by Jo Spurrier
They swarmed on the two men still facing Mira. The one at her back took an arrow in the ribs before two more lads fell on him, and then a blow from a hatchet finished him.
The other one took an arrow in the thigh, but as the lads closed in on him, Mira shouted, ‘Stop! Take him alive.’
The nearest of the lads gave her a swift salute and then the six of them piled onto the man. He was tall for an Akharian, and heavier and stronger than any of these lads, but with six against one, he never stood a chance.
Mira swept her hair back from her face and scowled down at the stone. It lay in a pool of snowmelt, the water around it bubbling and steaming, giving off the occasional spark, smelling of thunderstorms. ‘Delphi, can you keep him contained?’
‘I … I don’t have any suppression stones, but I can make one in a few minutes.’
‘No time, they’ll be coming after us.’ She turned to the lads. ‘Just knock him over the head.’
One of the lads thoughtfully hefted his hatchet, and then rapped the Akharian’s skull with the butt of it.
‘Good. Pick him up, we need to get away from the doors,’ Mira said, glancing around warily with her sword still in her hand.
The lads hefted him up with one on each limb, while a fifth lifted his head by a handful of hair to peer at his face. The butt of the hatchet had split his scalp and a steady patter of blood dripped to the snow. The lad pulled the hood of his coat up to catch the drips.
‘Can we get out into the city?’ Mira said, leading them away from the palace.
‘No, your grace. Wolf men hold the gatehouse, we can’t go near it.’
‘Alright then, where? They must have men guarding the barracks. What about the stables?’
‘Them too, your grace. Maybe the forge? It’s furthest away from the palace.’
‘It’ll be warm, too. Good, take him there. Alright, men, look lively.’
The forge and its attached buildings were shut up tight. The shutters were closed, and not even a scrap of light made it out around the heavy doors.
‘If it’s barred from within, there must be people inside,’ Mira said, and pounded her fist against the ice-crusted wood.
Delphine glanced back towards the palace, expecting to see lights bobbing through the trees towards them. But aside from the glow through the open doors, there was nothing. How could that be? If Mira had heard men coming into her room, their escape must have been discovered.
Mira took a step back from the door and scowled, just as Illiana began to fuss. Wrapping her arms around the babe, Delphine bounced on her heels and murmured to her, but it did no good as Illiana let out a long, plaintive wail.
At once, there came the sound of someone moving within the forge. There was a slither of wood as the bar was lifted, and then the heavy door swung open, a bearded face peering out through the narrow gap. With a muttered curse, the man flung the door open and waved them in. ‘By the Bright Sun herself, I thought it was the cursed southerners. Spirit of Storm, Queen Mira, is that you?’
They hurried inside, and after being exposed to the night-time chill with only her indoor clothes against the cold, Delphine began to shiver as the warmth of the forge washed over her.
The man who’d let them in was a blacksmith, judging from the breadth of his shoulders and his huge, gnarled hands. In one of them he held a massive sledgehammer as casually as though it was a stick of wood.
There were a dozen or so other souls huddled behind the stout stone walls. A few older men, a handful of younger ones who looked to be apprentices, and some women, two with young children huddled close against them, and a third, old enough to have silvery-white hair that reflected the gleam of the coals in the forge.
‘By the Bright Sun, your grace, thank the Gods you’re safe,’ the blacksmith said. ‘But what’s happening over in the fort? What of the king? And Lady Sierra?’
Mira wiped a hand across her face. ‘I don’t know, I truly don’t, but I can tell you they’ve faced more dangerous things than these creeping weasels and lived to tell of it. Master Blacksmith, these men have taken a prisoner for me. I need him secured.’
‘Your grace, it’s an honour to be of service.’
The apprentices were already moving with surety through the darkness, and in moments, one of them came to Mira, presenting a coil of rope with shaking hands. ‘Thank you,’ Mira told him, and then craned her head back to peer up at the rafters overhead. ‘Up there,’ she said, pointing. ‘Bind his hands and string him up. A bucket of icy water should do to rouse him. Delphi, I need that suppression stone.’
Delphine was still shivering, though she was no longer sure if it was from cold or from the aftermath of the battle. The thought of the young mage’s head exploding in a puff of red, or the other one, clawing at the arrow sunk into his face, kept pushing its way into her mind. Illiana was still crying, a soft and heart-broken wail and Delphine felt faintly sick. What was going on back in the palace? If the attackers hadn’t come after them, did that mean they were occupied with something else? She thought of Isidro, bound with dozens of stones, and Sierra, still recovering from the knife to her chest. She thought of Rasten and the ruthlessness with which he’d made Mira cry out, and the flash of hatred that crossed his face when the Akharians burst in on them. Good Goddess of Mercy, please let them be alright.
A light touch on her arm made her jump, and Delphine glanced around to find the white-haired woman had come up to her. ‘How long were you out in the cold, madame? Has that little one taken a chill?’
Delphine glanced down, and realised that Illiana had slipped an arm out of the wrap. She wasn’t properly dressed for the cold after those curs had stripped her off … that felt like aeons ago. She’d lost her mittens as well as her jacket and cap.
Delphine pulled her out, and the old woman shrugged off her grey knitted shawl to wrap over the babe. ‘Could … could you take her?’ Delphine asked. Illiana was still wailing, a soft, pathetic sound, but Delphine was the only one who could keep the Battle-Mage from working harm and the Gods only knew how long they had before he awoke.
‘Aye, I’ll warm her up, but don’t fret about a bit of chill, my lady. Babes fare better against it than the rest of us.’ She tucked the babe into the front of her jacket and retreated to her stool while Delphine shook herself and reached for her remaining stones. She was trembling so hard that she dropped them, and the lads scrambled over the flagstones to gather them up again.
By the time she’d built the new suppression stone, as strong as she could make it, the prisoner had been hung by his arms from the rafters, with his head still sunk to his chest. Mira was studying him with a scowl when Delphine brought her the stone. ‘What do we do with it? Make him swallow it?’
‘It’s not necessary — as long as it touches his skin it’ll do the job.’
Mira pulled out an embroidered handkerchief and handed it to one of the lads, together with the stone. ‘Bind it around his neck, please.’
‘Yes, your grace.’
She turned to the women holding their children close. ‘You should take those little ones out of here.’ Mira cast around the workshop, eyes roving over the neat rows of tools hanging from the walls. She seemed to have forgotten about the babe on her back. Eshta was sucking on her thumb, watching everything with dark, shining eyes. ‘I need … something sharp. Those,’ she said, pointing to an implement nearby.
‘Hoof cutters?’ the blacksmith said with a frown. ‘Your grace, I … I think I know what you mean to do. It’s a dirty business, and there’s no need for you to sully your hands with —’
‘Master Blacksmith,’ Mira said, in a voice like ice, ‘do you have children?’
The man glanced across at the women. ‘I do, your grace. Grandchildren, too, by the grace of the Gods not lost to me as so many others are.’
‘And have you ever had one of your children pried from your arms? They took my son! By the Black Sun and the tigers she commands, this wretch will tell me what they’ve done
with him.’
‘Papa,’ one of the women said as she stood with a small boy in her arms and a girl clutching the hem of her jacket, ‘give her what she wants.’
The blacksmith was already reaching for the cutters. ‘Oh, I’m not fool enough to get between a tiger and her cub. Forgive me, your grace, I didn’t know.’
Mira took them with a nod, and turned to the lad with the bucket. At her nod, he upended it over the Akharian’s head, bringing him awake and spluttering. Breathing heavily, and shivering with chunks of rotten ice caught in his hair and clothes, he looked around himself with a scowl.
Delphine picked the very moment he tried to reach for his power. When it failed to rise to his call, his nut-brown skin turned a ghastly, pale shade.
‘Where is my son?’ Mira said to him in Akharian.
The young mage glanced around, seeing no one but women, boys and old men.
Mira turned to the lads. ‘Take off his boots,’ she said, and as the lads set to work, she pried the handles of the cutters apart. ‘Are they sharp, Master Blacksmith?’
‘Freshly sharpened today, your grace.’
‘Good,’ Mira said. ‘Hold him still.’
‘Gone? How in all the hells can she be gone?’
‘I don’t know, sir. The men on the door say they heard her coughing, and then nothing. They report no disturbance, sir.’
‘By all the Gods, get in there and find out where she went!’
‘Sir, the smoke’s so thick you can’t see your hand in front of your face —’
‘I don’t give a rat’s arse how thick it is! Find her!’
‘Yessir,’ the mage said with a duck of his head, and scrambled off, boots skidding over the flagstones.
Rattled now, Pelloras beckoned his men close with a gesture, and turned away from Rasten. ‘Demons take the wench … alright, she hasn’t had time to get far, and she must be suffering from the smoke. Round up every man we can spare and find her, quickly. You, send word upstairs — leave a skeleton crew guarding the women, and get the rest down here. Who’s watching the other one?’
‘We left Fontaine with him, sir,’ one of the mages said.
‘That mad chit? You, go stand with her. We need to be sure our hostage is secure.’
As one man hurried away, another spoke up. ‘Sir? What about …’ The voice trailed off.
When Pelloras spoke again, his voice was nothing more than a murmur. Rasten reached inside his head for Isidro. Do you hear this?
Yes. What about Mira and Delphine?
They should be out by now.
The sound of someone running towards them pulled Rasten back. The footsteps were uneven, accompanied by a deep, wrenching cough as the runner Pelloras had sent to Sierra’s cell returned, doubled over and hacking.
‘Well?’ Pelloras barked.
‘There’s a hole, sir,’ the man gasped. ‘Rear wall of the cell.’
With a face like thunder, Pelloras turned to Kasurian. ‘Go.’
‘On it, sir.’
As Kasurian set out with a handful of men, Pelloras gestured to the rest of them. ‘You, you and you. You two as well. Circle around and meet them in the middle. Leave no corner unsearched. Go.’
As the men hurried away, Pelloras turned to Rasten, still scowling. Rasten returned it with one of his own. ‘I had you pegged as a competent man, Commander. I don’t like to be disappointed. You’ve had the king stolen from right under your nose, and now you’ve lost Sierra as well. I hope you’re not going to give me reason to regret my choice.’
‘We’ll find the wench,’ Pelloras growled. ‘We’ll recover the king as well, and make those stinking curs pay for their betrayal. The empire never leaves a traitor unpunished, Blood-Mage.’
Isidro lifted his head. ‘They know Sierra’s loose. They’re sending another guard here to back you up.’ He glanced up at the ropes. He’d been biding his time, but now there was nothing more to gain. ‘I’m coming down —’
‘No, wait. Let me deal with the guard first,’ the young woman said.
Isidro frowned, and gathered his power anyway. He wanted to trust her. Was it even remotely possible that they’d somehow conquered the ghost trapped in the wall, or learnt to mimic her enough to trick him?
No. It was no trick, or they’d have waited until Sierra was dead to play their hand. They’d never take the risk of him interfering. She had to be telling the truth.
The guard burst through the door, wide-eyed and panicked. The sweat on his brow, and the way his eyes darted to the corners of the room to check for threats was heartening. The Akharians were rattled.
Nirveli stepped into his path with her hands on her hips. ‘What’s going on?’
The guard ignored her, but when he tried to step around her, she moved to block his path. ‘Answer me, you dolt.’
The mage grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her close. ‘Hold your cursed tongue, wench. Hasn’t anyone ever told you to guard your words around a prisoner?’ He shoved her away, sending her scrambling to keep her feet, and glanced around at the floor. ‘He should be masked. Where’s that cursed hood gone?’
He spotted the sack on the floor and as he stooped to pick it up, Nirveli drew a knife from her belt. As he straightened, she plunged the blade into the hollow between his collarbone and his neck.
He tried to scream, but she clapped her hand over his mouth and nose and sank the blade again and again, her face calm and utterly composed.
Isidro slashed at the ropes, freeing his hands first and then his feet, and then hurried to help her. The dying man clawed at her hands, but his strength was already fading along with the bubbling blood.
Isidro wrenched the man’s knife from his belt, and plunged it into the mage’s eye, feeling it crunch through bone and into his brain, and finished the strike with a vicious twist. Then he let the body fall and fumbled for the straps of his harness. Sirri, they’re coming for you.
Let them. I’m too cursed weary to drag this out. Go find Cam. They’ve used him as a hostage against me once, they’ll try it again.
Isidro squeezed his eyes closed. He thought she’d been listening to that conversation, but now that he was in contact again, he could feel how very weary she was, how tired and ill, her head spinning and the deep, throbbing pain in her chest. Sirri, Cam’s missing. The Akharians have lost him. It looks like the Wolf Clan have taken him.
They … they took Cam? Tigers take them …
Don’t worry about him for the moment, Sirri. They won’t harm him, they need him for a hostage. We have to deal with the Akharians first. Be careful, the Wolves used some sort of poison darts on the mages guarding Cam, and the Akharians have them. They won’t hesitate to use them against you.
Let them try! They want a war? I’ll give them a cursed war.
Isidro felt a hand on the leather straps and stiffened, but Nirveli was loosening the buckles. As the harness came away, he cast it aside and turned to the door. ‘We have to find her.’
Sierra started towards the door even as the darkness swayed and spun around her.
She’d seen him! That movement in the darkness — that had been the Wolf men with Cam. He’d been close enough to touch! If she’d only moved faster when Isidro badgered her out of that suffocating haze, if she’d forced herself up sooner … but no. She’d failed him.
She clutched her aching head. Come on, stupid girl. Think! How could they get him out? They have no mages, and the Akharians must have the place locked down tight. Maybe he’s still here. Maybe I can still fix this.
She crept out into the hall, keeping one hand on the rough stone to steady herself as she started down the passage with faltering, weaving steps.
There were voices somewhere behind her, together with the sound of stud-soled boots and the distant gleam of lanterns. Sierra ignored it and pressed on.
Sirri, where are you going? Isidro was rushing through the halls with someone at his side. Sierra couldn’t make out the person’s face, only the long black hair.
Was that … Fontaine? She’d glimpsed Delphine’s old student among the attackers in their ruined quarters, but it couldn’t be her. Her weary mind must be playing tricks on her. They were moving swiftly, but cautiously, the air rippling with power as they held shields close.
I heard them go past, Issey, they were right here. I just didn’t know it.
We’ll find him, but worry about the Akharians first. We’re coming for you, just hold on.
The darkness, still spinning, seemed to pick up its pace. Sierra slumped against the wall, her legs giving way. The urge to cough tickled her throat, and when she tried to swallow it down, it simply rose up again more powerful than before. It burst from her lips with a splutter and a clot of blood in her throat.
Somewhere nearby, there came a hissing sound, like someone calling for silence.
Sierra gathered her legs beneath her and stood, feeling the rough stone scrape along the bare skin of her back.
Isidro was right. Dealing with the Akharians was more important, and now they were here, stalking her in the darkness. Her chest ached, her head was pounding, and her shoulders throbbed with the strain of the ropes. But the rising tide of power would bear her pain away. It would stop the ache, it would help her breathe again — or at least, make her not care that she felt starved for air. They dared attack her here, in her home, and threaten the people she loved? ‘You’ll never see another sunrise,’ she growled. She gathered her power, and let it spill from her skin in a writhing storm. ‘Hello, lads,’ she said in Akharian. ‘Looking for me?’
A deep and shocking sound echoed through the fortress halls, a booming, crackling roar of earth and air and fire, all rolled into one. It made Isidro duck reflexively, as a flicker of blue light lit up the passage.
Then, as the booming echo died away he heard the screams. A wave of power washed through him, brilliant and sharp. The air was suddenly full of the tingling scent of thunder. ‘That’s her,’ he said to Nirveli. ‘Hurry.’
‘What’s your plan, Pelloras?’ Rasten said, leaning against the wall. The Akharian was sweating now.
