She reached into her pocket for the ring, but as her fingers brushed it, another thought nagged at the back of her mind.
“What if someone else finds it first?”
“Maybe we should take our chances.”
“No, I can’t do that,” she said. “I have to make sure he gets it.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I—I don’t know.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mongrel led his group in search of the ring. Daylight seeped through the trees, but Mongrel was still on edge. Any moment now, his group could break into a fight, or worse, they could encounter another competitor. He tried to push these thoughts from his mind, but every branch snapping on the forest floor startled him and competed for his attention. An acorn fell from a nearby tree, causing him to jump. And it did not help that Laerilas was constantly reminding him that danger was drawing near.
“Danger draws near,” said Laerilas on cue, rushing to Mongrel’s side. His eyes honed in on the darkness beyond their path. One hand gripped his bow while the other inched towards the arrows in his quiver.
The others followed his example and brought out their weapons. Even Mongrel took up his axe, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white. Something struck the back of his head, and he raised his axe in defense. It was just Walder trying to get his attention.
“What is it, Uncle?”
“Put that axe away,” he said, so Mongrel set it down and reached for his bow. Again, Walder shook his head, so Mongrel took up his sword. Walder nodded in approval. They were each armed and poised to strike when out of the darkness came a small field mouse.
They all groaned and lowered their weapons.
“Danger, eh?” Walder scoffed, sheathing his sword. “Don’t worry, ninny; I’ll help you up on that tree stump over there. Just lift up your skirt.”
“That’s not it,” said Laerilas, pointing into the shadows. “Something bigger approaches. Something powerful.”
“A floppy-eared bunny perhaps?”
“I tell you, the storm clouds are gathering,” Laerilas pressed. “They will be upon us soon.”
Mongrel was not the only one to check the sky for signs of bad weather. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. Sunlight peeked through the foliage. He looked to Laerilas for further explanation.
The elf sighed and said more plainly, “The other competitors are closing in on us from all directions. Confrontation is unavoidable at this point.”
“What should we do?” Tikaani asked, reaching for her amulet. Mongrel swatted her hand down.
Walder raised his sword. “I say we let them come,” he said. “We fight!”
“No,” said Mongrel, putting his own sword away. “We won’t engage them in combat. Besides, even if we did manage to defeat them all, we’d still have to find the ring. I say we keep searching and cross our fingers we don’t run into anyone.”
Laerilas shook his head. “They will find us first.”
“Perhaps Walder’s right.” Mongrel was surprised to hear the words come from Ajani. “We should at least be ready to defend ourselves if necessary.”
“Fighting is not our first option,” said Mongrel. “If we can’t talk them down, we run. Do you all understand?”
Their blank expressions did not encourage him.
“Retreat?” Walder sneered. “Maybe that worked for you traveling solo, but how do you expect a group this size to get away?”
“Easy,” said Mongrel. “We break off into pairs and everyone meets up at a designated meeting place, say the river, for example. Laerilas can always cover our tracks using magic, can’t you, Laeri?”
“Aye, and arrows.” Walder turned a suspicious eye on the elf. The other eye blindly stared forward.
Littlehammer nodded. “Reit, we’re as guid as gold wi’ Laeri watchin’ uir backs.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Walder snorted, inviting Littlehammer’s wrath. Before she could strike, Mongrel stepped between them.
“It’s agreed. If we run into one of the other competitors—”
“When.” Laerilas interjected.
“Fine, when we run into the other competitors, we are going to make a run for it. We don’t engage. Understood?”
The group agreed, albeit unenthusiastically.
“Great. But I assure you, it won’t come to that.”
He’d spoken too soon. Just as he’d uttered the words, a robed figure stepped out of the morning fog and stepped into their path. Before anyone could speak, the figure raised one arm and pointed a slender finger at Mongrel.
“Come forth. I need to speak with you. Alone.”
Come forth? Margo cringed. Had she really just uttered those words? And who was she fooling anyway? By this point everyone had seen her, so her identity was hardly a secret. But as a wizard’s apprentice, she felt the need to present herself with at least some level of mystery. It was something Wizard White Beard thought was important at least. By the smile on his face, it was obvious Mongrel saw right through her guise. His companions, on the other hand, wore anxious expressions as he strolled out of the sunlit path to join her in the lingering shadows.
“Good morning, Margo. What brings you here so early? We just spoke last night,” he said, coming to stand only inches from her. One hand scratched the back of his neck while the other rested casually in the pocket of his jerkin. Suddenly, all Margo could think about was how fine he looked in leather. Then she remembered why she’d come.
“Destiny has guided me here,” she said, recoiling at each word, “to assist you with your search.”
“That’s great, because we’ve searched high and low in this area and still haven’t found the ring . . . Are you sure it’s near that tree?”
“For the last time, it’s not near the tree!”
“But last night, when I was standing by the tree, you said I was close.”
“And you were,” she said. “In fact, you are close to it now.”
“Wait, what?”
Before Margo could explain, the trees behind them parted and an elf stepped through; the trees closed behind her. She was smiling, but her expression was anything but friendly.
“Well, if it isn’t the stray?” she said. A glint of light passed over her blue eyes and bore into Mongrel and Margo. “And I see you’ve found yourself a little mate. Cute.”
“What do you want, Aerin?” Mongrel pulled Margo behind him.
“That’s no way to speak to the commander of the king’s guard,” she said then muttered something over her shoulder. But there was no one there. Eventually, she turned back to face them, an eerie look in her eyes.
Margo could not place it, but there was something off about her. Perhaps it was her hair and uniform, all disheveled, or maybe it was the far off look in her eyes, but there was definitely something wrong with her.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Mongrel told the elf as she reached for an arrow.
“Then stand still,” she said, pulling back on the bowstring. Margo gasped as the arrow sailed toward Mongrel’s chest, only to ricochet off another arrow. Margo turned as Laerilas came to Mongrel’s side, another arrow ready.
“I see the exile’s still with you.” Aerin’s lips pulled into a sinister smile.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” said Laerilas to his former teammate. “I didn’t know there was an opening.”
“There wasn’t,” she said. “So I made one.”
Mongrel gasped. “You’re the one who has been using dark magic!”
“Of course, I am,” Aerin snapped. “Do you honestly think there’s another competitor competent enough to wield such power?”
“But it’s forbidden,” Laerilas piped in.
“Coming from a traitor? That’s amusing.” Aerin laughed. “Now, stand back. After I take care of the stray, I’ll see to it that you are properly punished for your crime. The previous leader was much too lenient.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Laer
ilas squeaked, not coming off as brave as he’d probably hoped. Not that Margo could judge.
Aerin was about to reply when she stopped to listen. Her eyes rolled back as though to see inside her own head. After a moment she grumbled, “I’m not wasting time.” She paused and listened. “No, I’ll handle this my way.” She paused again. “Then you should have dealt with him when you were in charge.”
Margo and Mongrel exchanged looks. Laerilas smiled.
“So I see there was a drawback,” he said. “Please tell Gwyndor I said hello and I regret that neither one of us will be present at his sister’s wedding.”
“How dare—” She paused again as the voice inside of her head spoke. Then she replied, stopped and listened, replied again, and began an argument that went on and on and . . .
“We should use this opportunity to sneak away,” Mongrel whispered to his companions. “We might be able to—”
“Go ahead. I’ll cover you.” Laerilas held his aim.
Mongrel shook his head. “You’re no match for her.”
“I know that.”
“She’s like two elves combined into one.”
“Don’t remind me!” Laerilas snapped. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t outrun her. We’re going to have to defeat her.”
“We can try.” Mongrel took Margo’s hand and pulled her away back towards the campsite. Margo followed, heart pounding wildly in her chest. Mongrel was holding her hand! She thought she would swoon. But then an arrow whizzed past her face and sailed on to graze Mongrel’s shoulder. He released her hand to touch the wound. When he lowered his hand, there was blood on his fingertips. Margo covered her eyes with her hands. It was too late. The fight had begun.
Before Aerin could loose another arrow, Laerilas let his go. She stepped out of the way and fired another. Laerilas dove for the ground and slid. When he came up, he cut her bowstring with his knife.
Tossing the broken bow aside, Aerin withdrew her blades and did the same to his. Laerilas dropped his bow and prepared to run. Then he remembered his intent was to cover Mongrel’s retreat, so he turned back around and faced Aerin with all of the skill, energy, and ferocity he could muster. To his own surprise, he managed to disarm her and hold her at the point of his blades. She raised her hands in defeat, yet she was still smiling.
“I understand you know your herbs, but are you as keen when it comes to trees?” she asked, lifting her face toward the branches.
“Not particularly,” he admitted, though he wasn’t sure why she had asked.
“I’ll give you a hint. The leaves are thick, firm, and coarsely toothed.”
“Um . . .”
“Maybe a demonstration will help.”
With that she stripped the tree of all its leaves and sent them toward him at rapid speed. Laerilas had to drop his blades to break their path and then redirect them back at Aerin. Before he could retrieve his weapons, she spotted another tree, a pine of sorts, and sent bundles of stiff, needlelike leaves his way, pinning him to a nearby tree.
By this point, her hair was completely disheveled, and sweat dotted her forehead. She wiped it away and then retrieved her blades. Laerilas writhed like an insect pinned to a board, but he was stuck tight. He checked to see if Mongrel had gotten away. Of course he hadn’t, the fool. Well, if he wasn’t going to run, he could at least come to his aid instead of just standing there like an idiot. And as Aerin approached the tree, blades in hand, he wished Mongrel would.
“Margo, do something!” Mongrel begged her, but she shook her head.
“I can’t interfere. It’s against the rules.”
“What good is a wizard that doesn’t take action?” Mongrel asked her. “What is a wizard for if not to make things right?”
A good question, Margo thought, and one that Wizard White Beard had asked her at least a dozen or more times since she’d become his apprentice. Somehow, she’d forgotten the answer, or maybe she’d never actually understood it to begin with. And while she mulled over it, Mongrel headed toward the fight.
Securely pinned above Margo’s left breast, the pin lit up. “Aren’t you going to go help him?”
“No,” Margo replied. “I can’t. It’s against the rules.”
“What’s wrong with you?” The pin flickered. “Can’t you see he’s going to get his butt kicked?”
Margo pressed her lips together and lowered her head so she wouldn’t have to watch. To her relief, more of Mongrel’s companions came rushing past, weapons in hand. They had all but forgotten their agreement not to fight. At the same time, Kavik and his remaining tribesmen burst through the foliage, weapons raised.
“Tikaani!” The chief waved her over. “Hurry, join your kin. Together we will strike down our enemies!”
“No, Kavik. They’re my friends!” Tikaani shouted, to her clansmen’s confusion.
Her cousin, Deniji, shook his head. “Cousin, your sister speaks nonsense. Remind her whose side she is on.”
Kavik went to retrieve his sister, but Grrargh stepped in the way.
“Step aside, ogre!” Kavik raised his club. His cousin joined him in the attack.
“No!” Tikaani hugged her brother’s waist to hold him back, but it didn’t make much of a difference. He dragged her along as though she weighed nothing.
Margo stepped aside for Mongrel’s wolf pack as they rushed, not to his aid but to Tikaani’s, even though they had not been summoned. More animals—a bear, a moose, and a flock of birds, as well as a rabbit—were summoned to join the fight.
Margo thought to take shelter in the safety of the trees when Battleaxe cut his way through and pushed her aside.
“Whaur is he? Whaur’s ’at damned elf whit cost me mah brother?”
Pinned against the tree, Laerilas stiffened, trying to merge with the scenery, but the dwarf quickly spotted him by his short hair and headed his way.
“Nature finally turned oan ye, eh, Longbow?” He laughed, raising his axe. “Haur, lit me cut ye doon!”
“Daen’t ye tooch heem, Battleaxe!” Littlehammer stepped in her brother’s way. “Daen’t ye tooch a hair, ye hear?” She raised her hammer and her brother let out a laugh.
“Foond yerself a new pet, eh, sister?”
“He’s mah friend.”
Battleaxe was silent, but only for a moment as he fumed over his sister’s words. “’At”—he pointed at the elf—“is th’ monster who’s responsible fer uir brother’s death!”
“Nae, Battleaxe, we ur!” Littlehammer shouted. “We shoold’ve quit fightin’ when Mongrel told us tae. Noo, Pick’s gain, an’ it’s uir faut!”
“Liar!” Battleaxe swung his weapon at the tree, but Littlehammer stopped it with her hammer. “Traitor!”
In the middle of these battles, Margo plugged her ears. Keeping her fingers firmly in place, she hurried away in search of a safe place to hide, but there was none. The sound of metal on metal echoed around her as the fighting raged on. Leaves swirled in the air and trees came down. Animals fought against and alongside humans, and from somewhere in all the ruckus, Mongrel begged them all to stop.
This was exactly the kind of mess she was supposed to prevent. If only she’d had a few moments alone with Mongrel. If only everyone would’ve just stayed out of her way.
“Margo, do something, quick!” The pin flashed.
“I’m thinking.” Margo kept her ears plugged. “It’s just hard with everything happening at once. I just need a moment to . . . if I could just get some quiet . . . perhaps it would help if everyone would just freeze!”
Mongrel raised his arm to defend himself against Aerin’s attack. Only the blow never came. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Before him, less than a foot away, the elf balanced on one foot, the other lifted off the ground mid-leap. Her arms were stretched high above her head as she prepared to strike. Her face was frozen in an expression of rage; in fact, her entire body was frozen.
She reminded Mongrel of the statues back at Whitestone Castle. He reached out and poked her face.
The skin was warm and supple, not hard or cold like he had suspected. He scarcely believed it. She was still alive.
“That’s better.”
He jumped at the sound of Margo’s voice. She was standing a safe distance away from all the fighting. That’s when Mongrel realized the fighting had stopped. He looked around. All the other competitors as well as the animals were in some state of suspended animation, resembling taxidermy animals posed mid-strike. It reminded him of the things he used to help Laerilas and his grandfather make.
He turned to Margo. “Did you do this?”
“I guess so,” she said, a little shocked herself. “Anyway, it was the only way to speak with you alone.”
“I didn’t think apprentices could wield this kind of magic without a license,” said Mongrel, stepping away from his opponent. Even though she couldn’t move, he was still more comfortable at a safe distance.
Margo’s eyes lit up with mischief. “That’s the beauty of this spell; no one will remember I used it.”
“Now you’re starting to look and sound like a real wizard.” Mongrel laughed and took a few steps toward her. Several competitors stood in his way. Their weapons glinted in the light of the rising sun. Mongrel eased himself around them, careful not to brush up against anything sharp or deadly.
Margo cautiously stepped into the frozen fray. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”
“Uh, yes,” Mongrel stammered as she approached him, graceful as a deer, gliding her way through the sea of frozen fighters.
“So, uh . . .” He ducked under the raised forepaws of a giant bear then slid a spear out of his way. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about . . . privately?”
“The location of the ring,” she said, turning sideways to edge between two fighters. “I was just saying you were very close to finding it.”
“Was I really?” Mongrel grew impatient as Margo stopped and waited for him behind a pair of crossed blades. With two hands, Mongrel pushed them apart, clearing himself a path.
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