by Trudi Jaye
She sighed; looking into the distance, she attempted to measure how much farther they would be able to travel before the light failed them. In the distance, the mountains and the Ember Volcanoes rubbed against each other, but in the foreground, there was nothing but scrubland and small stubby trees on undulating ground.
She patted her horse as it drank from the stream, trying not to think about the rough journey they had in front of them.
“We don’t have time for day dreaming, Jena. Eat your rations and get back on your horse.” Argus stood next to his horse, scowling in her direction. He was pale, and his eyes had dark shadows beneath them. She knew he was suffering, but he refused to give in. Despite his expression, Jena smiled back at him and turned to obey his words.
He was right. They didn’t have time.
Next to her, Bree gave Jena a meaningful glance. “He’s not doing well,” she whispered.
Jena nodded. “I know. I don’t know how much longer he’ll last in the saddle.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
Jena considered her options. She didn’t really want to use a spell from the Book of Spells. Mages weren’t actually known for their healing skills, so there was very little to choose from that might actually work. And it would mean that Argus would know even more about her. He already knew too much. “Can we try your healing first?”
Bree nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I’ll give it another try. He’s not easy to convince to sit still for it.”
A sharp peck on her stomach reminded Jena about the raven. “I’ll do a searching spell while you work on Argus. We need to see how far ahead Nate is.” She just needed to find somewhere a little private to get the raven off her stomach.
Bree nodded and headed over to Argus. Jena watched them arguing for a moment, then strode to the other side of a nearby tree. Its bare branches offered no shade from the weak winter sun, but it was just enough to hide what she was doing from the others. She pulled up her shirt so her waist was bared. She thought about the blue sky overhead, about finding Nate, and waited.
The raven tore itself from her body, grabbing at her skin on the way out. She gasped at the spasms of pain and then sucked in deep calming breaths as the raven spiralled into the sky.
It would find Nate, and report back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Nate pondered the strange timbre of the mildly reproving voice that was telling him how to escape. Whoever it was also had an unusual knowledge of what was happening to Nate. Then it clicked into place in his head. He knew who it was: the untattooed mage ghost.
But how could he possibly be here? Nate shook his head in a tiny movement. Just like Seamus, the old mage had probably been dead for forty years and had figured out how to leave the area where he died.
Another thought occurred to him. The ghost hadn’t asked anything of Nate. It hadn’t demanded that he fix some family feud or find his body in the desert.
“Who are you?” he asked. This wasn’t any ordinary ghost. It was breaking all the rules he’d ever known about the spirits who strayed from the Edges.
“I’m the one person who can help you. These fellows are heading straight for Lothar at first light. The price on your head is for dead or alive, so don’t think they won’t hurt you. Paid mercenaries, every one. Masquerading as Flame Guards, damn his soul. And he’s told them about baneberry root.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I pay attention, boy. Unlike you, too busy running off to understand what’s going on around you. Now, summon a demon.”
Nate opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. The ghost was right; he needed help. If he could concentrate long enough to complete the spell. “What about the baneberry root?” he asked.
“You should still be able to call a demon. The baneberry just blocks your ability to call up mage spells.”
Nate nodded and tried to concentrate. It was difficult to think past the layers of distraction his captors had provided. The baneberry root was coming in through his senses and his gag reflexes were working overtime in his throat. He was bleeding on his face; the bruises on his stomach were aching, and the rope burns on his body stung. He could barely think through a full thought, let alone move into the Edges to call a demon.
The disorientation provided by the baneberry root meant the majority of his magic was out of his control. He could feel it spinning inside him, fizzing and spitting like an angry cat. But there was a place deep inside that the baneberry root couldn’t affect. He had accessed it to use the fire ruby against the wolvans, and he could still feel those fires inside him, dormant, waiting. Perhaps he could use that part of him to move into the Edges.
As he touched hesitantly at this fiery core, a long-forgotten childhood memory filtered into his head. He’d hidden himself in the dark corners of his grandfather’s castle and calmed his fears, both real and imaginary, by sinking into his mind and hiding in this comforting flame-filled center.
It was like coming home, sinking into something so familiar and safe.
A fierce light, like the center of an intense candle flame, kept him steady and closed off the physical pain of his body. Calling a fire demon was altered in this internal place. His connection to the Edges felt different, less like a barrier and more like an extension of himself. The Edges and the real world became the same place inside his head; a strange combination of thought and feeling pulled the demon toward him. It was both easier and harder than anything he’d ever done before.
His body shook and the heavy chains around his neck chinked in reaction. The heat of the demon warmed his body as it arrived with a small hiss at his side.
“How may I serve you, master?” the voice whispered in his ear.
“Untie me and get me out of here,” croaked Nate, his face still smashed up against the earth.
He felt heat on his hands, and then they were free. The blood pumped back into his fingers, making them at first cold and then wickedly painful with pins and needles. He was shivering in reaction, but he still had to get the sacking off his head. He lifted trembling hands and worked at the rope, trying to get it undone. He was hampered by the chains sitting on top and the lack of feeling in his hands. When his flingers slipped for the third time, the demon pushed him aside.
A hot flame, the smell of burning rope, and the sacking was gone.
He gasped a clean breath, loud and desperate. Too late, he remembered his captors. The mage’s words about dead or alive rang in his ears, and it was only when he could see them all around the campfire, undisturbed by his movement, that he let himself breathe again.
The next task was to get the chain from around his neck. It was pulled tight, and seemed to be attached somewhere behind him. He couldn’t see anything past the dirt in his face, but he felt a humming heat coming from behind him; the demon was already working on the problem. A vibration came through the metal of the massive chain links and warmed his neck.
He waited, letting the demon burn his way through the metal, while he rubbed the feeling back into his blood-starved hands.
“Keep still, master.”
The heat from the metal chains was growing, the vibrations becoming bone jarring. The heat pulsed at his face and body; he squirmed away in reaction.
“I can’t handle much more heat, demon,” he whispered, gasping at this new torture.
“You can handle much more than this.” The ghost mage was back, sitting at the edge of Nate’s line of sight.
“What makes you think that, old man?” Nate was getting sick of the cryptic comments. And when the mage wasn’t being cryptic, he was criticizing.
“You can dance with the flames and not feel a thing. You just have to learn how.”
A shaft of heat burned its way along Nate’s neck. He yelped in pain, surprise making his voice carry.
From the campfire, voices rose in response, and he saw two men stand and walk toward him.
“Now look what you did! You made me lose concentration,” whis
pered Nate to the mage. He tried to turn his head toward the demon but just made the metal chains burn deeper into the skin on his neck. “Demon, am I nearly free?”
“Almost, master. I will need a little more time. Perhaps your new friend can help you with a spell?” The demon’s voice was silky with sarcasm. Nate wondered if the creature would be happy or sad if he didn’t make it. It probably wouldn’t mind either way.
“I can actually help you, Nate, despite your creature’s disdain.” The mage ghost leaned forward. “You just have to trust me and do what I say.”
Nate looked to where the men were looming in the darkness, their slow progress speaking volumes. They weren’t worried about him escaping, that was certain.
“Tell me then. Tell me how to get out of here,” Nate croaked. His heart was pumping, and trails of sweat were running down his face. He couldn’t bear the thought of that sacking going back over his head.
“Close your eyes, and go inside yourself. Look for the burning light in your center.”
Nate closed his eyes and did as he was told, easily finding his way back to the flame-filled point inside his mind.
“Now pull some of that flame away from the core using your mind.” The ghost-mage’s voice was calm and even.
Nate hesitated and then moved directly into the center of the flames. He pulled at the flame, and nothing happened. The flames continued to burn. He took a breath and did it again. This time the flames moved as if a small breeze had floated past.
The third time he tried, the strength of the internal flame attached itself to the part of his mind that was seeking its power. He felt the surge heading up through his body, just as the hand of one of his captors grasped his arm and hauled him up.
It was difficult to concentrate on anything but the enormous welling of power inside his body. Everything else seemed to be happening from a distance. His ears popped, he saw stars, and his legs felt like they wouldn’t hold him even if he could manage to stand. Magic crackled around him. It was like being in the middle of a massive fire, but one that didn’t burn.
At least, it didn’t burn Nate.
He looked at the mercenary who had grabbed him. The man’s hand still clung to Nate’s arm, but he seemed to realize that Nate wasn’t completely helpless anymore.
“The baneberry root... he said it would...” The man’s voice trailed off.
Nate covered the man’s fingers with his own and pried them off, all at once. It was surprisingly easy. The digits snapped backward, breaking like dry twigs. The man screamed. It seemed to come from somewhere far away.
The man jerked back, cradling his broken hand. He watched Nate with a terrified expression, and took several more steps backward. He tripped and fell in his haste, then scrambled back on one hand and his feet, never taking his eyes off Nate.
Another mercenary moved to Nate’s other side. He had drawn his sword and now stepped forward, the heavy weapon raised to shoulder level, as he prepared to swing through Nate’s stomach where he lay on the ground.
Nate raised his hand, pulsing out power and throwing it toward the sword. The metal heated up in an instant, too fast for the mercenary to react. The smell of burning flesh became fused with the other camp aromas.
The man screamed and dropped his sword. The great weapon, now red with heat, spun around and down, piercing the top of his leg.
It slid through the skin, meat, and bone, and emerged on the other side. The hilt slammed into the man’s thigh and he fell to the ground, screaming. He clutched at his leg where it was now stuck like a piece of burning meat on a metal skewer.
Nate grasped the chains hanging around his neck. He pulsed a wave of heat out, and they cracked apart at his touch. He stood properly for the first time since he had been captured. The ghost mage was nearby, a satisfied expression on his shimmering face. The demon buzzed around his head, clearly agitated.
Turning, he strode over to where the fire burned. It called to him like a siren, drawing him into its depths. He shook his head. He needed to find the other mercenaries. That was his purpose, and he wouldn’t stray from it.
Not yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Over there! A fire. We’ve found them,” Jena whispered.
They crouched in the darkness behind a small rise above the camp. The night was inky black, the stars obscured by clouds.
They’d been about to stop to make camp when they found Nate’s cave. Argus had recognized the signs of a struggle, and they had tracked Nate and his attackers.
Crouching low behind the only natural protection she could find, Jena peered around the scraggly branches of the tree. Her heart was pumping, and she was struggling to breathe. Ever since they’d discovered Nate had been captured, she’d had a heavy leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. They had to get him back; everything hinged on him.
Surely, the Flames wouldn’t burn away from them so early in their journey?
Peering into the distance, she could tell something was wrong. There was no movement aside from the flickering of the flames at the campfire.
“What are we going to do? How do we rescue him?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at Argus.
“I’ll scout the campsite. I need to see how many men, and what weapons they have. You stay here.”
He held up his hand when both women opened their mouths to argue. “This is my specialty.”
Jena quirked the corner of her lip to one side. He was right. Despite the fact that he looked like death warmed up, they needed to let him to do what he did best. She squatted down behind her tree and nodded at him that he should go ahead.
Bree hesitated, then crouched down beside her.
They had left their horses a short way back, trying to keep a low profile as they approached the camp. They couldn’t risk being captured. The men who had Nate were probably professional mercenaries like Argus. There would be no mercy if they found the three of them hiding outside their camp.
Especially if they were working for Lothar.
She wondered briefly if she should go back and get the horses, so they could go storming into the campsite. But the idea of her horse being hacked by a sword, or of something happening to Bree, made her hesitate. She shivered and peered into the darkness, trying to spot Argus.
“Bree, Jena. Come here.” Argus’s voice floated over from the campsite.
Jena blinked, shifting her eyes to the direction of his voice. At first, it seemed like it must be a trap, so she stayed where she was, holding onto Bree’s arm when her sister would have stood.
It was strange that Argus was in the campsite, and even stranger that he was calling to them. Where were the mercenaries? She didn’t think Argus would participate in a trick, but they couldn’t be too careful.
Narrowing her eyes, she focused on what she could see of Argus. He was standing by the fire. Next to him, she could see a seated figure staring into the flames.
Nate.
There were no other people in the campsite. Everything was eerily still.
She hesitated and then stood and walked cautiously down the hill, Bree following closely behind her.
As they came closer to Argus and Nate, raw energy flared around them, a sizzle in the air that said something powerful had happened at this place, and not long since.
The first stirrings of the fire spell flickered in her palm. All her senses were buzzing, and Jena slowed her pace even further. The campsite was a mess. She couldn’t see the mercenaries that Argus had sworn were with Nate, but a huge amount of blood and gore was splattered around the camp. Piles of ash lay on the ground, bits floating through the air. Just like when Thornal had died.
She closed her palm around the fire spell, and it flickered out.
Nate was gazing into the fire, his hands tight around his knees and a blank expression on his face. He didn’t glance up as they arrived next to him. The fire made shadows flicker on his face in the darkness.
“He’s not changed position since I got here. No
t even looked at me. Won’t acknowledge me at all. There’s no one else here.” Argus looked around, indicating the blood stains on the sleeping mat at the edge of the fire. “But I don’t think we have to worry about them.”
“What happened?” Jena stared around her. She had an idea what the piles of ash were, if nothing else. She’d seen it before.
“I don’t know.” He glanced down at Nate. “We’ll make camp here, and in the morning, we can figure out what’s wrong with him.”
Jena looked around the destroyed campsite. “We need to clear this stuff. I’m not going to be able to sleep with all this blood.” She picked up a bloodstained bedroll, and dragged it out of range of the fire.
“I’ll go get the horses,” said Bree, her voice muffled by the hand she was holding over her mouth. She turned abruptly and ran back the way they had come.
“She hasn’t seen anything like this before,” said Jena.
“Not many people have,” said Argus.
Jena shrugged and started clearing away camp items with pieces of flesh and blood splattered over them. She hadn’t led the same life as Bree.
Once the area was clean, she finally turned to Nate. She couldn’t do much about the blood on his shirt and trousers. Jena wrapped a relatively clean blanket around his shoulders. Given the amount of blood splatted over the campsite, he was fairly clean. He’d somehow been protected from the worst of it.
“Do you think he did this?” Argus gazed around at the destruction, his eyes hooded.
Jena held up a sacking hood she’d found nearby. “They put this over his head to disorientate him, to stop him doing any spells.” She took another sniff. “It’s got baneberry root on it.”
Argus looked at her with a carefully blank expression.