by Kris A Hiatt
Never before had she enjoyed being insulted like that. There was some sort of grim satisfaction knowing she’d so perfectly transferred her training into a real life scenario. And, she admitted, satisfaction in knowing she hurt the man that wanted to hurt her.
Kiril ran off into the darkness, barely missing trees as she ran. She slowed slightly, deciding it wouldn’t be good for her to run head first into a tree and knock herself out.
She stopped and looked back, partly to see if she was far enough away but mostly because she wanted to see how the other two fared. She had to shift a little back and forth to find a good view through the trees. It didn’t take her long, but no sooner than she found an open view did an overwhelming sense of sadness and sense of shame wash over her.
It took her a moment to realize the scene that played out before her was the cause of those emotions. She watched as the man Treace was fighting fell to the ground, sliding off of Treace’s sword as he did so. Even from her current distance, she could see the pain on Treace’s face. Not from any wound on his body, but from the realization of what he’d just done. She could feel the turmoil in the man’s mind. Treace wanted to be happy that he’d won the fight and was still alive, but he was angry that his opponent didn’t surrender and forced Treace to kill him. He was sad that he had to take a life, yet was glad to do so understanding that it saved another’s.
Kiril noticed a woman, most likely the group’s leader who spoke earlier, come out of the darkness behind Moffred, who was still swinging his flaming stick furiously in front of him to keep his opponent away. She marveled at how he hadn’t tired yet.
The woman behind Moff drew a dagger from her hip and walked in, only paces from his back. Kiril knew she was too far away to make it in time and she also knew Moff would never see the attack coming. “Treace! To Moff! Now!” she yelled as loudly as she could.
She watched as Treace snapped out of his self-induced trance and turned toward Moff. Kiril knew he was still too far away and wouldn’t make it to save Moff in time. Treace took off, sprinting hard to get to his friend, but it was too late.
The woman squatted low, her left leg extended out to that side, and stabbed in hard with her dagger, sinking it into the side of Moffred’s thigh.
Moff screamed in pain and dropped his weapon, falling to the ground and reaching both hands toward his wound.
“No!” Screamed Treace, still at least a dozen feet away.
The woman quickly jumped on Moff, pulling him into a seated position with her behind him. She pressed her dagger to his throat and stared at Treace.
Treace skidded to a stop, merely a few feet away.
“Surrender or your friend dies,” she said coldly.
Kiril wanted to run in and help, but she knew it would be pointless for her to do so. She had no weapon, she wasn’t as skilled at fighting as Treace was, and she was simply too far away to do anything but watch the terrible scene play out.
“And when I do,” Treace told the woman. “You’ll kill us both.”
Kiril could see the fear and pain on Moff’s face. What Treace was saying was probably true, but she could feel that he had already decided he wouldn’t risk his friend’s life. Even if it meant giving his own, he wasn’t going to be the cause of his friend’s death. Despite everything that was going on at the time, Kiril admired Treace for that. Just as she admired him for his reaction to taking someone’s life.
“Your choice,” the woman stated. “But I won’t say it again.”
“Treace, no,” Moffred pleaded.
Kiril barely managed to make out what he said.
Treace dropped his sword immediately.
“Good,” the woman told him. “Now if you’ll just kindly raise your hands and surrender, Grag will tie your hands together to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
Kiril watched Grag walk in behind Treace, pulling a length of rope from around his neck and shoulders as he walked. She didn’t notice the rope when she punched him, but she wasn’t looking for it at the time.
Treace raised his arms and turned to face Grag. The light from the campfire lit up his dejected face and Kiril knew she wasn’t going to leave him. She would figure something out. She had to.
She watched as Grag bound Treace’s arms while the woman still held Moffred hostage in front of her with the dagger pressed firmly against his throat.
“Where’s the girl?” the woman asked.
“She ran off,” Grag replied. “I’m sure she’s gone by now.”
“No she’s not,” the woman said. “She wouldn’t leave her boyfriend behind.”
Kiril didn’t know where the woman got the idea that either one of those two were her boyfriend, but the woman was right about her not being willing to leave them behind. She walked slowly toward the camp, careful to watch where she stepped and keeping herself behind as many trees as possible.
“Where are you girl?” the woman called out. “I know you can hear me.”
“She’s gone,” Treace said loudly. “Even if she was here, she’s too smart to fall for your trap.”
Kiril knew he was saying that for her benefit alone. He was hoping she was gone, but if she wasn’t, it was a clear message to her that she wasn’t supposed to give in. She had crept close enough to where she thought if she got any closer, she’d be within the light of the fire. She stopped there and tried to think of what her next step would be.
“We’ll see about that,” the woman said. “We just need to figure out which one she’s in love with.”
“Probably the rich kid,” Grag suggested.
“We barely know her,” Treace explained. “She has no attachment to either one of us.”
“Shamir’s going to kill us anyway,” Moffred said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, quite the contrary,” the woman corrected. “He may simply imprison you, not that I give two shits either way. But if she doesn’t surrender, I’m going to kill you.”
Moffred winced in pain as she slid the dagger’s edge across the side of his neck. Kiril could see a line of blood form around the dagger’s blade. She had to give herself up. She wouldn’t let either of them die for her. At least with Shamir they may have a chance to live. She was about to turn herself in when Moffred spoke up.
“Don’t you listen to her, Kiril.”
Kiril knew he couldn’t see her and that it was simply a coincidence that he spoke out when he did. She could tell he was in pain, but he also told her not to turn herself in.
She fought with herself over which option to take.
“Well,” the woman said, letting Moffred fall and rising to face Treace. “Should’ve known she’d favor you.”
“She favors no one,” Treace argued.
“Good,” the woman replied. “Then I can have you for myself.”
Kiril watched as the woman practically pranced up to Treace and cupped his chin with the hand that wasn’t holding the dagger.
“Since she doesn’t want you, I’ll just have a little taste,” the woman said, kissing Treace fully on the mouth.
Kiril wanted to punch the woman. Partly because of what she did to Moff, but mostly because she was right. Kiril didn’t know how deeply or for how long it would last, but she knew she cared for Treace. She thought it was simply their emotional link at first, but now seeing him tied up with that woman kissing him, she realized she didn’t want it to only be because of their link. She wanted it to be real.
“You’ve got skill with a blade,” the woman offered, running her fingers down Treace’s cheek. “But you’re a terrible kisser.”
Kiril was happy she didn’t get any enjoyment out of that kiss. She wondered if the woman was capable of such enjoyment. She seemed like a cold-hearted bitch to her.
“Who would have thought The Wolf would be such a terrible lover?” the woman asked, musing.
“You know who I am?” Treace asked.
To Kiril, it sounded like Treace was asking out of genuine curiosity, as if he couldn’t belie
ve it, rather than asking out of a sense of self-absorption.
“They said I couldn’t beat you in a fight,” the woman said, still caressing Treace’s face. “But now I’m not so sure.”
“Give me a weapon and let’s find out,” Treace suggested.
Kiril could see his eyes gleam at the thought of fighting the woman. She got the feeling the look in his eye was hope, not enjoyment, but she couldn’t sense his emotions or thoughts just then.
“I think not,” the woman replied, slapping him hard across the face. “I can’t believe you’d want to hurt me,” she said in a pouting voice.
“You’re the one who stabbed my friend and has me bound,” Treace told her, raising his bound hands to accentuate his point.
“True,” she agreed. “But you killed two of my men.”
It looked to Kiril like Treace was about to say something, but the woman’s arm shot out quickly and the tip of her dagger was at Treace’s throat in an instant.
“Surrender now or I’ll cut parts of him you may want,” the woman called out, moving her dagger slowly down Treace’s body and coming to rest over his crotch.
Kiril knew what the woman was implying, and while she did have some sort of feelings for him, she had no intentions of having sex with him. She knew he found her attractive, but that didn’t mean they would have a relationship because of it. But, she assumed Treace wanted to be able to have a family someday, regardless of whether or not it was with her. She wasn’t going to let the woman take that from him. She wasn’t going to sit back and watch her friends get tortured because of her. “Stop,” Kiril said loudly, stepping out behind the trees and into the light.
“Kiril, no!” Treace yelled.
“Well,” the woman said happily. “It looks like I was right.”
Kiril wondered if this woman was truly sane or not. She was clearly unstable. That and she seemed to truly enjoy this whole business.
“And to think,” the woman pouted to Treace, once again cupping his face. “We could have been something special.”
“Leave him alone you bitch,” Kiril told her, walking into the camp with her hands up.
“Tie her up,” the woman commanded Grag, who, up until that point, was still holding the rope that led to the binds on Treace’s wrists. The woman still stared at Treace, looking him over, but Treace wasn’t looking at his captor, he was looking directly at her.
Kiril could see the disappointment on his face.
“You shouldn’t have,” Treace said to her.
“I know,” Kiril replied. “But I couldn’t let you get cut to pieces.”
“Now you’ve made me jealous,” the woman said, pulling Treace’s face to look directly at her. She paused there for a few seconds, looking into his eyes. She kissed him again before moving over in front of Kiril.
Kiril looked her in the eye and she could clearly see hate looking back at her. This woman was not right in the head. That much was obvious. But then Kiril’s head snapped to the side and pain erupted from the left side of her face. The crazy woman had punched her! She really wanted to punch the bitch in the face for that. She thought better of it though, not knowing what the woman would do in return.
“That’s for Grag,” the woman told her. “He’d never hit a lady.”
“At least stop his bleeding,” Treace pleaded, looking at Moffred.
Kiril looked over to see another man binding Moffred’s hands the same way Grag did to hers and Treace’s before that. She could see that Moff’s breeches were soaked with blood everywhere around the wound. It had to be a deep cut, but she thought Moff was lucky. Had the woman hit the femoral artery, he would have bled out by now.
“As you wish,” she replied, smiling an acidic smile, but still not taking her eyes off of Kiril.
The woman over her shoulder. It looked to Kiril like she was looking at the fire.
Her smile continued as she walked to the fire. She knelt beside it and tilted her head as she stuck the tip of her dagger into the hot coals. It was clear what she meant to do with it. Poor Moffred, Kiril thought. It would work, but it was going to be terribly painful.
Chapter 16
Brental was pleased with the progress that he and Destin had made the past couple of days. Even though they hadn’t made much progress as far as finding a way to use magic from a distance, the differences in the way Brental approached each magic had changed thanks to Destin. The old man was adept at both using magic, and teaching it. Though, by his own admission, Destin’s skills couldn’t match those of Kint. It was too bad the man stone-faced himself. Brental would have liked to have met him.
“Do you think it would help to know the precise distance between us?” Destin asked.
Brental didn’t immediately dismiss the idea, but neither did he fully believe in it either.
He thought that by concentrating on the last known location of the target, in this case, Destin, he would be more likely to be able to place a barrier over him. If the target moved after you found The Calm it would make sense that the magic wouldn’t take hold.
They were using Path of Warding because Destin was afraid that if they used Path of Fire, Brental may somehow turn him into a crisp. While it was highly unlikely that would happen, Brental knew it was more dangerous than attempting to make a barrier. It was just that he was stronger with Path of Fire than he was with the Path of Warding. In the end, though, he agreed with Destin.
“It may, but while I believe distance is part of it, it’s not all of it,” Brental told him.
“What else do you think there is?” Destin asked.
“Direction.”
“We’ve not moved while the other is in The Calm,” Destin argued.
“Then what are we missing?” Brental asked himself more than anything.
“You are using the method I taught you, right?” Destin asked cautiously.
Brental didn’t blame him for being cautious. Destin didn’t like being lashed out at, not that Brental thought many people did, but every time Brental had done so, the man shied away and didn’t say anything for many minutes. It wasn’t productive and he needed to ensure he didn’t waste any more time, so Brental tried to be more careful with his words and reactions. “Yes, I am,” he said, trying to keep the testiness out of his voice.
“No need to get defensive,” Destin told him. “I was only asking a question.”
At least the man said something rather than closing up and keeping his mouth shut and not talking about anything. Brental thought that was a good thing. The problem was that he wasn’t sure how long he could play nicely. He knew it would become more and more difficult as time went on without success. For now, though, he’d play as nicely as he could. He just hoped he wouldn’t lose his patience or his mind before then. “It’s just frustrating.”
“I understand,” Destin replied. “It takes time. But when it clicks, it will be there for good.”
Brental imagined Destin saying that countless times to his students in prior years, and surprisingly, the man’s words did seem to bring him some comfort. “I hope it clicks soon.”
“It will,” Destin assured him. “You just have to be patient. It’s only been a few days. It took Truntil many months to figure it out.”
“We don’t have many months,” Brental told him, thinking of Shamir’s warning.
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing. That’s it for today.”
Destin looked like he wanted to say something else or perhaps ask another question, but Brental scowled at him before he could speak. The old man kept his mouth shut.
“Archmagister,” Destin said before bowing.
Brental didn’t reply. He watched Destin exit and leaned back heavily against the wall and slid to the floor. He wanted to believe that Destin could help him. He really did. The truth, however, was most likely that the man would not be able to. It had only been a few days and Destin did have some very good teaching methods that had allowed Brental to become stronger
at the magic he already knew, but Brental had been hoping for more. He needed more. He needed to be able to show Shamir something dramatic, like placing a barrier on one of his men from a distance. In Shamir’s words, that would make Brental, and the order, useful.
~~~
“Sir,” a guard said sometime later, startling Brental awake.
Brental looked to the guard, who had opened the door only enough so that his head could be fully seen. “What is it?” Brental asked. He didn’t realize that he had even fallen asleep. He looked at the light coming through the window and how it splashed on the marble floor. He didn’t think its position had moved too much since he sat down. He couldn’t have been asleep for long. He had been practicing magic late each night while everyone else was sleeping. He supposed his body was trying to tell him he needed more sleep. He agreed, but he didn’t know if he’d change his habits.
“Herra, sir,” the guard replied.
“Show him in,” Brental said with a sigh. He’d actually forgotten about the man. Herra was supposed to be his assistant with this new endeavor of finding new magic, but it turned out that Brental was using the man more for other purposes. Mostly trailing Destin to see where the man went.
“I still think a guard would be better suited for this task,” Herra stated after the guard closed the door behind him.
“Perhaps,” Brental admitted. It did occur to him briefly, but he thought Destin may recognize one of Shamir’s men, but he’d never met Herra. That and Herra was one of his people. He could trust him. A guard may report back to Shamir on what he’d been doing for Brental. “But I don’t trust any of the guards the way I trust you.”
“Nothing motivates like fake praise,” Herra said sarcastically.
“It’s not fake,” Brental argued. “One of Shamir’s idiots wouldn’t know if the man was attempting to use magic. They’d likely follow him to a building and then leave as soon as he was inside. You are too smart for that.”
“M’hmm.”
“Believe what you want,” Brental told him. He didn’t truly care what the man believed. As long as he did as he was told. That’s what mattered. “What of our friend, Destin?”
