by Jim Butcher
Amara barely had time to breathe her agreement before the ground itself rumbled, and the Steadholder took off at a bounding run, the earth impelling him forward with every step. She turned and ran to keep up with him, but even in her best condition she would have been hard pressed to hold the pace. She managed to take several steps to keep close to him, one hand clinging to the loop of leather cord, then leapt in the air, calling to Cirrus as she did.
The presence of her fury solidified beneath her feet, and she flowed over the ground after the Steadholder, tugged forward by the cord. If he noticed her weight dragging at him, it did not show, and the man moved through the night with perfect confidence and near-perfect silence, as though even the withered grass beneath his feet conspired to cushion the impact and lessen the noise of his passing.
Before she had gotten her breath back, they had passed into the woods, and Amara had to duck her head to keep branches from slashing at her face. She hunched down in the Steadholder’sshadow, once jerking her feet up as he leapt a fallen tree that Cirrus hadn’t quite managed to carry her feet over.
“Got them!” he said, in a moment more. “At the ford. Fade’s on the ground, Tavi’s partly in the water and . . .” He snarled. “And Kord is there.”
“Kord?” Amara demanded.
“Steadholder. Criminal. He’ll hurt them.”
“We don’t have time for this!”
“So sorry it’s inconvenient, Cursor,” Bernard snapped. “I can’t feel your friends. They’ve left the road.”
“He must be concealing his own passage,” Amara said. “He never passes up a surprise attack. It won’t be long before he gets to the boy.”
“Then we have to defeat Kord and his sons first. I’ll take Kord, he’s the old one. The other two are up to you.”
“Crafters?”
“Air and fire—”
“Fire?” Amara blurted.
“But cowards. The taller one is more dangerous. Hit them hard and fast. Over the next rise.”
Amara nodded and said, “I will. Cirrus!” The Cursor gathered the air beneath her and with a rush of swirling winds swept herself from the ground, through the stark branches of the barren trees and into the air above them.
CHAPTER 21
The waters of the little river were ice-cold, swift. Tavi’s mouth went numb the moment Kord pushed his head into the water, and his ears tingled and burned with sensation. Tavi struggled, but the Steadholder’s grip was too strong, fingers tangled tightly in Tavi’s hair. His greasy Steadholder’s chain thumped against Tavi’s shoulders. Kord pressed down brutally, and Tavi felt his face mash up against the rocks at the bottom of the river.
And then that inexorable pressure vanished. Tavi felt himself hauled back, by the hair, and thrown through the air to land upon the ground many feet away. He came down upon something warm and living, that proved to be a dazed Fade. Tavi lifted his head, blinking water from his eyes, toward Kord, but someone moved between them, blocking his view.
“Uncle!” Tavi said.
Bernard said, “Get Fade up and get him out of here, Tavi.”
Tavi scrambled to his feet, hauling Fade up with him, and swallowed. “What are we going to do?”
“Get clear. I’ll handle things here,” Bernard said. Then he turned his back to Tavi, keeping himself between Kord and his nephew. “This time, Kord, you’ve gone too far.”
“Three of us,” Kord growled, as his sons took up a position on either side of him. “And one of you. Plus the fool and the freak, of course. I’d say that you’re the one who has his neck stuck out, Bernard.”
The ground in front of Kord rumbled, shifting, and the thing that hauled itself up out of the earth, its hide and limbs all of stone, looked like nothing that Tavi had ever seen. It had the long body of a slive, but its tail curled up over its back, held in the air like a club. Its mouth was hideously elongated and filled with flint-sharp jags of teeth. As Tavi watched, it twisted its head to one side, opened its jaws, and let out a granite-deep, rumbling growl.
Beside Kord, Bittan took the cover from a ceramic fire-pot. Red flames licked up from it as he did, and they curled into the shape of a reared serpent, hovering and ready to strike, flaming eyes bright. The tall and slender Aric, on Kord’s other side, steepled his fingers together and wind and bits of bracken swirled around him, casting back his cloak in a shape vaguely like great wings.
“Don’t do this, Kord,” Bernard said. The ground beside him stirred, and then Brutus thrust his way up out of the soil, until the rocky hound’s broad head rested beneath Bernard’s hand, emerald eyes focused on the Kordholters. Brutus gave his great shoulders a shake, sending earth and small stones skittering down off of his flanks in a miniature avalanche. Tavi saw Bittan blanch and take a small step back. “You’re digging yourself deeper into your own grave.”
“Trying to take my land,” Kord spat, “from me and my family. What gives you the right?”
Bernard let out his breath in a sigh, glancing upward for a moment. “Don’t play righteous with me, slaver. The storm’s almost here, Kord. Last chance. If you back down, right now, you get to live to face Gram’s justice instead of mine.”
Kord’s eyes flashed. “I’m a Citizen, Bernard. You can’t just kill a Citizen.”
“That’s on your lands,” Bernard said. “We’re on mine.”
Kord’s face went white. “You self-righteous bastard,” he hissed. He threw his hands forward and screamed, “I’ll feed you to the crows!”
The stone beast before him lurched forward across the stony ground, lizard-quick. Even as it did, something lashed out from Aric, the blurred shape vaguely reminiscent of a bird of prey as it sped toward Bernard. Bittan hurled his fire-pot down into the nearest brush, and even damp, the wood went up in a sudden blaze, the flame-serpent within it swelling to twenty times its previous size in the space of a long breath.
Bernard moved quickly. He threw his hand toward Aric’s attacking fury, scattering a fistful of salt crystals through the air. A whistling shriek went up from the air before him, even as Brutus lunged forward, clashing against Kord’s fury with a shockingly loud crunch of impact. Both furies blended into a mound of stone that sank into the earth, where the surface of the ground twitched and bulged, where the Steadholders’ furies battled out of sight beneath it.
Kord let out a bellow and came for Bernard. Tavi’s uncle hefted his axe and swiped it at the other Steadholder. Kord threw himself back and to one side, and Bernard followed him, lifting the axe for another strike.
Tavi saw Aric draw a knife from his belt and head for Bernard’s back. “Uncle!” he shouted. “Behind you!”
And then a column of wind so furious and strong that it almost seemed a solid mass hammered down into Aric’s back, throwing him hard against the earth. The young man let out a choked cry and began to rise, but from the dark sky above, Amara dropped onto his back, her stolen clothes flapping wildly in the sudden wind. Aric had time to let out a strangled shout, and the winds gathered around the pair of them in a sudden shriek of sound. Tavi saw Amara’s arm lock beneath Aric’s chin, and then the pair of them were rolling around on the ground, Aric struggling to dislodge the girl from his back.
Tavi turned in time to see Kord strike his uncle’s arm, knocking the axe from his hand. The weapon tumbled end over end and vanished into the water of the river. Bernard didn’t waste a moment, but threw his balled fist into Kord’s ribs, a blow that lifted the other man from the ground and sent him tumbling. Bernard pursued him, but Kord rose up again with fury-born fortitude, and the two met in a close grapple, the earth quivering and shaking beneath them.
Light and heat fell on Tavi from one side, and he turned to see Bittan standing before a blazing column of brush. “Well, well,” Bittan glowered. “Looks like that leaves me to take care of you.” Bittan raised his arms with an ecstatic cry, and brought them down again. The flames leapt up into a pillar that fell, swift and bright and horrible, toward Tavi and Fade.
&
nbsp; Tavi let out a yelp and dragged the slave to one side with him. Flame washed against the earth like water, sparks and smoke billowing out from it, heat rushing through the night. Tavi smelled burnt hair, and, regaining his feet, tugged Fade with him toward the water of the river. “Fade,” he gasped. “Fade, come on. Come on.”
Bittan’s laughter rang out harsh in the ruddy light. The fallen column of fire danced and writhed over the ground like an enormous serpent, snaking its way between Tavi and the dubious shelter of the river’s chilly waters. The fire leapt from bush to bush and tree to tree behind Bittan, growing, its crackling growl increasing to a sullen roar.
“Bittan!” Tavi shouted. “It’s getting away from you! You’ll kill us all!”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me on furycrafting, freak!” Bittan called. He turned to the burning brush beside him, scooped up a handful of blazing material, and hurled it at Tavi. Tavi threw up his cloak against it, softening the impact of the burning brush, but little licks of fire clung to the cloth. He beat at them frantically.
“I just can’t decide,” Bittan yelled, his voice jeering. “Whether you should smother or burn!”
Fade, the unmarred side of his face swollen and already purple with bruising, finally began to support most of his own weight, blinking his eyes around him in confusion. He pawed at Tavi’s cloak, making little mewling sounds, his eyes sweeping around them, around the flames.
“I have an idea,” Bittan said. “How about I fry the simpleton first! Then I can move on to you, freak.” He gestured with a hand, and from within the flames, that same serpent-shape coalesced. It writhed for a moment, curling — and then shot toward Fade’s chest like a streak of sunlight.
Fade let out a yelp and, with more speed than Tavi would have credited to the slave, he leapt aside, blundering into Tavi. The slave’s momentum carried them both toward the fiery barrier between them and the water, tumbling over one another. Fade’s back rolled against the ground as they went through the fire, and the slave let out a shriek of pain, clutching tightly to Tavi. The boy struggled to free himself, they both toppled into the Rillwater.
“No!” Bittan shouted. He strode unharmed through the fires and down to the water’s edge. He lifted his arms again and sent another tendril of flame racing toward them. Tavi threw himself back against Fade, knocking them both under the water’s surface. Fire splashed across the top of the water, a distant roar and a violent light above them.
Tavi stayed under the water’s surface for as long as he could, but he could hold his breath for no more than a few seconds. He hadn’t had a chance to get a proper breath before diving, and the water was simply too cold. He struggled further away from the near shore and Bittan’s raging fury, before he broke the surface, coughing and spluttering. He hauled Fade along with him, more or less by main strength, afraid that the panicked slave might drown himself before realizing that the water wasn’t deep enough.
Bittan stood at the very edge of the water and let out a shout of frustration. The flames behind him leapt skyward as he did. “You gutless, crow-eaten little freak! I’ll burn you and that gibbering fool to cinders!”
Tavi clutched at the floor of the river beneath him and seized up a stone the size of his fist. “You leave him alone!” he shouted, and flung the stone at Bittan.
It flashed across the intervening space and struck the bigger boy in the mouth. Bittan flinched back, letting out a yowl, and tumbled backward to the ground.
“Uncle!” Tavi shouted. “Uncle, we’re in the water!”
Through a roil of smoke, Tavi saw his uncle draw back a fist and ram it hard into Kord’s throat. The other Steadholder stumbled back with a choked shout, but didn’t lose his grip on Bernard’s tunic, dragging him down with him and out of Tavi’s sight.
Not far away, Amara rose away from an unmoving Aric, wincing and holding one forearm, where blood wetted her sleeve. Aric’s knife, it seemed, had scored on her, even if it hadn’t kept her from throttling him. She looked around and shouted, through the smoke, “Tavi! Get out of the water! Don’t stop in there, get out!”
“What?” Tavi shouted. “Why?”
He had no warning at all. Wet, supple arms abruptly twined around his throat, and a throaty, feminine voice purred, in his ear, “Because bad things can happen to pretty little boys who fall into the river.” Tavi started to turn, to struggle, but he was hauled beneath the river’s surface with breathless speed, and the arms at his throat tightened. Tavi tried to plant his feet on the river’s bed, to force his head up above the water, but somehow his feet never found purchase, as though the river’s bed had been coated with slime wherever his feet touched, so that they forever slipped and slid aside.
“Poor pretty,” the voice at his ear murmured, perfectly clear. He could feel the press of a strong but shapely body against his back. “It isn’t your fault that you saw what wasn’t to be seen. It’s a shame to kill a pretty one, but if you’ll just lay quietly and take a deep breath it will be over soon, and you’ll still be pretty when they put you in a box. I promise.”
Tavi struggled and writhed, but it was useless against the soft, subtle strength of that grip. He could have wrestled her all day and never gained the upper hand, he knew: She was a watercrafter, like his aunt, and a strong one at that, and the waters of the river itself were being used against him.
Tavi stopped struggling, which made his assailant let out a soft, approving murmur. Cold lips pressed against his ear. He was starting to grow dizzy, but his mind raced furiously. If she was a watercrafter like his aunt, then she would have the same problems Aunt Isana did. For all the advantages watercrafters enjoyed, they had to put up with more than almost any other craft, the disruption that their extra senses picked up from other people—emotions, impressions, feelings.
Tavi focused for a moment on his own helpless, fluttering fear, terror that made his heart race, stole the dregs of air remaining in his lungs ever more quickly away from him, brought him that much closer to drowning. He dwelt on that terror, let it build in him, and added to it the frustrations of the day, the despair and fury and hopelessness he had felt upon returning to Bernardholt. Every emotion built on the next, and he fed them all with a frantic fury, until he could scarcely remember what his plan had been to begin with.
“What are you doing?” hissed the woman that held him, threads of uncertainty lacing through the throaty assurance of her voice. “Stop it. Stop it. You’re too loud. I hate for it to be too loud!”
Tavi struggled uselessly against her, panic now overwhelming him in fact as well, blind and numbing fear blending in with all the other emotions. The woman let out a shriek and curled away from him, releasing him and wrapping her arms around her own head.
Tavi choked, his lungs expelling whatever was left in them as he struggled toward the surface. He only just managed to get his head out of water, to take a single deep, gasping breath, before the water itself bubbled up around him, sudden and enveloping, and dragged him back under.
“Clever boy,” hissed the woman, and Tavi could see her now in the reflected light from the fires on the bank, a beautiful woman of dark hair and eyes, body lushly curved and inviting. “Very clever. So passionate. Now I can’t hold you while you go. I wanted to do that much for you. But some people are never grateful.” Water pressed about him, as strong and as heavy as leather bonds, pressure that shoved his limbs together, wrapped him up like a parcel of bread. Terrified, he struggled to hold on to that last breath for as long as he could.
The woman remained before him, eyes narrowed spitefully. “Foolish. I was going to give you the raptures. Now I think I’ll just break that pretty neck.” She flipped a wrist, the gesture dainty, but the water around Tavi suddenly slewed around his head and began twisting his jaw slowly to one side. Tavi struggled against it, but the water seemed just a little bit stronger than he. The pressure on his neck swiftly built and became painful. The woman came closer, eyes round and bright, watching.
/> She didn’t see the sudden motion in the water behind her, but Tavi saw his aunt Isana’s hand come out of the murk. One hand seized the woman by the hair, and the other raked abruptly across her eyes. Pink tinged the water, and the woman let out a sudden, piteous shriek. Isana appeared more fully, thrusting both hands toward the woman, palms out, and she suddenly flew through the water, and then up and out of it, as though hauled away by a giant hand.
As soon as the woman sailed up and out of the Rillwater, the pressure on Tavi’s neck eased, and he found himself able to move his limbs. Isana moved to him, and together they broke the surface of the river, Tavi gasping and choking.
“My river,” Isana snarled after the departed water witch. Isana called to Fade, who lunged through the water to Tavi. The slave drew one of Tavi’s arms around his shoulders, holding the boy up and out of the water.
Tavi stared at his aunt’s hand, where the nails seemed to have grown to twice their usual length, like shining-edged claws. Isana took note of his glance and gave her hand a shake, as though relaxing muscles cramped from sewing. Once, twice, and the nails appeared as they always had, practically short and neatly groomed—but stained with spots of blood. Tavi shivered.
“Get him to the far shore,” Isana instructed. “There are two more out here, and matters aren’t settled between Kord and Bernard as yet. Tavi, get through the woods. When the storm comes, you’ll be safe for a time.”
Bittan, bloody-mouthed, appeared on the shore. “You barren witch!” he howled at Isana. He gestured, and fire leapt toward them.
Isana rolled her eyes and flipped a hand toward Bittan. A wave rose to meet the flames, drowning them and continued forward to clutch at the young man’s feet, washing them out from under him. He went down with a yelp, spluttering, and scrambled back away from the shore.
