“You bastard!” I yell, moving to run toward them, only to be caught by my elbows and jerked backward by two Keltic soldiers. Furious, I struggle to wrench my arms free.
If I could only get my hands on that wand! Breathing hard, I try to focus on gathering more power as the crowd of Kelts closes in around Jules, egging Brandon on and cutting off my view of him.
The ax-paladin smiles wickedly, his large chin thrust forward. He gestures to the guards restraining me with a hard flick of his hand.
My feet skid across the damp earth as they drag me to a fenced-in livestock pen to the right of the barn. The soldiers open the gate, and I’m pushed forward, my palms slapping down onto the cold, muddied ground. It’s pitch dark back here, the area devoid of torches. I blink, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dimness.
“Tessie!” A shadowy form grabs at my arm as I rise.
It’s Rosebeth, my sweet Gardnerian friend from three cottages over. I cling to her, grateful to see a familiar face.
“You’re alive!” she sobs, hugging me. “Thank the Ancient One, you’re alive!”
“You embrace her?” A disgusted voice sounds from the blackness of the pen. “She ran off with a Kelt!”
I can just make out the young Gardnerian woman’s hate-filled eyes, large and luminous in a beautiful face. Her skin, like mine, shimmers a faint emerald in the dark. She spits on the ground in my direction, then makes the sign to ward off the power of the Evil Ones. “Staen’en,” she hisses under her breath. Race traitor.
I squint into the darkness. There are five other Gardnerians in the pen, all huddled in a far corner near the hateful girl—all of them elegant Upper River Gardnerians. I can just make out their dark silken clothing in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the black woolen homespun Rosebeth and I wear, like most of the impoverished Lower River Gardnerians.
In another corner of the pen, a small figure is curled in a tight ball, sobbing, and dressed in light-hued Keltic attire. Unlike us Gardnerians, there is no faint emerald shimmer to her skin, and she’s been shorn bald. It’s meek Keltic Daisie, the smith’s daughter.
I suddenly realize that the pen holds only women. Young women. I turn my head and see the shadows of three Keltic soldiers hanging over the fence, watching us. Their eyes glitter in the moonlight.
Trying not to panic, I look back at Rosebeth. “Did you see Wren?” I whisper, taking hold of her arm as she sobs. “My grandfather?”
Weeping, she shakes her head, her face a mask of misery. She gestures toward the barn. “Wagons keep coming. Full of Gardnerians. They’re forcing everyone in there. All but us.” Rosebeth casts a frightened sidelong glance at the young Kelts. “What are we going to do?” she asks me imploringly, her voice quavering. She’s chewing on her lip so hard, she’s bloodied it.
I look toward the men. The Keltic soldiers are passing a flask back and forth as they laugh and leer at us, but over their shoulders, I can see that the crowd around Jules has dispersed. He’s been dumped by the edge of the barn, lying on his side. His face is swollen beyond recognition, one arm cradling the other as if it’s broken.
Anger swells in me, and I turn, my focus honed on the ax-paladin.
“So, are you a Roach now?” The strafeling idly points at the wand that hangs from the ax-paladin’s belt.
The ax-paladin spits on the ground. “Some Roach filth south of here got hold of it and cut down several members of our guard. I’m to bring it to the Tenhold armory.”
“Why not destroy the cursed thing?” the strafeling asks, eyeing the wand with suspicion.
“We’ve tried,” the paladin says. “It is surprisingly hard to break. And it’s oddly powerful.”
My attention lights up. I’ve heard tales of wands like these—wands of great power.
“What will we do?” Rosebeth asks me again in that tremulous voice, clinging to my arm and breaking my focus.
“Quiet,” I order, more sternly than I’d intended, but I need to concentrate.
I’m only a Level Three Mage. Not a huge amount of power, to be sure, but I do have a unique talent. I can pull up threads of magic from the elements and knit them together, amplifying my power. I’ve done this on only a few occasions, experimenting with Grandfather’s wand while making medicines and using the ability once to defend myself. Each time, the spell-linking gave me a fever and scoured me out, as if I’d been grievously ill. It’s dangerous, what I’m doing. Magic can turn deadly when gathered like this, catching on the very life force of a Mage and choking it clear out. The last time I linked spells, I was attempting a complicated medicine to treat Wren’s chronic illness. Grandfather found me passed out in the kitchen amid vials and scattered potions, and he forbade me from ever, ever using his wand again. I was feverish and bedridden for days, but more devastated over the loss of the wand than anything else.
I’ve never tried to pull in and link together as much power as I’m holding right now, and I know I’m playing with fire.
Deadly, raging, elemental fire.
My chest is full of burning pain, but my resolve is strengthened by it. I coldly assess our situation.
We’re completely surrounded by a sea of soldiers—but the men are hardly the only threat. Several Urisk geosoldiers struggle to contain a dragon nearby, the beast’s whole body undulating with rage. The dragon turns its head to look at me and bares its long fangs, pinning me with its eerie white eyes.
Terror claws at me, but I force myself to stand my ground as Rosebeth cries out and hides behind me, her slender body quivering.
A tall, winged figure steps into the clearing, and I feel my bravado slip away.
I take a frightened step back as the Icaral demon casts its glowing orange eyes around. His black wings arch threateningly, and the terrifying evil of his grinning expression is heightened by the torchlight. He balances a bright ball of flame over his palm as he slinks over to the Kelt commander, the strafeling and the ax-paladin.
Eyeing the Icaral demon warily, the Kelt commander unfurls a scroll and glances down to read.
“What’s the word, Lucian?” the strafeling asks, his words elegantly accented and clipped.
“We wait. And march into Gardneria tomorrow morn,” Lucian sighs, rolling up the scroll and passing it back to a young Keltic soldier.
A new wagon pulls in, filled with Gardnerians, all of them well-to-do Upper River folk. They’re roughly herded out, blinking in confusion, the children crying.
They are met by a mob of laughter.
“All hail the powerful Gardnerian Mages!”
“Where’s your Great Mage now?”
A Keltic lieutenant bows toward them. “The Gardnerian Mages! Rulers of Erthia!” Two other Keltic soldiers laugh and roughly yank at the Gardnerians as they descend from the carriage, pulling one old man down so hard he tumbles to the ground and has trouble getting back up.
A young, slender Urisk geosoldier strides forward and salutes both the strafeling and the Kelt commander by bringing his fist to his chest. “This should be all of them, Commander Talin,” he says, his accent as pronounced as the strafeling’s.
All of them? Could Wren and Grandfather be locked in the barn, too?
Lucian Talin makes a casual gesture toward the barn. “Get them in there with the others. We’ll deal with them later.” He grimaces, as if this is an unpleasant but necessary task.
My heart clenches along with my fists. I inhale sharply, pulling the power in tight.
The young Urisk geosoldier’s brow tenses, and he glances briefly at the captive Gardnerians. “The children, too, Commander Talin?” I can sense his discomfort, see him swallow and blink with stunned reluctance.
The Keltic commander fixes him with a hard glare. “There’s no other way, Cor’vyyn. You know that. If they raise up another Great Mage, they’ll kill us all.”
> The young man eyes the terrified children and the elderly man as they’re herded toward the barn, crying and pleading. He looks to the strafeling, as if silently imploring him for mercy. The strafeling glances briefly at the Gardnerians, then shoots the young Urisk soldier a hard, cautioning glare as he murmurs something to him in terse Uriskal.
“Don’t go all sentimental on us, Cor’vyyn,” Lucian says to the young geosoldier, his tone unforgiving. “Clearly you don’t fully understand the threat we’re under here. Any one of these Roaches, big or small, could be their next Great Mage. You’ve heard the diviner’s prophecies from both your people’s seers and ours—he’s here, that Great Mage, hidden among their people somewhere.”
“Do you have a problem with this, soldier?” the ax-paladin growls, his eyes glittering malevolently, the wand moon-bright at his waist.
The Urisk soldier’s sapphire eyes are a storm of conflict as he glances toward the Gardnerian families. The strafeling snaps at him in Uriskal, and the young geosoldier bows and strides off, casting one last, troubled look behind him.
The Icaral demon is eyeing the new group of Gardnerians, still holding the ball of fire in his palm. He hisses and hurls the flames at the Mages, and they cry out, stamping the fire out of their clothing, the children shrieking in terror.
The Keltic commander scowls at the strafeling. “Tell your Icaral demon to leave off.”
“What are they going to do?” Rosebeth sobs hysterically, tugging at my sleeve. “Are they going to set fire to the barn? My family is in there! Tessie! Why won’t you answer me?” She starts murmuring pleading prayers, tracing the star sign of the Ancient One’s protection over and over in the air.
The Kelts unlock the barn door. In the shadows are the dark shapes of my people, pressed together tight. Right in the front stands a skinny boy, and recognition sweeps through me as torchlight illuminates his face.
My eyes fly open wide. “Wren!” I choke out.
He sees me and lets out an unearthly scream. “Tessie!”
I hurl myself at the fence and struggle to climb over it in my long skirts, a nail tearing at my ankle.
Wren bursts out of the barn and lunges toward me. He’s quickly caught by one of the Keltic soldiers, jerked back by his arm.
“Wren!” I scream, finally hoisting myself to the top of the fence. A searing pain erupts all over my scalp as I’m yanked back by my hair, a strong arm clenching my arm and thrusting me down to the mud, a rumbling laugh emanating from my attacker’s throat.
I briefly turn to find the ax-paladin looming over me, but I don’t care. My magic boils bloodred as I spring up and hurl myself at the fence once more, straining toward Wren as he’s desperately reaching for me. The huge Kelt laughs behind me as he grabs my upper arms, and I kick and struggle against him.
“Tessie!” Wren cries, clawing at the soldier restraining him. “Let me go! Tessie!”
The soldier pulls his hand back and smacks Wren hard in the face.
My world contracts, the scene before me slowing as Wren’s mouth opens, his face contorted, his scream drawn out. “Tessieee!”
The image of a white bird flashes before my eyes as the soldiers drag Wren back to the barn and throw him in. Just before the door is closed and locked, I see the face of my grandfather, his expression a mask of agony.
A great tide of fiery rage wells up within me, burning away the terrible odds, the ax-paladin, the dragons and hydreenas, the Icaral demon.
I wrench myself around, tear my arm from the ax-paladin’s grip and close my fist around the wand.
Chapter 4: The White Wand
Flames shoot from the tip of the wand as soon as I grasp it.
A violent wave of magic drives the air from my lungs as fire courses out of the wand, strafing Kelt and Urisk soldiers and setting several trees alight with a crackling explosion. I round on the ax-paladin with a fierce cry, and the fire whips out toward him. He screams with pain and falls back.
Fury courses through me as I send fire out in wide, repeating arcs, driving the soldiers farther away from the barn as an arrow whirs past, barely missing me. I hold tight to my woven knot of spells, readying it as soldiers all around aim their weapons. The Urisk pull stones to their palms and the Icaral demon snarls and gathers a growing ball of flame above his hand. The Kelt commander shouts an order, and a line of archers forms, drawing their bows.
Men’s voices call out, and the arrows are released in a unified whoosh. The Icaral’s fireball is hurled straight at me, spears are launched at my head and a kaleidoscope of searing flame bursts from affinity stones.
I slap one hand over the other and grasp at the wand, fall to my knees and send my linked power up into a great dome of a shield. Weapons and flames and stone magic slam up against it with shuddering force and are knocked back.
I’m shocked by the immensity of my power, magnified by this wand. My affinity power courses out in a translucent, golden river, rising up—over me, over the livestock pen and over the barn.
Great stabs of pain smash into my shoulders and through my arms from the impact of the soldiers’ relentless assault, the blows of countless weapons reverberating against my shield, nearly knocking the wand clear out of my vibrating fists.
Jules has pulled himself up to a sitting position and is propped up against the barn wall, gaping at me, the eye that’s not swollen shut gone wide.
“Pry the door open!” I yell to Rosebeth and the young women in the pen, everyone lit by golden light and flashes of color as the Urisk and the Icaral demon hurl geomagic and fire at the shield.
The young women race for the barn’s locked door.
The strafeling clenches the stones looped around his palms and sends shockwave after shockwave of sapphire fire exploding against my shield.
My arms and shoulders scream with pain, my body jerking with each blow. But I hold on, keeping the shield intact.
“Stand down!” the Keltic commander booms out.
The assault abruptly ceases.
I’m panting, drenched in sweat as I struggle to hold the dome of energy together.
The Keltic commander moves off to my right and converses in low tones with several underlings, his eyes trained on me with careful calculation.
They’re waiting. Waiting for my strength to give out.
“Hurry!” I call over my shoulder to the young women, desperation on the edge of panic coursing through me.
But the barn door is refusing to give way.
The hateful Upper River girl lets out an angry snarl and kicks the door in frustration. “Check the back,” she yells to the other young women. “Search for rotted wood.” She calls to the Gardnerians inside for help breaking open a passage, and they shout back to her, their voices muffled by the barn’s walls. A cacophony of hammering and pounding against the barn ensues.
Smoke rises thick in the air, my fire still crackling in the surrounding woods. Soldiers watch me with dark intent and even darker smiles.
My heart thuds with a painful slowness, my pulse loud in my ears, the power a steady stream through me, flowing up from the ground. I concentrate hard and weave the shield even tighter, sending the power upward, the tips of my fingers growing numb, my arms trembling.
A gentle hand flows down over my arm and grasps my wrist to steady me. Jules pushes himself tight against my back, propping me up.
“What are you planning?” His voice is calm, the words muffled by the swelling of his mouth.
His presence helps to soothe the fear that’s making a slow crawl through my belly. “I can move the shield,” I tell him, my throat tight. “We get everyone out, and we leave.”
“How long can you maintain it?” His voice is purposefully measured.
“I... I don’t know,” I admit, terror breaking through.
He gi
ves my wrist an encouraging squeeze, his cheek pressed to mine. “I love you, Tessla.” He says it with ardent certainty.
We’re going to die, I realize.
“I love you, too,” I tell him, knowing we don’t mean this in the same way, but what does that matter now? We might all be dead soon, and Jules is nearly as dear to me as Wren.
Exhaling sharply, I murmur a spell and push a warm wave of magic out to bolster the shield, my teeth and the muscles of my neck clenched tight.
“Fight them,” he tells me, his breath warm on my face. “Fight them to the end.”
Rosebeth rushes over to my side. “We can’t get the door open,” she relays with breathless urgency. “But they’ve managed to pull a board off the back of the barn. They’re all back there, prying at it.”
“Hurry,” I tell her grimly, my feet tingling, my toes gone numb, the numbness in the tips of my fingers starting to spread.
“Are you tiring, little witch?” the Icaral demon calls to me with a sneer, his glowing eyes hot, an evil smile curling on his mouth. His voice is like a snake’s hiss as he stalks around my shield. He unfurls his black wings and starts to summon another ball of flame, the fire-orb churning and growing over his palm.
The huge ax-paladin is pacing like a giant wildcat in front of me, scarlet burns streaked across his face, charred black lines across his uniform. “You will tire eventually, Roach,” he snarls, “and then we will break through your shield and take you apart, piece by piece.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Jules urges, tightening his grip on my wrist. “Listen to me. You can hold the shield. I know you can.”
Somewhere behind me, my brother and grandfather are waiting to escape from the barn.
Wren. I can’t let them have Wren.
“Your strength will run out at some point, witch,” the Icaral crows darkly, his fireball grown large, his wings fanning out. He rears back and throws the fireball straight at me, punching the shield’s side with a shower of sparks. The shield gives way, pushing in and snapping back out. Tearing.
Wandfasted Page 3
