Abbey put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’re going to help. Are they still here?”
The man ignored her and continued to address Dustin. “They say when help is needed, a Storm Caller will appear, but I never believed it. Not until now.” He turned and pointed to a large wooden structure in the center of the village. “Look. We have a storm tower, and its trough is filled with seawater. We keep it full, even though we hoped this day would never come. But now it has. You can save us!”
Syd and Abbey exchanged a glance.
Abbey turned to Dustin. “Okay, man. Let’s get you to that storm tower.”
Abbey charged into town, her eyes on the storm tower. It was a wonder the Barskall hadn’t set that thing ablaze yet, but it just looked like a thirty-foot tall wooden frame with a platform at the top, so perhaps they didn’t think it was anything important.
As they moved through town, they saw dozens of fires and plenty of men and women hauling pails of water, but still no Barskall.
Syd shouted to be heard over the din around them. “This is how the Barskall operate. They send a small group to sow chaos in a village, often burning homes, then they fall back. When the townspeople think the attack is over and have turned their attention to putting out the fires, they attack again.”
“Let’s get Dustin to the storm tower before that happens.” Abbey glanced over her shoulder to make sure Dustin was behind them. He was, and now that his skills were needed, all the fear was gone from his face. He kept his eyes on the storm tower as they moved forward.
They were almost to the storm tower when a cacophony of ringing bells and shouts filled the air.
A man standing at the top of the tower yelled down at them even as he wailed on a bell hanging in the tower. “They’re back! The Barskall are approaching from the north. There are more of them this time.”
The townspeople stopped, stunned, none of them sure what to do next.
Syd drew the two swords off her back. “Son of a bitch. These people have no leadership.” She turned to Abbey. “Get Dustin to the tower and protect him. Dustin, see what you can do to put out these fires. I’ll help these people muster some sort of defense.”
With that, she turned and ran toward the people gaping at the hills to the north of the village. She yelled as she ran. “All right, you land-locked, dirt lovers, who among you has a sword?”
“She’s a real charmer,” Abbey muttered. Then she took off for the base of the tower, Dustin close at her heels.
They reached the crude staircase that wound its way up the tower, and Abbey paused.
She motioned toward the top. “You head up. I’m going to do what I can to keep them off you while you Storm Call.”
Dustin nodded. “I appreciate that. It’s going to take everything I have to put out these fires. If there’s really seawater up there.”
Abbey touched his arm. “Just… be safe, okay?”
“You, too.” He dashed up the stairs.
Abbey turned toward the north and drew her sword. She hoped Syd would be able to mount a defense, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that the majority of Barskall wouldn’t get through.
Up ahead, a large wagon pulled by four huge horses rolled into view. A moment later, the horses pulled to a stop. No sooner had the wagon wheels stopped turning than a dozen Barskall leaped out.
“Shit,” Abbey muttered. “A dozen Barskall Warriors, and no one around to see how awesome it’s going to be when I take them all down.”
She glanced up at the top of the tower and saw Dustin was in place, both hands on his staff, his eyes aglow in bluish-green. The sky seemed to be darkening, though, whether that was from the impending sunset or the work of her Storm Calling friend, she did not know.
A single, heavy raindrop fell on her arm, answering that question. In the distance, she heard thunder.
The Barskall who’d jumped out of the wagon were spreading out, heading in every direction. The good news was that only two of them were running at her. The bad news was she saw another team of horses approaching close behind them. How many of these guys were there?
She raised her sword and waited as raindrops fell onto her arms and face, her eyes fixed on the charging Barskall Warriors.
Just before they reached her, there was a mighty crash of thunder, and the skies opened. Rain poured down in a sudden torrent. The potion-addled Barskalls didn’t seem to notice. Their sole focus was Abbey.
One of the Barskalls, the leaner of the two, was a few steps ahead of his companion. As he reached Abbey, she stepped aside and sliced into his stomach. She’d learned her lesson in Bode; she wasn’t going to assume that single blow would slow her opponent. She lifted her sword high into the air and brought it down on his neck. Only then did she turn to face the second Barskall.
This one was thicker, sporting both a heavy gut and well-muscled arms. He smiled madly as he ran toward her, not even glancing at his fallen ally.
He thrust his sword at Abbey’s midsection. She deflected the blow, but she was impressed by her opponent’s speed. He attacked again. And again. And again. Each time he struck, he let out a high-pitched cackle. Each thrust was the same as the last. He wasn’t toying with her or testing her, she realized. He was just attacking again and again like an insane person. She was quickly learning that fighting Barskall who’d consumed their draughts was not like fighting other opponents. Normal rules of logic and combat barely applied.
“Okay, I’ve had enough of this shit.” Abbey deflected his latest strike, then dropped low, catching him in the ankle with her sword.
The Barskall Warrior went down hard, landing on his back in the mud.
His eyes widened as he looked up at the storm tower. Before Abbey could deliver the killing blow, he bellowed to his countrymen. “Storm Caller in the tower!”
Abbey finished the man, but it was too late to stop his final message. All around her, Barskall Warriors stopped what they were doing and turned toward the tower.
“Oh, shit.” Abbey widened her stance, gripped her sword, and waited for the Barskall army to charge.
20
Benjamin stood in the alley, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon. “You know, Jarvi, I’m beginning to wonder if this plan isn’t specifically designed to land me back in my jail cell as quickly as possible.”
The elderly trader smiled wryly. “Not specifically. That is merely one possible side effect.”
Benjamin couldn’t help but smile back at his friend. “You really think we’re going to be able to get in there without getting caught?”
Jarvi glanced up at the window before answering. “We’ll never know unless we try. So, what do you say you start climbing?”
They were outside the home of notorious party animal and recent murder victim Bronson. Jarvi insisted that they weren’t getting the full story from the city guard. If they wanted to find answers, they’d need to inspect the crime scene themselves. Benjamin wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t have any better ideas. He took a deep breath and began climbing toward the second story window, the very one that the murderer himself had reportedly gone through.
Benjamin wasn’t too worried about the city guard catching them here. The murder had taken place days ago, and the body and murder weapon had both been cleared away. But something felt wrong about being here, about entering the home of a dead man uninvited. If it hadn’t been Abbey’s life on the line as well as his own, he probably wouldn’t have agreed to do it.
The cobblestone wall was roughly masoned, and climbing proved to be no difficult task. Benjamin worked with his hands all day, and that gave him the strength he needed to hold tight to the small gaps in the stone. In a few short minutes, he was at the window. Just as Jarvi had predicted, the window was still unlatched, and he was able to open it and climb through.
He performed a quick search of the house to confirm it was unoccupied, then he went to the back door and let in Jarvi.
“Well, isn’t this lovely?” Jarvi said sar
castically while stepping inside.
Benjamin had to agree that the place had probably seen better days. It was clear the men who’d been traipsing in and out of here had worn heavy boots and displayed little interest in knocking the mud off them before entering the home. Benjamin couldn’t imagine what evidence could possibly still exist here that hadn’t been trampled to oblivion at this point.
Still, they were inside now, so they’d might as well take a look around. Benjamin led the way to the second story.
As they walked, Jarvi said, “Do you remember when you first came to me with the suspicion that there might be a traitor?”
“Of course.” Benjamin had spent weeks thinking about it before bringing the matter to his friend. The evidence had been piling up for a while, and he’d wanted to be as sure as he could be before causing a panic.
The whole thing had started with a captain whose crew worked the Storm Wall, the area in the middle of the sea between the Kaldfell Peninsula and Barskall where stormships used a combination of weaponry and heavy storms to make the sea impassible to their enemies from the west. The Storm Captain had been grumbling about how the Barskall seemed to be getting through more often recently. He’d said the Barskall found the gaps in their defenses so often, it was as if they knew where the stormships would be positioned.
That one offhanded remark had sent Benjamin’s mind in motion. Over the coming months, he’d begun to see patterns as he overheard other comments. It took him back to his time as a Hunter in Arcadia when he’d spent his days gathering clues from the smallest remarks dropped in casual conversations.
He noticed the stormships that traveled north were ordering more and more weapons and armor, which meant they were engaging in battles more frequently. That had to mean more Barskall were getting through. He noticed that even when ships like High Tide and Summer Wind were assigned to the trade routes near the Lost Isles, they were still going through armor and weapons at an unusual pace. They needed their weapons and armor repaired and replaced far more often than one would expect. There were more and more reports of northern villages being raided by the Barskall. But how were they getting through?
He began asking gentle, probing questions to the sailors he met returning from the north, questions that allowed him to gather just enough information to put the pieces together.
Finally, he’d come to a conclusion: too many Barskall Warriors were getting through to the Kaldfell Peninsula, and the Magistrate either didn’t understand the severity of the situation or didn’t care. So, after consulting Jarvi on the matter, Benjamin had made an appointment to speak to the Magistrate. And shortly after that, he’d been framed for murder.
“When you first brought me the idea, I thought you were crazy,” Jarvi said. “It took me a while to come around to the idea.” They reached a sitting room on the second floor, and Jarvi stopped. “I did some asking around about the crime, and this is it. This was where he was murdered. They found him lying by the window.”
Benjamin let out a thoughtful grunt as he looked around. Bronson was no wimp. Whoever killed him must have been a competent swordsman.
There were no signs of a struggle. Either the city guards had done an uncharacteristically good job of cleaning up, or the fight hadn’t lasted long.
Benjamin scratched his chin. “You said the killer came in through the window?”
Jarvi nodded. “It was wide open when they found him. In fact, someone in the street heard him scream. If they hadn’t, it might have been days before someone found him.
Convenient, Benjamin thought. “Something about this stinks. Look at the chairs. They’re all angled toward the window.”
“So?”
“So, you expect me to believe Bronson was sitting in this room, looking toward the window, and the killer had time to open it and climb in before Bronson noticed? Surely, he could have fought off a man climbing through a window even if he was drunk. At least there would be signs of a struggle.”
Jarvi thought for a moment before answering. “He could have been sleeping in one of those chairs. The killer might have snuck in and slit his throat without him even waking up.”
“But you said they found him by the window, not in the chair. And someone heard him scream.”
Jarvi chuckled. “Okay, my Arcadian Hunter friend, what’s your theory?”
Benjamin looked around the room one more time before answering. “I don’t think the killer came through the window. He only wants us to think he did. I believe the killer was already in the house. Bronson was murdered by a friend.”
Dustin gripped his staff and struggled to keep his focus on the storm he was calling, not on the battle raging below his feet.
He’d found the storm tower just as the townsperson had described. A trough was built into the wood on the top of the tower, and the trough was filled with murky water.
It may not have been clean, but it was seawater. Dustin knew that the moment his staff touched it and the power hummed into his body.
Another man was on the tower with Dustin. He must have been some sort of watchman, Dustin assumed. He’d been the one who’d sounded the alarm when the Barskall had returned to attack the village. Dustin couldn’t see him very well; he crouched in the corner, silently watching Dustin.
Dustin turned toward the man. “You know, my friend down there is single-handedly protecting this tower from charging Barskall Warriors. Maybe you’d be willing to go down and give her a hand?” His voice came out sounding strained. Doing anything else while Storm Calling—even speaking—took a fabulous effort of will.
The man slowly shook his head. “This my station. I need to stay here.”
Dustin grit his teeth in frustration. Abbey needed help. “Listen, I don’t mean to come into your town and tell you your business, but if you don’t get your ass down there and help, your station is going to be a smoldering pile of rubble come morning. So, how about you quit being a worthless piece of shit and get moving?”
The man slowly shook his head again.
“Unbelievable.” If this man didn’t want to do his part, Dustin wasn’t going to waste another word on him. He turned his attention back toward the village.
The rain seemed to be helping. Granted, it wasn’t putting out the fires—those still burned around the village—but it did seem to keep them from spreading.
Dustin had never called a rain storm of this magnitude before, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up. He was still a bit drained from the previous night’s efforts. He silently vowed to keep going as long as humanly possible, until every last morsel of magic he could access had run dry.
He risked a look down at Abbey. Three Barskall Warriors were closing in on her as she bravely held her position at the foot of the tower.
Dustin concentrated on the man nearest Abbey, and a gust of powerful wind slammed into the man, knocking him onto his ass. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do from up there. He couldn’t risk a lightning bolt, not that close to Abbey and the tower. No Storm Caller was that precise.
The other two Barskalls charged Abbey, and she held her sword, ready to meet them.
Dustin saw another Barskall Warrior sprinting toward her from the left, just out of her line of sight. By the time Dustin noticed, it was too late to send his wind or even yell out a warning. The Warrior smashed into Abbey, wrapping his arms around her and tackling her to the ground.
The other two Warriors raced past and barreled up the stairs.
Dustin spun toward the top of the staircase where the Barskalls would emerge at any moment. He tried to steel himself. He could use his staff as a bludgeon against his attackers, but he had no delusions. He wasn’t Abbey. There was no way he would last long against two Barskall Warriors.
The man crouching in the corner leaped to his feet and moved toward the top of the stairs. “As the Storm Caller protects our village, it is my duty to protect him.”
For the first time, Dustin realized the watchman wasn’t a man at a
ll. He was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than twelve. He drew a long, thin sword and lunged at the first Barskall Warrior who appeared at the top of the stairs. The sword sank into the Barskall’s chest, and the Warrior collapsed.
The other Barskall pushed past him, and this time, the boy was not so lucky. The Barskall struck with his broadsword, knocking the thinner weapon from the boy’s hands. He then swung his arm, hitting the boy in the chest. The boy went flying over the edge of the tower and tumbled toward the ground.
“No!” Dustin yelled. He focused his magic, trying to create a gust of wind under the boy that would cushion his fall. He had no idea if the attempt was successful, and he heard the boy land with a thud.
Dustin spun toward the Barskall Warrior, fury in his eyes. He would attack this evil man with all the power of nature that swirled within him.
The Barskall rushed forward and, instead of attacking Dustin, he stabbed his sword down into the trough. Dustin heard the wood crack, and the seawater ran out. The power within Dustin ebbed with the disappearing seawater.
The rain immediately slowed, and the Barskall Warrior smiled.
Dustin raised his staff, still furious at what the Barskall Warrior had done to the boy, but then he paused. What was it Abbey had said? That magic was in all things, not just the sea? That maybe the sea simply prepared him?
He touched the end of his staff to the wood below his feet. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, the same way he always did when his staff touched seawater, and he felt… something. It wasn’t the same as the Storm Calling he was used to, but there was power there. A different power, but power nonetheless.
Tentatively, he reached out to touch it, but he felt it pull away.
Stupid! He couldn’t help but chastise himself. You couldn’t reach for the power tentatively. Every apprentice Storm Caller knew that. Storm magic required a firm demeanor.
Welcome To The Age of Magic Page 36