“Calm down, friend,” I said raising my left hand in what I hoped was a peaceful gesture. “You’re mistaken. I’ve never touched a hair on anyone called Madolina, or Imilia for that matter—”
“You lying, witch whore!”
I raised my eyebrows at this. So, he knew what I was. Interesting.
He paused and appeared to be looking for something inside of me. He was looking for my magic, as though I wore it like my woolen cloak.
Leo met my gaze, and I gave him a small shake of my head hoping he could read my thoughts as well as Jon used to.
“You’re the cause of the sickness, the death of the land and our families,” said my attacker. He stared at me with eyes of iron. The hair on my arms rose.
Instinctively, I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that he was wrong, that I wasn’t the cause of the sickness—but he was right. I had started it. Even if it was the necromancer priests’ black magic that was killing the land, I had recovered the Heart of Arcania, and it had enabled and amplified their power.
I angled my sword at his midsection.
“You’re mistaken,” I ventured. I could see that Garrick was frightened in the whites of his eyes, and my throat tightened. It took some effort to clear it.
“We’re just hunters,” I lied. “We’re looking for game that hasn’t been spoiled, to bring back to our families. That’s it. We’ll be happy to share if you’ll just lower your weapons—”
“You’ve cursed us all to hell!” growled the same man. Then he bared his teeth in a grin that would have had me shaking in the knees if I hadn’t had an audience.
“But I’m going to make it right by my Madolina and Imilia, so help the Creator. I’m going to end your life, and when I’m done with you, you’re going to wish you’d died in that goddamn race, witch.”
Before I had time to blink, he lunged at me with the speed and agility of a red monk.
I felt the air move an inch from my throat, and the searing pain of a small cut. I leapt back as my assailant went for my throat again. I felt wetness trickle against my collarbone as I spun and raised my sword above my head. The clang of metal blasted into the air like thunder as I met my attacker’s broadsword head-on.
I spun away from him on the balls of my feet, swung my sword in a tight arc and deflected his blade. Blood pumped through my veins, and my breath came quick and short. I readied myself, and he rushed at me again. He seemed unnaturally fast, and his sword nicked the edge of my cloak as I sidestepped.
But he was on me again. He charged forward with a war cry and swung his weapon. I parried and blocked, watching his movements and waiting for an opening so I could finish him off. But he fought too well to be considered just a grunt. No, he was trained fighter, a warrior.
I blocked high and then cut low, but he swung his great weapon around and blocked me. He spun around, but I ducked and rolled away as his weapon nearly cut off my ear.
“I’m going to gut you like a pig.” He looked at me with cold, evil eyes. Sweat trickled down his face, and his breathing came in large, rapid gusts.
I shifted on my feet. “I’d like to see you try.”
I wasn’t about to let him kill me. Too many people depended on me. Jon depended on me. The thought of Jon sent a wildfire through my veins.
The brute charged forward, swinging his sword in great big arcs. Fire burned inside me. This fool was ready to kill me without giving me a chance to make things right. Damn him.
I let that anger fuel me and parried his swings, one after another. I smiled at the surprise on his face. Any ordinary human would have been dead by now, especially a weak and fragile female. But I wasn’t a mere human. I was a steel maiden.
My feet were as supple as a cat’s, and I slipped away easily, but not fast enough.
Before I could recover from his previous blow, he was on me again, swinging for my head, again and again, never tiring. I dropped to the ground. His sword grazed the top of my head and sliced a hole in my cowl.
Bastard. I liked that cloak. Rose had given it to me and I didn’t own a spare.
With my mouth dry and blood pounding in my veins, I parried and used my opponent’s own weight to drive him forward. I rolled and sent him sprawling to the ground with a powerful kick.
Without a second to lose, I came up looking for the others. The air was suddenly full of screams and grunts, of metal against metal, and of steel cleaving through flesh and bone. Everything seemed to happen at once.
Leo barreled forward and slammed his weapon into a Romilian with a satisfying thud. Will and Max were fighting back to back, slicing their enemies with great arcs of their swords and never missing a beat. With two curved blades in his hands, Lucas moved between foes in a lethal dance, stabbing them with deadly precision before they even knew what had happened. His targets wavered, weakened, and fell.
Nugar’s piercings and tattoos shone with sweat as he swung a great battle-axe around him in a circle, hacking off the hands and arms of the fools who dared to enter his killing ring. With a great swing, he severed one head completely and hacked at another. His savagery and violence were enough to raise bile into my throat, and I made a mental note never to piss him off.
We were holding our own against this surprise attack, considering that we were outnumbered. Leo and Will had chosen their team well.
All except for Garrick.
I could see streaks of blood flowing from a large gash above his brow, and his face was pale and pasty like he had fever. He stumbled back, his sword hanging at an awkward angle like the weight was too heavy. He looked like an inexperienced swordsman who had never held a real weapon before—out of place, like a frightened puppy. He shouldn’t be here. Our eyes met, and I could see his silent cry for help, for my help.
A burly Romilian circled him, smelling easy prey. And with an evil smile, he raised his sword and swung it with great force towards the young lad. My breath caught in my throat as by some miracle or just dumb luck, Garrick deflected the blow with his own sword. But he stumbled and fell into a bush in a jumble of limbs. His cloak had wrapped around him awkwardly and was restraining his movement. He was trapped. I could hear him sobbing as the Romilian laughed and closed in for the kill.
With panic written all over his face, Garrick struggled with his cloak, but the man was on him before he could get up. His great silver sword glimmered in the soft light of the fire, and for a moment it looked as if it actually were on fire. I watched in horror as he prepared to bring it crashing down on the helpless Garrick.
“No!” I bellowed. My mouth was metallic with despair. Not Garrick. Not him.
Garrick’s assailant paused, and for a second I had his attention. I cringed under his stare, but it was all the distraction I needed.
I sprinted forward, but white-hot pain shot up my back, and I pitched headfirst into the ground. Instinctively, I rolled as I hit and a sword dug into the earth where my head had been. My back was aflame with pain. I knew I’d been cut deep enough to tear through my clothes and into my flesh. I turned and looked up into the small black eyes of my attacker.
“You made me kill my wife and child!” cried the man.
A string of spit flew from his mouth as snot ran down his nose. His wet eyes gleamed with the primal fury of a husband and father who wanted nothing more than to avenge the loss of his family. I had seen this fury before. I had felt it myself. I understood it.
My fingers trembled as I gripped my sword and tried to protect myself. This was a man who would die trying to kill me, a man who had nothing left to live for, and I was terrified.
“I’m sorry,” I began. I was surprised that I actually meant it. I backed away an inch at a time. Garrick’s frightened face flashed in my mind’s eye. Why had he volunteered? I couldn’t see him anymore, and I prayed to the Goddess that I might still have a chance to save him.
I turned my attention back to the mad, grief-stricken man who was attacking me.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,”
I said.
I slipped a little further away from him and gripped a handful of earth with my left hand. He seemed even larger as I looked up from the ground.
“I swear,” I blurted. “The priests did this. They’re the ones to blame. Listen to me. They’re not even priests, they’re necromancers. They’re using evil magic—”
“Liar!” he roared.
He leaned over me, and I could smell the malty stench of cheap ale on his breath.
“They told me you would say that. You lying bitch. I—I killed them. You made me kill my family, and now you must die to make amends for what you made me do.”
His eyes gleamed with savage fury, with a heightened madness from a man who’d lost everything he loved. The clang of metal against metal was still echoing through the night sky, and I prayed silently that the others had fared better than me.
“For Romila,” he chanted, out of breath. “For the Creator. For Madolina and Imilia. I’m going to slit your witch throat.”
My mighty enemy hefted his great sword out of the ground and whirled it at me as though it weighed no more than a mere feather.
But I was already moving.
I hurled my handful of earth into the man’s face and leaped to the side. He screamed. One hand went to his face as his blade went wide and missed me completely. I came up behind him and drove my sword into his back until I felt it lodge against bone. But if I thought had him then, I was sadly mistaken.
My sword slipped from my grasp as he turned around with unnatural strength, the blade still embedded in his back. Baring his teeth like a beast, he let out a guttural growl. Before I could react, he caught my throat with his free hand.
I reached up and tried to pry his fingers away, but it was as though they were made of steel. I thrashed violently, kicking out with my legs—but I couldn’t reach him. His hold on me hardened, and he squeezed tighter and tighter. I could hear him laughing. The sound of my heart thundered in my ears. Would my magic help me survive without air? Could I come back to life once I was dead? I didn’t think so. Ada’s scowl flashed in my mind’s eye as I felt my life and the success of my mission fade away while the pressure around my neck increased.
My blood rushed to my head. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t fight against these hands of steel. My magic didn’t give me that kind of strength.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream for help. My magic couldn’t save me.
CHAPTER 7
THE ROMILIAN’S FINGERS CRUSHED my throat. Something snapped. For a moment I was sure he had broken my neck, but I could still move my legs. My eyes felt that they would pop. My throat was aflame, and I was drifting away to the darkness.
He pulled me closer to him, so close that I could see the hairs inside his nose and feel his hot pungent breath. I tried to look for the others, but the world was a blur of grays and black. The blood throbbed in my ears, and I felt a shift inside me, as though my soul had been diminished. I was fading out like a puff of smoke.
“Yes, you’re going to die,” he said. “I can see the fear of death in your eyes. Death is far more merciful than what my family suffered, how they…”
His voice broke, and I would have felt sorry for him if he weren’t trying to kill me.
I could feel the pommel of my sword against my hip. With the last of my adrenaline, I let my hands slip from his that were around my neck.
He pulled me closer still until the stubble of his days-old beard brushed my cheek, and he whispered in my ear, “But you will suffer. Yes, that’s right. You will suffer and burn as the devils and demons torture your soul for all eternity in hell—”
I grasped the pommel of my sword, and his eyes went wide as I drove the blade deep into his back with all the strength the Goddess allowed me.
He spit up blood into my face and then loosed and released his hold around my neck. I stumbled back and found my footing. I filled my lungs with cold, wonderful gulps of air, and although it burned like liquid fire down my throat, I didn’t care. The pressure behind my eyes lessened, and I fought off a wave of dizziness and looked up.
I heard a wet cough as buckets of blood spilled out of my attacker’s mouth and down over his shirt. Drowning in his own blood, the big man’s eyes flashed with fear and then glazed over. He slumped to the ground at my feet.
For a moment I stood there, staring at this big dead man whose hatred for me was worse than that of my late father’s. But I felt nothing, no anger or sorrow at ending his life. If it stirred anything in me, I didn’t have time to dwell on it.
I knew that Garrick needed help.
I yanked my short sword free from the dead man’s back and sprang to my feet. Although my face was sticky and stank of the man’s blood, I didn’t bother to wipe it off. I fought the lightheadedness and nausea that threatened to tip me over as I looked around.
The forest floor was carpeted with blood, and men lay sprawled like gutted marionettes. I searched for faces I recognized, but there weren’t any. In spite of the blood that covered most of their cloaks and tunics, I recognized only yellow and orange Romilian colors.
I leaped and made my way back towards the silhouettes of men who stood near our camp. Leo was bent over and breathing heavily, but he was alive. Will was gasping for breath next to him, and Max and Lucas knelt in quiet conversation next to something I couldn’t see. Nugar walked around the fallen bodies and kicked a few to make sure they were dead. One of the bodies tried to drag itself away, but Nugar’s axe found him. They were alive. All except for one.
I went straight to where Max and Lucas knelt. And there he was.
“Garrick!”
He laid on his back in a puddle of his own blood, and his face was expressionless and as pale as the moon. I could see a gash on his chest the size of a man’s fist. I could even see layers of pink flesh and white bone inside it. Bile rose in my throat, but I pushed it back. Even though I knew no one could recover from such a wound, I let my sword slip from my hand and fell to my knees next to him.
I pressed my hands against his wound instinctively and attempted to stop the bleeding. But thick blood seeped through my fingers like coagulated wine.
Garrick’s wet eyes met mine, and his lips moved.
“Shh—don’t talk,” I said, blinking the wetness from my own eyes.
I felt the others crowd around me.
“You need to keep your strength. We’ll—we’ll find a healer. Yes. And they’ll stitch you up, good as new. Just you hang on, you hear me?”
My voice cracked, and I didn’t know whether it was because I had been strangled, or because I was witnessing the boy’s life spill away. He was too young to die. He didn’t deserve this. I began to sob quietly.
Garrick’s eyes gently rolled into the back of his head.
“Garrick!” I cried.
But I knew he’d already gone. The light faded from young Garrick’s eyes.
I had never expected to feel anguish like this for someone I hardly knew. In fact, I didn’t know him at all. All I knew was that he had joined this quest to help me. And now he had died in vain.
Blinking through the tears, I reached out and touched his cheek gently, staining his face with his own blood. His eyes were the color of the West Sea. I had never even cared to notice before. He would never grow up.
I leaned over and whispered so that no one else could hear, “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Please forgive me.”
I wept as waves of emotions raced through me, as though they had come from somewhere hidden deeply inside my soul and been waiting to come out. The pain was deeper and harsher than anything I had ever felt before. I didn’t care that the others saw me cry, at least maybe now they’d think of me as more human.
As I cried my last tear, an unyielding rage pounded through me.
“Why? Why was he even here? He should have stayed home with his family. He was too young, too inexperienced.”
“He had no family,” said Max softly, but his black eyes were grave.
I had more in common with Garrick than I’d realized. “You shouldn’t have let him come. You should have known better.”
“Why? Who are you to stop him from doing something he believed in?”
Max’s face darkened. “He wanted to be here. He believed in this quest, just like we do. He had the right to defend his land just like any other man. He believed it was the right thing to do. There’s honor in that. I won’t let you take that from him.”
My insides tightened. I knew Max was right.
“We all knew what we were facing when we decided to come.”
I looked up. Leo was staring at me, his gaze as grim as the rest.
“Garrick knew the risks,” he said. “And still he wanted to come. There was no stopping him once he had made up his mind. But he had vowed to see you safely into Witchdom. We all had. And only death could release that pledge. He knew what he was doing. We all do.”
Leo’s face hardened. There was no blame in his eyes. In fact, I couldn’t see a trace of blame in the others either. Clearly, they did not blame me for Garrick’s death. But I knew that if anyone was to blame, it should be me.
My eyes burned, and I fought back the tears. I prayed to the Goddess that one day I would make this right. For Garrick. For Jon. For everyone.
My rage shifted to the real enemy. I sheathed my sword and sprang to my feet in search of answers. It took barely twenty seconds before I found them.
A low, wet cough, sounded from amongst the bodies.
In two leaps I found a middle-aged Romilian who was still alive. His good eye widened in contempt, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. Big mistake.
With hands sticky and covered in Garrick’s blood, I hit him in the face, over and over again, until I couldn’t feel my fingers.
“Why? Why did you do this? Why have you attacked us?” I panted.
My voice was hoarse, and my throat was on fire. I could feel it closing up. The others closed in around me, but they didn’t interfere.
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