by R. K. Thorne
Daes, interestingly, rushed to help the woman.
As Aven bent down, he heard a telltale swish over his head. A knife thrown.
Aven ducked but realized quickly the knife hadn’t been for him. It’d been aimed at Daes, but the bastard had moved aside at the last moment to get a grip on the woman’s arm. The weapon did find a home in the guard’s chest, however, while he attempted to back away from the chasm. He, too, tumbled over the edge.
Derk swept into the room beside him, grabbed the girl’s arm, and started dragging her from the room. She winced in pain, clutching her shoulder, compelled to try to stay, but fortunately, Derk ignored it.
His eyes caught with Aven’s. “Are you coming?”
Hmm. Maybe not such a traitor after all. Still smart-assed, though. Aven bent quickly, not bothering to answer, and heaved Miara’s father over his shoulder, racing back out the hallway, down the stairs, toward where the others waited.
“Where the hell were you?” Aven snapped as they ran.
“Covering your ass from the hallway. We both run in there, and we’ve played all our cards. And how hard would it be for them to surround us and turn us both into rat meat? Not hard. No, thank you.”
As Aven approached the willow, he was glad he’d sent Thel and Tharomar back. The two of them fought with four oncoming but fairly incompetent guards. Thel fought off two with his short sword and Tharomar the other two with a—was that a table leg?
Father would be pleased to see Thel’s lessons actually being put to some use. Aven’s gut twisted at the thought of his father, but he pushed himself faster. His father would also be damn proud if they got out alive.
They had to keep going. And finish this.
Derk handed the girl off to Siliana, who wrapped her arms around the child’s struggling form. Would they need to free her before they left? Would it even be safe to fly with her being compelled to return like that?
Aven dumped Miara’s father next to Siliana too, who looked at him with wide eyes. “He was compelled to defend them, had to do it. Can you fly with her like that?” He drew his sword and lunged to join Tharomar.
“I—I think so.”
“Can you transform her now then?”
“Yes. I’ll do it. Both of them.”
Aven took a careful grip of his blade, twisted it, and half-sworded the man in the head, the hilt of the sword hitting the man’s skull with far more force than he’d used on Miara’s father. The guard fell, at the very least dizzy.
Tharomar sent his man reeling into the pond as Thel and Derk dispatched their attackers as well.
“I’ve got them—let’s go! Who’s next?”
Jaena still sat, eyes closed in concentration, by the tree. Tharomar rushed to her now, falling to his knees and looking like he wanted to—what? Hug her? Kiss her? Shake her awake? He settled for just staring.
“Jaena last,” Aven barked. “She’s holding up our distraction. Thel, Derk, go.”
But Derk had his eyes closed too. “I’m working up some cover. The smith, then me.”
“Fine, just go, go, go.”
The men all crowded around Siliana and Jaena. Aven searched the ruins of the palace. Where was Daes? The gash in the room they’d fled lay empty. Aven glanced down and saw Derk’s distraction. Fog rose slowly up around them. Through the growing mist, the king’s body was just visible. He had fallen two stories and lay crumpled, half across rubble, half submerged in a fountain.
By the gods. Demikin was dead.
It hadn’t even been that far of a fall. Could Daes have had some other plan afoot? Could he have had him drugged? How could he have separated the king from his guards anyway? The woman. The queen. She must have been in on it too.
Would they blame Aven? Akaria? A giant marble creature that had risen out of the mist to wreak havoc on everyone?
Earth mages were supposed to be the weaker ones. By the gods.
Derk signaled he was ready, and his form twisted away beside Aven. The rising fog concealed them fairly well. Aven scanned the area, and his eyes caught on Daes.
The Dark Master and a dozen guards stood at the corner of the palace walls, searching around them for Aven and Derk’s tracks. Aven crouched down, but it felt too late. He swore he could feel the Dark Master’s eyes boring into him even then.
Siliana met his eyes.
“Guards,” he whispered. “A dozen. Get Jaena first.”
“My lord, you have to go. You cannot risk being left behind.”
“There’s time. Go—both of us.”
Siliana lunged toward Jaena, shaking her arm. Her dark eyes snapped open in surprise.
The creature collapsed, thundering to the ground with an earth-shaking boom. They all winced, ducking their heads. Damn, they had known it was coming, why were they wasting time reacting?
“Go, damn it,” he urged them.
How far away could the guards be? Siliana’s face looked white, but Jaena twisted and joined the others in the box.
“Get more energy—go. You can’t risk running out now.”
She nodded, eyes looking a little frantic that she’d needed the reminder, but that was the last thing he saw. His body twisted again, and this time the nausea was intense. Well, that answered that question.
He looked down at tiny hands and soft brown fur as she lifted him into the box.
Now he just had to pray their enemy had no arrows and that Siliana completed her own transformation before Daes arrived.
Or they’d all be served up to the Dark Master in a tidy little box, convenient for the squishing. At least Miara wasn’t with them for the squishing ceremony.
But if the Masters hadn’t recaptured her… where the hell was she?
The flight back to Panar seemed unending. The shift had nauseated Jaena, and her work had exhausted her, and the swaying of the tiny box in the darkness did not help any of that.
But they had freed Tharomar. Just that thought made relief and contentment swell in her small rodent chest. The discomfort of the ride was not important by comparison.
Siliana alighted on the balcony of the castle, gradually transforming them all back with greater control this time. Or perhaps she was going more slowly because she was afraid. Those had been great feats for one lone creature mage. If only Miara had been there to help.
Jaena didn’t immediately find the energy to get up after the shift was complete. She sat and simply waited, watching them each reappear. She noticed one chipmunk had a stripe of white fur on its head and smiled.
Indeed, that creature transformed back into Tharomar, and she beamed at him. She couldn’t help herself.
“By the gods—Jaena!” He ran to her, then crouched and threw his arms around her. “Was this your idea?”
“Partly. Partly Aven’s.”
“Did you—what happened? I have so many questions.” He stood, then held out a hand and helped her to her feet.
“I’m honestly exhausted, Tharomar—”
“That was amazing. It was like with the mud, but by the—”
She lurched to one side. “I think I need to lie down.”
He jumped to her side and threw her arm over his shoulder. “Do you have a room here? Cause I sure don’t. This time.” He grinned.
“If it’s all right with everyone, I think we’ll take our leave to rest?” Jaena said.
Wunik was just rushing out onto the balcony. “Is this the smith, the priest?”
Tharomar winced. “Just a smith.”
She snorted. “Hmm, is that so. We can talk in the morning, right, Wunik?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Go and rest,” King Aven added. “The Assembly may vote first thing in the morning, so we may need to rise in only a few hours. Or the vote may be later. We’ll see.”
“That way,” Jaena pointed with an elbow, as one hand was around Ro’s waist and the other clasped his hand on her shoulder for support. And… maybe for more than support.
It felt funny not limpin
g this time, although she did indeed feel very weak. They left the king’s chambers—she was still having a hard time processing that her mage savior was also their king—and headed down the hallway toward the room they’d given her.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Tharomar said softly.
“Knew what?” she said.
“You know what.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she winced. “That I’m a mage,” he said.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.
“Why didn’t your temple tell you?” she countered.
“A good question. My, you are good at dodging questions with questions.”
“I was going to tell you. And I was going to answer you. I just don’t always answer you promptly, that’s all. I thought there would be time—and then we ran out of it. And I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“I’m not sure how I’m reacting either.” He laughed.
“Oh?”
“A week ago the answer would have been simple. Even if I knew I was a mage, I would have thought the answer easy: abstain. Now…” He drifted off.
“Not so sure?” she said.
“Well, it’s hard to recommend such an approach with the group of you saving my ass from slave labor, likely torture, and probably eventual death, using not much more than magic.”
“Doesn’t feel so evil now, does it?”
“Well, it doesn’t feel against the Way. I mean, what was the alternative? Kill them all?” He threw up his one free hand.
“Probably. Well, yes,” she said.
“That would not have been better.”
“I suppose we could have tried to capture and tie up everyone. But that sounds like a recipe for disaster. Well, there’s time to think on it later.”
“Yeah. I mean, I can’t do any magic yet anyway,” he said, sounding a little relieved at that idea.
“Oh, you were already doing it. That’s how I knew,” she said.
His eyebrows shot up.
“The smithy was full of it. You’re lucky you had all those pendants. Where did it go, anyway? Is that how the Devoted figured you out?”
“Yes. Lost the pendant. Well, a knight ripped it off my neck.”
“Gods. I worried something like that might happen.”
“Well, now I know, and I got out. So that’s a good first step. But I will need to reach out to my order in the morning, tell them the Devoted know of the necklaces.”
“And why were they harboring you as a mage without telling you?” she asked. “Do you think they knew? Or maybe they didn’t? But then why would they give you that type of necklace?”
He frowned. “Indeed. Why would they give all of us those necklaces?”
“Oh, here, this room,” she directed. He opened the door, and they made their way inside. The small guest room contained little more than a bed, a small hearth, and one table. No chairs. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter. But we’re not out of here yet. We couldn’t have gotten here without Aven’s help. We have to help him get those he was looking for too.”
“Indeed. Well, you have my arms if you have a sword I can borrow. Otherwise, I’m not bad with my hands.”
Why was she blushing? Why were they still holding onto each other, as though she needed help to walk, even though they’d stopped? Even though she could sit down on the bed and… he could leave. But where would he go? The stewards would likely find somewhere for him, but…
“Who is this Aven, by the way?” he asked.
“The crown prince of Akaria. No, the king. I keep forgetting.”
He stared at her. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“Well, even more then, I’m sure my sword or my hands can be at his service.”
“I just want them to be at my service… and only mine. Is that too much to ask?”
Smiling, he turned and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “I think that could be arranged.” He bent to hug her and nuzzle his face against her neck.
Her breath a little ragged, she risked a kiss against the powerful muscles of his neck, then a nip on his earlobe. His arms tightened around her, molding them together as his lips brushed against her collarbone.
“Is that so?” she whispered. “Then… show me.”
Miara and Samul had taken turns overnight, one walking, the other resting as Lukor carried them. She’d led them further into the forest, hoping to lose those damn mages by moving through the night so far afield. With morning came exhaustion, though, and as they neared the end of the forest and headed toward the more open grassy plain, Miara winced at the lack of cover. This was not going to help matters. She kept her senses outstretched, trying to pick up on their potential pursuers, but she felt nothing.
The last trees of the forest were falling away when the soft twang and the whistle of an arrow through the air caught her ear. Entirely too late, of course.
Thunk, thunk-thunk. An arrow stabbed into her left shoulder. Then the right torso and left thigh exploded in pain with simultaneous punctures of their own.
Pain threatened to overwhelm thought. Knowing she had to get to some kind of cover, scarce as it was, she staggered off the trail.
“Miara!”
Samul’s footsteps followed, and then he was pulling her further into the few remaining trees. He must have knelt because he came into focus above her.
“I think they’re trying to kill you.” His face was grave.
“I think—you’d be right,” she coughed. A warm liquid that wasn’t saliva sputtered into her mouth. Great. This was not going to be easy. She struggled to assess the damage, figure out what they were going to do.
“If they kill you, you can’t heal from that, can you?” Samul said, as if he had guessed the answer.
“I think that’s the idea.” She wanted to say more but couldn’t. Those mages must know she could defend Samul fairly well and heal him when necessary. Clearly they weren’t good enough shots to reliably kill from a distance. Thus they were seeking to eliminate her first so she couldn’t save him. But she had no breath for all that. Instead, she said, “I can heal this, but it’s going to give away our location. After I do it, you’ll have to move me. Think you can?”
He nodded. “Go. You’re losing blood.”
“You’ll have to yank out the arrows. Start with the top one, move down. Go.”
She closed her eyes. The left shoulder wound was the worst, but the one in her right side wasn’t much better. On top of impeding movement, it had hit something important. They had to be healed, and it was going to hurt like a thousand daggers raking her insides.
Anara help me, she thought. Nefrana even. All of you.
Samul yanked out the first arrow, and she gritted her teeth through a cry. She sucked in a breath and held it, and with it, she began the spell. Life drained from a nearby elm, a poplar, a juniper bush. Perhaps she could leave them a little alive to recover—she hoped—but even as it began she knew she lacked the conscious control to do so. The agony was too great.
She heard herself scream as though it were someone else. For a moment, she could see her body cradled in Samul’s arms. The greenery around them darkened into black as her mind stole the life of the creatures around them. Stole was a painfully accurate word, a heartbreaking, horrible word. But there was no time for regret yet, only pain, only survival. A pine tree dropped its needles, then shuddered into dust. She strained to avoid Samul himself, and a chipmunk scurried away, but beyond them, her magic had a mind of its own now. It knew she was determined to live. Her body was determined to heal. And it acted accordingly.
She opened her eyes as her body was jostled. Samul carried her in his arms like a child and was charging into what remained of the tree line. What other cover was there to be had? Lukor followed. They needed to mount up, get riding. If the mages were close enough for arrows, they would reach her and Samul soon. But—riding would put them out in the open too. They needed something else, something to bu
y them time.
And she was barely conscious, let alone able to think.
And yet she was thinking, wasn’t she? Her mind was automatically assessing the situation, looking for ways out. The deep, determined part of her that had controlled her magic. The part of her that was determined to survive.
Samul set her down by another set of evergreen bushes. She squinted down at herself. The blood and holes remained, covering half of her at this point, and her thigh was only partially healed. But the wounds to her torso were repaired, and she had enough energy for more if needed. The trees weren’t so lucky, of course. The thought made her heart ache, but it couldn’t be avoided.
The Masters couldn’t have given these mages orders to do this so quickly. They hunted her on their own initiative. Sorin was a painful reminder that not every mage might be looking for ways around their orders, as these arrows made all too clear.
Her eyes darted around. No cover anywhere. Maybe there was a way to slow or stall them that would help instead.
She reached her senses out, searching for the mages, and all too quickly caught one racing toward them along the road’s path. Gravel Voice. She had to act while she could, he was not far.
Vines erupted from the earth, snagging at his bow, his arms, his ankles. They coiled about him and dragged him down face-first into the rough road.
The earth shook beneath them. Please, she thought. That earth mage simply had no idea where they were. What a sad attempt at a threat.
She groped around for the others. There. Following, but not so quickly. Not so ardently. The nervous one hung back a little. The creature mage was the problem. She could undo Miara’s spells when the others couldn’t. She must have succeeded with Miara’s shackles, which meant she was thoughtful, creative, observant. Miara would not trick her with cleverness.
Well, perhaps where cleverness failed, brute force would have to do.
Her vines erupted again, but around the creature mage, she raised a dozen-fold more than her usual effort and added thorns for good measure. Anything that might slow the enemy down a bit more. Again the vines caught the bow, then the mage, and tightened her into the earth. A faint cry caught on the wind. That was probably the thorns. But then another screech sounded, that of a falcon. By the gods, could it be? Had the same falcon returned?