“All right, hunter,” the strix mocked, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. “I will fight you. Show me your magic. Amuse me.” Her laugh echoed through the hall.
“Where’s Corran?”
“Every fight should have a prize. If I win, I keep all that lovely blood. If you win, you get him back, a little worse for wear. But you’re going to have to settle this quickly, because he’s bleeding steadily. Every drop makes me a little stronger, and him a little weaker.”
“Show yourself!”
“Find me.”
Rigan thrust Corran’s sword through his belt. He still had his pack, with the materials he would need to end the strix. He gripped his iron blade white-knuckled, then stared down the row of doors.
Are we still in the barn, or somewhere else? If we’re somehow still in the barn, then the strix can’t get past the circles outside. We’re trapped. I can’t help Corran until I kill the strix. How do I kill what I can’t see?
He forced himself to take a deep breath. Drawing on the earth to power his magic had not worked, so this time, he called to the air. It was stale and sluggish, but not as tainted as the blood-soaked ground.
“Come and get me,” Rigan muttered. He raised his left arm, palm toward the sky. He let the power flow through him, bursting from his open hand in a torrent of fire that hit the ceiling and fanned out, flames licking every corner and catching in the dry wood. As the flames caught, the fire fed back into Rigan’s power, grounding him.
The strix screamed, and in the next heartbeat she stood before him. Madness flashed in her white-blue eyes, and lips stained red with blood parted over viciously sharp teeth. She hurled herself at Rigan, hands raised in claws.
The torrent of flames ended abruptly, and Rigan leveled a horizontal blast of fire at the strix, who vanished, appearing behind and to the side, raking sharp nails down his sword arm. He wheeled, slashing with the knife, opening a deep gash on her shoulder with the point of the blade.
Burning wood fell all around them as smoke filled the room. Sweat ran down Rigan’s face as he and the strix circled. “Fire or sword. One way or the other, you lose,” he grated, trying to ignore the pain from his wounds, pushing his fear for Corran from his mind.
“I’ve still got blood to feed me,” the strix replied, her voice harsh. “You’re nearly spent. And when you fall, I’ll have your blood as well.”
Rigan felt drained by his magic, despite his attempts to ground his power. The wounds were likely poisoned, and his head pounded. Blood soaked his shirt. The strix sprang at him again and Rigan dodged aside, barely evading her sharp nails. His sword bit deep, ripping her right arm open to the bone from wrist to elbow, a lethal strike if she were mortal.
“Stand still, boy. Don’t fight. I’ll be quick.”
Rigan dove toward the strix, dropping and rolling to come up behind her, where Corran’s crossbow lay. She charged toward him and he pushed her away with a blast of fire as he scrabbled for the bow. Enraged, she fell back, then came at him again. Rigan pulled the trigger and let the spelled quarrel fly.
The arrow took the strix square in the heart. “You can’t kill me with an arrow,” she mocked.
“An iron tip will work just fine.”
As Rigan spoke, black veins branched and spread across the strix’s body from the quarrel protruding from her chest. He seized his chance as the witch hesitated, and brought the iron sword around with his full strength, slicing through her neck and sending her head rolling.
The walls of the great hall shimmered, twisting and folding. Rigan stood in a burning barn as flaming thatch fell around him, blistering his arms and shoulders, singeing his hair. The strix’s body lay a few feet away, her severed head a short distance beyond it. This whole place is going to fall in on itself any moment, and I’ve still got to find Corran, he thought, forcing himself to move.
Rigan pushed the witch’s body against one of the burning beams, smiling grimly as the flames caught in her rags. From the bag on his back, he pulled a pouch of salt, amanita, and aconite. He shook the bags over the crone’s corpse and sent a short blast of fire to incinerate her, kicking the head onto the pyre and taking a sliver of satisfaction from watching her burn.
Overhead, a beam groaned and more embers fell. Running out of time. When Rigan’s magic touched the ground beneath the barn, he’d known where the witch had bled her victims. Corran’s down there, he realized, but how do I get to him?
His gaze fell on a pattern of lines on the filthy floorboards. Rigan dropped to his knees, searching for a trapdoor, heedless of the blazing thatch that peppered his back and arms with burns. Blood and sweat soaked his shirt and his hair hung against his forehead. We can’t last long in this. He found what he was looking for and heaved the trapdoor open. The stench of old blood hit him like a blow. “Corran!”
Rigan dropped into the darkness, and crouched until his eyes adjusted. Conjured handfire gave him enough light to see. The ground made a wet sucking sound with each step; the smell was overpowering, making him swallow hard to keep from retching. Overhead, he heard the flames roaring and felt the scorching heat through the floor. Odds were good the roof would come down, trapping them both. Rigan pushed those worries to the back of his mind as he made his way toward the crumpled figure lying on the blood-soaked ground.
“Gods, Corran.” Rigan did not pause to feel for a pulse or check for breath. I’m not leaving him here, no matter what.
He rolled his brother onto his back, and tried not to notice his silence. Rigan grabbed Corran beneath the arms and pulled him toward the trapdoor when a crash sounded overhead. Sparks flew through the gaps in the floorboards, burning his face. A wave of heat washed over them, taking his breath away. The temperature climbed rapidly. Can’t get out that way. Trent and Ross won’t be able to get in until after we’re cooked—not that it’ll take long.
With the fire blazing over their heads, Rigan no longer needed his magic to see. One side of the rough cellar sloped down. He dragged Corran a few feet, breathing a sigh of relief when they were no longer directly under the burning structure. Rigan stared up at the ceiling and stood, extending his arms. Rough wood met his touch. He forced the power up and out, smashing through the boards and opening up a vision of the night sky.
Rigan panted with the heat and the exertion of magic. Sweat and blood ran in rivulets down his back and arms as he bent to get a good grip on Corran. Drawing again on his power, he managed to hoist his brother up and roll him onto the ground.
A crash behind him warned Rigan they were out of time, as the burning barn collapsed. He jumped, feeling flames on the back of his legs and his boots. He caught the edge of the opening with his arms, and tried to get a toe-hold to push himself up.
“We’ve got you.” Trent and Ross grabbed Rigan’s arms, hauling him up and out. Rigan lay face down on the cool ground, heaving for breath, heart crashing. He tried to push himself onto his knees, and succeeded on the second try.
“Corran—”
“He’s breathing,” Trent said.
Rigan shifted to get a better look at his brother. Blood ran from deep gashes carved across Corran’s arm and chest, and from the raw bite in his throat. He lay pale and still, and Rigan felt his own heart skip a beat. I’ve barely survived losing Kell. I can’t lose Corran, too. Despite Trent’s reassurances, Rigan reached out to grasp Corran’s wrist, pressing his fingertips into the flesh, waiting to feel the thready beat of a pulse. Alive—barely. Eshtamon said he’d be hard to kill. Please, please let that be true.
In the distance, Rigan could hear Aiden chanting, making sure that the strix’s spirit would not return. Mir and Trent faced away from the burning barn, watching the rest of the ruins.
Rigan lay waiting for his heart to quiet. His skin was peppered with burns, his lungs ached and his eyes stung. But he was alive, and so was Corran—and the strix was gone.
“Let’s bind up the worst of your wounds and get the two of you out of here.” Aiden knelt beside Co
rran, making a careful examination. He reached into his pack and pulled out a flask of water infused with cleansing herbs and washed Corran’s wounds, then dressed them with a poultice and fresh bandages. Aiden laid a hand over the most serious wounds, and began to chant quietly.
Rigan watched the healer with worry and admiration. Aiden looked pale and haggard, and Rigan knew his friend’s magic had helped to defeat the strix, kept her contained within the wardings placed around the creature’s lair. His foresight had helped them track the strix’s movements, so that they didn’t go in completely unprepared. But witches had their limits, and Aiden looked like he was nearing his.
After a few moments, the healer was finished. He turned to Rigan. “Before we go after those books, I need to treat the wounds she gave you, else they’ll go bad.”
“I’ve had worse. Save your magic.”
“Can’t have you bleeding all over the manuscripts,” Aiden replied, raising an eyebrow. “Shut up and let me see to your injuries.”
As Aiden got to work, Rigan glanced at his brother. Corran looked far too pale, even given the moonlight. His shallow breathing hitched with pain, and blood stained his clothes black. “We’re going to have to carry him out,” Rigan said.
Trent gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re going to have your hands full just walking out.”
Ross returned just then with four sturdy, newly-cut saplings. He fished in his pack for rope. “I’ll rig a travois.” In a few minutes, Ross had tied the four poles in a rectangle, then secured his cloak over them.
“Load him on.” Ross and Trent grabbed Corran by his shoulders and feet and fastened him with the rest of the rope.
“Go,” Trent said. “We need to get Below.”
Aiden helped Rigan to his feet, and together they headed for the tower. They paused at the doorway, and Aiden called on his foresight, checking for danger. “She’s gone,” Aiden said after a moment. “And there’s nothing else in there. The strix kept people away from the site, but I don’t think she ever cared for the tower. Too far away from fresh dirt. Strixes need the dirt to anchor their power and regenerate.”
“Let’s go see what remains of the library,” Rigan said, dusting himself off. “We’ve still got a long ride ahead of us.”
It did not take long for them to find the library. “Empty,” Aiden sighed.
Rigan stood staring in silence. He’d known it was unlikely the Crown Prince’s soldiers had left anything of value behind, but he still felt his heart sink when they found the room filled floor to ceiling with bare shelves.
Aiden gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder. “Come on. Soldiers cleared it, but monks and scholars built it. You think they left the good stuff out in the open?”
Together, they began to examine the back of the bookshelves and the shelves themselves, tapping gently, running their fingers lightly over surfaces, looking for hidden catches, eying spaces to see if dimensions added up.
“Got something,” Aiden said after several minutes. Rigan heard the snick of a latch opening, and a hidden drawer slid out of the center bookshelf. “Never mind, it’s empty.”
“I found something,” Rigan said a moment later when a section on the back of the bookcase he was examining swung open, revealing a hidden cache of books. They searched the rest of the room, but discovered no other hiding places.
“Let’s load up what we’ve got, and get out of here,” Aiden said.
Trent and the hunters greeted them with relief. “It’s about time,” Mir muttered. “Going to be a long walk back to the horses.” They had borrowed horses from a stable not far from the city wall. Aiden made sure no one would remember them. Bad enough to hang as a hunter, let alone a horse thief, Rigan thought.
Ross maneuvered until the ends of the travois poles were on his shoulders, then rose from a squat. “Let’s go.”
Rigan focused his attention on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the pounding headache. He had remembered to ground himself, had tried to anchor his power as best he could, but it had still taken a toll, despite his gift from Eshtamon. Losing blood hadn’t helped; his wounds sapped his strength.
When they reached the horses, Trent and Ross lifted Corran off the travois and laid him across his saddle, securing him with rope. It took Rigan two tries to get onto his horse, before he held out his hand for the reins to guide Corran’s mount. “Give him to me,” he said, hoping they could not see how hard he squeezed his knees against his horse to keep his seat. Trent met Rigan’s gaze, and handed over the reins.
“We’ll get both of you back Below,” Trent said, guessing Rigan’s thoughts as he stared at his brother’s still form. “I promise.”
“THAT’S ALL I can do.” Aiden sat back. His hands were covered in Corran’s blood, and he looked like he might pass out from exhaustion.
“Will he live?” Rigan sat on the other side of the bed, where he had kept vigil for the last three candlemarks. He had helped Aiden remove Corran’s blood-soaked clothing and wash his wounds, grimacing at the deep slashes and the bruises that purpled his brother’s back and shoulders. Rigan’s hand gripped Corran’s wrist, reassuring himself that the pulse beneath his fingers was steady.
Aiden blew out a long breath. “I don’t know. He’s still with us, so that’s something.” He shook his head. “Rigan—I don’t know why he didn’t die candlemarks ago. How could he lose this much blood and still be alive?”
Rigan wrestled with that question through the long night as they stitched up Corran’s wounds and salved the burns that blistered his arms and face. He had waved away Aiden’s concerns about his own injuries.
“Eshtamon said he’d be a lot harder to kill,” Rigan said quietly. “Not entirely immortal, but… protected.”
Aiden looked up as he washed his hands in a bowl of water. “I’d say Eshtamon kept his part of the bargain tonight. But I’m not entirely sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse.”
“The bite—”
“You were with him when it happened. You didn’t see her feed him her blood, so he’s not going to turn. And she didn’t drain him, although any normal person would have bled out from those wounds.” He managed a tired smile. “Good thing you have an Elder God on your side.”
Rigan was still watching the rise and fall of Corran’s chest. “I’m not counting on Eshtamon showing up to save us beyond what he’s already done. I don’t imagine he helped us out of the goodness of his heart. Pretty sure there’s something in it for him. But we were out of other options, and it was the best deal we were going to get.”
Aiden dried his hands and turned to Rigan. “No more excuses. You need healing, too.”
Rigan knew arguing was pointless. His arm and back ached. Blood made his shirt black and stiff, and a scattershot of blisters throbbed across his arms, shoulders and back. He drew a deep breath, still tasting the smoke that made his throat and chest burn. He’d been drawing on his magic to stay upright since before they got back to the house.
“You can’t keep doing that.” Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know why you’re not passed out on the other bed? I know you said you grounded your magic before you burned the barn down around your ears, but I also know you’re not anchored now, and I doubt you bothered on the ride back.”
“I’m functioning.”
Elinor brought up food and whiskey for Rigan and Aiden while the hunters stayed downstairs, keeping watch. She laid a comforting hand on Rigan’s shoulder and he reached up, twining his fingers with hers. Only then did he realize how filthy his hands were, streaked with blood, soot, and dirt. Elinor tightened her grip, reassuring him with her presence. She came and went from the room more times than Rigan could count, fetching whatever Aiden needed, helping him prepare water and poultices. Polly stayed with the others, putting food on the table and tending their less serious wounds.
“You killed the strix, stayed alive, and got Corran out,” Aiden said, moving around Corran’s bed. “Now it’s time t
o let me fix you up.” He poured a couple of fingers of whiskey into a cup and pressed it into Rigan’s hand. “Drink that. Then we’re going to get you out of your bloody clothes and wash out those gashes before they get infected. I wasn’t kidding about the taint on those claws.”
Rigan knocked back the whiskey, flinching as it burned his raw throat. Moving gingerly, he peeled his shirt off, closing his eyes as the fabric stuck to partly-scabbed gashes. Blisters dotted his hands and forearms. Now that he actually looked at his shirt, he saw dozens of charred holes where embers had fallen on him. The tight skin across his shoulders let him know there were more burns than he could see.
“She got you good.”
“I did her one better,” Rigan replied, but there was no triumph in his voice.
Aiden poured whiskey into another cup, then walked back to Rigan. “We’ll clean it out with whiskey, then cleanse with magic. I’m not taking any chances. Brace yourself.”
Rigan clenched his teeth as Aiden dribbled the whiskey across his open wounds, biting back a cry of pain. His hands gripped the sides of the chair, arms tensing, and his back arched. When it was over, his forehead beaded with sweat and his breath came fast and shallow.
“The cuts are already going bad,” Aiden said without looking up. “Worse than Corran’s. Makes me think the taint festers in magic.”
Rigan swallowed hard, trying to stay upright. He knew he could not hide his fever from the healer, and he flinched at Aiden’s touch.
“I added more sage to the water, and some agrimony,” Aiden continued through Rigan’s silence. “Along with what Elinor put in there—and her own magic—it should knock out anything witchy.”
Rigan stiffened as the water stung against raw flesh, and hissed through his teeth.
“From that reaction, I’d say the medicine’s overdue,” Aiden observed.
Rigan focused on his breathing to distract him as Aiden stitched the deepest gashes closed, covered them with salve, and bandaged the wounds. When he finished, he handed Rigan another whiskey.
“Drink that. You need to sleep. I’ll sit up with both of you. Elinor can change off with me toward morning. Corran’s not going anywhere. Trent and Ross have the first watch.” He gave a tired smile and patted the scabbard on his belt. “And just in case, I’ve got a spelled blade. You’re safe.”
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