She Dies at the End

by A. M. Manay

  “Yikes,” Shiloh breathed. “You think so, my lord?”

  “I’d have had Gordan Courtborn as my guest at the top of the High Tower long ago if it weren’t for who his father was,” Silas confided, studying the front guard. “I have never trusted that man.”

  “He wouldn’t act on his own, though,” Shiloh pointed out. “He doesn’t seem brave enough.”

  “No,” Silas agreed. “No, he would not.”

  “None of us is dressed to fight, save the guard,” Shiloh fretted. “No armor. No helmets. Half our horses will bolt at the first curse that flashes. They’re not war horses.”

  Silas grinned at her savagely. “What are you worried about? I was under the impression that you killed a half-dozen Feralfolk in your nightdress without any difficulty.”

  Shiloh stuck her tongue out at him, covering the stab of pain she felt at the reference to her accidental massacre.

  “So what do we do once we get the ladies turned around?” Shiloh asked.

  “We head into the valley and keep our wands drawn,” Hatch replied. “And we pray that I’m wrong.”

  “I have an idea,” Shiloh said slowly, her eyes narrow as she gazed down into the valley. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  ***

  In fact, no one liked it, but neither could anyone come up with anything better. They stood in a circle conferring: King Rischar, Lord Mosspeak, Silas, Lord Kepler, Lord Redwood, Lord Wheatley, Gordan Courtborn, Master Jonn, and Shiloh. Lord Rockmore, being of somewhat advanced age, had gone to guard his niece, the queen, and the rest of the women. They’d tried to send Jaym with him, but the boy had refused, and the king did not take the danger to be great enough to insist upon it. Around them stood the royal guard who remained with them, about twenty-five fighting wizards of varied ability.

  “Can you perform a concealment charm so they don’t see you at all?” Hatch asked, eyebrows drawn.

  “Certainly, I can do one, but I’d have to come out of it to knock down theirs, and that would be pretty suspicious, my just appearing out of thin air like that. My chance of getting away clean would be even worse. I could disappear again after, but I don’t know if I can cast both spells fast enough and still keep my wards up before they strike back at me,” Shiloh replied.

  “I could go with her,” Lord Kepler suggested. “I can’t cast the revelation spell, but I can perform a concealment charm for us just after she reveals them.” Jasin’s boot heel bounced up and down, tapping anxiously against the gravel of the King’s Road. Shiloh supposed that this might be the first real action the young lord had ever seen.

  “They may give chase regardless,” Lord Mosspeak cautioned. “Then we lose two wizards instead of one.”

  “But they probably won’t be on horseback,” Hatch replied. “Horses can’t abide being beneath that much magic for so long. And they’ll be burdened with equipment, so they’ll be slow.”

  “Can the cripple run?” Kepler asked, his skepticism audible.

  “Yes, the cripple can run, my lord,” Shiloh replied, not a hint of her irritation slipping into her voice. “If we need to do cartwheels, though, I might have a problem.”

  Daved and Jaym both snickered, then quieted beneath Hatch’s glare.

  “Very well,” the king decreed. “Do it. But be careful. Don’t take any chances. Get in, find out what we’re dealing with, and get back here. Don’t try to take them on yourselves,” Richar cautioned.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Shiloh replied, then bowed. Jasin did the same.

  “Lord Kepler, you’d best change clothes, I’m afraid,” Hatch pointed out.

  Jasin was dressed in all the finery appropriate to his rank, which in this case meant an abundance of crimson silk and cream lace. The Lord of the Claw ground his teeth and stalked over to one of the men driving carts to demand that he strip. Shiloh firmly ordered herself not to laugh at the sight of Lord Kepler in dirty linen and leather. When he was finished, the old men with the luggage made for Blufeld Castle, hopefully getting themselves out of the way and out of danger.

  A few minutes later, Jasin and Shiloh walked side by side into the vineyard, invisible to any onlookers. The vines around them looked newly planted, still soft and green and spindly. They walked in silence for a time. Shiloh took slow, deep breaths, knowing she must retain her focus and calm. Jasin, on the other hand, grew more nervous with each step.

  “My lord,” she whispered. “I think they’re moving toward us. Or, rather, toward our party on the road.” The visual anomaly was getting closer to them faster than they were walking.

  “Agreed,” Jasin whispered.

  In five more minutes of brisk walking, they were close enough for Shiloh to cast her spell.

  “Ready, my lord?” she whispered. “Once I drop the concealment, remember to leap away so they can’t get both of us in one curse, and prepare your concealment charm.”

  “Aye,” he replied grimly. “On my count. Three, two, one.”

  With a flash, Shiloh’s concealment charm fell away, and she threw Kirkland’s Spell at the shimmering dome that rose before them a hundred yards away. Just as she did so, she felt a curse crash into her side, knocking her into the air.

  Kepler? she exclaimed to herself as she crashed to earth. From the ground, she got one good look at the dozens of fighting men marching through the grapes before they recast their concealment charm and disappeared again.

  Kepler’s hex had not penetrated her wards, and she leapt back to her feet unharmed, her wand pointed at Lord Kepler. “You traitor,” she snarled.

  He smirked at her. “Sorry, cripple, but I can’t let you take that information back to our so-called king.”

  Shiloh didn’t bother to reply. She simply threw three curses at him in quick succession. The first he dodged, but the other two caught him squarely. His wards shimmered and fell, and he put a hand to his chest and staggered backward. The smirk was gone.

  Before he could recover enough to strike back, Shiloh renewed her concealment charm. Jasin cast a few wild curses in her general direction, but she had already leapt high into the air, invisibly covering fifty yards in a single jump, then landing lightly on her feet only to do it again. The distance that she and Kepler had walked over the course of an hour she ate up in mere minutes.

  She revealed herself only when she was once again alongside the king’s men, who jumped back in alarm when she appeared.

  “Sorry, my lords,” she panted, hand pressing on her bruised side. “Three dozen men, light armor, burgundy livery, marching quickly this way.”

  “Blufeld’s livery?” Hatch asked sharply.

  “I think so. I only got a glimpse before they got their charm back up,” Shiloh answered.

  “Where’s Kepler?” the king demanded.

  “Kepler has betrayed you, Your Grace,” she reported. “He attacked me as soon as I revealed the soldiers.”

  Rischar swore loudly.

  “Did you kill him?” Hatch asked.

  She shook her head. “I injured him, my lord, but I thought getting you the information was more important than sticking around to fight him and possibly getting caught.”

  “That’s our smart girl,” Mosspeak affirmed. Shiloh bowed her appreciation. Since their adventure down south, Mosspeak had become, by far, her favorite of the older lords.

  “How long do we have?” Hatch asked.

  “Less than an hour,” Shiloh responded.

  “Then to arms,” Rischar proclaimed, nodding at Gordan. The lords and Shiloh already had wands in hand.

  Gordan raised his arm to signal the men, looking a touch green as he did so. When his arm fell, most of the guard turned their weapons upon their king. The few who looked confused were immediately felled by their brothers-in-arms.

  “Protect the king!” Mosspeak cried. Shiloh stepped closer to Rischar and put up her modified Gilbert’s Ward around them both. It glowed a soft blue in the afternoon light.
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  Rischar turned on his half-brother. “Traitor!” he hissed.

  “I’ll be a hero when you’re gone,” the Castellan retorted.

  “You first,” Hatch replied, then shot a powerful hex at Gordan, who was dead before he hit the ground. “Who wants to die next?” he snarled at the twenty guards.

  The Captain of the Guard raised his voice to say, “The boys don’t need to die. I’ll let them run for Blufeld Castle. They won’t be harmed.”

  “Go to hell, traitor,” Daved spat.

  “Yeah. What he said,” Jaym added, grinning rather savagely for an eleven-year-old.

  Back to back they stood against the guard: Lord Mosspeak, Jaym, Daved, Shiloh, Master Hatch, Master Jonn, Master Deniss, and the king. There was an uneasy silence as they each waited for someone to throw the first curse.

  “Can I shoot through your ward, or will you have to drop it?” Rischar asked Shiloh, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

  “Not to worry, Your Grace,” Shiloh replied, looking up at him with a grin. “You may fire when ready.”

  “Splendid,” the king growled. “For Bryn!” he cried, and flashes filled the air.

  ***

  I suppose one never quite forgets how to do battle, Silas mused, as the rebels surrounded them. He hadn't faced such dire odds since the waning days of the Siblings’ War sixteen years previous, yet everything about it felt familiar—comfortable, even.

  What the hell does that say about you? he asked himself as he felled a soldier barely old enough to grow a beard. Ah, well. I suppose there's a reason we call them our “formative years.”

  A powerful hex crashed against his ward, sparking loudly and sending him staggering back a few steps. He reinforced his spell of protection and tried to identify which one of them had landed the blow. Amidst the crowd of novices, his eye quickly picked out a fellow veteran. The calm eyes and gray beard were the giveaway. The stranger’s eyes met Hatch’s. They exchanged mutual nods of respect, then set about trying to kill each other.

  Hatch soon realized that, though his enemy had good power and aim, his range and repertoire of curses were limited, and his wards haphazard. Systematically, Hatch tested the man to identify weaknesses in his protection. With his encyclopedic knowledge of disreputable magic, Hatch soon found just the hex to cut through the stranger’s shield and armor. Judging by the fountain of blood as the man fell to earth, the curse made it halfway through the poor man’s chest as well.

  Forgive me, Hatch silently pleaded. Just as he took a breath to move onto his next victim, a burning sensation bloomed on his chest. Someone had taken advantage of Silas’s focus on his duel to take his own shot.

  His head whipped around to find his father’s wand pointed at his sternum. Lord Blufeld snarled to see that his son was still standing, and Hatch thanked the Gods that his wards had blocked most of the curse.

  A lifetime's worth of resentment solidified into cold rage as Silas took aim at the man who had sired him. Blufeld was knowledgeable, he knew. Educated and powerful, Silas was certain. But he was old, and soft, and lazy, and Silas broke his ward and sent him flying through the air with barely any effort at all. Blufeld’s horse bolted, trampling his master in the process. Silas laughed as he snatched away the injured Blufeld’s wand. The lord howled in the dirt and clutched at the arm his mount had just crushed.

  Hatch took a moment to assess the battle raging around him. It was apparent that Jonn and the boys needed the most help. Jonn was besieged by three attackers, holding his own but unable to get the upper hand on any of them. His eyes were desperate. The healer had never been closer to a front line than the hospital tents, so Silas was impressed that his friend was managing even that well.

  Master Deniss fought next to Daved and Jaym, shouting out orders as though they were in training. Hatch hoped the old soldier’s help would be enough to get the young ones through and turned his attention to assisting Jonn.

  Silas wounded two of the men attacking his friend in quick succession, allowing Jonn to take out the third.

  “Thanks, Silas,” John panted. “I owe you one.”

  “I'll remember that,” Silas said with a grin, then got back to business. The tide had turned, or so it seemed. The fallen among their enemy had begun to outnumber the fighting. Even so, danger still remained. Hatch watched a hex sneak through Mosspeak’s shields, attaching itself to his leg. Mosspeak swore loudly but continued to fight on one foot even as the curse set about twisting his bones.

  No one was attacking Shiloh and Rischar anymore. They'd finally realized that it was worse than useless; the wards she'd devised sent their own curses back at them with twice the power. This left her free to pick them all off one at a time, the king laughing at her side.

  Two soldiers dropped their wands and raised their hands in surrender. Before anyone would accept the offer, their own Captain killed them. Silas shot a curse at the officer. It hit at the same time as one from Shiloh, shorting out his ward and leaving the Captain undefended against the next shot from Silas, which knocked the officer onto his knees, his wand crushed to powder.

  Suddenly, all was still, save for moans from the wounded. No more curses flew, lighting up the smoke. Silas saw Shiloh kneel by the writhing Lord Mosspeak, whose leg was now clearly broken in several places.

  Silas surveyed the field, looking for hidden dangers. Just as he exhaled, thinking the worst might be over, one of the injured let fly one last wild curse. Silas cried out a warning and cast a ward over the boys, but too late. Jaym fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Deniss took out the injured soldier, his face stricken.

  A chasm opened in Silas’s stomach. Jonn flew to the child’s side, already chanting, but Silas knew it was too late. He turned to see the king’s face of jubilation at the victory turn to one of horror as he saw his only son lying lifeless in the gravel.

  They gathered around Jaym and bore witness in silence, save for the sound of Jonn and Shiloh chanting. Daved clutched an injured arm as he knelt in the dirt, never taking his wide eyes from his schoolmate’s still chest.

  Shiloh’s voice fell away, and Silas heard her light footsteps approaching. His heart broke for her. He turned to warn her, but the look on her face made clear that she had already seen.

  Her first friend lost in battle. I remember that feeling.

  I wish I could promise her he will be the last.

  ***

  Shiloh spared barely a thought for Silas or the others from her side of the battlefield, focused as she was on protecting the king. The traitors had numbers, but the loyal had skill. One after another, guardsmen fell. Shiloh took care to stay close enough to Rischar to keep him within her magical protection. The two of them didn’t even stagger as curse after curse bounced harmlessly off of Shiloh’s ward, sizzling and rebounding on their casters. Curses that went wide set grass alight on the road’s shoulder.

  “Don’t waste your energy!” she heard Master Deniss coach the young ones behind her back, ever the teacher of self-defense. “Aim, focus, then fire! And, for the Maiden’s sake, get your damned wards back up!”

  Just as Shiloh thought they were getting the upper hand, the hidden troops from the vineyard appeared from thin air, mere feet away. Lords Kepler and Blufeld rode behind them on horseback, at a safer distance.

  “Oh, hell,” she breathed, voice cracking.

  “Steady,” Rischar encouraged her, his voice gentle and firm. “You must fully believe that they cannot touch you.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she replied gratefully, then aimed her wand again.

  A hailstorm of hexes rained down upon Shiloh’s shields, enough at once that they began to weaken. They've figured out that one at a time isn't going to cut it, she realized. A clump of them stood together, aiming at her in unison. Yet they are not smart enough to spread out. She fired at them, as did the king, to no avail, until she realized that they were reinforcing each other’s wards.

  Perhaps the
y’re smarter than I thought, she allowed.

  But none of them are from the Teeth.

  “I hope that smile means you have an idea,” Rischar cried, keeping up steady fire.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she assured him, then sent a half dozen spells burrowing into the dirt.

  The king looked at her quizzically.

  “Their wards block curses, Your Grace. But no one ever thinks of the ground beneath their feet. Except miners.”

  She reinforced her wards and waited, eyes roving. “Wait for it,” she whispered.

  Then the screaming started. The earth beneath the clump of soldiers began to heave and buckle, dirt shooting into the air, the digging spells opening up a chasm in the ground. As the men fell into the hole, they lost control of their magic. Shiloh stopped the digging spells, and she and the king began once more to fire curses upon their attackers.

  More merciful to kill them before the walls of the hole collapse upon them, Shiloh told herself, but it didn’t make the screaming any easier to bear.

  I’ll have brand new nightmares after today.

  By the time only the Captain remained upright among their foes, and he injured and on his knees, Shiloh shook with exhaustion. Desperately sucking in air, she turned her head to assess the damage. The king was unmarked, she saw with relief. Scorch marks adorned Hatch’s jacket, but he was on his feet, his wand deadly still and aimed at the Captain’s chest. Daved sat in the dirt, clutching an injured arm, face pale but eyes open. Mosspeak stood on the other side of the king, balanced on one foot, swaying, the other leg twisted unnaturally. Rischar grabbed his arm and helped him down to the ground, and Shiloh fell to her knees next to him.

  “My lord, I’ll do something for the pain, first, all right?” she told him. “Then I’ll fix the leg. Did you hear which curse it was?”

  Mosspeak nodded, then retched into the grass. “Neroh’s Hex,” he managed to reply. “Performed the countercurse, but by then it had already done its work.”

  Shiloh pulled a flask from her pocket and opened it. “Comfort potion,” she told him, and helped him take a swig.