Wind-Scarred (The Will of the Elements, Book 1)

by Sky Corbelli

  Chapter 15

  Let's Get Dangerous

  Ezra climbed unsteadily to his feet. What should he do? Go back for help? He had a sinking feeling that any help he could bring would be far too late for his teammates. He didn't have enough information. The big building sat silent in front of him. There was information in there. They had never actually said not to go inside the building. Mat and Sarah were professionals though, trained for this kind of thing. He'd have no chance in there. On the other hand, they had shown remarkably poor judgment coming up here in the first place. He clearly couldn't trust their decisions at this point without consulting them thoroughly or collecting more data. Fortified by the familiar caress of sound logic, he made his way cautiously and quietly to the hole in the wall and slipped through.

  The inside of the mill was a disaster. The floor was torn in places, thick support beams bent and broken everywhere. Sawdust hung heavily in the air and Ezra suppressed a sneeze, squinting his eyes to peer into the gloom. The floor was a mess of scuffed footprints in a thin layer of yet more sawdust, the occasional patch blasted clear by what Ezra could only assume had been more of the wind-scarred's concussive punches, like the one that had thrown Mat through the wall. It looked like this was one elementalist who enjoyed a good brawl.

  Creeping through the shadows of the dim room, Ezra heard subdued voices coming from the rear of the building. He eased his way toward them, until he could clearly make out Arn's gravelly rumble.

  The boards near the back wall creaked as the wind-scarred paced slowly back and forth over them. “I'm gettin' tired of asking you the same thunderin' question, and you won't like what I come up with when I have to... amuse myself. Who sent you? Was it Velor? Jonus? Who?!” Another heavy punch thumped through the room and Mat let out a grunt as he took it. “Real hard case huh? Professional. I can respect that. I got nothin' 'gainst you personal, kid, but you come up here toting them fancy new Besmirched toys and I get to thinkin that maybe you was...” He trailed off and stopped pacing. “Those were some pretty toys you all had, weren't they? Never seen none like 'em before. Was it... it wasn't... wasn't Val, was it?” Ezra could hear worry creeping into Arn's voice. “Val said leave, and I left, ain't been no-where near Eastpoint since. I'm way out here, deep Beloved territory, just trying to get by, you know.” A hint of desperation colored his tone. “I didn't know whose shipment that was, don't care what was in those boxes. Gave em back right and proper, didn't I? Val knows I dun want any more trouble.”

  “Maybe that's not what Val heard, Arn.” Sarah sounded calm and in control, her voice carrying a cold bite. “Maybe Val thinks you should just keep moving. Maybe think before you stop next time.”

  The floor squeaked and groaned as Arn paced over to Sarah. Ezra chanced a glance around a beam that stretched to the ceiling and saw Mat and Sarah pinned against the back wall by an invisible force, feet inches from the ground. Silence stretched on as the wind-scarred stared into the young woman's eyes.

  “No... no, you had me goin' there for a minute.” He made an absentminded gesture and Sarah convulsed as if hit in the stomach. “Val wants to deliver a message, she'll come right out here and burn it into me. No, I think I got you both pegged.” He laughed to himself. “You can handle yourselves in a fight. Certainly gave me a few nicks to remember, and that's a good sight better than most do.” He spun back to face Mat and extended an accusatory finger along with what must have been another invisible blow, from the way Mat's head snapped to the side. “Deserters! Ran off with a few Besmirched trinkets and now you think you're invincible, is that it? Took out a couple nobodies and decided to try for the big time, bump off old Arn the Fist. Maybe get back in good with Val while you're at it, huh? Ha!”

  Ezra noticed something gleaming in the wall a few meters from where he was standing. Mat's sword stuck out just above eye level, point buried deep in the wood. Ezra licked his lips and ghosted toward the weapon, fast, light steps carrying him smoothly and silently forward as Arn continued his tirade.

  “Maybe I do you one better, eh? Maybe I soften y'all up a bit, drag you back down there and see how Val takes to deserters, what do you think of that? Aw heck, even if you ain't deserters, Val'll be mighty interested in someone else sending heat across the border without her say-so. Why, I bet–”

  The wood groaned as the sword came loose. Ezra cringed. Maybe if I just put it back, no-one will notice, he thought to himself. Mat and Sarah's heads jerked up suddenly, and Arn whirled around and snarled, “Who's out there?”

  Okay, it's possible that they did notice something, but that doesn't necessarily mean they know that it's me. Lots of things could have made that sound, like rats, or pigeons, or...

  “Ezra, run!” shouted Mat. “You can't–”

  The wind-scarred made an curt gesture and Mat's voice fell silent. Ezra peered out of the shadows to see Sarah's face, a mask of horror, watching Mat as he gasped for air, dark eyes bulging.

  “Shh, you'll scare 'im off,” Arn said softly. “That you, bait? You get the idea that maybe you come in here, be the big hero?” The elementalist chuckled. “Why don't you come on out here where I can see ya, we'll have a little talk about that notion, nice and civ'lized like.” He began checking behind massive upright beams as he stalked toward the center of the room, stirring up sawdust in his wake.

  Clutching the sword, Ezra closed his eyes and tried to think. He could wait for the man to walk past, then stab him from behind. No, he shook his head, remembering how the man had caught him before. Okay, come on Ezra. He's clearly unstable and not anywhere near his right mind, but just as clearly competent and observant. Ezra frowned. That is, except when he's talking about these Besmirched, whoever they were. He said something about burning... fire-kissed, like Blair mentioned, maybe? He shook his head, sawdust floating down from his curly hair. If only there was a way to–

  Ezra's head jerked up as inspiration struck. “...said I could be like him.” His lips mouthed the words. Shaking fingers reached into his pocket, and he glanced around. He was a little over twenty meters from the door. No, no, it's impossible. But... if I can cut that distance in half, let the man walk a little further forward... No, I don't have the training for this kind of thing. I should run. Maybe if I throw the sword back when he's not–

  Mat made a strangled sound. Ezra felt his shoulders square. He looked down at the sword. Ten meters around the wind-scarred, based on what he did to Mat outside. That should do it, he thought grimly. He could do it. Moving softly, staying hidden, Ezra positioned himself to enact his plan.

  “I ain't playing with you here boy!” Arn's voice rang out with frustration as he searched the room. “Your friend back there don't have too much longer. Gonna be a mighty disappointin' rescue in a minute now. Don't rightly care if you're Besmirched, I just want–”

  “We are not the Besmirched.” Ezra's voice was soft, but carried through the empty room as he stepped out in front of the door. The sun hung low in the sky, just above the treetops and directly behind him, shrouding his body and face in shadow, a dark silhouette against its brilliance. Mat's sword gleamed in his right hand, held out to his side, tip dragging against the floor, kicking up a wispy line of sawdust.

  Arn blinked, shielding his eyes and stopping where he stood. Sarah turned and stared in horror, mouthing the word 'No' over and over. Mat's eyes fluttered closed, head slumping forward, shoulders jerking up and down in short, uncontrolled spasms. Ezra slowly, deliberately, began to walk forward.

  “Now what in the–”

  “We aren't something you can comprehend, Arn the Fist. We are those who stand when no-one else will.” What else had Blair said? Something about shields and swords... “We are the shield of the helpless. We are the sword of the righteous.” Okay, just need to keep it up a little longer, almost close enough now. “We are the world's great equalizer.” Three more steps, you can do it Ezra! “We are those who protect.” Is he really just listening to all this? “We are those who defend.” He's
starting to look pretty angry... “We are those who avenge.” Oh god oh god oh god oh god. “We are the Guild of Sundry.” Say something impressive, quick! “And fools like you should tremble in our passing.”

  “Good talk, kid,” Arn said flatly, reaching out again and pulling the air irresistibly toward him.

  Ezra had a moment of weightlessness, lifted from his feet by the wind. He closed his eyes. He tightened his grip on the sword. And he turned his left hand, held cupped at his side, and flicked the lit match into the swirling vortex of sawdust. The world exploded into heat and light as the sawdust ignited. Ezra peeked out one eye to see flames funneling toward the beckoning wind-scarred. He got a moment's glimpse of the abject terror on Arn's face before it vanished in the inferno.

  “Blighted fire-kissed lunatic!” Arn screamed from within the blazing whirlwind. A hand appeared, already red and blistered, sweeping out through the wall of flame. Ezra gulped and readied the sword in front of him, holding it out with both hands as he hurtled toward the writhing mass of wind and heat. Suddenly his flight ended. He hit the grounding running, keeping what momentum he could. Fire engulfed the sword's tip. Arn's hand flipped over, palm down, and slammed toward the floor, flattening a circle of sawdust and smothering the flames. He snarled madly, “I'm gonna–”

  Ezra felt a sudden, sickening impact run up his arms and into his shoulders. The moment seemed to freeze in crystal clarity. The shocked expression on the wind-scarred's face. The length of gleaming metal extending from the left side of the man's chest, shirt burned away to show where the blade had slipped between the graceful whorls of two delicate scars.

  The world came back into motion. Arn's hand reached forward, trembling as it came. “You...” blood bubbled from his mouth. Sarah and Mat fell to the floor at the back of the room, some thirty meters away, with two heavy thuds.

  “Ezra, run!” Sarah screamed.

  Ezra's eyes widened as the elementalist's hand fell toward the earth. He spun and sprinted for the door.

  There was a deafening clap, and a wall of air and sawdust hit him from behind. Ezra saw the top of the doorway blurring toward him, felt a brief impact, then nothing but blackness.