by Amy Hopkins
Unable to prod him into any more reactions, Julianne eventually gave up. Rather than go straight to sleep, she drifted into a light, restorative mediation.
As her mind emptied, she stared at the soft, crinkled leaves on the ground by her face. Each edge was crisp, the veins showing clearly where the soft fibers of leaf had worn away with age.
She felt the vibration in the ground before she heard Mathias stomping back. He paused by her side, and through her connection with the world around her, she felt his eyes on her.
She rolled over and stood, motioning him away from the sleeping men.
“What is it?” she asked in a low voice.
Mathias handed her a small, rolled up bit of paper. She unrolled it and read the words scrawled in tiny print. Do not kill Rogan. His magic will kill others when he dies.
“A death spell,” Julianne muttered. “There’s more than one way around that, you cunning bastard.”
Death spells had been studied in the Temple extensively, but only by the most trusted mystics there. A death spell cast by a mystic would trigger an action, feeling, or belief when the mystic died.
Most mystics knew of them, and even used them—a feeling of calm and peace that would unravel in loved ones when the mystic passed into the next realm, or in one pranksters case, three days of his friends bursting into cabaret songs at random intervals.
Selah had kept notes on more insidious applications, and how to counter them. In most cases, simply knowing in advance meant another mystic could bind the first spell and neutralize it.
Of course, the death spell would only be triggered if the target knew the mystic was dead. Hiding the death from the person affected could work, or at least buy time for counter measures. So could certain counter-spells, though they were harder to formulate.
“Shall we reply?” Mathias asked.
Julianne had discussed the initial message with him—that rescue was coming, but lacking any details that may give them away.
She shook her head. “No. We continue as planned.”
Mathias nodded and withdrew. Julianne watched as he disappeared into the trees. A moment later, a rustling in the leaves drew her eyes up overhead. Mathias had climbed into the branches and was now lying along one, draped comfortably despite being at least forty feet off the ground.
“Druids,” Julianne said, shaking her head. “Strangest bunch of people I’ve ever met.”
She returned to her own bedroll and settled back into her meditation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bette stretched her arms up, feeling her back lengthen with a satisfying crunch. By her calculation, it had been a good day and a half since she had seen a bed, and the cracks of sunlight splintering the dawn sky were an unwelcome reminder of that.
“And ye found nothin’ else?” she asked Francis.
He shook his head. “Just the fight at Sharne’s, and that one sighting of another man.” He paused. “I know Gerard can be an idiot, but if he says he was sober, he meant it.”
Gerard was the only person who claimed to have seen another man, and Bette still wasn’t certain he hadn’t just seen Sharne’s attacker. Still…
“It’d be plain stupid for him to come alone. Makes sense there were two, and if Gerard saw one, well, he saw one.” She poked her head outside and bellowed. “Garrett!”
“Aye, hold yer knickers, woman.”
Bette tapped her foot impatiently. “How far away did ye say that wee army was?”
Garrett clicked his tongue. “On foot, a little under an hour?”
“For you?” she asked, “Or for someone whose ass is a little further from the ground?”
Garrett scowled. “Just because I’m not a clobberin’ giant, doesn’t mean I’m slow.”
“Aren’t all rearick your size?” Francis asked, genuinely curious. Looking now, he realized Bette was, indeed a good couple of inches taller than Garrett.
“All of ye, stop pokin’ fun at me bloody height!” Garrett seethed. “Just because I’m short for me size, doesn’t mean I can’t kick both yer asses.”
The fact that Bette had beaten him in more than one fight was irrelevant. This was his honor at stake.
Ignoring him, Bette turned to Francis. “Assume they could run here in half that. They came at sundown, so it’s likely they’ll come back under cover of night if they return. Ye think ye can extend that wall a little?”
“We’re running out of building materials,” Francis said. “I can try, but it likely won’t be long enough to keep them out forever. If they’re entering at the wall’s end, though, they’re cutting through bog. That will slow them down and wear them out.”
He glanced at the nearby table and motioned for a bit of paper.
Bette handed it to him with a stump of charcoal.
“Here’s the town,” Francis said as he sketched, “and there’s the wall. All this—” he shaded a section “—is marshland. It’s knee deep in places and a few spots where you’ll lose a whole cow.”
He pointed to the army’s location, then drew a line with his finger. “They’d save time going this way, even if it’s longer. And if they try to go around the bog, they’ll hit the mountains.”
“So, if we post some sentries in this wee bit of open land here, and leave a few men up front, we’ll head them off?” Garrett asked.
Francis nodded. “If they're dumb enough to cut through the marsh again, you’ll be meeting them wet and tired. If they come to the front, the wall will slow them.”
“Aye.” Bette sighed. “Double shifts it is, then. Garrett, do ye think we should cancel training until the others get back?”
Looking surprised that she had asked him, he wrinkled his face, thinking. “Aye. We don’t want ta run them inta the ground, and there’s twice as much work ta do with that lot from Muir takin’ up our hall.”
Francis looked up at that. “Forgive me if I’m speaking out of place, but do you think we could get them to help? I mean, I know they’ve been through a lot, but if some of their people help with the watch and—”
“Ach, you’re bloody right,” Bette said. “Seher said they wanted ta help, but I said no like the dumb shit that I am. I’ll get on that today. Meanwhile, make sure everyone has their eyes open and their weapons close. If young Sharne hadn’t been armed to the teeth in her sleep, things might have gone a lot worse.”
“Aye,” Garrett agreed.
They finished the conversation, and Francis left. Garrett tried to scurry out with him, but Bette hauled him back inside by the collar. “And where do ye think yer goin’?”
“Back to my station!” he protested.
“Ye’ve been avoidin’ me fer days. What’s going on? Did ye piss in me boots one night and forget to tell me?”
Garrett refused to meet her eye. “What, ye think I’m hidin’ somethin’? Well, I’m not. I’m not hidin’ anything. Not a thing.”
“Bull. Shit.” Bette leaned against the door. “Yer not takin’ one step out of this room until ye tell me what’s got yer beard in a twist.”
Reflexively, Garrett grabbed his beard and stroked it, checking for knots. It was a beard, carefully grown, trimmed, and oiled for years. He was quite proud of it.
He chewed his whiskers. He tapped his foot. Finally, seeing she really did intend to keep him there for as long as it took, he let out a frustrated groan.
“Oh, fer the love of the Queen Bitch, woman! Can’t ye let a man come to a thing in his own time?”
“And what kind of a thing would a man be comin’ to, eh?” Bette asked, still holding the door closed.
Garrett opened his eyes wide in disbelief. “What kind of bloody thing do ye think? I’ve been mullin’ on how to ask ye to be me significant other, ye impossible woman!”
“Impossible?” Bette screeched. “Me? I wasn’t the one runnin’ halfway across town just to duck me head and hide from a lass!”
“No, yer the one who forced a man into a corner and ruined his plans, is who ye are!” Garrett
roared.
“What bloody plans?” Bette yelled. “At the rate you ‘plan’, we’d be old, grey bones by the time ye pulled yer foot out of yer arse and said anything!”
Garrett stepped forwards, his nose inches from hers, hands balled into tight fists. He growled in a low voice, “I have work ta do, so if ye don’t mind?”
She stepped forwards and yanked the door open. “Don’t let the door hit yer arse on the way out,” she snapped.
Garrett stomped out without a backwards glance. He was at the gate when Bette yelled out to him.
“Garrett?” she hollered, fury still simmering in her voice. “Yes!”
“Yes what?” he barked back.
“Yes, I’ll be yer girlfriend, ye vertically challenged asshole.” She grinned and waved at Tessa, who had stopped in the middle of the street to watch the exchange.
“Thank ye, ye bossy wee control freak!” Garrett hollered back. As he walked down the road, a giant grin spread over his face. “She’ll do just fine,” he murmured. “Just fine indeed.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Julianne stopped pacing to impatiently watch the sun slowly dip towards the distant mountains.
“Jules, you look like you’re about to burst,” Marcus commented as he saddled his horse.
“Just itching to get this over with,” she explained. “I mean, we’re not going into battle—at least, I hope we’re not—but still, I’ll be happier when Adeline is in Tahn, safe and sound with her father.”
“I hear you.” Marcus finished loading his saddlebags and came to sit by her. “We leave at sundown?”
Julianne nodded, then looked up as Mathias came over.
“I sent Percival out.” Hearing his name, the fat pigeon beside him chirped and preened. “No one in sight for miles.” Mathias perched on a low tree branch, kicking his legs.
“That makes sense,” she said. “Adeline’s messages said the town has been closed to visitors since we left.”
“You think we can move out early, then?” Marcus asked.
“If there’s no one to see us, it seems like a waste of time to hide. Where’s Jakob?” Julianne reached out with her mind reflexively. It was the first time she had used her magic that day and it was like a glorious morning stretch. “Ah. Here he comes.”
She had brushed Jakob’s mind and felt his wet hair and clean beard. He had washed in a nearby stream, then conjured up a magical warmth to dry himself, but was still a little damp.
She had to hold onto her patience as they covered up the campsite and finished readying the horses. By the time they left, the sun was just grazing the horizon.
It was only a short ride from there to Muir, and they arrived at the gates under a brilliant moon.
“Here,” Mathias said. “Dismount. The horses will wait for us here.” He shook his head as Marcus began to tie his. “They’ll stay, and we can leave faster if we don’t have to untie them.”
Marcus dropped the reins as Mathias cupped his hands around his mouth and a bird-like trill sang out. A few moments later, a fat pigeon flapped down to his shoulder.
“No ties today, Percival. Can you hold it in your mouth?”
The bird cooed and tipped its head to one side. Mathias held out a scrap of paper, and the bird took it, giving it a gentle chew. Mathias grimaced.
“Maybe I should have stuck it on your leg. Don’t gum it up, pig, and only to the girl, yes?” He let the bird nuzzle his face for a moment before it few off over the wall.
“Right,” Julianne said. “Let’s do this.”
Her eyes turned white as she slipped into the minds of the gate guards.
Both minds were fractured and patched with holes, but functional. They knew they’d been ordered to keep the town closed off, but believed the direction had come from Lord George.
Open the gate. Forget you saw us. Julianne pushed the compulsion into their minds, unworried that it might later be discovered. They would be long gone by then, if it came to that.
The four of them fled through town on light feet, Jakob dulled the noise they made while Julianne cloaked them from sight.
The moon had barely moved when they made it to the manor. “Adeline’s rooms are there,” Jakob said, craning his neck to point at the fourth floor.
“If anyone would know, it’s Jakob,” Mathias said with a sly wink.
Surprised, Marcus looked at Jakob. “Really? You and Adeline?”
“What of it?” the big man asked, glowering.
“I think it’s sweet,” Julianne said. “Like in the old stories. Princess in her tower, wooed by a rough and rugged man with no family to speak of.”
“There’s more spice than sweet in that relationship,” Mathias chuckled, then whoofed out a breath as something invisible hit him in the gut. “Do that again, and a whole flock of birds will shit on your head tomorrow,” he gasped.
Jakob gave an innocent shrug, but couldn't contain his own laughter. “My lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting. What’s our plan?”
Four floors up, Adeline eyed the pigeon on her windowsill with terror.
“Yes, of course, father,” she said.
“Yes what? I asked how you would manage the city while we are away, Adeline. Are you even listening?” Using magic to disguise himself as Lord George, Rogan glared at her.
Adeline started. Dammit, girl, pull yourself together or you’ll give yourself away. “Sorry, father. I was just thinking.” She wracked her brain for an excuse. “About… George. I haven’t seen George in days. Do you think he’s ok?”
Rogan sat back. “I’m sure he’s fine. He sent a messenger to say the hunting was extraordinary, and he would keep his men out a little longer. Now, about our journey—”
“Yes, your journey. But, why would you and Rogan wish to travel to Tahn? It’s such a small town, and there’s nothing there but a few farmers.” The pigeon jumped inside, a bit of paper dangling from its mouth.
Oh no. Go, shoo, she thought, knowing it couldn’t hear. Still, she wondered if it was being deliberately obnoxious when it began to coo.
Rogan spun. “Get out, you vile—what’s this?” He snatched at the bird and missed, but it dropped the note. Rogan ignored the paper, watching Adeline’s stricken face as it fluttered to the floor. “Adeline, my love? Perhaps you have something to tell me?”
“What? No, Father. I shall run the city just as you instruct, until you return from your journey.” Adeline kept her eyes glued to his face, refusing to look at the stark white scrap on the red carpet.
It was too late. Without taking his eyes off her, Rogan crouched down and picked up the note. Flicking his eyes to it, he read aloud. “Fly, little one. Lover-boy and his rescue party have arrived.”
His face darkened. Then, as if her eyes were playing tricks, her father’s form wavered and flickered. “Lover?” He took three steps forwards and grabbed her arms roughly. “LOVER?” he screamed, speckles of saliva hitting her face.
The illusion vanished and it was Rogan pinning her down, screaming at her. “You bitch! You evil, lying bitch! How dare you play with my affection!”
A force shoved at her mind and Adeline struggled to hold it back. Her shielding skills were good, but not as strong as her father or Madam Seher. “You think I could care about a monster?” She spat at Rogan’s face, trying to distract his concentration.
The force increased. Adeline’s fingers could just brush the small dagger hidden in her belt.
“I hate you. Do you know that?” Rogan screamed. “I hate you, because you’re a liar. You’ve made me angry, Adeline, and that means people will die!”
Got it. Unable to move her arms above the elbow, Adeline could only jerk her hand up to plant the small knife in Rogan’s forearm. He let her go and she scrambled back, hitting her head on her desk.
Rogan shrieked. “Guards! Guards, attack!” He held his injured arm close even as he attempted to grab her again with the other. Adeline fell back into the passage behind her desk and kicked the secret door
closed. Her shield collapsed.
“Please, be ready,” she whispered. She jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs.
Below, Marcus held Julianne’s arm as she mumbled urgently. “She got the door open. She’s running, upstairs; she can hear someone behind her. There’s a tower, she’s going—Jakob, catch her! Catch her NOW!”
Marcus jerked his head up in time to see something white and billowing tumble from one of the tower windows. Someone screamed and Marcus realized it was a girl. “Shit!” He yelled and jumped forward, arms out.
The billowing form spun, dress floating in the fingers of wind that caught the fabric. Adeline looked down, seeing the terrified man below. She fell, closing her eyes. Then, she slowed.
It was as though she was weightless, floating down from a height that should have been deadly. Jakob’s spell lowered her gently onto the hard, cobbled road, tipping her upright to land steadily on her feet three feet away from Marcus.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” She winked at Marcus before throwing herself at Jakob and planting her lips on his.
“Ade!” As he pulled back, Jakob’s eyes faded from black to their normal brown. “Thank the Bitch herself.”
“Don’t thank that dumbass bird,” she said. “Mathias, I keep telling you, pigeons are morons.”
“Sorry, my lady.” He grinned in relief.
“Hate to break up the party guys, but we’ve gotta go.” Marcus could hear the rumble of boots on wood floors, building to a crescendo as a nearby door burst open. Soldiers tumbled out, spotting the rescue team almost immediately.
“Go!” he yelled, feet already moving.
Marcus spared a glance back to make sure his companions were following. Jakob pulled Adeline along, Julianne keeping pace. Mathias brought up the rear.
A zing whispered past Marcus’s ear. “Bowmen!” he called.
Jakob dropped Adeline’s hand and gestured with his fingers. The next volley of arrows froze in midair before clattering to the ground. He reached out again, but groped empty air.
