The sun beat harshly upon the riders today. Beads of sweat rolled down Quinn’s brow, and he hated himself for purchasing dark riding clothes. Amarice tied her hair into a knot on top of her head and took a large drink of water from her canteen. Quinn led his horse into a trot to catch up to her. She handed him her canteen. “Still cold,” she told him. He savored the cool, wet liquid as it passed over his throat.
“I miss my dresses,” she said. “This is just far too much fabric.”
He grinned. “I agree. You should just remove every bit of it.” She tried to slap him playfully, but he pulled his horse away and changed the subject. “You look so at ease riding. I suppose I am not so in touch with my Deyoni side as you.”
Amarice’s laughter rang out on the open road. “I’m just better at faking it than you. Everything aches, and I could fall asleep right this moment.” Quinn removed a hand from the reins and reached out to touch her face. She sighed. “We should stop for lunch soon and take a rest.” She called out to Raymond, who was several horses ahead of them. The Prince turned his horse round and approached them. “Can we stop and rest soon?”
The Prince looked around and studied the landscape. He pointed at a distant farmhouse. “There is a shady wood and a small lake on their land. The old woman lets us stop often. I’ll send a guard ahead.” He rode off to give orders to one of the young men accompanying them.
Quinn was amazed that Raymond could remember any sort of landmarks in the area. To him, everything looked like indistinguishable green moorland and every farm they passed looked the same. But this was the furthest south Quinn had ever visited, and he tried to appreciate that. Even though they were headed to arrest a cult leader, Quinn decided he could enjoy the journey there. A spasm shot through his calf from hours on his horse. I’d enjoy it more in a carriage, he thought to himself.
The company rode their horses to the farm lake and relaxed in the much-needed shade of the conifer woods. Amarice lay flat on her back, soaking in the earth’s magic. Quinn sat next to her, replenishing his own well of power. After several minutes, Amarice sat up and leaned her head against Quinn’s shoulder. “Are we doing the right thing?” she asked him.
He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I don’t know,” he told her honestly. “He cannot be allowed to continue what he is doing.”
“He must answer for his crimes. But should he just be killed instead?” She sighed, and Quinn felt the strain of her inner conflict flow through her. He, too, had wondered this. But as leader of the Scholars and the voice of the Deyoni, it was right that she should execute the man’s fate according to the laws of the land. Killing him without a trial may give more credence to his cause, and how deeply-seated his ideologies ran, they did not know.
“The bastard is responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent people. He deserves to stand trial and answer for his crimes publicly.” He tightened his embrace around her, providing reassurance to the woman who rarely needed anyone else’s strength. “We will deal with whatever consequences it brings.”
She relaxed a bit in his arms. “We. I like the sound of that.”
They did not speak any more of it for the rest of the day, nor the next. The closer they drew to Headham, the quieter they became. Even the guards’ jokes and songs subsided into introspection and apprehension. Some had seen the devastation Amarice had left on her kidnappers; the rest had heard the stories. There was no need to exaggerate what the Sage was capable of doing. And they headed into an unknown situation to confront the man who had brought so much darkness into Elandria over the past year.
The company set up camp ten miles from Headham. Tomorrow brought uncertainty, and the mood at camp was heavy. Raymond reviewed the plan with everyone, then retired early to his tent. Quinn played with the flames of the cooking fire mindlessly, drawing them out and making them dance in circles before sending them back to the fire. Amarice watched the dancing flames as if she expected them to give her some sort of guidance or answer. Finally, she spoke. “Let’s go to bed.”
Quinn put out the fire with his magic. The night was muggy, and they did not need the heat. He followed her into their tent and began to undress. She pulled her lightweight shift over her head and sat on her bedroll, then fell into sobs.
“Oh, my love, my love,” Quinn knelt beside her and held her close. “What is the matter?”
She cried into his chest. “This is not who I wanted to be. I’m not cut out to be the executor of justice.”
He was frightened about tomorrow, and about the days to follow. But in this moment, the rock of all the magical peoples in Elandria needed him to be strong. “You are, Amarice. No one could be a stronger leader than you.”
“I’m frightened, Quinn.”
“Me, too.” He held her closer still. She turned her head up toward his and met his lips. He kissed her passionately.
“Make love to me,” she whispered. And he did. He made love to her as if it were their last night on earth.
***
The next morning, Quinn and Amarice lay awake in their tent for a long time, intertwined and silent. They listened to the sounds of the guards cooking breakfast on the fire and packing up camp. Quinn held Amarice tightly, not wanting to let her go.
The day had dawned overcast and muggy. The thick air filled Quinn’s lungs, making it hard to breathe. Between the humidity and the fear, Quinn wanted nothing more than to ride back to the safety of the Villa with Amarice. Their plan was sound, their guards well-trained, but Chambers did not sound like a man who would go quietly to his fate.
Quinn propped himself on his elbow and gazed at the woman next to him. He remembered the devastation she had rained down upon her kidnappers and felt some of his unease subside. The Sage herself had taught Quinn powerful earth magic, and he felt certain that if her life were threatened, Quinn could use his magic to protect her. Although, he thought, she likely would not need his protection, which made him love her even more.
Amarice spoke for the first time that morning. “I suppose we should get up.” Her joints creaked as she pulled herself upright, and she groaned. “If all goes well, then the guards can take Charles back to Teleah, and we can sleep in an inn tonight.”
Quinn smiled at the prospect of a warm bath to soothe his aching muscles and a plush bed for sleeping. He pulled on his tunic and pants, and tossed Amarice her riding clothes. She shook her head. “No, I have to be the Sage today.” She reached for her satchel and removed a forest green, gauzy dress and her diadem. Quinn watched her with adoration as she dressed in the cramped tent, pinning the dress on her shoulders, combing her hair, positioning the diadem on top of her head. No matter her apprehension from last night, she was born for this role.
Though it was early in the day, the guards wiped sweat from their brows as they ate their breakfast of sausage and crusty bread. Quinn smiled proudly when the men’s jaws dropped as Amarice exited the tent. Even in the sweltering heat and sleeping in a tent for a week, Amarice was stunning. Her neckline plunged, and the nearly-sheer material flowed over her hips. Her eyes sparkled, complementing the deep green of her dress. Most of these guards had never seen the Sage in all her glory, and she stood like a light against the grey skies.
Marcus handed Quinn and her each a tin plate of sausage and bread, and Amarice took her place in the circle with the guards, chatting with a nonchalance Quinn could never hope to achieve. He sat next to her in silence. Raymond joined them shortly, dressed in the royal colors, his family’s sigil embroidered on his chest. He, too, had shifted into his formal role, and today his face held no laughter.
The Prince reviewed their plan over breakfast. They would move closer to the village of Headham and wait until Charles’ daily church service was over in the evening. Then, they would approach and formally arrest him. The plan was flawless, although no one felt it would be that simple.
Headham was only a two-hour ride away, so the muggy morning held no sense of urgency, only a lingering a
pprehension of what the evening would bring.
While the guards packed up camp, Amarice stood some distance away, gazing off into the horizon. Quinn approached her and stood a foot behind, watching the beads of sweat roll down her neck and over her back. “Have you replenished your Gift?” she asked him without turning to look at him.
“Yes.”
She sighed. “Hopefully, we will not need to use any earth magic.”
“Do you find that likely?”
“No.” She turned finally and took his hand. “But it never hurts to have hope.” She stood on her toes to kiss Quinn’s lips softly. “Shall we go?”
***
The company rode the remaining few miles off the main road. Their plan would be foiled if Chambers was tipped off and fled. Or worse, if he rallied the village to his cause and they were met with pitchforks and axes. They encountered no other people on their journey, and for the most part, they were silent.
Quinn rode next to Amarice and wondered how so much evil had infiltrated Elandria with no warning. He thought back to the first night he had awoken with such a terrible sense of doom. Nearly a year ago, now, and so much had changed. Had this darkness always existed in Elandria? He knew far too well that magic was often treated with suspicion in small villages like his own. But he would never have imagined the villagers he knew would resort to murder. Or would they? Had he lived in a bubble of Scholars for too long?
Just outside Headham, they stopped to wait in the cover of trees. One of the guards changed into plainclothes to keep watch in town. He would bring word to the others when the church service ended and the crowds had dispersed.
The forest darkened as the sun set, beams of red and orange light shining through the treetops. Quinn sat on the forest floor with Amarice in his lap. Raymond paced, muttering obscenities. Marcus tried to ease the mood by sharing stories from his career as Chief Inquisitor. It did little to help, despite the man’s best intentions.
An hour after the sky had turned dark, the guard had returned. “It’s time,” he said. They followed him on foot into the town. Quinn held Amarice’s hand the entire way, whether to give her strength or receive it, he did not know.
They stood a hundred yards outside the church and waited for the last of the villagers to leave. By Marcus’ intelligence, Charles Chambers would still be in the church chatting with his closest members. Thunder rumbled overhead, a summer storm imminent. Fitting, Quinn thought.
As they drew closer to the church, Amarice let go of Quinn’s hand. She lifted her hand to the wind when the group approached the door and blew it open with magic. Quinn raised an eyebrow at her under the streetlamp. She shrugged. “I’ve got a flair for the dramatic.”
They entered the church behind Amarice. Six men dressed in long, black robes had turned in shock at the blown-open door. Quinn knew instantly which man was Charles. He was tall, with brown hair and dark eyes. He wore an ostentatious pendant of gold, no doubt paid for by his loyal subjects. His presence was commanding, but he paled in comparison to Amarice.
The Sage spoke. “Charles Chambers. I am Amarice Teyvana, Sage of Elandria. We have come to arrest you to stand trial for your crimes.” She walked further down the aisle of the church, and her company followed.
Charles’ men drew weapons, swords and axes. But their leader sighed, and gestured for his cronies to lower them. They looked as shocked as Amarice’s group. “I knew this was coming,” the man said in a deep bass. “Carry on, then.”
Amarice turned and motioned toward the Chief Inquisitor. Marcus cut a length of rope from his pouch and approached the man. He stood behind Charles, and told him to put his hands behind his back so he could be tied. For a moment, it looked as though he would go willingly.
But he grabbed something from his pulpit as he lowered his hands. It happened too quickly for Marcus to react. Charles plunged a dagger into Marcus’ abdomen. Amarice screamed, as Charles turned and stabbed Marcus once more through the heart. “I knew this was coming,” he said again, evil in his voice.
Raymond drew his sword and rushed forward, followed by the guardsmen. He was met by the armed cronies, who were skilled enough to keep the guardsmen at bay. Charles stood watching, searching for a way to escape. But there was only one exit.
One of the guards fell to his death, hacked by a villager’s axe. Blood stained the wooden benches. Quinn’s heart pounded, and he grabbed Amarice by the wrist. He was desperate to protect her.
But Amarice pulled away, no longer shocked by the death. Her eyes turned dark, and green magic emanated from her entire body. The earth shook violently at her command. Everyone lost their balance as the walls shook and began to crumble.
“KILL HER!” Charles yelled as a large beam fell at his feet. One of his men feigned Raymond’s sword and darted down the aisle toward Amarice.
Quinn did not even think. Red bolts of magic shot out of his hand toward the nearest lamp. The glass vase burst and Quinn pulled the fire through the air and set Amarice’s attacker on fire. The man screamed in agony as the flames consumed him.
The distraction was enough to slow the others, and Raymond had the opportunity to plunge his sword through one of the men. Two more dropped their weapons in surrender. Only one remained, and he edged his way closer to Charles, who crouched, shaking, dagger in hand.
“Give up, Charles.” Amarice’s voice was a mix of a command and a beg. “No one else needs to die tonight.”
“You do,” Charles replied. He returned to a standing position, confidence returning. “All of you deserve to answer for your sins to the gods.”
“Our sins?” Amarice laughed. “Like the sins of slaughtering unarmed Scholars and Deyoni?”
“They are demon workers. The earth must be cleansed of the demons.”
Recognizing a lost cause, Amarice shifted her focus on the last man guarding Charles. His eyes were wide with fear. He was no fighter, and Amarice knew it. “Your friends have fallen, and you are left protecting a man who will not fight his own battles. He is a coward. He does not deserve your bravery.” Her voice softened. “Lower your weapon, and you can go home to your family.”
The man kept axe in hand, but they could see the internal conflict on his face. At that moment, rain fell through the destroyed ceiling of the church. The lamps went out; only the ball of Quinn’s fire stayed lit by his magic, floating in the air. Finally, as if the rain answered his questions, the man began to lower his axe. “Traitor!” Charles plunged his dagger upward through the back of his skull. The man crumbled.
Amarice’s anger manifested into wild magic. The rain became a torrential downpour, and the earth shook once more. More beams fell from the ceiling, and the walls began to crack. Quinn’s fire grew in response to Amarice’s own magic, and he struggled to control it. A single flame leapt from the air in front of him and set a wooden bench on fire. The blaze grew quickly, and they now stood in a burning building that even the storm could not quell.
“Amarice,” Quinn said. Soon the situation would be too dangerous for even the source of the magic. She turned at the sound of his voice, dragging her out of her angry thoughts. The storm calmed some, and the fire slowed. Quinn and Raymond used their own Gift to calm the fire that the Sage no longer controlled.
She stepped back and urged the others in her party to do the same. “Stay behind me,” she said as she edged backward toward the door. Amarice raised a hand to the sky. Electricity crackled from her hands and called to the lightning above. With a sharp drop, a bolt of lightning struck at Charles’ feet, missing him by inches. The ground burst into flame.
Charles laughed. “Fool! The gods protect me.” He leapt over the line of flame and charged Amarice. Quinn leapt in front of her and tackled the man. Amarice screamed.
Quinn punched him and pinned his wrist to the ground. He held his other hand at Charles’ throat, cutting off air until he released the dagger. Quinn took the dagger and held it over the man.
Charles laughed. “It doesn’t matter. This
will not end with me. The gods will have their justice.”
“And I will have mine.” Filled with anger over Rafe’s murder, Amarice’s kidnapping, and the death of those in their party, Quinn slit the man’s throat. He stood, dropping the dagger with a clamor.
Amarice threw her arms around her lover. “You idiot! Why didn’t you just use magic? Why didn’t you just let me use magic?” But she held him in a tight embrace as the church crumbled and burned around them.
He held her close. “They killed Rafe without magic. They attacked you without magic.”
Amarice nodded and lay her head against his chest. “Don’t do anything like that ever again.”
Raymond spoke for the first time. “We’re going to burn alive if we do not leave now!” The company followed the Prince from the building. They stopped a few yards outside, watching the flames. Amarice waved an arm and slowed the storm to slight drizzle. By this time, the villagers had gathered in fear. Screams of grief punctured the night.
Quinn stood with his arm around Amarice. “Should we stop the fire?”
“No. Let the dead return to the earth.” Her eyes searched the grounds for something. A few yards away, the church’s cemetery was lined by large chrysanthemum plants. She walked toward them and urged them to bloom, as it was not quite the right season. The buds burst into vibrant colors of red and yellow. She gathered two in her hands and walked toward the church. She spoke the names of the Chief Inquisitor and the fallen guard and tossed the flowers into the fire. The rest of the party followed suit.
Slowly, the villagers gathered flowers and tossed them into the flames, as well. After a long time, Amarice broke the grief-filled silence. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
A few months later…
Quinn returned to the Villa from his morning run and stopped in the southern garden, gazing at the Consort’s Tree. The leaves had turned to gold, a glimmer against the horizon of reds and oranges. He had never seen the earth so beautiful as autumn in the Sage’s Mountains.
The Sage's Consort (The Scholars of Elandria Book 1) Page 19