“That could get annoying fast,” he whispers to me with a grin. “A sentient wand.”
“Yeah. There’s Maisie’s,” I point at the house I know to be hers. There’s no light in the windows. No candles burning. Rian and I exchange worried looks. We creep up to the wall beside the front door.
“You feel anything?” he asks me.
I press myself to the stone and close my eyes. Listen. Try to feel.
“Someone’s crying inside,” I whisper.
“I hear it, too,” Rian takes my wrist and pulls me deeper into the alley between Maisie’s house and the next. He presses his fingertips to the wall and whispers a spell, and the stone fades just long enough for us to slip through.
Inside is the kitchen. The crying is coming from the front room. Now that we’re inside, I feel something else. It makes my breath catch. Binding. Blood magic.
“Celli’s here,” I whisper. Together, Rian and I creep to the doorway. We see the source of the crying, first. Maisie. She’s lying in a heap on the floor. Next to her is someone else. A man. Her husband. Completely still. Silent. I move closer and see that her hands and feet are bound to his. Anger pulses through me. They left her alive, but her husband wasn’t so lucky.
I move to cut her free, but Rian’s hand on my shoulder stops me.
“She might scream if you free her. Let’s get the boy first,” he whispers and nods toward the stairs.
I hate to leave her, but Rian is right. If we helped her now, it would give us away. Errie is more important.
We climb the staircase together and I feel us nearing Celli. There’s something else, too. Some other magic. A protection. I lead Rian closer to it. To the door that leads to our waiting enemy. Even though she can’t see us, we’re careful. We peek together inside the room. She’s there, leaning against the wall. Her face is covered with a hood, and even though it’s a hot evening, she’s got her cloak wrapped around her like a cocoon. Beside her is a low cradle, swathed in magic. Errie’s there, kneeling with his chin resting on the end of it, watching the door where we stand.
“Odd,” Rian whispers. His eyes scan the room. He starts to go in. That’s when I realize why Celli’s all wrapped up. Her cloak. It hides her, and Rian can’t see.
“She’s there,” I whisper, and point in Celli’s direction. Usually when I’m hidden in the Half-Realm I can’t be heard, but Celli’s eyes snap to the door where we’re standing as soon as I speak.
She pushes off from the wall and slinks nearer. Makes sure she stays covered by the cloak. Her eyes don’t leave the doorway, but they never focus on us. Not even when she’s close enough for me to feel her breath. Without a sound, I draw a knife from my sheath. I glance at Rian. He doesn’t see her. She doesn’t see us. I think about Zeze her arms. About Celli’s deception that got me captured. About the Sorcerer’s name that pulses in her veins. Quenson. I pull back my knife hand and thrust it forward, into her side.
“They’re here!” she screams out and doubles over.
“Tib, no!” Rian hisses. I don’t hear. There’s too much rage. I raise my knife to strike again and he catches my wrist.
“Errie,” Rian says to me. I snap back to my senses.
Celli’s revealed now, her cloak forgotten. She stumbles forward and swings a fist hard at Rian. It bounces off his wards. She kicks, she punches. Her wound doesn’t seem to weaken her. Her eyes flash red and cruel as she dives to claw at him.
I run to the cradle and reach through the wards for Errie.
“Mumumum!” he screams when I pick him up. The wards break. He’s exposed. The cobwebs brush away from me. I can’t take anyone into hiding with me, so I’m exposed now, too.
“Errie!” Maisie cries downstairs.
In the doorway, Celli finally gets through Rian’s wards. She’s got him pinned by the throat. She fumbles for the dagger at her belt. His fingertips spark with a spell. He thrusts his hand to her face and chokes over the words. The spell fails.
“You!” Celli sneers at me. Lets go of Rian. Her eyes light up when she sees my prize: Errie, squirming in my arms.
“Stop wiggling,” I whisper to the boy. Try hard to calm him, but he’s too scared. “Remember me? Tib?”
“Mumumum!” he screams again.
Celli dives at us and grabs for him, but I dodge her easily. Rian coughs and tries his spell again. This time it works. It hits Celli square between the shoulder blades. She’s flung forward into the wall. She tumbles to the floor and rolls over to face us. Her eyes are open. At first I think he’s killed her, but she looks around in a panic and breathes with quick gasps.
“Stun,” Rian says. “It won’t last long. Get him out of here.”
“That’s right,” a familiar voice calls up from downstairs. Dub. “Bring him down here, and nobody gets hurt.”
Rian reaches for me. Grabs my arm. At the bottom of the stairs, Dub peers up at us. He’s cut Maisie free and he’s holding her up. He’s got a knife to her throat. When she sees Errie, she sobs and calls his name.
“Mum!” Errie screams. He squirms and wriggles and fights to get to her.
“We have no choice, Tib,” Rian glances at me. He’s right. There’s no way we can rescue them both. It’s one or the other.
“Come on, Nullen. Be smart,” Dub presses the knife harder. Maisie sobs and pleads.
“Go,” I say to Rian. I can’t help but fix my sights on Dub.
I’m filled with rage. I don’t think straight. I just want to see him bleed. I want to watch his life leave him.
When I feel Rian start to shift, I pull away from his grasp and shove Errie into his arms. I charge down the stairs. Reach for my knives. Hit Dub so hard that he’s knocked prone and the knives in my hands clatter away. His blade leaves a trail of red across Maisie’s throat. She falls to the floor.
I realize in that moment what a horrible mistake I made by giving into my rage. It would have worked if Errie had cooperated. He didn’t, though. At the last moment, he squirmed out of Rian’s grasp. Now Rian’s gone, and Errie’s there, scrambling down the stairs, trying to get to his mum. Before I can react, Celli appears in the upstairs doorway. It won’t last long, Rian had said, but I didn’t realize how short the span of the spell would actually be.
Celli’s eyes light up at the sight of the retreating boy. She runs down the stairs and grabs him roughly by the arm.
I fight to get to her, but Dub is on me. He yanks me up by the collar and throws me hard against the steps. I fumble for my knives, any of them, but they’re in unfamiliar places. My instinct is thrown off.
“Get out,” he bellows at Celli. She runs past us with Errie screaming and kicking at her hip.
“Sparrow and fox,” I hear her say downstairs.
Above me on the steps, Rian reappears. Dub doesn’t notice. He’s crazed, hovering over me. His knife flashes in my vision and then my left eye goes dark with searing pain.
“Eye for an eye,” he hisses as I scream. Above me, Rian’s hands crackle with energy.
“Induct, destroy,” I hear Celli say in between Errie’s screams. I feel the change. Something is shifting. A way is opening.
“Downstairs!” I holler at Rian. “She’s getting away!”
The blast of magic Rian releases throws Dub back hard. The knife he was holding slides from its mark and I scream at the pain of it and clap my hands over my eye. At the base of the stairs, Dub shudders and convulses as the spell’s energy crackles around him. Maisie lies beneath him, completely still.
I try to scramble to my feet but the pain is too much. The room spins and I stumble to my knees as Rian races past me.
“Asio,” Celli announces. Instantly, Errie’s screaming stops.
“No!” Rian’s defeated cry breaks the silence. I crawl to look with my limited vision and see him kneeling on the floor staring at his hands in disbelief. “No,” he whispers.
The edges of the steps press into my spine as I drop onto them. I let my head fall back. I press my eye to stop the b
leeding. My stomach churns and I try hard to keep Mouli’s sweet rolls down.
“Tib,” Rian’s voice is distant. It moves in and out. “Hold on.”
“We failed,” I whisper. It’s my fault. They knew I’d come looking. They were waiting for me to get Errie free of the wards. I can’t hold it back. I roll to the side and get sick all over Maisie’s stairs. Maisie. Did she survive? Someone scoops me up. Rian, I’d guess.
“Hold on,” he says again. “Take my hand,” his voice echoes in the distance. Maisie sobs. The ground beneath us falls away and we spin, back to the Half-Realm. Back to the meeting hall. I close my good eye. I let myself pass out.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Triumphant Return
Celli
The wood beneath my knees shifts and I close my eyes and cling to the wriggling boy with one arm. With my other hand I fumble the coin from the hasty carving and snatch it up just before the floor swallows us. Tib’s screams are the last thing I hear as we start to plummet. Then the floor goes solid above, shutting out what little light there was. My side throbs as the boy screams and struggles against the spot where Tib stabbed me. I curse at him and clamp my arm around his neck.
The pumping of my blood pulses loudly in my ears. With every pulse I feel my need for Quenson. I did it. I got the boy. He’ll be so proud. I’ll be the most important to him. I need to see him. I need to show him.
We hit the stone floor hard. The pain in my side spikes. I push it away. Quenson. Where is he? The boy has stopped struggling. I shift my hold on him so he can breathe again now that he’s out. I don’t move him, though. He’s good where he is. Keeping me from bleeding.
I know this room where we appear. It’s the circular one they brought me to that first day. The day Dub attacked me and Quenson watched. That day, the six alcoves were empty. Now, two of them hold a decorative glass bottle. Inside of each bottle is a glowing liquid. I’m drawn to their light right away. It mesmerizes me. I almost forget the boy. My wound. Quenson.
“You were told to bring him alive.” His anger jolts me. Spikes through my heart. I spin and face him, my everything. My lord. My master.
“He’s alive,” I rush to Quenson, ignoring my dizziness. I hold the boy out like an offering to him. His eyes light up. I could survive on his smile alone.
“Well done, Celli,” he says, velvety smooth. His elation is my elation.
He takes the limp child from my arms and looks him over. I didn’t realize until now how it must look, but the smears of red all over him are mine, not his. From how I was carrying him.
Quenson holds him up like he’s trying to figure out where it’s coming from. Then he looks at me.
“Dar,” he says, and a hulking guard clomps forward. He passes the boy to him.
With the rush of my triumph fading, it’s hard to stand. I stumble to the side. Quenson catches me. His arms slide around me. Hold me up. I could die happy this way.
“He did this to you,” he says to me. His breath is soft on my face. “Nullen.”
His mention of Tib sets my insides on fire. He did this to me.
“And Dub?” Quenson asks.
“I left them fighting. He told me to get out,” I explain. My vision is closing in. Darkening. I focus on his face. His beautiful, perfect white teeth. The pulse of the Mark that slithers across the surface of his skin.
“You did well, Celli,” he purrs. “The healers are coming. Rest.”
I close my eyes, and smile.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sword of Light
Azi
“Is it even possible that Outland Stronghold was breached again?” Mya asks as she flattens a large, worn strategy map across the table. The holdings and territories of Cerion’s armies are marked upon it with blue ink.
“It’s unlikely,” Mum says. Da nods from over her shoulder.
“Since the battle at Kythshire,” he explains, “watches have been set in place. New towers with signal fires on the outlying roads here.” He points to several places along the road leading to Outland Stronghold.
“But they could have been taken,” Cort leans over the table. “Or circumvented.”
“Nah, not easily. It’s all mountain around there,” Bryse argues. “Rocks and cliffs.”
“Anything is possible,” Uncle says. “Do not forget, we are dealing with Sorcery, not armies of men on foot.”
Across the room, Elliot slides from his chair and yawns. He trots to the table and nudges in between me and Mum. With him he carries the scent of sea air and elm trees. If I closed my eyes, I might feel a rush of wind in the leaves. I don’t, though. Instead I watch him as he slides his finger across the worn surface of the map. His eyes flash beneath his fringe of red-orange hair. His nose twitches slightly.
“There,” he says, and his finger rests on an inlet across the Outlands from the border keep, right on the edge of the coastline.
I breathe a sigh of relief along with everyone else. Mya marks the spot with a stick of charcoal, and Elliot shake his head.
“No, not on land. It’s an island.” He smudges her mark away and makes another one beside it in the water.
“Outside of the borders of the Outlands?” she asks.
“Mm hmm,” Elliot affirms as he takes a seat beside me. “I didn’t actually see it. It’s too well protected. They’ve got it covered in dozens of wards. I couldn’t get close. I could sense it, though, just like Tib described.”
“Indeed,” Uncle agrees. “But if it can be so hidden from you, my friend, with your keen senses, then this is no small foe. Such wards require time and numbers.”
“How much time?” Mya asks. “How many numbers are we talking, Gaethon?”
“It’s difficult to say for certain without having seen it for myself,” Uncle replies. “But, to give you an example, a single one of the palace wards would take a month to set, and at least three master Mages.”
“Wouldn’t the patrols have noticed activity like that?” Da asks. “They travel the coastline regularly. They take their duties seriously.”
“We heard rumors,” Bryse says darkly, “of goings-on in Outlands. Remember, Cort? When we were out in the mists?”
“Aye,” Cort scratches the thin line of his beard that traces his chin. “We put it in our report, but didn’t think much of it. Just peasant talk, it seemed. Now I wonder if there was some truth to it.”
“What sort of rumors?” I ask with a shiver.
“Uprisings,” Cort replies. “Talk of revolution among the banished.”
“It’s not saying much, is it?” Bryse grunts. “You banish a bunch of criminals and put ‘em in the same place, of course there’s going to be rebellions and threats.”
“That’s why the stronghold and its battalions are so important—” Da starts, but he’s interrupted by a loud curse from across the room. Everyone is on their feet before we can think. Swords flash. We start to charge. Rian’s form shimmers in space and before he even comes into focus, he’s gone again.
“Rian!” Mya and I shout in unison. We exchange a worried glance.
“Why was he alone?” Saesa, who has remained quietly in the background since Tib left, whispers.
“I’ll go,” I say, and close my eyes. Rian, I think clearly, and feel myself being pulled away from the hall.
The first thing I notice as my feet meet the floor is the darkness. The second is the metallic smell of blood that hangs heavy in the air. Rian vanishes again before he even notices me. Two others go with him.
The journey through the Half-Realm sends a rush of magic through me. At my shoulder, my sword glows and the shadows retreat. I’m just about to follow Rian through again when something on the landing of the stairs shifts. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I make out the figure of a man.
He groans and holds his head as he struggles to his knees. Slowly, quietly, I move to draw my sword. Normally, this means unclasping the scabbard from my back and sliding the great blade free, but before I can even reach back the hilt is in my hands, as th
ough the very thought of it has summoned it to me.
I gasp at the sight of it. The blade shines with a light so brilliant that I have to look away for a moment. The man on the landing scrambles backward and shields his eyes, too. I blink rapidly and squint past the angle of my sword at my cowering opponent. The handles of countless knives glint in their sheathes across his chest. They glow a golden warning that I understand is meant for my eyes only.
He reaches to draw one and I take a step closer.
“I wouldn’t,” I say, and the power in my voice surprises me.
“You’re too late,” he says with a simpering tone that holds none of the confidence I’d expect from such a heavily armed assassin. “They have what they sent us for. Your men failed.”
“Who?” I demand. “Who has him?”
He scrambles backwards as I take another step toward him. The light from my sword is so searingly bright it washes out the black of his leather armor completely. I try not to let myself be distracted by it as he scrambles back against the wall and gasps for breath. His mouth opens and closes like a suffocating fish plucked from the sea. I recognize the struggle in him. He wants to tell me, but he can’t.
I move closer and his one good eye goes wild with panic.
“Please,” he whispers, “mercy. Please.”
“Calm down,” I say softly. His terror of me is confusing and disconcerting. He slides along the wall in an attempt to escape, but I put my shoulder to it to block him. “You don’t need to say anything.” I try to keep my voice from sounding overwhelming or powerful. The light of my sword dims slightly. “Just look.”
The words are more of a command than I intended. My scalp tingles as the excitement of magic surges through me. Golden tendrils stretch between us, catching his one good eye, holding it so I can see. More stretch around him, lulling him into a sense of safety.
This is unfamiliar territory for me. I don’t trust his mind, so I don’t allow myself fall into it as I usually do. Instead I pull his memories away from him to play between us, like Iren did at the Northern Border all that time ago. I keep myself alert to our surroundings as the moments of his recent memories rise and fade. I watch the fight between him and Tib. I watch the girl race away with a boy who looks so much like Eron.
Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) Page 27
