by Trudi Jaye
“Master, it is done.”
“Thank you, demon.” Nate bowed his head politely.
“Will that be all?” The demon’s eyes blazed red, before returning to their usual obsidian black.
“Yes. You may go.” He always tried to set them free as soon as their task was complete. Keeping them around only burned their anger deeper.
The demon slid into a gap in the wall in front of him, a faint hint of laughter echoing as it disappeared.
Nate frowned. The demon definitely knew something he didn’t. His heart leaped into his throat and he frantically patted at the bag on his back; but the lava salt was still in its leather pouch. Some rich tradesman would pay top dollar for the rare salt to sprinkle on his meals, trying to stave off the inevitable tide of time.
Nate trudged the remaining steps toward the light at the exit, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Now that he was so close, his exhaustion was starting to set in. He longed for a bath and fresh clothes.
A dark shape loomed at the volcano tunnel entrance. “Mage,” said a deep voice.
Nate jumped and grabbed at the knife on his belt. A stranger stood before him, the light at his back turning him into a large shadowed outline. Nate took a step backward. “Who are you?”
“You are in danger. They mean to kill you.” The man strode forward and grabbed Nate’s arm. This close, Nate could see he was dressed in riding leathers with patched chain mail over his chest. A large sword hung from one hip and an axe on the other. There was a shield tied over his back. The stranger’s dark eyes tracked over the black raven’s wing mage tattoo that covered half Nate’s face.
Nate blinked. “Kill me? What?” He instinctively struggled against the stranger’s hold, but the large fingers were like forged steel. His sweaty hands slipped off without purchase.
“The Hashishin will kill you.” The man pulled Nate toward the side of the entrance. “I am here to save you.”
“Kill me?” Nate’s brain tried to catch up with what was happening. He frowned, even as he was dragged to the doorway.
“Hurry, we do not have much time.”
“But—” Smoke reached his nostrils. Burning wood and cloth were making the air heavy. “The lodge is on fire!” he said, his eyes widening in alarm.
The front of the lava runner’s lodge was partially made out of timber, despite being set halfway up a living volcano. Nate had always supposed that the lava and hot rocks would get them if the volcano erupted, whether it was wood or stone.
He hadn’t ever expected someone to burn down the lodge. Who would take on the mages like that? Only an idiot.
Or someone very, very dangerous.
He stopped resisting the mercenary, and raced with him to the edge of the rocky outcrop. Outside, the sun beat down onto the barren landscape. He couldn’t see a thing after the darkness of the cave, and squinted, trying to speed up the process of adjustment. Waves of shimmering heat hit his face. It was just as hot outside the cave as it was inside. He could see nothing but nature’s hot fury and the thick smoke billowing from the lodge.
Then, through the smoke, something flew at Nate, direct for his heart. He didn’t have time to think, let alone move. But the stranger’s reflexes were faster. His shield came up in front of Nate’s chest, and the silver arrow struck deep into the wood. Nate leaped back behind a large rock. The stranger crouched down beside him, his shield up and ready.
“We have to make it to that hut below. It’s our only chance of survival.” The large stranger looked at him with expressionless eyes. He didn’t seem bothered by the arrow now stuck in his shield.
Nate looked at the burning upper lodge. His meager belongings had all been stored in his bunk. They were already gone. Someone had started the fire, and presumably, they had a reason. He didn’t imagine that he was the target, but he could well be an accidental casualty if he wasn’t careful.
“What about the others? Did they make it safely out?”
The stranger shook his head. He pointed, and Nate turned to look. His stomach lurched. Three bodies lay scattered near the side entrance to the lodge. The big fat stomach of Master Jorge was immediately recognizable. The smaller bodies would be Hady and Mitch, his fellow mage-bond salt gatherers. Each had a silver arrow embedded in their chest.
“Who are they after? Why are they doing this?” He closed his eyes, trying to forget the sight. “The lava salt isn’t worth killing mages.”
“They are after you. And they will kill you, if we don’t get to the other lodge.”
Nate opened his eyes again and swallowed over his dry throat. “Follow me, then,” he said, and ducked low, running along the hidden path that led to the lodge.
He skipped between the boulders, not even bothering to watch where he was going. He’d memorized the path, knew every inch of the surrounding volcano like the back of his hand. Part of his upbringing; you never knew what was going to happen. Turned out he’d been right.
His protector easily kept pace beside him. Smoke was spiraling out of the far side of the lower lodge, and Nate’s breath caught in his throat. Would the lower lodge be gone by the time they got there? He glanced behind him and saw only smoke and death. No going back, their only option was forward.
As he slammed through the door of the lower lodge, smoke billowed past and up into the sky. He coughed, choking on the heavy, dirty air. The mercenary entered the lodge just behind him. The small room reeked of burning wood, and it was filled with smoke. Small patches of fire were starting to crawl up the side of the walls.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” gasped Nate, turning to face the mercenary, even as he tried to figure out what the Sparks he was going to do. His mind was a blank. He just knew he needed answers from the stranger.
“My master sent me to save you.” Instead of heading toward the back door, and further escape, the mercenary pulled up the mat in the middle of the floor. He tugged open the wooden cellar trapdoor, holding it and gesturing for Nate to descend into the darkness below.
“But—”
“It will be the safest place for now.”
Nate stared into the dark eyes of the big man. “How did you know about the cellar?” he asked. It was dug into an outcrop of rock, and it would survive a fire. There was even a tunnel that was partially caved, but could be dug out if required. The mages liked to have other options open to them, even in this backwater.
“My master. He foresaw it.”
“It is truly Hashishin outside?”
“Yes. They set the lodge alight, and they will follow us here to finish the kill. You must go down into the cellar.”
Frowning, Nate opened his mouth to argue. Before he could even say a word, the mercenary shoved him hard and he flew down into the dark space, hitting the rough stone cellar floor with a heavy thump. The bones in his shoulder crunched together painfully. His other shoulder hurt from the hard knock he had just received from the stranger. His bag was crumpled on the floor next to him, and he frantically searched for the lava salt. He let out a breath when he felt the solid lump of the leather bag.
Looking up into the light above, he saw a Hashishin’s knife sticking out of the open trapdoor. The deadly blade still vibrated in the wood from the force of the throw, and the light from the fire ruby at its center reflected around him. He swallowed.
That had been meant for him.
CHAPTER THREE
The book burned in front of her.
Jena felt as if someone had reached inside her body and wrenched out her heart. Bright sparks of pain lanced through her insides, and she cried out. Beside her, the first Hashishin drew in a startled breath.
Something heavy settled around Jena’s shoulders and in the pit of her stomach. Waves of pain crawled up and down her body. She sucked in air with short, panicked gasps, as light flashed in front of her eyes. A sound like rushing water filled her ears, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. The world became nothing more than a terrible overwhelming pain th
at she couldn’t control.
Falling, flying, upside down, and right side up. She was everything and nothing, white and black, every color all at once; she was inside the dark room of the cottage, and she was flying in the skies above; she was smaller than a speck of dust, and bigger than the world.
Jena opened her mouth to scream, and no sound came out.
Then, just as suddenly, she was back. She felt a hundred pounds heavier, and her vision was strange. Everything was brighter in the room, and she saw even more of the detail around her. The pain was still there, but muted and under control. She could again focus on what was happening outside her head. The knife pricking at her skin hurt, and Thornal was still sitting just across from her. He watched her closely, and when she sucked in a deep breath, some of the tension in his face relaxed. He even sent her a quick smile.
Jena breathed in and out, trying to still the pounding of her heart. There was a new tightness in her chest, but she was able to draw in another deep breath and stay calm. She needed to concentrate on their attackers. They might be trained Flame Hashishin, raised from birth to kill and to withstand most mage spells, but her master was Thornal, the most powerful mage in the kingdom. He was the Guardian of the Book of Spells, and he wouldn’t be easily killed.
“There is your book, Hashishin. Your master will not be pleased that you allowed me to destroy it,” Thornal spoke in a soft voice, almost a whisper.
Jena heard him as clearly as if he spoke directly into her ear. What was he doing?
“Your assistant seems to understand what a mistake that was, mage. If it really was the book?” The Hashishin’s voice was flat and calm as he dug his knife deeper into Thornal’s neck. Thornal grunted in pain and blood spurted below the knife. The large red jewel at the base of the hilt glinted in the firelight.
“You have failed in your mission.” There was a small smile on Thornal’s face, but it worried Jena rather than relieved her to see it. The face of the Hashishin holding her master hostage was impassive, but there was something about the way he held his mouth that said he knew Thornal was right.
The hairs on the back of Jena’s neck stood on end.
Thornal coughed, and more blood pumped out of the wound on his neck. Again, Jena struggled against the man behind her; the knife at her own throat pressed harder against her skin. She stilled, unable to bear the feeling of sharp steel against her raw uneven burns.
“You lie, old man. You would never destroy the Book of Spells. You are the Guardian, bound by your oath. Tell me where it is or the girl dies.” The Hashishin’s voice was neutral, his training ensuring he didn’t panic, or at least let his panic show.
Silently Jena prayed for them. She prayed to the Flames as she had never prayed before, not even in the darkest moments of her life; not even when she had to endure the raw festering burns that had covered a quarter of her upper body. That pain seemed like nothing now, when Thornal’s life was at stake.
The muted throbbing that still coursed through her body danced alongside the fear that was rising from her churning stomach. She stared without blinking at Thornal, but he didn’t look at her. He was concentrating on the Hashishin.
“I would never lie,” said Thornal. “I have burned the Book of Spells, so your master will never have it. I would rather break my oath and see it gone than in his hands.”
He grunted as the knife was thrust deeper into his neck.
Jena gasped, pushing forward off her chair. The arm jerked her back down, and the knife pierced her skin, drawing blood. The sharp pinpoint of pain focused her mind, and in that moment, she realized they were in trouble. Her vision blurred as tears threatened to fall. She frowned and pushed them back, making herself focus on what was happening around her. She had to find a way to save them both.
“This is your last chance, old man. Where is the Book? Your lives depend upon it.” The assassin’s voice shook and Jena stopped breathing. The break in the Hashishin’s emotionless mask was more terrifying than any of the physical threats were.
Thornal motioned his eyes toward her, his lips forming a word. Talk.
“He does not lie,” she said abruptly, trying to understand what Thornal was doing. “It’s an old mage tradition. It makes them stronger if they never lie; their power is enhanced by the very act of truth. It cancels out the excess emotion, the one thing that all mages strive to avoid. Excess emotion destroys a good spell, as they say.” Jena heard her voice as if from a distance, the higher pitch making it sound like someone else talking.
She watched as Thornal whispered a spell under the cover of her voice. It was a simple spell, but cast by a powerful mage.
The hands of the Hashishin behind her fell slack and became nothing more than smoke and dust. Even before he was fully gone, Jena surged out of her chair toward the other Hashishin, grabbing the fire poker next to her chair as she went.
The remaining Hashishin gave a grunt of surprise as the knife he was holding turned to smoke and ash. The spell sped through his body, turning him to dust as well. He tried to jerk his second knife, hidden in his sleeve, toward Thornal. It turned to a dirty powder before it left his hand. Jena’s poker smashed through dust, throwing the particles harmlessly around the room.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Thornal had done it. He had saved them.
As he stood up from his chair, she turned to Thornal—smiling to show she knew he’d been in command the whole time—and felt the brush of steel fly past her arm. The knife from a third Hashishin hit Thornal in the chest with a solid thud. Thornal crumpled to the floor without a sound, the knife hilt standing grotesquely to attention in the middle of his torso.
Jena screamed, taking a step toward Thornal before turning toward his attacker who stood frozen beside the entrance to the room. With a blast of anger and pain surging through her body, she uttered the first spell that came to her head, a feral fireball spell from deep in the Book of Spells. It shouldn’t have worked; she wasn’t in control of her emotions, and she hadn’t grabbed enough earth’s energy. But she was flying on instinct, and she flicked her arms toward the Hashishin before she even thought it through. A painfully white ball of flames came flying out through her fingertips. Heat burned through her and surged into the body of the third assassin.
The Hashishin crumpled to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.
Jena heaved a breath, looking down at her hands as if they belonged to someone else. She’d never seen white flames coming from a fireball spell, not even from her master. Even worse, a simple Fireball spell shouldn’t have worked on a Hashishin, especially given the emotion that had been charging through her body. Her hands trembled, and she clasped them tightly.
Thornal moved, and she gasped, darting over and kneeling down beside him. “What can I do? Will the reversal spell work? I’ll—”
“Child, I’m dying. It’s my time. Help me... be comfortable.” He coughed, then winced in pain. A speck of blood formed on his mouth. “Excellent... fireball spell... my dear,” he said. “I don’t... think I’ve... ever seen one like it... before.”
Jena took a breath. “You’re not dying. There must be a spell. Just tell me.” She stopped talking as he looked up at her, his eyes confirming what he was saying.
Trembling, she laid his head in her lap and stroked the hair off his face. His eyes were glazed. Blood was everywhere, seeping from the knife in his chest and the wound on his neck. In a low voice, he gave her instructions. “Destroy this house... use the remaining explosive spell powder.”
Jena shook her head, but he fluttered his hand impatiently. “Just do it... Jena, we both know you... can. You have... learned much... Leave me in the house... go... Forest of Ghosts... follow any trail. You will be safe... the forest... will protect you... It recognizes its own.” His voice grew weak, and his eyes closed for a moment.
The raven flew down from its perch and landed awkwardly next to Thornal, its claws scratching against the wooden floor. Thornal opened his eyes again and looked into t
he dark eyes of his companion. Something passed between the two, and the mage gave a slight nod.
“The raven is yours... It will help you travel... provide protection.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“You will... This was foreseen... I was able to protect you from the Hashishin, but I will die... you must do as I bid. Remember...the Forest of Ghosts.”
“I can save you. I know the Book. Just tell me which spell you need.” Jena wiped a hand across her wet face. Her eyes burned, and her skin felt hot and sweaty.
“This is my time.” He paused and then looked into her eyes, demanding her attention. “You will have... to break the old laws, Jena. You must prove... that women can be... powerful mages too. You have power... that hasn’t been seen before... It is foreseen. Be strong. You come... from a powerful line.” A cough left more blood on his lips and Jena couldn’t hold back a sob. Thornal had saved her, given her freedom, and now he was dying. She would rather that it was her dying, instead of him. “There must be something...,” she sobbed.
“I am old, little one. Do not be sad. It is my time.” He grasped her hand in a tight grip.
“Why did they want the Book?” Jena needed to understand.
“You must find their master. They were sent here by one who hungers for the power of the Book of Spells. He must not have it. You must not let him. Promise me.”
“He can’t. The Book is burned, Thornal. You succeeded.” Jena tried to smile, her face wet and sore from her tears.
“Don’t... let him have it, Jena,” Thornal said again. He gasped a breath, then another. “Take... a small pouch of my ashes. Be strong... Daughter of the Book.”
Jena stroked his face, and kissed his cheek. “I will, master. I will do what you say.”
