by Amy Hopkins
He watched a moment to make sure the spell would hold. The first row of men stumbled, and those behind smashed into them in their haste. The sudden stop sent four rows sprawling on the ground.
“Now, let’s spread the love,” he whispered. He could hear his companions getting farther away, but didn’t move. A twist of his fingers and a click, then the hot, glowing wall flared as fresh flames spread beneath those that had fallen first.
Cotton underclothes and cured leather blossomed into flames. Men screamed and scrambled away, some to avoid the flames and others to try and outrun the ones licking at their clothes.
Jakob grinned, then took off running again. He had almost lost his friends—did, in fact, when they rounded a corner. Taking a breath and crossing his fingers for a good landing, Jakob took a flying leap.
Another hand movement pushed the air behind him, propelling him down the street. He landed, wobbled, then rolled, coming to a stop on his feet. He took a quick moment to balance himself, then dashed down the street his friends had gone down.
“There you are,” Adeline scolded.
“I told you he’s safe,” Julianne said. “Come on. The gate guards are about to be accosted.”
They raced for the gates, but got there too late. Almost a dozen men were lined up, crossbows aimed straight at them.
“Duck!” Marcus yelped. No one had needed the warning as the bolts whizzed by without hitting anyone.
By the time the guards had reloaded, each of them had found a doorway or alley to slip into.
The men at the gate didn’t approach, but Jakob knew the men he had attacked were only minutes away.
“Jakob, can you get us over?” Adeline said, pointing at the nine-foot wall.
He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m spent.”
“We need a distraction, is all,” Mathias said.
A loud crack followed by a clatter sounded at the gates. Jakob risked poking his head out. The great oak doors were being pummeled from the other side. Though some of the guards still watched the roads, they looked nervous, and the others now had their weapons pointed the other way.
A bat screeched and dove into the group of men. One man screamed nervously, though the animal hadn’t struck anyone.
Then, four bats were flapping at their heads. A minute later the bats swarmed, their high-pitched squeaks drowning out all other noise.
The guards broke formation and ran, some only stumbling a few steps before falling to the ground whimpering and crying.
“Now!” Julianne yelled. Two men, touched by the flapping, scratching mammals, yanked the gate open with a dazed look. “Thanks, boys. Hope you don’t catch it in the morning.”
They slammed the gates shut once everyone was through. Jakob leaned on the wall to catch his breath.
“No time,” Marcus said, pulling him forwards. “Get to the horses.”
Jakob nodded at Adeline’s worried look. “I’m fine,” he said. “But I’ll sleep for a week when this is done.”
They quickly found their horses and mounted. Jakob pulled Adeline up behind him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t let go,” he said.
“Why, scared you’ll fall off if I do?” she taunted.
“Maybe.” He kicked his horse, and they shot through the woods and onto the road.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bette stood side by side with Garrett, facing down a band of angry soldiers.
“I bloody well told ye, we’re not gonna launch a bloody war!” Bette snapped.
“Why not?” Lewis called from the crowd. “You said yourself, they’re barely scraping by out there. We only need a few dozen men, and we can take them out forever!”
“Until ye’ve slit a man’s throat while he’s got his pants around his ankles, ye’ve not got the experience to make a decision like this, lad.” Garrett spoke calmly, despite his own frustration at the situation.
He knew—they all knew—that what remained of George the Third’s army was just a short ride away. They had food and tents, but were struggling to survive.
The young nature magician who had scouted for them hadn’t kept that as quiet as Garrett would have liked, and now half the town was itching to ride out and give the soldiers a piece of their mind.
Garrett’s pride, and the love he had grown to feel for the town, ached to agree. He was a soldier, though. He had been in small scuffles to outright war, and he had seen men die and seen innocents killed.
He knew a massacre was not the same as a fight.
He wouldn’t let these people—his people, now—find that out the hard way. They’d already had enough nightmares to last a lifetime. Riding to a one-sided battle wouldn’t cure the bad dreams, it would cause more.
“I’ve said we’ll stand down, and I bloody well meant it.” Bette ignored the outcry at her words. “No, it doesn’t mean they’ll get away with it, but the damage at Sharne’s was superficial and the man who did it now has a hole in him.”
A few cries in support of Sharne went up, until the lady herself waved them down.
“You want to go out there and fight them for me?" she yelled. “They came into my house; they attacked while I slept. That man thought he had an easy target.”
The yells rose in volume and urgency.
“You think I’m like him?” She glared at the crowd. “You think I want to lower myself to his standards? If we attack that group, they have no hope of fighting back.” She spat on the ground, barely missing one of the loudest men. “You think that’s honorable?”
The cries for revenge started to fizzle, turning into uncomfortable grumbles as the men stared at the dirt.
“We need revenge,” one man was brave enough to yell. Someone next to him elbowed his ribs, and he shut his mouth.
“No,” Bette said. “We need to defend our town. When Julianne gets back, then—and only then—we can talk about justice.”
As a few cheers rang out, she added, “And remember, I said justice—not revenge. Keep that in yer heads while ye stand on watch and sleep in yer beds. We’re not a pack of dirty remnant.”
“Are ye sure?” Garrett asked her. “I don’t think Lewis has showered fer a week, and he bloody smells like one.”
Laughter broke up the tension and the crowd dissipated, men moving off to go about their daily business.
When they were alone, Bette jerked her head at Garrett, motioning him around a corner.
“What do ye really think about all this?” she asked when they were alone and hidden from view.
“Well… I’m happier than a pig in shit, but me knees are shakin’ like a dog tryin’ to shit out a razor blade,” he admitted.
She looked at him strangely, then slapped him in the side of the head. “I mean about the army, ye wee horn bag, not yer love life.”
“Oh?” he asked, confused for a moment. “Oh! Aye, I knew that. I was jus’... havin’ a joke, is all.” He coughed to cover his awkwardness. “I’d like ta go out and smack the bastards inta the ground, but yer plan makes sense.”
Bette sighed. “If ye feel like that yerself, I suppose we can’t blame the men for wantin’ ta do the same.”
“The men will do as ye say, Bette. They respect ye.” He gave her a reassuring grin.
When she kissed him on the cheek, his cheeks flushed bright red. “Aww, yer so sweet when ye blush like a wee teenager,” she said, pinching one of them.
His face went even redder. “Stop yer teasing, ye wicked woman. Can’t ye see I’m in awe of yer beauty and yer strength?”
She grabbed his face and gave him a real kiss, one long and deep enough to make the tips of his whiskers curl. “Aye,” she said when she pulled back. “That’s why I love ye.” She slapped his ass, then turned around to walk away.
He jumped on her, pulling her back in for a second kiss. This time, it was Bette who pulled back flushed and breathless. “Well, then, I guess we’ll call that a tie,” she gasped.
“Oh, I’m not so sure. We might need to have a
rematch… later, when things aren’t so bloody crazy.” Garrett grinned, glad to have finally regained an equal footing with her.
“Fair enough,” she said. “A rematch, tonight. Make sure ye dress appropriately.” Bette turned and walked away, ignoring Garrett’s demand to tell him exactly what ‘dressed appropriately’ even meant.
“Bloody women,” he muttered, leaning back against the wall.
“I second that, and raise you ‘bloody prostitutes’,” Danil piped up as he walked past.
Garrett jumped forwards to join him. “Polly?” he guessed.
“Yup. She’s been shadowing me, trying to make herself useful.” Danil sighed heavily.
“That… doesn’t sound like such a bad thing?” Garrett said, trying to figure out what was really eating Danil.
The blind mystic screwed up his face. “I know! She’s being so damn nice, I don’t even know what to do about it! Every time I turn around, she’s at my heels. I only lost her because I was stupid enough to mention my laundry was piling up, and now she’s doing it for me!”
“Don’t tell Bette,” Garrett warned.
“They’re best friends! Polly is going to tell Bette about the washing, and Bette is going to put my head on a pike.” Danil’s face fell. “How am I gonna get out of this one? I don’t even know how I got into it!”
At least Bette doesn’t play those silly games, Garrett thought. Stand in battle by a good woman’s side, and she’ll respect ye forever.
Danil stopped in his tracks, reading the rearick’s thought.
“No!” Garrett snapped. “Bette said—”
“Bette said we can’t wage war on them because it’ll be a massacre,” Danil said, grinning.
“Aye…” Garrett said warily.
“She never said—”
“Stop!” Garrett yelped, hands up defensively. “Stop, don’t say another bloody word, ye bastard. Whatever yer up to, don’t tell me.”
“Ah,” Danil said, smiling. “The old ‘plausible deniability’ trick? That’s fine, but you’ll miss the fun.”
Garrett shook his head, resolute. “Aye, ye go have yer fun and leave me out of the consequences.”
He wondered if he should mention anything to Bette, but Danil was still in his head.
“Come on, Garrett. This is just what I need. Please?” Danil pleaded.
“Ach. Fine. But my name stays out of it, whatever yer plannin’.” Garrett cursed his bad luck to get involved with the foolhardy mystic, just when things were going well with Bette, too.
“I won’t breathe a word of your involvement,” Danil promised.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Adeline rolled over on the thin blanket for about the fortieth time. Sunlight streaming into her face made her mind fight any attempt to sleep. Sticks and small rocks poked through the thin woolen barrier, uncomfortable reminders of all she had left behind.
“You were right to leave,” Julianne whispered beside her.
“You don’t know that.” There was no animosity in Adeline’s voice, just sadness. “You don’t understand how unstable Rogan has become, how obsessed with me. Now, he’s angry, and he’ll take it out on everyone around him.”
“Will he come for us?” Julianne asked.
Adeline thought for a moment. Rogan could be impetuous and when his fury rose, he would lash out against anyone in arm’s—or mind’s—reach. Still, when it came to the long game, he was a master of patience and meticulous planning.
“He won’t disrupt the plans he has in place,” Adeline said with a measure of confidence. “I remember the day Joey, one of Father’s clerks, stood up to Rogan. I’m not sure how he got around the mind control, but instead of sending out notices of the new curfew, Joey wrote out notes describing what Rogan was doing, warning people about him.”
Julianne waited for her to continue. When the silence continued, Julianne asked Adeline gently if she would drop her shields and show the mystic what happened.
Adeline nodded, a tear leaking down her face. Julianne skimmed her mind for the rest of the sad story.
Joey had distributed thousands of the documents, detailing Rogan’s mind control techniques and urging people to resist. He had concluded the note with a line saying his life would now be forfeit.
Behind closed doors, Rogan had flown into a furious rage. He had yelled and screamed, and when that didn’t help, he had used mind control to force a guard to smash a huge marble urn with his face.
The guard hadn’t survived.
And yet, an hour later, he had taken Joey to the front steps of the lord’s manor and thanked him, congratulated him for having the bravery to watch out for his fellow citizens.
Rogan’s speech had ever so gently implied that Joey was paranoid, that he been unstable in the days prior. With a gentle smile, Rogan had patted his head and promised that if Joey was so convinced that something was wrong, Rogan himself would submit to any questions he felt the need to ask.
A week later Joey was found hanging from a noose in his room. The townspeople, initially incensed and ready to throw Rogan out on his ass, now doubted Joey’s story. They wondered if he had been wrong, or crazy, and if he had killed himself out of guilt or shame.
“What do you think happened?” Julianne asked.
“Rogan ordered Joey to do it.” Adeline spoke quietly, a tremor in her voice. “I can’t prove it—no one can. But you need to know that. You need to know that even though Rogan was angry, furious, he still waited. He smiled and sucked up even while he boiled inside, because he knew he had to, to pull it off.”
Julianne fell silent, gears turning in her head. “So, he’s not likely to come running after us.”
Adeline rolled onto her side, watching the young mystic think through the possible ramifications of what they had done.
“Rogan was planning a trip to Tahn. He didn’t say when he wanted to leave, but it wasn’t immediately. He had a few things to do first,” Adeline told her.
“What kind of things?” Julianne asked.
“Well, train me, for one.” Adeline waited for that to sink in, then explained. “He was head over heels for me. Maybe because I could block him so well—I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend that wasn’t brainwashed into it. I played along so I could get what information I could.”
“That was brave.” Julianne’s heartfelt sentiment cut into Adeline’s heart.
Another tear slid down her face, running sideways down to the thin blanket. “I tried, but it wasn’t enough.”
“Is that how you found out about his fallback plan?” Julianne asked.
“You mean how everyone will die if he does?” Adeline asked.
Julianne nodded. “That one bit of information could save countless lives,” Julianne reminded her. “Without it, we would have just lopped off his head, or put an arrow through his chest.”
“And now, our hands are tied,” Adeline spat. “We’re helpless.”
Julianne snorted. “He wishes! There’s one thing egotistical bastards like Rogan all have in common: they’re not nearly as smart as they think they are.”
Adeline gave her a disbelieving look. “You don’t know Rogan.”
“No, but I know people like him.” Julianne reached over to squeeze Adeline's hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t underestimate him… but mental magic is very precise. Words matter, especially for compulsions like that one. If you don’t use exactly the right ones, there’s usually a way around it.”
“So… we might be able to get rid of him without hurting anyone?” Adeline asked.
“I’m sure of it,” Julianne asked. “Even if it means locking him in a tower where he can’t hurt himself and keeping him there to live out his natural life.”
Adeline sighed with relief. “My stomach has been in a giant knot since he told me that. It’s nice to feel hope again. Stopping him from hurting anyone will do, even if it means he lives.”
“Well, I didn’t say that was the most likely outcome,” Julianne said. “Be
cause I’ll move mountains to make sure that monster gets his just desserts.”
“I’ll do anything I can to help,” Adeline said.
Julianne lay quiet for a moment. “Anything?” she asked.
Adeline nodded. “I’d cut open my soul and make a deal with the devil if it’ll help stop him.”
“It’s your mind I want you to open,” Julianne said. “Not your soul. And there’s no cutting involved, I promise.”
“You’re already in my head, aren’t you?” Adeline asked.
Julianne hesitated. “This will go deeper. I’ll be inside the core of your mind, rummaging around. You won’t be able to push me out once I’m there, or shield any part of yourself away from my poking and prodding.”
Adeline laughed. “I couldn’t shield a fly right now. There’s nothing stopping you.”
“No,” Julianne said dryly. “Nothing except the ethical concerns involved with mind-raping an innocent, unwilling victim.” She looked at Adeline expectantly. “This is completely up to you. You can say no.”
Adeline stared back. “Mystic, you have my full, unconditional permission to do whatever you want to my mind. If there’s information in there that will help you, pull it out. If he slipped any compulsions in there, destroy them. Even if it destroys me.”
Julianne turned so she looked up at the sky. Even so, Adeline saw the white film gloss over her eyes as Julianne embraced her magic. With a whispered word, she was in.
Carefully, Julianne combed Adeline’s mind for signs of tampering. She followed the pathways of her brain left, right, up, and down. She examined significant memories, and tugged at decision making processes. Finally, satisfied that Rogan hadn’t implanted any false memories or orders, Julianne examined everything Adeline knew.
Rogan was everything she had said and more. He was like an overgrown child with a fierce intelligence, but a spoiled nature and no impulse control. Rogan’s goal was to rule. Not just Muir, but everything he could touch.
