by Lizzy Ford
Sela reached the shallow depths and sloshed through the water to the shore. The lake magic lapped at her feet, dragged her back, and then released her. It toyed with her, and she struggled, fear in her breast. For the first time in her life, she understood Karav’s warning about how a mage could become consumed and possessed by the magic in her blood.
It hauled her under one more time, and tunnel vision formed. Sela’s body was too cold and her limbs too heavy. She was sinking fast, despite the shallow water, with no more power remaining to help her.
Suddenly, she was on the surface again. Someone hauled her out of the lake and dragged her onto the bank. She coughed up the water and pulled her feet up as the water magic toyed with her, trying to reclaim her. A warm body squatted beside her. She blinked water out of her eyes and coughed up the rest of the water.
She looked towards the lake. An invisible wall had formed between her and the water, preventing it from taking her. Angry waves were slapping up against the wall.
“Either your bond is broken or you are the weakest water mage ever born not to be able to control a bucket of water this small.”
The water was screaming at her, while her insides felt as if they were trying to escape her body to join it.
“Which is it?”
Sela went limp on the muddy bank, unable to answer while the war waged within her. The speaker gripped her right wrist to look at her hand. He wore the green of the Kingdom of Biu, which lay east of the Inlands.
A flutter of magic – wind magic – reached her agitated blood.
“Un-bonded. Citon, pick her up.”
Fear filtered through her. The man called Citon lifted her. He was large, a warrior, and warm. Unable to move, she huddled against him. They walked forever, until the breeze stopped suddenly and the scent of people and horses reached her.
Sela opened her eyes. Citon walked into a tavern, a blur of orange hearths and dark wood, of smoke and venison on a spit. He carried her down a hall dark enough to be a tunnel and then entered a room with a single candle lighting it. He set her down on a low bed and stepped back.
Sela shivered. She pushed herself up, weak and exhausted. They were near the lake. She heard it beckoning her. But they were too far for it to claim her.
“It’s a foolish thing, to swim in a lake of any size when you are un-bonded,” the voice said.
Sela wiped water droplets from her eyelashes and focused on the speaker. A wind mage, by his unusual silver-gray eyes. And Citon was his warrior. More men lingered in the hallway. Their faces disappeared when Citon closed the door.
“What happened to your warrior?” Citon asked in a low voice. He crossed his hands before him, standing guard at the door.
“His stone faded. He left me,” she managed in a hoarse voice.
“In a lake?” the wind mage appeared entertained. “Citon, fetch us some warm wine and clothing for our guest.”
The warrior obeyed. The wind mage shook off his oiled cloak and sat on the bed across from her, studying her. He was tall and slender, lean, with a sword at his side. His features were exotic and dark, like his warrior’s. They were probably some of the many, many people sent to snatch the only water mage in existence.
“Not in a lake,” she said and sat up. “I was fleeing … Inlanders.”
“Understood. We have fled several of them as well.” The wind mage smiled. “How does a water mage, the daughter of a prince, not travel with ten thousand guards?”
“My former warrior fought better than ten thousand.”
“Even knowing his stone was fading? It seems he left you vulnerable.”
She was quiet, unwilling to admit she was fleeing her new mage-warrior.
“The truth means little to me,” the wind mage said. “There is not a king alive who is not seeking you, and I have found you.”
“You will take me back to your king?”
“And find you a new warrior, one who serves my kingdom.”
“My king may not approve.”
“Then he can travel from his lands across the channel and challenge us,” the wind mage said with a confident smile.
Sela sighed. She had planned on being free, not ending up in service to another king.
The wind mage appeared proud of himself. His warrior returned with a trencher of food and mead and a small satchel. He passed the satchel to her.
“We have men outside the window and door. You cannot escape us,” the wind mage warned, standing. “I will count to a hundred then return.”
They left. Sela rose and maneuvered out of her wet clothing with effort. She pulled the foreign gown from the satchel and looked it over. It was too light to keep her warm, barely heavier than a shift, unlike the heavy gowns of the cooler northern climate she was accustomed to. She wrung out her hair, braided it then changed into the dark gown, grateful to be dry again. As an afterthought, she fished out the binding dirk from her wet clothing and tucked it in her braid, hidden among her hair.
The two entered again. She moved away from the door and sat, barefooted, at the other end of the pallet.
“You have no warrior chosen for you?” Citon asked.
“She’s unbound,” his mage replied with impatience. “What does it matter if some warrior was chosen when he did not claim her? The Runes are not always accurate.”
“My … intended warrior chose not to bind me,” she lied.
Citon said nothing but met her gaze. Sela had no idea what to tell him, but it was clear he was not as pleased as his mage about her story. Several seasons younger than Karav, Citon was an imposing figure, one whose stance and expression reminded her enough of Karav that her eyes watered.
“Inlanders,” the wind mage almost spat. “You’re better off without one.”
Citon’s gaze narrowed. “A warrior does not choose not to bind his mage. He will hunt you down, unless he is dead.”
She was cold inside. Was half a day’s travel not far enough away to deter the magic?
“She said he chose not to, Citon,” the wind mage snapped. “Leave it be.”
Citon was not convinced, and suddenly, neither was she. If her plan did not work, that meant Tieran was going to show up here, angry enough to kill her. She reached for the wine with a shaking hand and lifted it. The wine went down fast and comforting, warming the chill within her.
“Unbound, she cannot travel waterways or go too close to the seas,” the wind mage mused. “We’ll need to warn our priests. They’ll have to send their chosen warrior to meet us in the Inlands.”
“May I ask why you want me?” she ventured. “Why now?”
“For the war,” Citon replied.
“What war?”
The two exchanged a look. “Are the mages of the north not as educated as ours are?” the wind mage asked.
She rolled her eyes at him.
“The High King’s death has many people concerned,” Citon answered. “He left no successor.”
“The High King is dead,” she repeated. Had Karav known? If so, why did he not tell her?
“He is.”
“He was your grandfather’s brother, was he not?” the wind mage asked.
“Does everyone know who I am?” she asked, surprised.
“You are the first water mage in four generations, and the key to any kingdom’s victory,” Citon said. “Yes, everyone knows.”
Karav kept much from her, she realized. She had known she was the first water mage in four generations, but not that every other kingdom knew her pedigree, appearance, history, and importance. “I didn’t know the High King. I traveled to his court twice but otherwise was secluded away. I’m sorry to hear of his passing. I’ve been away from Vurdu for too long.”
Was her father sad about the passing of his uncle? She could not bear knowing he was upset after the pain of losing Karav.
“Which is why no one believed you were in the Inlands for how long, Citon? Nine moons?” the wind mage asked his warrior and shook his head.
“Elev
en that we know of,” Citon agreed with a faint smile. “Your warrior was wise and very good at hiding you.”
“He was,” she agreed sadly.
“In any case, we have found you, and you can be bound to our kingdom and create the next great lineage of mages,” the wind mage said with no interest in her Karav at all.
She lifted an eyebrow. Would she rather spend her life in the savage Inlands or confined to the court of an enemy of her king? Both choices were appalling, and neither had been her destiny before Karav’s death.
“She needs rest,” Citon said.
“Aye, she does. Secure the tavern, Citon. We have searched too long to lose her. I’ll inform our priests,” the wind mage said and stood. “In the morning, mage, we will leave for your new home.”
Too tired to retort, Sela silently promised him she would never make it to his king. She had decided to be free – and she would be. She had no other choice.
Citon opened the door for the wind mage to pass through but did not follow. Instead, he closed it and faced her again. The large warrior approached. Uneasy, she pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against the wall. He knelt before the bed then took her hands, examining them and her wrists.
Her scar was completely gone.
“You were tied. You killed your new warrior?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You ran?”
“Yes.”
“Foolish,” he said with a grim shake of his head. “Nothing comes between a mage and his warrior.”
“If I’m far enough away, the magic won’t pull him.”
“It’ll kill him.”
Citon’s words made her gasp. She never intended to hurt Tieran, just free them both from the bond neither of them wanted.
“For your sake, you better hope it does,” he said and rose. “If not, the madness may claim his mind. He may kill you when you meet again.”
No part of her could refute the idea. Tieran was a violent mercenary Inlander who had already slaughtered two other mages.
Even the wine did not warm the cold fear in her chest.
“I pursued Vinian for a moon. He barely survived what I did to him when I caught him.” There was hardness in Citon’s voice, as if he was unhappy with her for hurting a fellow warrior. “You do not know what suffering you put him through.”
Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. “Why do you care about my warrior and me?”
“I do not care so much as understand,” he replied. “Mage-warriors are the same, no matter what king they serve.”
Sela propped her chin on her knees, uncertain how Citon felt any kinship with a warrior from the Inlands. What this warrior did not know was that he was likely to be one of those chopped down, if Tieran survived long enough to make it to the village.
“How does a water mage come by a guardian from this landlocked place?” Citon mused.
“There is no reason to any of this,” she said with more heat than she intended. “I don’t want a warrior at all.”
“Claims the water mage who barely survived a puddle.”
She flushed.
“Citon!” the wind mage’s irritated voice carried through the door. “Fetch my saddlebags!”
Karav never would have tolerated such a tone from her.
Citon’s jaw clenched, the only sign he was displeased, but he obeyed and grabbed the saddlebags then left the room.
Sela’s eyes went to the small window in the corner of the room. The skies had turned dark, a combination of dusk and clouds. She was uncertain how long it had been, but she was either underwater longer than it felt, or carried from the lake farther than she thought. If Tieran were half as mad as the warrior believed he might be, he would not be far behind.
From outside the tavern, the sudden sounds of swords clashing made her flinch. At first, she thought it was thunder, but the clouds were not speaking to her, which meant, no rain or lightning or thunder.
The sounds of men running down the hallway outside her door caused her heart to pound harder. She did not like Tieran, but she did not wish him dead or mad! She wanted him to live his life so she could live hers – far away from him.
She rose and stood on the table holding the candle to peer out the tiny window near the ceiling.
A battle occurred in the roads of the village, illuminated by torches and their reflections off the blades of swords. Brief pulses of magic punctuated the fighting. The building trembled in response to earth magic, and a wind mage flung warriors into the sky.
This was not Tieran or his mercenary army, and she started to relax.
The more she watched, the more confused she became, for it seemed as if there were multiple groups battling, not just the Biu men in green cloaks defending the inne. She saw purple – the Kingdom of Masu – and Red – the Kingdom of Iliu. The only kingdom missing was her own.
Karav had never spoke of her pursuers, but if what Citon and his mage said were true about a war, then men and mages from all the island kingdoms could have converged on this town. How long had they been tracking her?
Why had Karav not been more specific about the dangers?
The ground beneath the tavern bucked, throwing her off the table. She landed on the hard floor and struggled to her feet again. The walls around her shook violently. Sela staggered to the door and yanked it open, surprised to find a battle in the hallway as well.
Swords flashed too close to her for comfort, and she took a step back. The men fighting moved too fast for her to notice the color identifying their kingdoms, and some of them looked little better than unkempt mercenaries.
More than one man careened into her, unaware of who she was when she wore the plain clothing of a servant.
From down the hall, Citon caught her eye and moved towards her, slashing at the men in his path to reach the doorway. When he was close, he twisted his back to her and held out one arm, deftly wielding his sword with the other. Though she had no intention of traveling east with them, she did want to survive the night. Sela clutched his hand.
Citon pulled her behind him and fought his way down the hallway. The stairs were clear. She hopped over the last body in her path and all but fell down the first few stairs as Citon’s pace quickened.
The main floor of the tavern was a battlefield as well. The scents of food had been replaced with those of horses, sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Citon kept to the wall, skirting the melee in the middle, and released her only when they were closer to the door, which was clogged with fighters. After an unsuccessful attempt to plough through the door, he pushed her towards a table shoved under a window just large enough for her to squeeze through. She climbed on top but did not go through the window, discouraged by the fighters clogging the road outside.
“Stay right here,” Citon told her.
“Wait! Give me a dagger. I can fight.”
He handed her one then hacked through the men to the doorway.
Sela gripped the hilt of the dagger tightly. While true, Karav had taught her to fight, she had never done more than practice. She had never once drawn blood or stabbed a man in his gullet.
She crouched on the table. Her eyes fluttered from the warrior who had decided to protect her to the men battling in the tavern. No one came close enough for her to stab, and no one tried to grab her. A woman in servant’s clothing was no danger to the men with swords.
Why had Karav not told her of the death of the High King and this war? Had he even known? From what she knew of her great-uncle, he had no heirs. Who, then, was his successor? Her father would know. Karav would have insight as well.
Sela could not bear the pain that came with doubting her former guardian. If he had kept the news from her, there was a reason.
Karav said there were many people tracking them, but she had not thought that meant the island kingdoms would send entire armies! There were over a hundred men in the town!
Could these kingdoms not win their war without her? She had been coddled and hidden aw
ay her entire life and never once called upon to fight for her king, despite the occasional skirmish he waged against the neighboring northern kingdom of Masu. Did they choose now to strike, because she was far from the armies of her father and uncle?
Someone snatched her, and she cried out. Sela smashed her heel into the attacker’s knee then slammed her knee between his legs. The man bent over in pain. She lifted the dagger to kill him and then hesitated, uncertain she could murder anyone, even if he deserved it. Karav had always said only a few men in the entire realm deserved to die. Would he think this man was one of them?
Citon appeared outside the window. He grabbed her arm before she had made her decision and all but hauled her through the window. He released her before she had her balance, and Sela crashed to her knees in the mud outside the window. Citon hauled her up then smacked away someone else’s sword with his own. She pressed herself against the wall as he fought off attackers close enough for the clashing swords to hurt her ears.
A cold, evening breeze swept through the town.
Uncertain how to escape, Sela remained where she was rather than run from the mage-warrior fighting for her. She gripped her dagger. Without Karav, she felt completely lost. Was it better to go with Citon, because he could protect her? Or did she flee from him when she could and take her chances in the Inlands on her own?
No plan of what to do next, or where to go, entered her thoughts. She had escaped Tieran, only to find herself at a loss as to what to do.
The earth rumbled and shook again. The building behind her groaned under the strain.
“Citon!” she cried. “It’s going to collapse!”
He pointed to the right, and she ran out of range of the building, past the next building and ducked into an alley. Her bare feet slipped and stuck in the mud, preventing her from moving as fast as her instincts urged her to. Citon was close behind her and followed her into the alley. He took up a position along one wall, watchful eyes on the battle.
“Why is this happening?” she gasped. She steadied herself against the building across from him, shivering from the cold and rain.
“Priests sensed the bond break and alerted their mages,” Citon answered. “We found you first by luck.”