lords of the sea, I trusted you. And you lied to me about your father and a hundred thousand other things.”
“It isn’t the time for family squabbles.” Anders stood and pulled me up. “Ready?”
“I suppose so.”
“Maylen?” Anders appraised the young woman and shot her an approving grin as she stood up on her own before Gwynn could yank her upright. “Good luck to both of you.”
“And you,” I said dryly. “You’re protecting us, remember?”
* * * *
Anders and Gwynn were talking in loud voices, practically shouting, as we approached what I presumed to be the cluster of oak trees. They pulled Maylen and me along behind them, an act for which they both would dearly pay when this nightmare ended. Gwynn muttered something rude to Anders and yanked at Maylen’s cord. Two scruffy men stepped in their path, arrows held cocked and ready before them, pointing at Anders and Gwynn.
“Stop. Go no further.”
“Put those damn bows away.” Anders growled. “We’re just passing through. No business of yours.”
The scruffier of the two pointed his weapon at Maylen and me. “No one just passes through this part of the old forest. And not with two prisoners.” The brigand narrowed his eyes, spat noisily, and wiped his mouth with the filthy sleeve of his tunic. “Especially female prisoners.” He took a closer look at me, and then my twin mage pendants, one copper, the other wood, which Anders wanted in plain sight outside my tunic.
“Well, we do.” Anders held his ground and yanked my rope, causing me to stumble at his feet, scraping my knees against the branch-strewn earth. Lords of the sea, he really would pay. “Bounty hunters on our way to Edgecliff.” He raised his arm to shove past the men and started to walk ahead, dragging me after him in the dirt. “Let us by.”
Judging from the arrows aimed at his heart, they were inclined to disagree. “There’s someone who might be interested in your bounty.”
“For a good price, maybe.” Snarling in disgust at the men, Anders pushed aside one bow with his gloved hand. “And I doubt you’re the type to offer any price I might consider.”
“Insult us, will you?” The other sentry answered, stepping back but keeping his bow targeted on Anders while his partner raised his weapon again. With a harsh shout, he stepped back and waited, eying Maylen and me with open interest, until more ruffians appeared from the dense growth and surrounded us.
Tugging at my rope, Anders darted a quick glance my way and pulled me to my feet with unexpected roughness. I lunged at his chest to punch him in the heart, but he grabbed my arms and held me fast. He may have thought I was acting, but I was ready to strangle him.
“Well, then.” He slanted a questioning, fierce look at me. “I hope there’s at least the chance for some hot food. I’m starving.”
“There will be.” The sentry near Anders grinned, a nasty expression that revealed stained and crooked teeth. “Come along.”
I pleaded fervently the fool truly knew what he was doing, prayed that Jackson Tunney was trustworthy, and held to the belief we’d all come out of this horrid affair alive. But I would have been lying if I said I had no doubts at all.
Gwynn’s trained eyes swept the edges of the clearing, beyond the perimeter of guards scattered around, as we were led further into camp. Armed sentries clustered in the far corner, where I guessed the prisoners were held. The area to which we were led was nearly empty but for five solitary tents set in a circle, facing each other, as though none of the renegades trusted any of the others. If Gwynn caught sight of Tunney or his men, well hidden in the depths of the undergrowth, he gave no visible sign. Watching him with such intensity, I fumbled and tripped, landing on my face, bound hands caught under me, in a muddy ditch.
“One hopes she has more grace as a brood mare.”
I looked up, spitting mud from my mouth, at the sound of that hideous cold voice, and caught my breath at the sight of the scar on his chin. Khrista’s tearful face sprang into my thoughts. With forced calm, I coaxed mage talent awake and merged the fire and ice in readiness.
Rational, cold, and arrogant, the mage kicked me sharply in the ribs though not before bending down to inspect the mage pendants at my neck. “This one is for my personal experiments.” As he gestured for a sentry to take me away, four others stepped closer, two men with the same cold, rational lusting look, and two women, tattered and unkempt, and undoubtedly mad, which made me wonder why the women were the ones who went mad. “You can share the child between you.” The scar stood out against his weathered skin as he kicked me once more for no apparent reason. “I like my women to have experience. And this woman” —he eyed me from head to toe, cold eyes clearly recognizing my face— “is a prize I will take off your hands.”
“No way in hell,” I spat at the mage, startled when Anders kicked me into the mud.
My face smacked the ground, the earth shook beneath me as Anders reached deep into the earth with his magic. Concentrating on the rope binding my wrists, I cha
nged the coarse fibers to air, freeing my achy hands, and doing the same for Maylen.
Flames erupted all around, as Anders guided the campfires toward the renegades and their tents. Screams sounded from the far edges of the camp where Jackson Tunney’s band, or so I assumed, struggled with the armed guards. The three male renegades fought the distracting flames and Anders’s attacks. I turned my attention to the two screaming women unleashing raw power in the same uncontrolled, random destruction as the woman Gwynn forced off the bridge. With a focused effort, I brought forth a gale wind from the water in the muddy ditch to smash the two women against the trunks of nearby trees. As they were knocked unconscious, I caught sight of Maylen being dragged away by one of the male renegades. Before I could shout a warning to Anders, the mage with the scar lunged at me in fury with a sword.
Just as Gwynn stepped between us.
Trapped beneath my brother’s falling, bleeding body, I smacked my head against a rock, and darkness reached up to snatch me away.
* * * *
I awoke, groggy, sometime later to an eerie silent scene of devastation. Uprooted trees, smouldering fires, and, lords of the sea, blood spattering every surface. Gagging with nausea, I sat up, immediately dizzy, and fell back against strong arms.
“Easy.” Anders set me against a tree, propping me up with soft blankets. “I knew you’d be seeing double for awhile. Sit still until your vision clears.” Obedient, which had to have surprised him, though he made no comment, I took his hand and waited. “The female renegades are sleeping at the base of the trees you flung them against. I managed to pry a strong sleeping draught into their mouths as a precaution.”
“The others?” My voice croaked from the raw, smoke-parched tightness of my throat.
“One mage is dead, another missing. The gentleman who insisted on your experienced company is bound with the two women. I was lucky. I caught him unawares.”
And he’d caught my brother with his sword. I gripped Anders’s hand in panic as the scene replayed itself in my head. “Gwynn—Anders, where is he?”
Cool seagray eyes watched with a guarded expression. “Gwynn was hurt.”
Hurt. Not dead. “He saved my life. Anders, where is he?”
A barely perceptible nod in the direction of a flickering campfire. “He’s resting. He—” Anders looked away, his face ravaged by grief. “Your brother lost an awful lot of blood by the time I found the two of you. Alex, I’ve done all I could for him.” When I tried to stand, shaky as a newborn colt, he held me upright, until my blurry vision cleared, gripping my shoulders. “His fever is dangerously high. Alex.” He caressed my cheek, a warning in that touch, saying words I’d never expected to hear. “The sword tip was poisoned.”
I spun to face Anders, grabbing his cloak as I lost my balance, and started to cry at the compassion in his eyes. “He won’t die.” I brushed away tears. “He wouldn’t dare. He’s a nuisance, Anders, and drives me mad, but he won’t die.”
Not bothering to answer, Anders simply held me close against his chest as I wept my frustration and fears. Pulling away, I wobbled toward the campfire, stumbling twice, Anders catching me, guiding me along. I knelt at Gwynn’s side, appalled at the fevered delirium he suffered as the poison wormed its way through his slender body. Helpless, I wiped the sweat from his forehead with the cloth Anders had left alongside my brother’s head. Helpless and a little mad, I laughed at the rebellious lock that refused to lie neatly, still misbehaved, though sweat drenched his hair. I tugged at it gently, and started to cry again.
“Maylen knows something of healing,” I said, breaking the silence. “Where is she? Anders, she—” I glanced about, but the scout was nowhere in sight. “One of the renegades was dragging her away right before Gwynn was hurt.”
“Jackson’s men are searching the woods for both of them.” Anders studied his dirt-streaked hands very closely. “And Jackson, too.”
“I didn’t see him when the fighting started.”
“And I didn’t see him when it ended.” He shrugged, fatigue clear in his tired eyes. “He’s not my concern right now. Maylen is, and so is Gwynn.” Anders knelt beside me and took my face in his hands. I shivered as he traced the path of tears along my cheek. “There’s not enough time to get Gwynn back to your father’s village. Our only chance is to find Maylen. Stay here with Gwynn, while I search for her.”
In case he dies, so he’s not alone.
I shut my eyes at Anders’s unspoken thought and leaned against his chest. “I’m older than him,” I whispered. “I should have been the one protecting him.”
“You love him. That’s all he’s ever asked. Besides, Gwynn always felt he should protect you.” Anders kissed me softly on the forehead. “Now it’s your turn to keep watch. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With another kiss, he vanished from sight.
I pulled my cloak tighter round me, chilled despite the wholesome fire, oblivious to the muted sounds at the far end of camp, survivors settling down for the night, weary and wounded, and finally, for the villagers, free. Leaning back against a log, I took Gwynn’s burning hand in my own and settled down to wait.
* * * *
Warmth on my face prodded me awake, though I was uncertain where I was; uncertain what was nightmare, what was real. Gwynn was real, his young handsome face ravaged by pain and fever. Jackson Tunney, bending over my brother, long-silvered knife in hand, was real. I snarled and threw myself at the foreign mage to drag him away from my brother before he killed him outright.
Strong, gentle hands pulled me back with a struggle. “It’s all right.” Anders held me close, safe within the protection of his arms, as I stared at him in bewilderment, only then noticing Maylen at Jackson’s far side, holding a length of cloth for the mage to cut into strips. Tunney darted a confused look my way before turning back in response to Maylen’s terse instructions. Her young face was grim, filthy, as she applied a foul-looking poultice to Gwynn’s chest. While the mage held my brother’s skinny body motionless, Anders brushed tangled curls from my face.
“Jackson killed the other mage and freed Maylen.” At the question in my eyes, he said softly, “We can trust him, Alex. Maylen saw him fight before she was dragged away.” Anders squeezed my hand. “He went after Maylen to bring her back.”
Jackson slid his knife out of sight and helped Maylen tuck Gwynn’s tunic back together, wrapping blankets around my brother’s shivering body. Crouching at my side, the mage eyed me with caution.
“I’m sorry.” My throat was still raw from smoke and weeping.
Green eyes flashed in confusion. “Why?”
“I doubted you.”
Jackson regarded me gravely as he kept his balance. “I see.”
“I had no reason to doubt you.” I gripped the edges of my cloak, bundling myself deeper inside its warmth as Anders pulled me close. “I saw the knife and I thought—” Shrugging, I didn’t try to defend my actions further.
“You thought you had reason to doubt me.”
“Yes.”
Mischief danced in those indecent eyes as he answered in a bland tone, “The queen’s Mage Protector could not possibly be wrong. I believe you were distracted and solicitous for your brother’s welfare. As you should be,” he added, with a wink at Anders, who laughed, keeping me snug within the warmth of his arms.
Maylen sat back on her legs, studying my brother, her braid loosened, face marred with dirt and scratches.
I pulled free of Anders’ protective embrace and knelt beside the girl. “Will he be all right?” The clear blue eyes that met mine were full of grief and anxiety, no longer child’s eyes, not ever again. She nodded, and I hugged her close. “You all right, too?”
“Yes.”
Jackson cleared his throat with delicacy as I pulled back from the young woman and wiped my eyes. “We need to deal with the surviving renegades.”
I looked beyond him, to where the prisoners were bound. There was a harshness to their features, an aged, weathered look,
even in the ease of sleep in the two women. I felt their madness as a power in itself. I shivered involuntarily and turned back to Jackson. “Can you prepare the draught?”
“Of course.” He rummaged through his pack until he found the small leather pouch that held his herbs and assorted odd-looking ingredients. “Some wine, please?” he asked Maylen. “Or water. That will do as well.”
“I hope you have the recipe,” Anders muttered, watching Jackson’s nimble fingers grab a pinch of this and a pinch of that, “and share it with us.”
“Of course.” Jackson mixed the powder into the cup Maylen offered. “Sorry to waste your good wine, but it is for a worthy cause.” Smiling in apology at me, the mage brought the glass close to his nose and sniffed. “It has its own peculiar sweet odor which somewhat reminds me of a dead whale that has been beached for days.”
“Pleasant.”
Jackson flashed me a grin. “Here.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’d rather not.”
Jackson’s bright green eyes met mine with an appreciative look that acknowledged my reluctance as a reaction to the potion itself, not the odor. “Then I will.”
In silence, he pried open a waterskin and poured it over the head of the mage with the scar on the left side of his chin. Sputtering for breath, and groggy from the sleeping draught, he accepted the cup Jackson brought to his lips with a look of utter confusion, drinking its contents. As his eyes cleared, his face took on a strange expression. I clutched Anders arm so hard he nearly lost his balance. There was confusion and anger and betrayal, and most evident, a naked urge for vengeance in the mage’s eyes as he searched inwardly for a talent that had vanished. With a vicious oath, he lunged for Jackson but his hands and legs were still bound tight. Jackson’s fist left the renegade mage unconscious again, but not before I saw the final emotion that blazed clear and bright in his eyes.
Utter and complete loss.
“Can you handle the rest?” I asked Jackson, fighting back nausea.
“Yes.” He exchanged an anxious look with Anders. “It is my responsibility.”
“Maylen?”
Mage Resolution (Book 2) Page 22