Less than ten minutes until they would spring into action. What if the dart missed? Even if it hit, what if the man raised a cry before he passed out?
Xan’s heart pounded.
Another of Lainey’s flames appeared and extinguished. Dylan readied the blowgun. The guard, his eyes roving from side to side, paced around the back. As he turned the corner to the front, Dylan exhaled sharply.
The dart flew strong.
Xan couldn’t watch. If it missed …
A soft thunk sounded.
The missile stuck out of the center of the guard’s neck. “Wha—” He reached back. With his hand half raised, his knees buckled, and he fell forward to hit the ground with a thud.
Xan started forward. A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He turned.
Brant put a hand behind his ear.
They didn’t have time to stop and listen. If the guard’s aborted shout or fall had been heard, they were sunk. Period. If not, Xan only had a couple of minutes at best to take the guard’s place before he was missed.
Xan shrugged off the grip and rushed toward the downed figure.
By the time he reached the man, Brant had joined him, and Dylan followed closely behind. The three stripped the guard’s shirt and sword.
Since Brant was much more broad chested than the man and Dylan much shorter, Xan pulled the tunic over his own. His hand trembled as he strapped the sheathed weapon around his waist.
Brant handed him the man’s hat. “You’ll be fine. Just keep calm and act natural.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to expose himself to a trained archer who’d kill in a heartbeat. A single wrong move …
Xan would die. Ashley would continue at the mercy of whatever horrible fate her captor planned for her. His friends would probably be caught.
And it would all be his fault.
He took a deep breath and hustled toward the front of the manor. The guard was already behind schedule in appearing. They didn’t want any alarm raised.
Xan stopped just before the front corner and took another deep breath. He could do it. Just a stroll across the yard … with the sharp tip of an arrow following each step.
He proceeded forward at a slow, measured pace. Two and a half minutes per side.
The tower sentry held an arrow nocked toward the north. Another man sat in a lit foyer inside the house.
Sweat poured from Xan’s face, and he clasped his hands against his pant legs to keep them from shaking. He should have come up with a plan that didn’t involve impersonating the guard.
Once in the dark shade on the other side of the manor, he exhaled. The plan might actually work. Next step, get Dylan and Brant inside the house.
With Ashley’s dreaming stopped, Xan just had to wait for her to start again before using magic. Easy. Not like he was risking his life or anything.
When he reached the back of the house, Dylan and Brant stood inside the stable beside the guard’s unconscious form. They didn’t appear nervous at all.
Twice more, he passed them. Before the third, Ashley dreamed. Just past the northeast front corner, he sprinted to the back where Brant and Dylan waited. Xan cut around a window frame with concentrated fire.
Brant tugged, and the intact wood-and-glass assembly fell quietly into his hands. He grinned. “You’re doing great.”
Just a couple more circuits. Dylan would take care of the inside guard with another dart. Brant would take that guy’s clothes and signal the archer to come down. The plan was definitely going to work.
Xan turned the front corner. He stopped cold as he stared at disaster.
The door to the manor stood open. Light streaming into the yard silhouetted a huge man.
“Time to change—Hey! You’re not Odis.” The large guard drew his sword faster than Xan could blink. “Who are you?”
42.
Xan froze.
The monstrous guard raced across the grass, his sword held before him.
Xan couldn’t tear his eyes from the sharp, gleaming metal tip. It jerked and danced as it sped toward him.
How could it move so fast? That guard was ridiculously huge. He shouldn’t be able to walk, much less run.
His momentum would carry the full length of the sword through Xan. He’d be impaled. Killed. All hopes of rescuing Ashley doomed.
Xan’s mind blanked. He should do something. But what? He’d run out of time. The tip of the sword was only feet away.
Unbelievably, the man somehow stopped his huge bulk before impaling Xan. “I said, who are you?”
Xan should have burned the man’s clothes. Drew his sword. Anything. Better than being captured and have the plan go to crap.
He had to get things turned around. “What the blast, man? I’m just doing a solid for my cousin, Odis, and this is how I get treated?”
“How did you get in?” The huge guard didn’t look like he’d bought a word of the story.
So not good. Besides the blade, the bowman in the tower had noticed the commotion. He sighted a nocked arrow.
With Xan’s opponents so far apart, he couldn’t burn both at once. Even if he could somehow get past the sword without being run through, he’d be stuck like a pincushion.
His only chance was to stall. Maybe he’d spot an opportunity to escape or Brant and Dylan would find a way to help. Not that either seemed likely. “Odis had me climb over the wall in the back not five minutes ago. Man. I told that idiot this was a bad idea, but no, he just had to sneak out to see Francie down at the tavern.”
The man shook his head. “Turn around!”
With no other choice, Xan spun. Two mitts grabbed his arms and tightened a coarse rope around his hands behind his back. Odis’ broadsword cleared its scabbard hanging at Xan’s waist and clanged to the ground. Meaty fingers seized his upper arm in a vise-like grip and steered him toward the open door.
Dirc. Keller. Brant. Xan had promised himself he’d never let a bully beat him up again, but at the first sign of trouble, he’d put himself at another’s mercy. Had he really thought he could save Ashley?
He didn’t know what he was, but it certainly wasn’t a hero.
At the manor’s entry, the blade pricked his back, and he arched away from it. He tripped on the threshold and sprawled onto the floor inside, rolling so his side took most of the impact.
“Get up!”
How was Xan supposed to do that with his hands tied behind him? A stairway rose to a second floor landing on his left. He wedged his shoulder against the bannister and, after much effort and grunting, eventually gained his feet.
The big guard thrust him toward a doorway to the right.
If Brant’s diagram was correct, the storeroom he and Dylan had entered lay at the end of a hallway on the other side of the framed opening. What if they waited in the middle of the corridor?
There’d be little cover, so they’d surely be seen. Best case scenario, they’d be able to overwhelm the big guard with numbers, but Xan couldn’t imagine an alarm not being raised.
He dragged his feet. Any delay would give his friends extra time to hide.
The guard shoved Xan. He pitched forward and banged his head on the opposite wall.
Lit by a single lantern in the middle, the hallway stretched the length of the house. No sign of Xan’s friends. Good that they weren’t in danger. Bad that help wouldn’t be coming in the immediate future.
The guard kicked a closed door. Twice. Two booming thuds filled the house.
So much for stealth and surprise. With every minute, they faced more people waking up. What could Xan do about it, though?
Lighting the guard’s clothes on fire was likely to get Xan stabbed and wouldn’t stop an alarm. His only other option was to kill the guard, but was he ready for that? Probably best to wait. Maybe he’d still be able to talk his way out of the mess.
The door swung open to reveal a gray-haired woman with disheveled hair and rumpled clothing.
The guard’s voice boomed. “Ge
t Irwin and Arron. Then wake Master Morav.”
Xan should have struck as soon as they entered the house. He couldn’t kill the old lady.
The guard pulled, and Xan stumbled back. He slipped. The blade sliced his shoulder. Sharp pain flared.
Xan gasped. The hurt drowned everything else from his awareness. He fought for breath as he was pushed into the foyer, and a long while passed before he could think straight.
Footsteps approached from the corridor, and the old servant soon appeared and rushed up the stairs. A minute later, two more guards popped through the casement.
“Irwin, do a patrol loop. Arron, follow me,” the large man holding Xan said.
“I’m on it, Tomas.” The smaller of the two new men dashed from the house.
The situation was getting out of control. Xan had to do something. Set them up for Dylan to knock them out. Even burn them. Something.
Tomas gripped Xan’s bloody shoulder and pulled. Xan screamed as he spun, stumbling and falling with a thud. His face slammed against the stairs.
Pain pushed out all thoughts of plans and strategies and magic.
“Up!”
A humongous hand lifted Xan, but he struggled to get his feet under him. His legs shook, and his right cheek throbbed. The coppery smell of blood assaulted his nostrils.
No tears. He couldn’t bear the humiliation. Focus on something else. Revenge. Tomas would pay. Suffer.
A salty trail streaked down Xan’s cheek. Suffer a lot.
Tomas shoved him up the steps. Xan stumbled again. His injured shoulder hit the wall and exploded with fresh agony. He hustled to gain the next stair before Tomas could add to the torture and humiliation.
Where were his friends? Had they deserted him? Fled?
Xan staggered onto the upper landing. Another corridor ran the length of the house on the second floor, and Tomas shoved him toward a lighted room a couple of doors down.
Just before the three reached it, the serving woman exited and directed a curtsy to Tomas. “Master Morav asks that you wait in his study.”
Tomas pulled Xan out of the way so she could get to the stairs. What if Brant and Dylan were down there?
Xan gritted his teeth and feigned tripping. He lurched into her. “Watch where you walk, woman, or I’ll kick you down those stairs!”
A fist struck Xan’s wounded shoulder.
“Quiet boy!”
His entire world turned to pure agony. He teetered on the edge of blacking out.
A hand drove him toward the study, and he fell to his knees before being dragged back to his feet. He could barely breathe through the pain.
Gradually, the throbbing torment subsided enough for him to think. He stood before a large mahogany desk with Tomas and Arron positioned to each side behind him. Empty shelves lined one wall, and a window occupied most of another.
In Xan’s mind, his friends crept up the stairs and stood at the door. Dylan would aim the blowgun. A couple of darts, and Xan would be free.
That hope dimmed more with each passing minute.
Where were Dylan and Brant? Maybe they really had fled. Xan would have to find a way to get himself free.
A pair of light sources illuminated the room—two fires just sitting there waiting to be used. He couldn’t use the desk lamp since he was positioned between it and Tomas. A lantern hanging near the entry provided much better targeting angles.
If the men could detect magic, they’d kill Xan immediately, but he had no choice. He poured power into the lantern while slamming a shield into place to contain the energy. The light went black. He tensed.
“Why’d the lantern go out?” Arron said. “No breeze in here, and I filled it before going to bed.”
“Shut it!” Tomas said.
Xan choked back a relieved sigh and continued adding energy.
An older gentleman, frail with shaky hands and wearing fine clothes, stepped into the room. Without any sign he sensed Xan’s magic use, he eased into a massive oak chair behind the desk. “What have we here?” He clipped his words and emphasized odd syllables, an unfamiliar accent not shared by the guards.
“Caught this kid sneaking around and wearing Odis’ tunic and weapon,” Tomas said. “Claims to be a cousin taking his place.”
Morav’s eyes narrowed. “I find that unlikely.”
“Yes, sir,” Tomas said. “Irwin is searching the grounds.”
Xan poured more power into the fire. “Please, sir, I’m a refugee. I saw the rich house and thought I might be able to find valuables. My family, my baby sister. They’re hungry, sir.”
Morav leaned forward. “Pity, but I don’t think that’s it either. Arron, this young man needs motivation to be truthful.”
A rasp of metal announced a sword being drawn from a leather scabbard, and Xan tensed again. He couldn’t bear another stabbing. More pain.
If he aimed precisely and guessed really well at where the two behind him stood, the fire didn’t have to be lethal. Maybe. But there was a lot of energy stored in the lantern. Had to hold most of it back if he weren’t going to kill.
Xan visualized the locations for three openings in the globe containing the magic.
Intense pain erupted in his lower back. All thoughts of restraint fled. He arched away from the blade and opened three holes.
Glass shattered. A thick, glowing beam burned itself into his eyes. Morav slumped onto the desk with most of his head missing. Two thumps shook the floor behind Xan. He gagged at the stench of burning flesh.
Movement at the doorway. Burn it. Dylan stepped inside, and Xan barely checked his impulse.
“What did you do?” Dylan’s face paled, and he wobbled on his feet.
Xan had killed. Three men. Sons. Brothers. Fathers?
He’d seen corpses but none like these. Though the high heat had cauterized the wounds, there was still a lot of blood, and gray matter spattered a wide area behind Morav.
Xan fought against throwing up. He blinked. The carnage didn’t go away.
Dylan steadied himself on the doorframe and unsheathed his knife. “I’ll get that rope.”
What rope? Xan tried to move his hands. Oh. “No need.” A quick flow of conjured fire freed him. He felt at the stab wounds. “What about the other guards?”
Dylan held up his blowgun. “Except for the archer, we knocked out all the ones here at the manor.” He paused. “Are you okay?”
“Hurt’s like crazy,” Xan said, “but the wounds can wait until after we get Ashley out of here.”
At the mention of her name, she became that much more real. He was so close to seeing her. Surely, being her hero would be worth the pain. The killing.
Behind Dylan, Brant appeared, grinning widely. “Deal with the wounds, now. I’ll get the girl.” He snatched the still-burning lantern from the hook and disappeared down the corridor.
In the direction of Ashley’s room.
No.
“Brant!” Xan yelled. “Wait!”
43.
Xan’s foot slid as he rushed toward the corridor. He pitched forward. Thick, warm, sticky fluid met his hand.
Blood. From Arron. The man Xan had killed. One of the men.
Xan wiped the hand frantically against his pants, but there was no time for dwelling on it. He had to stop Brant. It would be okay. Her cell door would be locked, and Brant didn’t have a key—like the one hanging from Tomas’ belt.
Avoiding more blood and various unidentifiable charred hunks, Xan bent over the body. Bile rose in his throat. His grisly task complete, Xan darted past Dylan into the hallway. Brant stared intently at a metal door.
No!
The hinges buckled, and the door crashed to the floor. Brant disappeared into Ashley’s cell. Xan sprinted down the corridor. Breathless, he reached the doorway. Inside the room, Brant knelt next to a bed.
Xan’s heart skipped a beat.
Ashley lay on a mattress propped on one elbow and clutching a quilt to her chest. Wide eyes stared at the figure crouched b
eside her. Her hair wasn’t done. She wasn’t made-up in any way.
She was the most beautiful Xan had seen her.
“My lady,” Brant said, “I’m here to rescue you.”
He wasn’t there to rescue her. Xan was there to rescue her. Brant had paid nothing, lost nothing. Xan had suffered, had earned a reward.
Her countenance changed from wariness to joy. After tossing back the covers, she jumped from the bed. She wore only a shift—that didn’t even reach her knees.
While heat infused Xan’s face, she didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest about her lack of clothes. Brant grinned as he stood, and she threw her arms around him. Her savior. Brant.
Not Xan.
Their embrace carved a fragment from Xan’s soul, but he couldn’t turn his eyes from them.
“My shining knight.” She lavished attention on Brant while sparing Xan—her companion of so many nights in the dream—neither a glance nor a word.
Brant drew her tighter. “You’re safe now.” They held each other for an eternity. When they finally broke, he stroked her face.
The intimacy in the touch stabbed Xan through the heart.
“Are you harmed in any way?” Brant said. “If those bastards touched you, I swear I’ll kill them all.”
“For ruffians, they behaved in a gentlemanly enough manner.”
It was too much. Xan cleared his throat. “Maybe chatting should wait until she’s dressed. And we’re safely away.”
Ashley strode across the room, ignoring that her bouncing hemline exposed her thighs with each step. She threw open an armoire, intricately carved and more than twice as large as the biggest Xan had ever seen. “See, my gracious hosts even provided me new dresses.” Her tone spoke to her opinion as to the low quality of those garments. “Do you have a carriage?”
“No, my lady,” Brant said. “We’re on horses.”
“The split skirts then.” She pulled a dress from the wardrobe.
Two men had just burst through her cell door in the dead of night in a daring rescue, and she had the wherewithal to worry about what to wear?
She directed a cold look at Xan. “You, come here. I need assistance.”
Rise of the Mages (Rise of the Mages 2) Page 22