Chapter 13 Flaming Tylocks
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FLAMING TYLOCKS
Heat licked up his side as another tent exploded in a fireball, splinters ricocheting through the smokey air.
Ridan ducked his head, hissing as the debris slammed into his arm.
His ears were ringing as he pulled himself to his knees, looking over the overturned table he’d hidden behind.
Eyes watering, he tried to pick out anything useful through the chaos.
Their attacker was smart. They’d chosen to hit the market—a wide swath of temporary stalls made entirely of fabric and wood.
The fire had no opposition, spreading in a wave of heat.
Most of their warriors were watching the fights clear on the other side of the field.
They might be too far away to even hear the panic until it was too late, and if they did, they wouldn’t be able to get in against the wave of people trying to escape the inferno.
Which meant that the masses gathered here were completely defenseless—merchants, craftsman, families, elderly. They were unable to put up a fight and worse, they were in a panic. Between the smoke and the fire, it was difficult to see a way out.
A flash of a sword caught his attention and through the haze he saw Corric lifting a piece of burning tent, freeing a family. He held it aloft as they scurried away, joining the throng of people crushing each other trying to escape.
“Who is with me!?” Ridan screamed above the din; his voice hoarse. It left him doubled over, coughing, with tears running from his eyes.
“I’m here,” Brune called back, closer than Ridan thought.
“Jonen and I,” Corric confirmed, tossing the wood he’d been holding down and covering his mouth with his elbow. Ridan couldn’t see Jonen, but that meant nothing.
“Priority is getting the people out,” he shouted. “Jonen, Corric, you two help get them out. Bust out some exits.”
No one answered him, but a moment later he heard crunching wood and Jonen was standing in a shaft of sunlight, guiding merchants through the opening between tents he’d made.
Brune slid next to him. He was panting, his face dark with soot and his hair falling out from where he’d had pulled back.
“I’m not leaving you,” he said seriously, one hand on his hammer and the other hefting his shield.
Ridan shook his head. “Wasn’t going to ask.” Using Brune’s shoulder, he pushed himself to his feet. “We need to find this guy and get him the hell away from here.”
Brune twisted his hammer in his hands, face set.
Just as Ridan was about to tell him to go right, another fireball came flying at them.
It hit a tent just ahead of him, quickly engulfing what looked like a stall of pelts.
Between shielding his face from the flames, Ridan saw they didn’t look normal.
It was almost as if the flames had a life of their own. Impossibly, they seemed to be tinged…white, and they moved like they were seeking something. Leaving devastation in their wake, they moved far quicker than any fire Ridan had ever seen.
An icy shiver ran down his spine. Magic.
He’d never seen it before, of course, but he knew it existed. They joked about it; spoke of it the same way someone might speak of pigs flying. And now here it was, licking across the ground and destroying everything in its path.
“Ridan!”
He had a split second to register his name before Brune was tackling him to the ground, shield lifted over them both.
Heat exploded around them, so close he could smell burning hair.
But Brune held fast, the Maladon’s Aegis taking the hit like it was nothing.
He blinked up, eyes hooded against the heat, to see Brune above him.
He was holding him close, tucking Ridan against his chest to hide behind the shield.
When the heat died down, he pushed himself up enough to check that they were safe to move. Brune grabbed him, pulling him behind a barrel of water like he weighed nothing. Crawling over his lap, he peered around the barrel.
The Magician was tall and thin. His clothes were battered and burned and his hair was matted around his face, hanging down his back unevenly. He was so filthy Ridan couldn’t tell the color.
Not that he was looking too closely at the man himself—he was distracted by the fire licking up his arms. It seemed to sprout from his hands, twining around long fingers before the man tossed them like a child’s ball.
“Chief!”
Osmond jogged up with Niklas close behind. They looked singed and sooty, no doubt stopping to help people on their way to them.
“Niklas, I need you to get up high. Somewhere you can keep an eye on him. And if you get a shot, take him the fuck out.”
The beta didn’t even nod, just took off while slinging the bow from his back. Osmond looked after him, jaw tense.
“We’re dealing with a magic user,” Ridan told Brune and Osmond. Both alphas looked unsettled. It was one thing to take on a Snap Jaw, or even another Clansmen. They knew what to expect when fighting them. But this? This was something they did not know how to handle.
“It’s going to be difficult getting close,” Osmond pointed out unnecessarily. How could they get close to him, let alone fight him? He was on fire! If Niklas couldn’t get a good shot with an arrow, they were sunk.
“I can get you close,” Brune said confidently. He tapped the shield. “His flames aren’t getting past me.”
Eyeing the alpha, Ridan wasn’t sure. The shield withstood one hit of flames. But multiple? Brune already had a reddening burn on his arm and blood on his lip.
Sensing his hesitation, he thumped his fist on the shield. “Nothing is going to get past me.”
Ridan believed him.
“All right,” he looked over at Osmond. “Try to get behind him. Brune and I will come from the front, you see a chance you take it. No hesitation.”
Osmond nodded and took off. He was quick and light on his feet. If anyone had a chance of sneaking up on him, it was Osmond.
Looking back to Brune, he slipped a hand around his neck, dragging him in until they were nose to nose. “Watch your back, Brune.”
He smirked. “I’ll be too busy watching yours.”
Fluidly, they advanced forward. Brune in front, crouched, shield raised. With a hand on his shoulder, Ridan held his sword out in front of him. They moved as one, left leg, right leg, as they moved through the smoke.
The first hit of fire shook them both. Ridan was nearly knocked off his feet, clinging to Brune with everything he had. The big man held them both, leaning into his shield with his head bowed low. On tiptoes, Ridan looked up to see their attacker.
He was watching them, eyes eerily pale. Like twin pearls from the Torn Cove mines. So vacant it was almost as if his pupil had melted away. They were the brightest thing about the man, beside the fire licking up his arms.
Ridan watched him, forced himself to ignore the magic. If this were any other opponent, what would he do?
There.
The man had to pause between fire blasts. Perhaps to recoup or aim, but there was a split second of indecision. A moment where he wasn’t exactly susceptible to attack—he was still on fire—but Ridan could get in close.
“Brune,” he rasped, fingers digging into his shoulder. “After this next hit, stand firm.”
It came quickly, a blaze of living flame that hit like a punch but lingered behind to burn. He could feel the heat licking across his face and arms, stinging in places where the fire found purchase.
The moment the heat abated, Ridan stood, took a step back, and with eyes narrowed against the onslaught, vaulted over Brune.
He used the shield to steady himself, landing on his toes so he could race forward.
Unnatural eyes tracked him as he got closer, fingers wiggling in anticipation as the fire in his palms grew in strength.
With a yell, Ridan brought his sword level, stepping into the swing. As the blade arced toward the man, his fire flared bright and Ridan hissed, turning his face from the searing heat. At the last moment, a burning hand grabbed at him, scorching fingers wrapping around his hands and hilt in one.
With no choice but to drop his sword, Ridan released his grip and threw himself forward. The burning on his hands wouldn’t stop. Panic grew in his chest as he tried to wrestle himself free.
Desperately, he kicked. A knee struck a soft belly, and he was released, staggering backward with his painful hands clutched close to his chest. Even without time to examine them, he could see flashes of raw skin from the corner of his eye.
He looked up just in time to see a big palm dwarfing his face.
The rough skin was unpleasant against his lips, reeking of burnt skin and hair.
It shoved down, and to his horror, began heating.
Curling his maimed hands, he threw a punch.
And then another. They landed solidly against something that didn’t give.
Like the magic user didn’t feel a thing as his knuckles curled and finger nails dug into Ridan’s cheeks.
As the heat became unbearable, an arrow whizzed past his ear and embedded itself into the man’s shoulder. Silently, he dropped his hand, looking over at his shoulder with the same blank expression he’d had the whole time.
Ridan leaped away, gritting against the pain as he swiped up his sword again. The worn leather rubbed against his painful skin, but he ignored it. Another arrow swooped in, this one slamming into the man’s collarbone, opposite to the last arrow.
It was clear Niklas was trying to disarm the man. It was also clear it wasn’t working. He didn’t seem to care about the feathered shafts sticking from his body.
Tightening his grip, Ridan swung. The man ducked, a little slower with his injuries, but he didn’t seem concerned. The flames grew around him, but Ridan’s blade had been forged in flames just like this, and it didn’t fear the heat.
He snarled; lips lifted as he moved in for the killing blow.
“RIDAN, NO!”