I gesture toward Lucas, the Earl of Striga. “As the leading wizard in our lands, would you mind casting a quick spell to show us the state of Purgatory’s moon?”
Lucas shares my resentment of Aldred, on the sly, of course. The Earl of Striga steps forward. “As you command, my Prince.”
Like all witches and wizards of Striga, Lucas wears long purple robes with the insignia of a pentagram woven on his chest. Long gray braids trail down his back, the length decorated with beads of spell achievement. He lifts his hands under his chin.
“One.” He releases a slow breath over his open palms.
“Two.” Another breath.
“Three.” This time when Lucas exhales, his breath comes out as rings of purple smoke. Magic. The mist congeals onto his palms, taking the form of a lilac-colored dove. Lucas lifts his arms, and the dove flies off toward the skies.
Aldred folds his arms over his chest. “Is that it?”
Lucas tilts his head, making his dreads clink together behind him. “Give it a moment.”
The magic bird soars higher, its small form disappearing into the clouds. For a moment, it seems as if nothing will happen.
Then, a single point in the sky takes on a purple hue as well. From that one spot, the affect spreads out in concentric waves until the entire sky seems to be lilac-colored.
“You’ll scare the locals,” huffs Aldred.
Lucas sniffs. “I’m not a first-time mage. Only we can see this spell.”
The clouds grow thinner, the purple color fading into a single sheet of night sky. And there, hovering above our heads, hangs a thin moon.
An Archer’s Moon.
Aldred stomps his foot. “I know the status of the Archer’s Moon on Earth, like every self-respecting member of the House of Acca. But why would I care about Purgatory? The people here are all demons that we aren’t allowed to kill. It’s a wasteland for our kind, so why would I know if its moon moves on a different cycle? This is ridiculous.”
I focus on Aldred. “So, I take it that I’ve proven this is indeed an Archer’s Moon?”
The Earl of Acca narrows his eyes for a long moment. After that, his gaze widens. I know that look on Aldred. He’s come up with some way to turn this to his advantage…or so he thinks. “Yes, I am convinced. I accept your challenge.”
“Excellent.” I turn to Lucas. “You may end the spell.”
“As you command.” Lucas claps his hands. The sky returns to a purple color before returning to its typical sheet of gray.
I pull my baculum from their holster at the base of my spine. “Shall we?”
Aldred’s mouth twitches with a grin. “What did you say to me at the battle of the Soul Slasher? I have conditions.”
This is to be expected. Aldred would never fight me directly. I scan the faces of the Acca commanders. I wonder which one he will he choose to fight in his place.
“Name them,” I say.
“You must fight my commanders.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
I frown. Perhaps I didn’t hear him correctly. “Did you say all of them?”
“Yes, Acca tradition allows for multiple combatants, so long as they are all in the same fighting ground. And I name all my commanders.”
My breath catches. All his commanders? I hadn’t expected that move. It can’t be legal. My mind spins through everything I know of obscure Acca house laws. “There’s no law that states you can do that.”
“True. But there’s no law that says I can’t, so I just made it up.” Aldred picks up another medal from the platter. “That’s another one of my rights, you know.”
Father pipes up. “He can make laws on the fly, so long as they don’t contradict current house legislation.”
I glare in my father’s direction. “Thank you for clarifying.” I’ve felt frustrated with my father before, but never anything like the all-consuming mixture of rage and despair that consumes me now. For his part, Father has the decency to stare at his boots once more.
How can I do this without my parents’ support? I look over to Mother. She still has that damned tic by her mouth, but she isn’t saying anything, either.
Aldred exhales a long-suffering sigh. “Let us now return to the real ceremony. If there are no further interruptions, I won’t even execute young Lincoln for trying to take away my demon patrol rights.” Looking at me, he raises his pointer and middle fingers. “That’s two times I’ll have spared your life in one month. Don’t forget it.”
I don’t know what to say. This is some kind of nightmare. Standing in front of all the Earls and Acca commanders as my family kowtows to Aldred. Perhaps I should simply give up. If the Acca commanders don’t seem to care about their own lives, why should I?
Aldred returns to awarding himself medals. The practice grounds take on a dream-like sheen. Memories from the Soul Slasher demon ricochet in my mind. I picture the innocent-looking she-demon. How Aldred summoned his warriors to charge. And the pitiful screams from the Acca warriors.
I glance over to the line of Acca commanders. Lothar is there, staring at me with a pleading look in his once-stern eyes. I can hear his thoughts in my mind, as clearly as if he were speaking them out loud.
If I give up now, his life might be next.
There’s no way I can stand by and allow this to happen.
When I say my next words, I make sure to lock with Aldred’s gaze. “I accept your challenge.”
Aldred had been droning on. When I interrupt him again, he almost chokes. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me. I will take on all your commanders.”
“And you didn’t hear all I had to say,” continues Aldred. “You will fight my commanders to the death.”
“As of this moment, you rule your commanders but not me. You can order your warriors to attempt to kill me, but I won’t do the same. As long as they are down and no longer fighting, I’ll consider it a win.”
Aldred waves his hand. “As you wish. It only makes success all the harder for you.”
Mother marches toward us. “I’ve kept my peace about this fiasco, but now? You’re actually sending in twenty warriors against my boy? And all of them have murder on their minds? You can’t be serious.”
Aldred sets his fists on his hips. “I’ve made it perfectly clear to both of you that my demon patrol rights are sacrosanct. And yet, not once, but twice I’ve let your son go. Now this is his choice. Not mine.”
Mother rounds on me. “You can’t do this, Lincoln.” Her mismatched eyes are lined with tears. The sight makes my heart feel ready to shatter.
When I speak again, I take care to keep my voice low and gentle. “Do you really think you can talk me out of it?”
Mother huffs out a long breath. “No, of course not.” She wipes her cheeks with her fingertips. “You’re nothing but a bullheaded ninny.”
“On that, we both agree.” I pull her in a hug and whisper in a voice only she can hear, “I’ve planned for this, Mother. I’ll be fine.”
Of course, I don’t add in that I planned for one warrior, not twenty.
“You better be,” she replies. “Or I’ll bathe this field in Aldred’s blood.”
I can’t help but smile. I really do have the finest mother imaginable.
Stepping away from Mother, I return my attention to Aldred. “Let’s begin.”
Aldred grins in a way that’s the definition of the word smug. “My commanders,” he calls. “Attack!”
The twenty warriors break formation, coming at me in a great mass. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can feel part of my consciousness running through how I fought each warrior in hand-to-hand training. That section of me is weighing out the likelihood of different attacks and countermeasures based on the particular warrior.
But that stream of thought is a low hum in the background of my thoughts. What most of me can focus on is the number of warriors as they approach. My reaction to their attacks becomes instinctive response fueled
by past knowledge. I can only hope it’s enough to keep me alive.
The first warriors approach.
Twenty, nineteen.
I race for them, but at the last minute fall down to my knees into the mud. My momentum keeps propelling me forward as I slide between the two fighters. Once I’m close to the ground, I ignite my baculum as a pair of short swords, stretch my arms out, and slice the fighters’ Achilles tendons. They fall to the ground. I follow up with a quick blow to the back of their heads.
Two down.
Next up: eighteen, seventeen.
This pair of fighters has pulled out their fancy metal crossbows. I transform my baculum into a pair of short whips and flick my wrists. The baculum-whips wind about the weapons, securing them to my line. Rotating my arms, I send my whips—and the attached crossbows—into a great arc that ends with the weapons slamming into the heads of their owners. The Acca warriors fall over unconscious.
Two more down.
Now, fighters sixteen to eleven come at me in a tightly-knit group. That’s six at once. I suppose they’ve figured out that attacking in pairs isn’t the smartest approach. I reignite my baculum, this time creating a fiery net between the two silver rods. I toss the net over the six warriors. It’s made of thin strands of calcified angelfire. The net may look thin, but you might as well try to shift your weight while lying under a boulder. No question about it—those warriors will stay down for the fight.
It also means I no longer can use my baculum.
The next five warriors pause at a distance. That means fighters ten to five have figured out that I’m better at hand-to-hand than they are. Clever. They line up their crossbows.
Not so long ago, Zachary said I moved fast enough to catch lightning. Now, I need to see if I can do the same with crossbow bolts. I race over to one of the unconscious warriors, pick up his crossbow, and start shooting, rapid fire. I wound each fighter in the thigh as I race toward them. Once I’m close enough, I knock them out with a series of blows to their heads.
One thing I will say for these metal crossbows, they also deliver excellent club-action when you need to smack someone unconscious.
Four, three, and two leap over their fallen comrades to come at me. One tears my crossbow-club from my hands, so I’m left with no weapons.
Fists it is.
What comes next is nothing but a traditional, hand-to-hand and mud-filled fistfight. I take a punch to the ribs. An uppercut to my chin. Someone slams me so hard in my head, my ears start to ring.
For the first time, I start to consider that I could really lose my life.
Fear and adrenaline give me new focus. Suddenly, there’s nothing but the impacts of fists and feet as I punch and knee-kick every warrior who dares to get close to me. Someone shoots a bolt through my upper arm. I don’t even notice the pain.
When the frenzy leaves my mind, there are nineteen downed warriors on the field. All of them are unconscious. Only one is left standing.
Lothar.
This is the same warrior I spent the most time training. He’s also the one who caught my gaze and inspired me to fight the nineteen others.
What will he do now?
Lothar raises his crossbow and points it directly at my chest. He seems to move in slow motion as he marches across the muddy ground. There’s a cacophony of voices behind me. I hear my parents, Aldred, and even some of the Earls. The warriors still trapped under my baculum net shout out encouragement.
“Get him, Lothar!”
“Kill!”
Even so, Lothar doesn’t shoot. He keeps his steady tread toward me. Once we’re an arm’s length apart, he stops. My upper arm and thigh burn with pain. Something in my jaw feels shattered. If Lothar decides to shoot, I’m not sure what I could do.
Lothar reaches forward, grabs my wrist, and pulls it up to his shoulder. He speaks one word in his deeply accented voice.
“Pinch.”
A sense of peace flows through my soul. After all this sacrifice, Lothar is now asking me to pinch the nerve that could make him pass out. He isn’t even going to fight me. I apply pressure to the spot, and Lothar falls over like a sack of flour.
The moment Lothar falls, the cheering stops. Everyone seems to freeze in place, their gazes locked on Lothar, and then on me.
Pain radiates down my neck and limbs. Every muscle in my body screams with hurt. It takes a conscious effort to turn around and face Aldred. “Now,” I say in a loud and clear voice. “I’d like my boon.”
“Absolutely.” That sneaky gleam is back in Aldred’s eyes, though. He’s nowhere near ready to give up. “You’re injured, my lad. Perhaps we should finish this later.”
I limp across the muddy field. Every step is a lesson in agony. I pause when I’m nose to jowls with Aldred. “We do this now.”
“You’ve bested my men.” Aldred grins a too-wide smile. “Let’s have a shake, and you can have your boon.”
Aldred reaches for me. A glint of thin metal shines from the hem of his tunic sleeve. Ah, I remember this particular move from my training with Lothar. Somehow, I find enough energy for one more round of hand-to-hand combat. I flip Aldred around, press his arm behind his back, and squeeze.
“Let me go!”
“Drop it.”
“Drop what?”
I press harder until I hear the telltale snap of a broken bone.
“Argh!” Aldred howls like an animal, but he does drop the poisoned dart he’d been hiding in his sleeve. If we had shaken hands, all he would have needed to do was scratch me, and I’d be dead. Once the dart falls into the dirt, I crush it under my boot.
“Now, my good Earl. Let’s discuss this boon. You—and every Earl of Acca after you—will give up rights to lead your army in any way, shape, or form without permission from the crown.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Those are Aldred’s words, but I know his mind. He’ll never give up control.
“I’m glad you agree.” I gesture back to Lucas. “How fortunate that you invited the Earl of Striga here tonight. He can cast a binding spell.”
Lucas almost skips to our side, he’s so pleased to cast this particular spell. The other earls look carefully neutral. My parents are beaming. Sometimes, I wonder what kind of leverage Aldred uses on my father. Mother and I have tried for years to figure it out. Seeing the pure joy on Father’s face right now, it’s clear that he loathes Aldred as much as I do. It’s a mystery, but it’s one that’s proven unsolvable. It’s certainly nothing I’ll figure out right now.
Besides, I have far better things to do, like watch Lucas cast his binding spell. Despite the pain of my injuries, a warm sense of satisfaction spreads through my limbs.
I’m definitely going to enjoy this.
Lucas steps forward. Aldred takes a decided step away. “Come to think of it, I’m not feeling well myself.”
“Don’t worry,” says Lucas. “This won’t hurt. Much.” He reaches into the long sleeve of his wizard robes and pulls out a handful of what looks like purple confetti. Lucas sets the confetti on his palm.
I purse my lips. Magic confetti. That’s new.
Lucas exhales across the tiny bits of paper. The confetti comes alive, moving in a great whirl. Lucas snaps his fingers, and the small tornado of magical paper spins over to Aldred and plasters across him. He reminds me of a mummy wrapped in lilac-colored linen. It’s rather bizarre and fitting, all at once.
“Repeat after me,” says Lucas. “I will never lead my warriors into battle again.”
“I will never lead my warriors into battle again.”
A weight of worry and sorrow seeps from my bones. It’s over. No more Acca warriors will die needless deaths at Aldred’s hands. I exhale a long breath.
Yes.
Lucas purses his lips. “Ah, well. Might as well fix you all up while I’m at it.” He waves his hand, and some of the confetti seeps into Aldred’s broken arm. More of the enchanted paper flies at the Acca warriors, soaking into their bodies and healing the
m up. A final cluster zips over in my direction, where it attaches to my skin and sinks in as well. Within seconds, the wounds in my limbs are gone. My jaw has never felt better.
The Acca commanders all rise from the mud with confused looks on their faces. Lucas claps his hands, and the remainder of the purple confetti disappears.
I grin at Lucas. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He winks. “Care to share a cup of mead?”
I’m about to agree to the idea when Aldred starts bellowing. “Argh!” He reminds me of some kind of human pirate, only with a belly paunch and bad comb-over. “This is my celebration and it’s ruined.” Aldred marches over to one of the feasting tables and topples the thing over in the mud. “Everyone must go!”
As reactions go, I really couldn’t have hoped for more. He really is taking this poorly. Aldred marches off the practice grounds, waving his arms as he goes. “This way, Connor!”
Across the grounds, Father kisses Mother on the cheek. They share a long look that’s a mixture of sorrow, love, and forgiveness. I’ve seen it many times in my life. After that, Father stomps off to follow Aldred through the mud. No doubt, my father will spend the next few hours soothing Aldred’s ego. All the other Earls follow their king.
Mother and I are the only ones left. She’s back to being the Queen of the Poker Face. There’s no reading Mother’s expression when she crosses the grounds to give me a peck on the cheek. “You did well, my son.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Her eyes narrow a fraction. “You know what Aldred is going to want now.”
“I do. The marriage treaty.”
“He’ll see it as a way to make your life miserable.” Mother’s mouth thins to a determined line. “I’m no longer certain that alliance is a good idea.”
“I will always do my duty.”
She shakes her head. “Sometimes, I wish you weren’t so damned noble.”
I grin. “I’ll try to expand my troublemaking skills.”
“Do that.” She straightens out the folds of her black gown. “I assume you don’t wish to join us with Aldred?”
“I’d rather have another crossbow bolt shot through my leg.”
“Well said, my son.” She turns and marches off through the mud as well.
Lincoln Page 7
