She struggled against the restraints that secured her in the dungeon. She couldn’t see the restraints. A fire danced before her; ice burned her back. She didn’t remember this cell, with its blackness beyond the flames. She was on her side. Something clamped on her upper arm, fastening her hand to her forearm. Weight pressed her legs into the hard stone.
They had chained Follett this way, before they jerked his head back and slit his throat. His blood had ran into a basin. She had screamed her outrage behind the gag. The guard who wielded the knife ignored her, and the Prime merely smiled.
Enstigorr watched the life seep out of the youth. Corrie was weeping when he closed Follett’s eyes. He dipped his fingers in the bright blood. Then he showed her his blood-tainted hand. Follett’s blood shimmered with power. When he stepped to her, she went wild in her restraints, jerking against the chains, writhing against the icy stone, twisting her head away, away—. But he fastened upon her and stained her with Follett’s blood. Four tracks down her cheeks. She choked and sagged.
Learn, my pet. You cannot withstand me. No one can. I have plans for you. Soon, they will be your plans as well. Take her back, Rogelo. Keep her safe, yes?
She struggled against the memory. She struggled against new restraints, the weight on her, the hand clasping her hand to her own forearm, her nails imbedded in her own flesh.
“Corrie. Corrie.”
A whisper. Insistent. Hot in her ear.
“Wake up, Lyse Oyne.”
She knew—.
Not Enstigorr. Not the dungeon. The weight on her lower limbs shifted. The hand fastened to hers lost its pressure. “Corrie.”
“Sverr,” she breathed.
“Gods! I couldn’t get you awake. Listen. Hear it?”
She heard nothing. A blankness beyond the firelight. Even though her arm crawled with its itching need, she started to say ‘nightmare’, then she did hear it. A scuffling. A rattling growl. Nothing she’d ever heard. Not wolf. The horses were restive.
“Beyond your ward. It’s triggered it twice.” Smoke whinnied a challenge. “Time I got up. They can’t run off. Shite!” A flash, vivid as lightning, as the creature tested the ward again. Power fired up, hotter than flame. It squealed and retreated.
But she’d had a glimpse of it. Misshapen face. Hunkered. Long limbs. Rust-colored fur and dun-colored skin, blackened at the nose and fingers.
She shrank back. “Sverr, that was a—a—a—.”
“Gobber.”
“They’re not real.”
“Real enough.” He rose up a little, as if peering into the darkness beyond the firelight. He kept his hand pressed on her, though. The horses had settled with the creature’s retreat. “Steppe creatures. I’ve never seen them this far east.”
“No. They’re not real.”
A shriek in the darkness, spiraling upwards, gave the lie to her denial. “It does that before it attacks the ward. So far, the ward is holding. How long will it hold?”
She forced herself to concentrate on what he asked, not on the monster in the dark. “I built a strong guard. Only an active attack at several points would break the spell.”
“Till morning, then,” and he settled behind her. His hand shifted but didn’t release its pressure. He draped a leg over hers.
“Till I break the chain,” she corrected. They listened to the gobber. It sounded like it paced up and down on the verge of the firelight. “Is it hurt?”
“Hurt itself on the ward. That’s what woke me. Maybe not, though. I don’t think it had come at the ward then. Maybe the sorcery driving it hurts it.”
“It’s not afraid of the fire.”
“No, and that’s unusual. Gobbers are skittish—unless they’re in packs.”
“A pack?” Sudden fear spiraled up her voice. She remembered the rooks. “Sverr, a pack of them—they would overwhelm the ward if they broke the circuit of links.”
“I’ve never heard the like. Why did you think of that?”
She shuddered, and he tightened his arm in reassurance. “The rooks—.”
“Aye, there were enough of them—but your blast spell ended that attack.”
She pressed back against him, and his arm tightened again. His head dropped into the crook of her neck and shoulder.
The gobber’s whimpers sharpened, higher and higher until it shrieked. Then lightning exploded. Illuminated within it, the gobber writhed in the consuming fire before it fell. The flash died. The shrieks died. Even the horses quieted. And the crawling sensation evanesced.
“That’s it, then. That’s the way the wolf went,” and Corrie realized then what had happened. Her breath caught on a sob. Sverr jostled her. “Easy, Lyse Oyne. We’re safe for the nonce. Sleep.”
She dragged several breaths in. “How can we sleep? He’ll keep sending things against us, each worse than the one before. Sverr—.”
“Hush. We get to Mannemous, and he’ll rid you of the seal.”
“How far away?”
“A day, a night, and the better part of the next day.”
“That’s—that’s three attacks.”
“We’re not defeated yet, Lyse Oyne. Want me to distract you?” And he rocked against her, revealing his arousal.
Surprised laughter spurted from her. “Is that all you think about?”
“Give me credit. I think about food, too.”
She laughed again.
He gave another experimental thrust. “Is that aye?”
“It is not. You said to sleep.”
“And you pick now to follow my orders?” But he tucked his head down. “I’ll keep you safe, Corrie.”
“I know,” she said.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
He proved his words, not long after dawn.
After they broke camp and broke the ward circuit, he stood over the ashes of the gobber. Corrie couldn’t bring herself to go over there. She mounted Fat Goose and sat waiting for him, huddling in the warmth of his wool cloak.
Enstigorr’s seal flared to life. She clawed at her arm. “Sverr!” His name choked her throat. Goose shifted, stomped, then shuddered and backed away from Smoke.
“Sverr,” she tried again, but his name remained clogged. She tried to hold the reins, tried to keep her nails from raking her skin apart. What creature this time? A wolf? Another gobber? A pack of them?
A shadow dropped. The beat of heavy wings filled the air. Black feathers filled her eyes. Goose sidled then bucked. Corrie tumbled off. The frozen ground hurt, and she lost her grip on the reins. As she gasped for air, the gelding shied away from the second swoop of wings. The shadow careened away as Smoke bugled a challenge.
The big wings wheeled back and plunged. She saw the talons, the hooked beak, the featherless head, and got an arm up. She ducked, cringing. Memory of the rooks swamped her—the talons ripping, their beaks piercing.
The vulture shrieked and dropped heavily. Its wings beat futilely. She saw a flash of steel, then the bird was lifeless on the frost-hard ground. Steam rose from the body. Sverr stood over it. Sword lifted, he scanned the skies—but nothing else flew near.
Corrie climbed to her feet, groaning at the new pangs on her left hip and leg.
He sheathed his sword as he turned to her. Two strides, and he gripped her arms, running his hands up and down her limbs in a hasty examination.
“I’m not hurt,” she managed through chattering teeth.
He hauled her against him. His mouth found hers. He drank from her like a thirsting man, and she clung, still shaking. He finally let her breathe, drawing in great gulps of air before pressing his forehead against hers. “I saw it coming down at you, and I was too far away. Gods.” His embrace tightened more.
“Sverr,” she whispered, “I have to breathe.”
He loosened his hold a little, enough. She curled her fingers over his shoulders and clung.
Her shivers hadn’t abated when he lifted his head. One hand tilted her face up. “Why didn’t you blast it with power?”
&
nbsp; “I didn’t think of it. Goose spooked, and I fell off, and I remembered the rooks. I just wanted to be safe.”
He gave her a shake. “You fight first, then you think. There’s danger, and you attack it.” She trembled, and he clasped her to his sinewy frame again. “Your power has to become a weapon, Corrie.”
She dug her head into his shoulder. “That feels wrong.”
“As long as Enstigorr’s after you, you fight with what you have. Fight first, Corrie. Promise me.”
“I’ll try,” she said without believing she could. Everything she’d learned was healing and protecting: setting broken bones, fighting infection, finding a lost child, ensuring the start of seeds. Blasting the rooks—she’d been cornered and Sverr in danger. Power had risen to defend them. She hadn’t attacked at the inn. She’d defended him there, too, and herself, using the fire that was there to protect them both.
“Did the seal not give you any warning?”
“Not really. It came to life, and then that vulture dropped down.”
“Already on the hunt, and he used it. The gobber wasn’t totally burned up. He lured the vulture in with that carcass before he triggered the seal.”
“How does he know I’m surviving the attacks? I mean—how could anyone survive an attack by a flock of rooks? He wouldn’t expect us to survive.”
“He’s not trying to kill you, Corrie. I expect if you do die, the seal will let him know.”
She stared at her sleeved forearm, envisioning Enstigorr’s black seal in her flesh. “It dies with me.”
“Maybe. But he doesn’t want you dead, Lyse Oyne. He wants you back. We were on the verge of the steppe, beyond Milstreigon’s border, when the rooks attacked. He herded us back. By now, he has to reckon you’ve figured out the seal is drawing attacks and you must go to him to have it removed.”
“You said Mannemous—.”
“Aye, he can. But will the Prime Wizard expect you to know Mannemous? So, he reckons you’ll come to him to stop the attacks. A neat little trap you’ll willingly walk into.”
Her cold cell flashed, dark with flickering light, despair seeped into the very stones. Corrie shuddered, and Sverr tightened his embrace.
No, she accepted, Enstigorr didn’t want her dead. Had he been intent on death, he would have sent a kettle of vultures instead of one lone bird. Thinking of the damage those birds could inflict with their tearing beaks and ripping claws, she wanted to stay safely wrapped in Sverr’s arms. She wanted to forget about Enstigorr and the black seal and the attacks. That wasn’t possible. She couldn’t hide. She had managed to hide for several months, but she had known even that fragile safety would break.
Why had Enstigorr waited so long? Once the first flurry of searching had died down, the Prime had waited a half-year to send more guards after her. Why hadn’t he sent out a scouring manhunt after the first one failed? She had slipped past the first guards by the merest luck, hiding in a mud cave along a river bluff, watching Greiss die and able to give him no ease. She had even heard the troop talking as they searched for her. And as she zigzagged back in the hopes of confusing any trail, she learned of the recapture of Dreilldah and Katya and Pynim, who had escaped with her. Yet the hunt died down after that. Something had distracted Enstigorr. What?
She lifted her head. Sverr’s brother? When had Enstigorr laid hands on him? When had he learned a Norther wizard could be in his grasp? Aye, that would be distraction enough. He would reckon the hunt for Corrie could wait while he bent all his efforts to get a Thulestreigon wizard in his clutches. And he would have to plan how to bend a Norther to his will. And when he had Brom in his dungeons, he could resume his search for Corrie. With new blood to work his black sorcery, Brom’s blood to power the spell and her blood to guide it, the search came straight to her.
Enstigorr used Brom, whether the Norther acquiesced or not. The Prime would relish Brom’s resistance even more than he relished any submission. He would chain the Norther to the wall, draw out his magickal blood, and wield it for his black spells, all the while laughing at any protest or resistance. She knew it. Enstigorr had done it to her.
“He thinks he’s got you trapped, Corrie,” Sverr said. With effort, she concentrated on him and the now, not the foul miasma of months ago. “He doesn’t know you’re going back with an ability to counter binding spells. And you’ll have Brom and me at your back. The Prime’s got a shock waiting for him, and I’ve seen what shock does to an unprepared enemy.”
She nodded. She wanted to believe him. She had to believe him.
“A step at a time, Corrie. The seal off. Brom freed. Then Enstigorr dead.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Not easy, just really clear in our goals.”
She didn’t think of an additional problem until he threw her up on Fat Goose. She settled her feet in the stirrups and got a good grip on the reins while he mounted Smoke and set their direction.
“He’s tracking us, isn’t he? Through the seal.”
“Through the seal and your magic. He’s a black Prime, isn’t he? How much of your blood did he draw?”
She gaped at him. How could he know so much and not be a wielder of magic himself? But she didn’t ask that question again. “He drew enough that I thought he was feeding a wraith.”
“Feeding his spells. And he would save some back, just in case. He’s lived too long not to be canny. He’ll be using that to direct the seal spells.”
Corrie bit her lip. She didn’t describe what she knew his brother faced. She merely asked, “Can I ever be free of Enstigorr?”
“When we kill him, you will be.”
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
“Trust me?” Sverr asked.
Heavy clouds obscured the sun. Purpled and lowered with the weight of snow and ice, the clouds deepened early twilight on the stubbled fields. The birds had already sought their night’s shelter. They hadn’t seen any small animals since before midday. A steady wind had kept Corrie shivering in his cloak most of the day. She couldn’t feel her toes. Wrapped tightly in Goose’s reins, her frozen fingers clung to the saddle pommel.
They overlooked the promised farm Sverr had angled toward. A sod house with smoke trickling from a chimney promised warm shelter against the cold night. An empty corral surrounded the sturdy barn. She suspected the farm animals were already up for the night. A scattering of outbuildings promised more shelter.
Corrie rolled her eyes. “You have to ask?” she countered through chattering teeth.
“I deserve that.” Her ‘duh’ brought out his grin, although it wasn’t as bright as usual. “I thought to tell them part lie, part truth. I stayed here before, on my way south. The farmer has no liking for the magickal, and Corrie, it shines out of your eyes. We don’t have time to work on that, and I’m not certain—well, Brom can teach you to hide it.”
“Don’t dance around it, Sverr. You want me to wear the cords.” She couldn’t prevent a shudder, and it communicated to Fat Goose who tossed his head and stamped his hooves.
“The cords won’t bind your spells anymore. You still can evoke power.”
“That’s not certain. It was only in direst need, Sverr.”
“I’ll be right with you. If you need your power, I’ll take the cords off immediately. I know you don’t want to be bound—.”
She huffed. “You go bound for hours on end. It’s damned inconvenient, even if you are ‘right’ with me.”
His grin flashed again. “But you’ll do it, won’t you, Lyse Oyne?”
As he tied the cords on each wrist and gave her a long slack between them, she offered, “I should have practiced bypassing these cords today. Then we would know it wasn’t a fluke.”
“Couldn’t have been a fluke.” He gave a last tug. “Ready?”
“If you’re my gaoler, you better keep a lock on that grin of yours.”
He flashed it again, bright in his twilight-darkened face. “I’ll try. Hard not to grin. Corrie, Lyse Oyne, you give me great joy.
”
She tried to hide her own grin. “You’ve been eating mushroom caps. I should never have told you I had no sweetling. I can tell you’ve got a goal.”
“I do have a goal. Unending goals, in fact. We’ll get to one tonight, I promise.”
“Not if that farmer is suspicious.”
The farmer growled as much as his chained hound did. He hefted a handaxe and a sturdy axe for his weapons. His wife stood by the hound straining at the length of its chain. Corrie had no doubt the woman would release the animal on her husband’s word. In the doorway, blocking her little brother from slipping out, stood a daughter as tall as her father, sturdy from hard farm work. Corrie couldn’t see her weapon, but she didn’t doubt the girl had one.
The farmer’s remembrance of Sverr did not bring out his smile. “There’s been trouble,” he said gruffly. “Next farm over got burnt out a couple of weeks back.”
“We know. We stayed in the ruin last night. I was hoping to buy some journey food off them. Maybe I can buy some off you?”
More than mushroom caps, Corrie thought, letting the farmer know he had coin to spend. But if they were robbers and cut-throats, they’d steal whatever Corrie and Sverr had, no matter what he let them know.
“We can work a deal.” The farmer gave the first inch that hinted he’d give a few more.
“Same as before?”
“Same as before.” His heavy-browed face finally shifted to Corrie although she knew he’d seen everything he needed to ensure his family’s safety as soon as they rode in. “We don’t hold with people going bound.”
“This one’s a witch. I’m taking her to Hardraste. She poisoned several people then burned down a tavern to hide the evidence.”
It was a good lie. Corrie tried to look evilly insane. How did one look evilly insane? She must have captured the look, for the wife gasped. “Gruffyd.”
“That’s the reason she’s bound,” Sverr added. “These are magickal cords. They keep her from working spells. She can’t take them off herself. The Prime Wizard himself spelled the cords just for her sort.”
More than a Wizard Page 10
